Part 7 (2/2)
”I don't know if I can. What if I break things? I couldn't stand it.”
”Okay, let's try this. Close your eyes and walk to the kitchen door.”
Chloe could think of many reasons why this was one of the more questionable requests anyone had ever made of her. But Lillian seemed completely unconcerned about the hundreds, probably thousands, of dollars that stood between Chloe and the door to the kitchen. So after a minute, with Lillian still patiently waiting, Chloe decided it was Lillian's crystal and china after all, and she closed her eyes and began sliding her feet along the wooden floor, very, very slowly.
”You can go more quickly,” Lillian said, to her right. ”You know where you're going.”
And Chloe realized she did. There was the two-top near Lillian, the one closest to the front door, but next to the window that looked out to the front porch and beyond to the garden that led to the gate. There was the four-top on her left in the middle of the room, that should have felt exposed but didn't because the lighting was softer, and there was, yes she remembered it, a chair that had been pulled out just a bit, so she moved a little closer to the two-top, feeling her fingers run across the top of a chair and out into the s.p.a.ce where the front door would open. From there, it was a matter of going mostly forward, but weaving a bit to the right and left-you could tell, Chloe realized, when you were closer to a table because of the smell of candles and starch, and the little white bowls of spiced salt that released just the lightest touch of fennel into the air. And then, she was at the kitchen door.
”It's not such a big room, after all,” Lillian commented.
”I want to work here,” Chloe said, simply. ”I won't drop a thing.”
IT HAD BEEN a couple of months later that Chloe saw lights on in the restaurant kitchen on a Monday night when she walked past on her way home from the grocery store. The next afternoon when she arrived at work, Chloe asked Lillian about the activity in the kitchen. a couple of months later that Chloe saw lights on in the restaurant kitchen on a Monday night when she walked past on her way home from the grocery store. The next afternoon when she arrived at work, Chloe asked Lillian about the activity in the kitchen.
”That's my cooking cla.s.s,” Lillian replied. ”I teach lessons the first Monday of the month.”
”Could I come?”
”Chloe, if you want to work in the kitchen, I can start you as a prep cook.”
”I don't want it as a job,” Chloe fumbled. ”That's what my boyfriend does. I'd just like to be able to cook sometimes. So when he comes home from work, I could do that.”
Lillian nodded. ”I see. Well, a new cla.s.s is starting in September. You could give it a try.”
”What do the cla.s.ses cost?” Chloe was running numbers in her head. She wanted this to be a surprise, but didn't know if she could afford it, and didn't know how many extra s.h.i.+fts she could add to her schedule without Jake noticing.
”Let's just call it on-the-job training for now, shall we?”
THE FIRST NIGHT of cla.s.ses Chloe had realized quickly that she was at least a decade younger than anyone else in the room, which did nothing to reduce her sense of trepidation. Lillian saw her from across the kitchen and smiled but made no move to introduce her to any of the students. Chloe went over to the sink to wash her hands, and stood next to a fragile-looking woman with silver hair. of cla.s.ses Chloe had realized quickly that she was at least a decade younger than anyone else in the room, which did nothing to reduce her sense of trepidation. Lillian saw her from across the kitchen and smiled but made no move to introduce her to any of the students. Chloe went over to the sink to wash her hands, and stood next to a fragile-looking woman with silver hair.
”Are you here with someone?” the woman asked conversationally. ”Your mother, perhaps?”
”No,” said Chloe, a bit defiantly.
The woman regarded her appraisingly. ”Good for you,” she said. ”My name is Isabelle.”
Chloe hadn't been sure that she could kill a crab that first night, but she took a cue from her experiment walking across the dining room and closed her eyes. In the darkened s.p.a.ce of her mind, she had felt the life in the crab under her fingers, and mourned its end, simply and deeply, before pulling off the sh.e.l.l as quickly as she could. When she ate the crab later she closed her eyes again, and felt the life come into her.
At the end of the cla.s.s, Lillian touched her elbow as she left. ”You're learning, Chloe. You should be proud of yourself.”
While Chloe loved the cla.s.ses and the people in them, she hadn't had the courage to try any of the lessons at home until after Tom's night with the pasta. Chloe had watched him, the gentleness on his face as he worked, the way his hands touched the ingredients like the body of someone he cherished, and she decided this would be the dish she would make for Jake, and he would see her food as love.
It was harder getting along with Jake these days. Even though she was holding on to a regular job, the river of his commentary did not cease; it simply changed its course. Her hair (she was thinking of going natural; he thought brown was boring), her clothes (not seductive enough for him, too risque for the outside world), her ideas (nonexistent). Sometimes Chloe felt as if he was tying her up into a tight little ball, small enough to throw far away from him.
It took Chloe a week to get up the courage, and the money, to make the pasta sauce-she wanted to buy a real red wine, deep and strong but gentle on the heart; Lillian had said that the sauce would follow the lead of the wine. Still, after all her thought, she had to ask Lillian to buy the wine for her, as she was too young to make the purchase herself.
”I have a better idea,” Lillian remarked. ”Come with me.”
The two of them contemplated the restaurant wine rack. ”You know,” Lillian commented with a rueful smile, ”I could get in a lot of trouble doing this. Perhaps if I just give this to you we can deem it culinary encouragement.” She pulled a bottle from the rack, wiped the label, and presented it to Chloe.
”Please put this somewhere in the bottom of that backpack of yours, will you? I'd hate to lose my liquor license.”
AT HER APARTMENT, Chloe unpacked the wine and the canned tomatoes, the meat and the bouillon cubes. The garlic had been dusty black with mold at the supermarket, so she had decided to try the produce stand. It was cold outside, and the produce stand was a half-mile toward the other side of town, but she felt full of energy at the thought of the meal she would prepare. Chloe left the apartment, wrapping a scarf around her neck and pulling it up to her nose, breathing in her own moisture, the cold tickling her eyelashes.
She reached the stand, stamping the blood back into her feet, and entered into the relative warmth of the fabric-sided enclosure. After the winter outside, it was a carnival of life, mounds of green peppers and red apples, neon oranges, spiky-edged artichokes and furry little kiwis. She found the garlic but couldn't resist a round red tomato that looked as if it had just been pulled from the vire.
The shop owner approached her. ”Can I help you?” he asked, a bit warily. There was a high school nearby; the fruit stand was a logical destination for a five-finger lunch.
Chloe, caught up in the red depths of the tomato, missed the admonishment in his voice and turned with a smile. ”Where did you get such a beautiful tomato?”
The shop owner's face relaxed. ”I grew it myself, indoors,” he said. ”I only bring in a few of them.”
”I'm making a special tomato sauce today,” Chloe explained, pride and embarra.s.sment mixed in her voice. Then she saw his face. ”Oh, no, I wouldn't put this in the sauce.” She tried to figure out how to explain. ”It's just to help me remember why.”
The shop owner regarded her appraisingly. ”It's yours,” he said with a nod. ”The garlic, you can pay for.”
WHEN C CHLOE had come back into the apartment, she could smell meat cooking. Jake was standing at the stove, watching the frying pan. had come back into the apartment, she could smell meat cooking. Jake was standing at the stove, watching the frying pan.
”Hey, thanks for picking up groceries,” he exclaimed. ”Burgers will be ready in a couple minutes.”
”I was going to make pasta...” Chloe stopped.
”Oh, that'll take too much time.” He saw her looking at the open bottle in his hand. ”Good wine, babe, thanks,” he commented, taking a drink. ”Are you trying to b.u.t.ter me up for Valentine's Day?”
Chloe shook her head. ”I'll be right back. I have to do something.”
”Well, hurry, the burgers are almost ready.”
Chloe went downstairs and around to the back of the apartment building. She stood with her back against the wall, breathing hard.
”Stupid girl,” she muttered to herself. ”What did you think was going to happen?”
Then she lifted the lid of the huge blue rubbish bin and threw in the small paper bag she had been holding.
THE NEXT NIGHT at work, Chloe had broken two winegla.s.ses and put a cutting knife in the pot sink full of water. When the dishwasher yanked his hand out and let loose a veritable paella of Spanish invective, Lillian pulled Chloe aside. at work, Chloe had broken two winegla.s.ses and put a cutting knife in the pot sink full of water. When the dishwasher yanked his hand out and let loose a veritable paella of Spanish invective, Lillian pulled Chloe aside.
”Now you aren't paying attention.” you aren't paying attention.”
Chloe looked at her, panicked. ”Please don't fire me.”
”I'm not firing you, Chloe. I'm paying attention to you. This is what that looks like. Can you do that for me tonight?”
Chloe nodded.
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