32
SOS: Sauce on [the] side.
2016
True to her word, Saskia delivered the promised contract before the weekend, not to the lawyers Regina kept on retainer, but to Regina herself.
Though she bullied Marco into going over it with her, it was straightforward, honest, and exactly what Regina wanted.
That Saskia was also and most certainly ensuring the continued success and survival of her still-fledgling magazine was irrelevant, and personally satisfying.
It was the only apology Regina could offer that was actually worth a damn. Step one of her rise from the ashes done, Regina could focus on step two. And three, four, fifteen . . .
The qualifier round of the Grand Redemption Championship loomed.
No matter what crate she concocted, Gale smoked it.
Pickled herring and eggplant lasagna became fried herring bites with a caponata dipping sauce.
Oyster crackers, preserved lemon, and candied bacon became maybe not the best lemon meringue pie Regina had ever eaten, but pretty damn good.
“You’re as ready as you’re going to be,”
Regina told him the night before he left for his qualifier round in New York.
“You feeling good?”
“I am.”
“Just do your best.
Don’t get flustered.
You’re a star.”
He’d hugged her then, quick and close and gone.
The day of taping, Regina was as useless as Lucy used to be in the kitchen.
It was nothing like the first time Gale competed; then, she’d been cool, prepared for either outcome.
Now, she wanted him to win.
So bad. That was Queenie, had to be. Queenie wanted Gale to do her proud, to bring home the prize. Queenie loved that rush, the accolades. Queenie couldn’t exist without them. Regina had to keep reminding herself that she could and had for all these years.
Kyle came in to help out, cheerful and optimistic, certain Gale was going to win.
Without Kyle the meal service would have been disastrous.
He wasn’t great chef material, but he was competent and willing.
A good follower with the ability, if not the ambition, to be a good leader.
Regina wasn’t stupid; Kyle’s sudden willingness to volunteer so much of his time had everything to do with who she was.
She was okay with that.
It was honest, and understandable.
After service was finished and the morning prepped for, Marco showed up with dinner—pollo scarpariello—even though it was her turn to cook.
He didn’t ask her if she’d heard from Gale.
She didn’t ask him.
He’d call. One of them. Her, of course. Marco pretended not to be jealous of that.
Long hours after Marco went to bed, Regina sat in a club chair by the fire, wrapped in a blanket and legs tucked up, reading over the pages Saskia had sent her and trying not to worry about not hearing from Gale.
Preliminary stuff, but it had been rough.
Saskia hadn’t been kidding about not pulling any punches, especially the bits revisiting a past she barely remembered.
But she trusted Saskia to have the details right. Saskia had absorbed and processed all that had been Queenie B. To rise from the ashes meant first to burst into flame. Queenie B had done her part; it was Regina’s turn to do the same.
A crash of empty crates in the yard.
Chickens squawked madly in their coop.
Marco was already at the overlooking window before Regina could untangle herself from her blanket.
“There’s someone out there,” he said.
“What was your first clue?”
Bam! Bam! Bam! A fist on the back door.
A muffled shout.
Whoever it was had hopped the chain-link fence.
Had to be a young someone. Probably high. Probably hungry. Sense told her to call the police. Compassion forbid it.
“Dammit.”
She jammed on her Crocs, flew down the steps, Marco close on her heels.
The pounding continued.
Less forcefully, then more.
Regina struggled with the locks, yanked open the door, a mag flashlight raised to the body stumbling forward.
“Gale?”
He reeked of alcohol, fell into her arms.
Marco caught them both before they tumbled.
Righting herself, she grasped Gale by the arms and hauled him all the way inside before closing the door behind him.
Oh, Gale.
She wouldn’t say it aloud.
She couldn’t.
He’d be harder on himself tomorrow than she could ever be.
Leading him to a chair, she peeled off his coat and handed it to Marco.
“What happened?”
Now Gale was sobbing.
Racking sobs that pulled so hard at her heart, she felt the tendons and muscles stretch.
“Gale, come on.
It can’t be that bad.
You’ve lost before.”
His head came up.
Eyes bloodshot and bleary.
Face streaked by tears.
A smile splitting his face like a horror-show clown. “I won,”
he said.
“I fucking won.”
Gale sat with Regina in her apartment above the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that couldn’t hope to counter all the alcohol in his system.
He wished he could remember how it happened.
Exactly how it happened.
You totally remember.
Gale slurped his coffee.
Own it, man.
Lie to yourself and it’ll be worse.
Regina sat opposite him, her hand reaching for his.
Gale could almost weep all over again.
Her brutal kindness.
Her harsh understanding. She was the only place he considered going to when all was said and done. Not Jenara. Not Marco or Kyle or even his mom. Regina.
“I’m going to hit the road.”
Marco slipped his coat on, kissed Regina’s lips.
Gale’s heart swelled.
He loved these two people to an absurd degree.
Tears stung. He slurped again.
The door closed softly.
Regina’s hand squeezed his.
“So, you won, huh?”
He nodded.
“Care to elaborate?”
“I smoked the other contestants.”
He sniffed.
“Every round.
I won them all.
Even dessert.”
“What’d you make?”
“Brie ice cream in a cone cup of crushed Pringles and chocolate shell made with olive oil.”
“Wow.”
“That’s what the judges said.”
He went to rub his eyes, forgetting he had coffee in his hands.
It spilled. “Sorry.”
Regina mopped it up with a dish towel.
“Don’t worry.”
“I couldn’t believe it,”
he said.
“I mean, I knew I took every round.
But when Tom cut my competitor after the last round, I nearly fainted.”
“You did not.”
“No, I did.
Everything went kind of fuzzy.
I honestly don’t remember much of what happened after that.
My brain just . . . cut out. I sort of remember the postcompetition interview and all that, but we finished early and I ended up in a bar with some of the producers and the other contestants and I . . . I fucked up, Regina. I fucked up bad.”
“Yeah, you did.”
She brushed the hair from his face.
“But one slip doesn’t make you a failure.”
That’s technically the definition of failing.
Gale closed his eyes.
The specter grimaced.
Head swimming, stomach roiling, he really had no recollection of taking that first drink, or how many he belted back after that.
He almost remembered emptying the livery-car’s minibar, maintaining the warmth, the comfort, the way alcohol made his thoughts slow and his mind drift away from the fact that he’d won. That he’d have to do it all again. That he had a real shot at fifty grand, and everyone would be counting on him and failure wasn’t just his if he lost. It was Regina’s. Queenie-Fucking-B’s.
“Ohhh.”
Gale pushed away his coffee.
“I think I’m going to puke.”
“Not in here, you’re not.
Let’s go, hero.”
Her shoulder in his armpit, Regina helped him to the bathroom.
Gale wanted to vomit, knew he’d feel better if he did, but couldn’t.
Dry heaving, brain sloshing, thoughts muddling, he couldn’t tell if he was still drunk on alcohol or anxiety.
He slumped against the toilet, trying not to cry again, and failing miserably.
“Just stay put.
I’m going to draw you a bath.”
Regina pointed.
“I’ll be right in there. Okay?”
Gale nodded without picking his head up.
In the adjoining room, water roared.
It made him weep all the harder.
Jeez, man.
Get it together.
“Fuck you.”
This is what I died for? For you to have it all only to throw it away? Jenara’s going to kick your ass to the curb.
Marco’s going to fire you. Regina’s—
“I said shut up!”
No, you said “fuck you.”
“Well, fuck you and shut up.”
It should have been you who overdosed.
Not me.
You’re the one who bought the drugs.
You’re the one who talked me into it. You’re the one who found a vein when I couldn’t.
“You bought them.
You talked me into it.”
Convenient memory to have, man.
Lets you off the hook, doesn’t it? I notice you don’t deny finding the vein I couldn’t.
Gale pressed hands over his ears, as if it would silence Sean.
His lies.
His truth.
As if he could banish that ghost now like a horror-show zombie, shambling and coming apart, bit by rotten bit. Half dead. Never gone. Always there. Always waiting to strike.
“Hey, hey, hey.”
Regina was there, pulling his hands from his ears and him into her arms.
“Gale, it’s okay.
Come on.
You’re all right.”
She helped him to his feet, out of his clothes, into the bath.
Coconut-scented warmth invaded his skin, his nose.
Coconut cream pie.
Coconut curry. Coconut carrot soup. Bubbles soothed bunched muscles, swallowed his tears. Regina petted his head, trickled water onto his cheeks. A little by a lot, Gale calmed down enough to understand just how drunk he actually was.
I’m sorry, man.
I didn’t mean all that.
But Sean meant every word.
Head lolling, Gale gazed up at Regina still petting him like he’d had a nightmare.
“You must have been a good mom.”
He smiled despite tears now gently rolling.
“No.
I wasn’t.”
Still petting.
Over and over.
“I lost custody of my son a long time ago.”
“Because of .
.
.
you know.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“He’s about my same age, isn’t he? Julian.”
Regina’s petting faltered, only a moment.
“A little younger than you.”
“Oh.”
Gale closed his eyes, sunk lower in the tub.
His buzz slipped closer to alcohol-induced slumber.
Yes.
Oblivion. Turn off. One more drink or ten, and he’d slip away.
Gale.
Gale, come on. Come on—
“Gale.”
Regina was tapping his cheek.
“Stay with me.”
Tears trickled, joined the coconut-scented bubbles.
“I killed my best friend,”
he said.
“It was all my fault.”
“We all make our choices.”
She didn’t miss a beat.
“Your friend made his.”
Listen to her.
It wasn’t your fault.
“It’s all so mixed-up in my head.”
Gale choked.
“I know.”
Regina stroked his cheek.
“I know exactly.”
Gale leaned into her hand.
“Please don’t tell my mom I fucked up.
Or Jenara.”
“I won’t.
But you will.
Hiding isn’t going to change what happened.”
She sighed.
“Believe me, I know that too.”
She knew.
Regina knew everything.
Gale sniffed back tears, closed his eyes.
“I love you, Regina. I mean it. I really love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Flying red lips chased a bee.
“I love you too.”
Slumber oozed up from the warm water again.
Gale slid lower. Lower.
“No, you don’t.”
Water cascaded over his head.
Gale shot up, wiping bubbles from his face. “Hey!”
“No sleep for you until some of that alcohol works its way out of your system.”
Regina hooked an arm under his shoulder, pulled him upright.
“Come on.
Let’s get you dried off.
I have a robe you can wear.”
Out of the warm tub, Gale shivered.
That he was completely naked and dripping skipped just out of self-conscious reach.
The softness of the towel registered higher than that it was Regina toweling him off.
Cloth at least as soft as the towel enveloped him, shoulders to knees.
“It’ll do.”
Regina tied the sash.
“Let’s get some food into you.
Marco left some of his scarpariello.”
Food.
The all.
The everything.
Gale was suddenly ravenous.
Aside from tasting the components for his own dishes during the competition, he was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten all day.
Regina set a plate of food in front of him.
He shoveled it in, pretending not to hear Regina on the phone with his mother, telling her Gale was with her, exhausted and a little worse for wear.
He was spending the night, and would she let Jenara know? Thanks, it’s better to not have her worry.
He pretended, because if he didn’t, he’d be a sobbing, quivering mess again.
You fucked up, man, but it doesn’t mean you’ll do it again.
Make up your mind, Sean.
No.
You make up your mind, Gale.
He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply through his nose because his mouth was full of delicious food.
He could taste it, even drunk as he was.
Tomorrow, he would pay the price of his fuckup, but at least, unlike Sean, he’d live to fuck up another day.