Chapter 26
New Orleans
Once more, I’m back at Hotel Esmeralda. This time, rather than channeling a diatribe to throw at Edward’s head like a Ming vase, I stand back and watch him sidle up to his friends as I’ve seen him do twice before.
“Honestly, she’s a glorified dishwasher and she acts like she’s actually got some talent just because Jean-Rémy said a few nice words. She’s delusional.”
His back is to me, but like my first time in this situation, I don’t draw attention to myself.
I ignore the titters of laughter from his friends—people I had thought were my friends too—and work my way back into the crush of the crowd.
It isn’t long before I find the objective of my search: Cecil Granby.
As I hoped, his face lights up at the sight of me.
“Ah, there she is, the prettiest lady in all of Louisiana. I don’t suppose you have space left on your dance card for the likes of me.”
He is so over the top it actually works. I decide to respond to his Cajun charms in kind. “Oh, for you, Mr. Granby? Always.”
In an impossibly debonaire fashion, Cecil gestures to the band, whose members immediately switch to a slower-paced ballad. The man really is something out of a cartoon, but the softer music will make conversation far easier.
“Now, darlin’, you can tell old Cecil. You are dying for the chance to come work for me, aren’t you?”
I pretend to blush. “Mr. Granby, it would be an honor, but I’m not ready for a place in your kitchen just yet. After a year or two more under Jean-Rémy? Perhaps.”
In a year or two I’ll be long gone from New Orleans, but Cecil doesn’t need to know that.
The corners of his mouth perk up. “Very wise of you, my dear. It’s often tempting to jump at an opportunity, but sometimes it’s prudent to wait until we’re ready. But don’t you worry yourself. If you’re working under Jean-Rémy, I know you’re using your time wisely, and I’ll hold a space for you.”
I beam at him. “That is so kind of you, Mr. Granby. Though if you’re looking for new talent, I wouldn’t pass over Edward Fairbanks over a few bland appetizers.”
He twirls me on the dance floor and smiles indulgently when I’m back in his arms. “You’re loyal, Miss Sorensen. I like that about you.”
I return his smile with a high-wattage version of my own.
“Oh, it’s Sabrina to you. But it’s not just loyalty.
He was just a little off his game today.
I heard through the grapevine that Jerome put him on brunch shift, and he’s taking it hard.
He hasn’t even told me directly, so I think he must be pretty upset. ”
Cecil looks sympathetic. “Brunch service is a grim fate. But I suspect my old friend Jerome knows what he’s doing.”
I flash Cecil a conspiratorial look. “Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing, Mr. Granby. He’s taking his best, most promising young talent and shoving him out of the limelight so he can’t outshine him. I honestly think he’s threatened by Edward.”
Cecil pauses a moment to consider this. In his heart he must know Jerome is capable of this. “You really think so?”
I let him pull me in closer. “You know Jerome far better than I do. Do you think that’s his style?”
Cecil’s sigh is reluctant. “I can’t say it isn’t like him. An unfortunate trait of his.”
I lean in closer and purr in his ear. “You know what the sad part is? I think Jerome’s antics are getting inside Edward’s head, which is precisely what Jerome wants. I’ve eaten Edward’s food many times, and he’s never had an off day like this before.”
Cecil hems. “So you agree it wasn’t up to par?”
I shake my head emphatically. “Not at all. The chef I know would have been able to do better than that in his sleep and blindfolded. He needs a new kitchen before Jerome destroys what’s left of his confidence altogether.”
Cecil appears pensive. “I am looking for a new sauté chef who will train under my sous with a thought to replace him in a year or two. He might consider it a step backward.”
“Better a dishwasher in a happy kitchen than the head chef in a miserable one.” Edward’s insult bubbles into my thoughts, but I push it away. Those words no longer deserve my headspace.
“True enough. You’re wise beyond your years, Miss Sorensen.”
I stifle a snort. If he knew I was a thirty-seven-year-old, seasoned industry veteran dragging as a twenty-three-year-old thanks to a sort of fairy godmother who inexplicably chose to set up shop at Burbank Airport, he’d probably have me committed.
“You have no idea, Mr. Granby. But I do appreciate you considering Edward. You won’t be sorry. ”
“No, I don’t believe I will be. Not if he’s as good as you claim he is. I’ll give this young man of yours a call in the new year. Miserable or not, I won’t deprive old Jerome of a staff member until the holiday crush is over.”
Honorable. Even staff poaching has its etiquette. I plant a kiss on his cheek. “That means the world to me. Thank you.”
“You’ve warmed the cockles of this old man’s heart, darlin’ girl. I just hope I can whisk you over to my kitchens before long.”
I flash him another smile. “It’s impossible to say what the future holds. But I am grateful to you.”
The song ends, and he kisses the back of my hand with a practiced elegance.
Did he attend something akin to the Rhett Butler Finishing School for Southern Gentlemen?
More likely, he was a charter member of the organization.
I can see Cecil eyeing Edward from across the room, assessing.
In a few weeks he is going to offer Edward the job, and it might be just enough to keep Edward from becoming the disenchanted young man who insulted the woman he claimed to love, or later, the acerbic, bitter, middle-aged chef who’d lost his passion for his work without realizing it.
The world might just have one less bully in it. Because he was shown kindness when he needed it.
Edward doesn’t really deserve this effort from me.
The tongue-lashings I gave him—both times—were warranted, really.
Not a single word was untrue or unjustified.
But they served no purpose other than to make myself feel better about what he’d said.
But apart from the initial satisfaction of letting him have it, I never felt peace or catharsis from either exchange.
But by quietly pushing him toward a terrific opportunity that might change this toxic cycle in his early career, I might improve the trajectory of his life.
And even if it doesn’t change the outcome for me, at least I can leave this epoch of my life knowing I did my best to leave things in the best shape I could.
I exit onto the street, ready to depart for the airport. I need to get back to my real life and figure out where things have led.
“Sabrina, why are you out here?” It’s unusually quiet out in the humid streets of New Orleans, and Edward’s voice splits the chilly night air like a church bell.
“Getting some air.” True enough.
“Yeah, it’s packed in there. Are you ready to come back in?” He has his eyes on the door. He doesn’t want his absence to get noticed.
I force a smile. “I don’t think so, but you should.”
He has the good manners to look confused. “What do you mean?”
I take a step closer and kiss him on the cheek. “I want only good things for you, Edward. Take care of yourself.”
Comprehension floods his face. “Listen, Sabrina, I—”
Part of me wants to hear his apology, but I hold up a hand to silence him. “It’s okay. For a long time it wasn’t . . . but . . . it just doesn’t matter, Edward. I meant what I said. I want good things for you. I just hope you’ll be on the lookout for them.”
He stares at me, baffled. I’m not ashamed that I’m a bit proud to have him at a loss for words. On cue, Jean-Rémy exits onto the street and makes a beeline toward us. “Everything okay here, folks?”
“Um . . . yeah. I guess so.” Edward’s words are strained as he tries to make sense of things. “Do you need a ride home?”
I don’t love the idea of being trapped in a car with him, trying to find some oxygen in the air poisoned with awkward silence. I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. A walk will do me some good.”
Edward seems ready to protest. My apartment’s not particularly close and it’s getting rather late, but Jean-Rémy interjects before he has the chance. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her home safe.”
Edward thanks him and turns to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “No need, Edward. Get back in there. Your friends are waiting.”
And now he knows I heard what he said. Which is good.
He needs to understand that it’s not me, it’s him, to spin the old maxim on its head.
His posture is slightly slumped as he turns for the door, but he’s trying to keep it together.
And that’s fine. He’s experiencing the consequences of his actions and should feel bad.
“You okay, Princess? I think I know a breakup when I see one.” Jean-Rémy wraps his warm arm around my shoulders.
“Though I should be mad at you. I came out here to give you what-for since you’re leaving us to work for Cecil Granby, and now you’ve deprived me of the fun of a good lecture.
I can’t give you an earful thirty seconds after you dumped a fella. ”
“Man, the NOLA foodie rumor mill is fast. And, as usual, wrong.” I choke back a laugh and a sob all at once. “I was actually trying to persuade him to hire Edward.”
He gestures for us to start walking in the direction of his car. “And then you broke up with him five minutes later?”
I loop my arm companionably in his. “That’s the beat of it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t understand you kids these days, but that was incredibly nice of you.”
I squeeze his arm with mine. “A parting gift, you might say.”
He chuckles. “An awful nice one.”
“Well, the good news is that it didn’t cost me anything more than a dance.
And if it means his future is a little brighter because of it, so much the better.
” And I hope it works out for him. I have to believe that Edward really is a good person who just spent too long in a toxic environment.
Maybe if his course changes, he won’t bring as much of that toxicity to his own kitchen when the time comes. But that’s on him now.
We reach the car, and I rest my head against Jean-Rémy’s shoulder for a long moment, breathing in the whiskey and cigar smoke–laced New Orleans air. “I’ll be fine. It was inevitable, really.”
He squeezes me a bit tighter. “Of course you will be. I’m gonna teach you how to carve a Christmas goose for the dinner service tomorrow. You’ll be too busy to be sad.”
I smile. A new station is Jean-Rémy’s love language. But it won’t be me who’s there tomorrow. Not this version of me. I’ve done what I came to do, and I’m ready to go back.
I let him drive me back to my place. He puts the car in Park but leaves it idling. “You gonna be okay?”
I clutch my evening bag to my chest. “Yeah. Maybe not tonight, but very soon.”
“That’s all I can ask for.” He presses his lips to my forehead.
He had been like a surrogate dad to me so soon after losing mine.
That Jean-Rémy would be gone in such a short time seemed brutally unfair.
And I want to do something about it. There is probably something in the rules about this, but if there is, Rosaline hasn’t said anything about it.
The old saying about it being easier to ask forgiveness than permission creeps into my brain.
I swallow hard, finding a lump in my throat heavy with tears. Not for Edward, but for Jean-Rémy. “Listen, can you do me another favor?”
He looks at me, his face etched in concern. “Anything, Princess. What’s wrong?”
I take his hand. “This is going to sound crazy, but when was the last time you saw a doctor?”
His eyes roll up, as if calculating a complicated sum. “Lordy, I can’t say for sure. Maybe eight years back when I had a flu I couldn’t shake? I was missing too many shifts and couldn’t let it slide anymore.”
It was basically what I expected. Jean-Rémy considered himself like an old car that you don’t take to a mechanic if it’s still running. “Will you please see a doctor? Just an annual physical.”
He bumps my shoulder. “Aww, old JR is just fine.”
I press where past me wouldn’t have. “Please do it. You work long hours and eat rich food for the job. Melisse depends on you.”
Pulling the Melisse card is a dirty trick, but this is worth it.
I have no idea what happened to her, but I certainly haven’t seen her name in any programs for the New York City Ballet since he passed.
And I’ve made a point to look when the notion strikes, though I’ve only met her a few times in person.
He exhales slowly. “All right then, if it means that much to you. I can’t see it would do any harm. There isn’t much sense in pretending I’m twenty years old anymore.”
I plant a last kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
Color rises in his cheeks. “Well now, if a visit to the doctor gets me a kiss from a pretty lady like you, I’ll make a regular habit of it.”
I smile, this time deep from my soul. “See that you do. And thank you, Jean-Rémy. For everything.”
He waits until I’m safely in my building before he drives away.
I watch him from the entryway window until his car is gone from view.
It’s the last time I’ll see him—again. There is something awful in knowing someone’s fate, and I’m glad I hadn’t known the first time.
But I’m grateful in no small measure that our goodbye was what it should have been all those years ago.