19. Cat’s Out of the Bag
This morning, I struggle to even stand on my feet. Throughout the final hours of filming, the thought of going home, seeing Gina, and finally getting some rest propelled me forward. But now, the reality is far from what I imagined. Yesterday, Jeremy and I checked Steve into the same rehab center that helped me recover. The future is uncertain—whether the treatment will work for him this time is unclear. It’s all up to Steve now; his journey is his own.
Steve’s recent decision brings a glimmer of hope. Thank goodness for Jeremy and his lawyer. Because of their thorough examination of the loan agreement, we discovered that Steve could transfer his loan to another individual if the overdue balance was settled within forty-five days of default. When Jeremy paid off Steve’s debt, he inadvertently met the deadline. Long story short, yesterday, Steve agreed to transfer the mortgage to me, and I’ve deposited the balance of the loan into an escrow account. Soon, ownership of Calypso will be mine.
It’s odd standing outside Calypso, seeing chains and a hefty black padlock securing the doors. Even though it’s a disheartening moment, I’m eager to step inside and breathe in the familiar scent of the place once again. The anticipation of wandering through the kitchen, knowing it belongs to me, is exciting.
I have ideas to turn our town into a culinary hotspot, beginning with my own restaurant. My ambitions go beyond just my own establishment. I want to work with other restaurants who are interested in transforming their menus and services. By improving the dining experience throughout our town, visitors drawn by my restaurant will also discover the variety of delicious foods our community has to offer. My hope is that our collective effort will make our town a prime destination for food lovers.
My ambitious goals prompted me to reach out to Deanna to ask if she’s willing to support me in taking on this monumental task. We talked about my next steps after the show ended. She suggested I go back to New York and start my own restaurant. I assured her that this place, this town, is where I belong.
“All right, Randy,” she said, pacifying me. “You’re tired. Go home, rest, and we’ll revisit this conversation in a month or two.”
Neither of us could’ve guessed that I would’ve bought the Calypso. When I pitched to her my plan to make this town a culinary pit stop, she didn’t shut me down.
“Will Jeremy be involved?” she quipped.
I couldn’t help but smirk at the mental image of her playfully batting her eyelashes at Jeremy.
Keeping the conversation honest, I responded, “Only if we need his business acumen.”
“But I need him.” She snorted with laughter. “Well, not really need, but I definitely want him. So what’s the deal with him these days? Has he found a girlfriend yet?”
“Not yet,” I replied. Our longstanding friendship and her role as my formidable manager have always been built on honesty, which is why I have to tell her the whole truth. “You know, I told him you’re interested, but he’s just not looking for a relationship at the moment, although he is flattered.”
Deanna let out a cynical laugh. “Ah, ‘flattered.’ That’s the polite way of saying ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ But yeah, count me in.”
Her response was a huge weight off my shoulders. Deanna is a seasoned expert in launching, sustaining, and popularizing restaurants and chefs. If she ever claimed credit for making Chef Randy Thorn, it wouldn’t be a fib. She’d be stating the unvarnished truth. As my manager, she took a leap of faith when nobody else would. Even during my lowest moments, she stood by me unwaveringly. I owe much of my success in the competition to her. Without her guidance, I doubt I would have made it as far as I did.
Discovering she was a fellow contestant on the show came as a shock. When another chef dropped out, production asked her to step in. While a heads-up would have been nice, having her there was an advantage. She coached me through the challenges, kept my spirits high, and reminded me of what was at stake, just as any effective manager would. Her presence was a reassuring force throughout the competition.
A blue sedan, followed closely by a white pickup truck, glides into the parking lot. I wave at Deanna, who is behind the wheel of the sedan. Despite the early hour, she made the journey from Boston and spent the morning at the local bank, working tirelessly to ensure the doors would be unchained today. While part of me longed to remain snug in bed for the next twenty-four hours, I knew that if anyone could accomplish getting us the keys and inside before the bureaucracy was finalized, it was Deanna. Sure enough, she managed to get it done.
“Randy, Dandy,” she calls out as she emerges from the driver’s seat, exuding brightness and cheerfulness. Deanna seems well-rested, having had a full night’s sleep ahead of me.
“Grr,” I playfully groan, earning a laugh from her.
However, the closer she gets, the more concerned she looks. “You look terrible,” she says.
“Physically, I feel terrible,” I admit. “But inside, I’m throwing a party, overjoyed that he’s here with those.” I gesture toward the keys in the hand of the individual who will soon unlock the door to my new restaurant and allow us to step inside.
* * *
With a newfound springin my step, I lead Deanna through our walk-through of the establishment. The place needs a thorough cleaning—that’s for sure. I catch sight of a bunch of soiled aprons, towels, and tablecloths hanging on hooks, awaiting the night cleaning service that never came.
Yet the spirit of this place still lives on. I can almost feel the presence of the former employees, who are now my friends, when we reach the locker room. The locker Gina often uses catches my eye, serving as a reminder that we need to talk soon. I simply want to know why she’s dodging my calls.
Deanna estimates the square footage of the space we’re standing in and suggests that we eliminate the locker room to expand the dining area, which often becomes overcrowded. Despite the many cherished memories I’ve made in this room, including those nights when Gina and I made love on the bench or against the wall, I find myself agreeing with her suggestion.
“Hello?” a curious voice calls out from the front, interrupting our conversation.
Deanna and I exchange raised eyebrows, both wondering who could be visiting at this hour. It certainly isn’t Gina or any of the former staff.
“Maybe it’s a customer mistaking us for being open since the doors are unlocked,” Deanna says. “I’ll go check it out.”
“No, I’ll handle it,” I insist, quickly moving to address our unexpected visitor.
As I approach, I come to an abrupt halt upon recognizing the person standing before me. “Naomi?” I ask, surprised to see Gina’s best friend here.
Initially, I entertain the thought that Naomi might have mistaken the restaurant for being open. But then, a chilling realization sets in. Maybe it’s something else. Could something be seriously wrong with Gina, and that’s why she hadn’t answered my calls? Has Naomi spotted my car in the parking lot and come inside to deliver the bad news that Gina’s in the hospital, or worse? The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my tone laced with caution and worry.
To my relief, Naomi responds with a bright smile that perfectly matches her usually sunny disposition. “I was just in the neighborhood and noticed the doors were open, so I decided to see what’s going on,” she explains. “I’m actually moving to Boston.” Her gaze drifts nostalgically around the familiar surroundings. “I’ve spent so much time in here over the years.”
I’m taken aback by the nostalgia in her voice as she reminisces about the past. She recounts the countless times she visited Gina while she was on a break and how I seemingly kept track of every second of Gina’s downtime. She chuckles as she mentions it, but I find myself questioning—did I really monitor her every moment?
“But you’re back!” she exclaims as if just realizing the surprise of encountering me here.
“I am,” I manage to reply softly. While I could engage in small talk about my plans to reopen the restaurant after renovations, I can’t shake the feeling that Naomi walking in here is akin to Gina herself walking in, given their inseparable bond. If anyone truly knows why Gina has been avoiding my calls or if she’s involved with someone else, it’s the woman standing before me.
Part of me desperately wants to ask about Gina, but at the same time, I’m terrified of what the answer might be. Will it destroy me from the inside out?
“Hello?” Deanna’s voice chimes in as she enters the front of the restaurant.
Naomi’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh,” she says, looking at Deanna as if she’s just seen a ghost. “So it is true.”
“What’s true?” Deanna and I ask at the same time.
“You two are… You know?” Naomi stammers, her finger wagging between us.
“You know what?” Deanna asks as she walks over to stand beside me. Then she turns to face me. “Randy, the strangest thing happened on my flight home. A few people asked if you and I were together. I didn’t think anything of it at first; I just assumed they were fans drawing their own conclusions. But…”
“Me too,” I interject, recollecting my own encounter with the ticket agent.
“What the hell is going on?” Deanna exclaims, folding her arms and focusing her attention on Naomi as if she’s the only one capable of answering her question.
“Yeah, why would you think I’m hooking up with Deanna?” I ask, puzzled by the implication.
“Okay, I’m not that horrible,” Deanna retorts, picking up on my tone.
“Sorry, D. You’re a beautiful lady, but us being together is pretty unlikely. We’re like family.”
She nods in agreement. “Extremely unlikely.”
Now both of us fix our curious gazes on Naomi, awaiting an explanation.
“Well,” she begins, then proceeds to tell us about the show and how, during our interviews, we mentioned our past relationship. She says that although we never explicitly stated that we were romantically involved, it seemed clear that we were playing coy about it.
“We never said that or played coy,” Deanna snaps, her frustration evident.
“Never,” I confirm, equally irked by the misunderstanding.
“Those assholes must’ve stitched scenes together to create the narrative they wanted people to see,” Deanna hisses.
“But you slapped him on the butt and—” Naomi begins, trying to explain.
“Yes,” Deanna interrupts irritably. “I told him to get his ass in gear because he was lagging behind and needed to win the challenge. I was a contestant, but I’m not the star chef; he is,” she exclaims, clearly upset. “Sorry,” she adds, shaking her head. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at those snakes for creating this narrative without running it by me first for approval. I wouldn’t have given it because he’s my star client. They’re messing with my reputation.” Deanna unleashes a string of expletives before pressing two fingers to her temples and taking deep, calming breaths.
I raise my eyebrows at Naomi, who appears shocked by Deanna’s reaction.
“I didn’t… we didn’t… Oh my God,” Naomi whispers, clearly taken aback by the situation.
“So is that what’s going on? That’s why Gina’s not answering my calls?” I ask her. “She thinks I’m in a relationship with Deanna?”
With a resolved sigh, Naomi nods. “But it’s more than that.”
For a moment, I feel a glimmer of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by worry. If that damn show has cost me the chance with the only woman I’ve ever truly loved, I’ll sue their asses—if I can. “What more? Is she with someone else?” I ask, bracing myself for the worst.
“No,” Naomi replies convincingly. “It’s just that I can’t tell you, although I think you should know.”
“Not with another man…” Deanna murmurs, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Can’t tell him, but thinks he should know…” Her eyes widen in realization, and she clamps a hand over her mouth.
I shake my head, still confused by the cryptic conversation unfolding before me.
And then Deanna blurts it out. “She’s pregnant, Randy!”
I’m stunned into silence. My hand instinctively goes to my chest as I feel a surge of sensations swelling inside—it’s akin to butterflies fluttering wildly within me.
Naomi raises her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I didn’t say it—it was Deanna,” she clarifies, gesturing toward Deanna. “Remember, if Gina asks, it wasn’t me.”
“I’m heading to her place now,” I announce, poised to rush out the door.
“She moved out,” Naomi blurts just as I’m about to exit. “And she’s not home right now.”
“Where is she, then?” I ask, my body tensing, ready to sprint off like the wind as soon as I know where to find the woman I love.