Out to Lunch (28 page)

“Well, then it was worth it.”

We dig into our desserts, finishing the plates with delight and abandon, and then settling back into the couch with our wine. I look at Elliot and I’m shocked by how much I want him to kiss me. The circa 1978 haircut suddenly doesn’t seem that odd. The slight underbite strikes me as charming in the way that it would on a bulldog puppy. And I’m the last person to be able to criticize someone for a small poochy belly, since I’m certainly sporting one of my own. His eyes are warm and twinkly, his smile genuine. And he has forgone the usual old T-shirt with tweedy sportcoat look for a pair of dark-washed jeans, a black mock turtleneck, and a gray unstructured sportcoat. He looks somewhat dapper. There is a pocket square involved. And I have to say, I’m seeing him in a whole new light. How comfortable he makes me, how much I feel I can be myself with him.

We talk about everything and nothing. My family, and his. Wayne and Noah. Aimee. Wayne’s business idea. We talk and talk, and all I can do is look at him and think no, it isn’t the wine or the hour, which is getting later and later; or the loneliness, which I have to admit I suffer from. It’s just Elliot and his quick wit and good cooking and sweet smile, and I can feel myself reverting back to all those days when I was younger. Sitting in college dorm rooms, or in my little flat in Paris, or in cars after long events, with boys; waiting to see if all the fun conversation and banter were going to take that turn. Waiting for the kiss that might or might not come, with all its frustrating, exhilarant anticipation.

Suddenly, I yawn. And Elliot laughs. “Poor girl, I’ve kept you up gabbing way past your bedtime. Why don’t we get you home?” I look at my watch, and can’t believe it is already nearly one in the morning. He stands and offers me his hand to help me out of the deep, cushy couch. His grasp is strong and warm. I stand and he keeps my hand, leading me out of the library and toward the front door. He helps me on with my coat, and then walks me outside. Teddy is there in the town car, and Elliot opens the door for me, and then walks around and gets in on the other side.

Teddy drives to my house in a mere five minutes, and Elliot and I don’t speak. When we arrive, Elliot jumps out and comes around to let me out of the car, and opens my door. He offers me his arm, and I take it, a little shocked that there is actually a strong little muscle in there.

“Do you need to take the dogs for a walk?” he asks.

“No. Chewie is at the kennel tonight because they are coming to install the taller dog gates tomorrow, and I’m running out of furniture. And Volnay never likes a real walk at night, she’ll just pop into the backyard for a few minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks for coming to dinner, Jenna. We’ll do it again?”

“I’d love that.” I smile winningly. At least I hope it’s winningly and not creepy.

“I have to say, it is so nice to finally have someone to cook for; most of my circle, they just don’t really appreciate the foodie thing. And it gets really boring just cooking for me.”

“I know what you mean.” Um? Is there going to be kissing? Or am I just your foodie buddy?

“Maybe next time we can cook together.”

“I would really love that.” My heart is fluttering, and I’m a little tingly.

“Well, good night, Jenna. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Wonderful.”

And then, he leans in.

And kisses my forehead.

And turns and heads back down the stairs and off to the car.

* * *

H
e’s just being a gentleman,” Andrea says as we sit with our coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls at my house the next morning. Law lives a couple of blocks from Ann Sather’s, and while I’m not usually much of a cinnamon roll girl, these are still warm and ultragooey and impossible to resist.

“No, I think it wasn’t a date date. I think it was a friend date, a foodie date. I think he truly just loves to cook and doesn’t have enough people in his life to cook for and with, and he isn’t interested in me romantically.”

“Jenna, be serious. Can you be serious? ’Cause I’m being serious. Of course he is interested in you romantically. You? Are his dream girl. He’s a nice guy, he knows what you’ve been through, he knows you just ended a relationship; you guys have the whole Wayne factor. He isn’t going to make a move until he is sure that either it will be welcomed and reciprocated, or at least that it won’t make things awkward and horrible. And I mean SURE sure, positive, beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt sure.”

“Good lord, this is ridiculous. I’m forty-two years old for the love of Pete.”

“You’re never too old to have boy troubles.” She laughs at me and takes a deep drink of her latte.

“Oy. So what do I do?”

“Why don’t you just let it develop? Hang out. Spend time with him. Get to know him and let him know you. Give it space and time to become whatever it is going to become. And try to just relax and enjoy the journey.”

“So you don’t know me at ALL.”

She laughs. “Okay, well forget the last part.”

* * *

I
drop the dishes in the sink and pack up the rest of the rolls to bring with me when I head over this afternoon, since I can’t be trusted with them alone.

The dog gate guy arrives right on time, bringing with him two new gates. The one for the kitchen is much taller, and I’ve been assured that even at full size, Chewie will not be able to get over it. It is also made of iron scrollwork; it looks sort of like a reclaimed bit of old fencing, so it isn’t an eyesore. He is also installing a wooden gate at the bottom of the stairs so that when I’m home and the dog isn’t relegated to the kitchen, he still can’t get upstairs. After the lamb shank debacle, I found three other hidden caches of food debris upstairs, so clearly he can be very sneaky when he wants to be. The stair gate doesn’t need to be as tall since dogs won’t generally jump over something unless there is flat ground on the other side, and is a wooden craftsman-style half door that the gate guy has stained to match the rest of the woodwork in the house.

By the time he finishes, I’ve polished off two more of the cinnamon rolls. So much for willpower. I’m about to head out with Volnay to go pick up Chewie and take them for a Library visit, when my phone rings. It’s Wayne.

“Just left a message for that idiot Brian to move my account to whoever takes you on,” he tells me. “It felt awesome.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“So have you had a chance to look over the proposal?”

“I have. It’s a lot to think about, Wayne, for both of us. I was talking to Elliot last night, and he offered again for us to do an event for him. I think maybe we should give that a try and see what happens.” I try not to think about the fact that planning this event will give me an excuse to hang out more with Elliot.

“I think that is awesome, great idea. But we only have a month, is that enough time?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Cool, Jenny. And look, I know that while this is a surefire winner of an idea, if we do this and you realize that going into business together will damage our friendship, then I want you to turn me down. That’s the truth, Ruth.”

This makes my heart smile. “You betcha,” I say.

24

I
think we are ready, team,” I say, feeling the butterflies I always used to feel in the moments before the doors open. We are in an industrial loft space, which has been kitted out to resemble the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters from the movie. A local company called Chicago Router Works has custom designed and built everything from the bar to the serving trays to the gobo that is flashing the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the outside of the building, the only external clue that a party is happening here.

All of the waitstaff and bartenders have been costumed to look like the generic security forces from the movie, black cargo pants and shirts, fake weapons galore. The room is filled with black velvet couches and white leather and chrome chairs to create loungey seating areas, as well as tall café tables with stools. We have covered the entire floor with the embossed metal sheets you normally associate with garages, and the large center bar looks like your typical superhero mission control, with built-in iPads looking like computer consoles, each listing the menu.

I hired an amazing band called Hananiah and the Boys, a four-piece ensemble that sounds like a huge band, and bless their hearts, they were game for my dressing them up. So Hananiah is dolled up as Black Widow, and on the piano, bass, and drum are Thor, Captain America, and the Hulk, respectively.

There are food stations around the room, each representing one of the main characters. The Black Widow station is all Russian themed, with a carved ice sculpture that delivers vodka into molded ice shot glasses, buckwheat blini with smoked salmon and caviar, borsht bite skewers, minipita sandwiches filled with grilled Russian sausages, onion salad, and a sour cream sauce.

The Captain America station is, naturally, all-American, with cheeseburger sliders, miniwaffles topped with a fried chicken tender and drizzled with Tabasco honey butter, paper cones of French fries, mini–Chicago hot dogs, a mac ’n’ cheese bar, and pickled watermelon skewers. The Hulk station is all about duality and green. Green and white tortellini, one filled with cheese, the other with spicy sausage, skewered with artichoke hearts with a brilliant green pesto for dipping. Flatbreads cooked with olive oil and herbs and Parmesan, topped with an arugula salad in a lemon vinaigrette. Mini–espresso cups filled with hot sweet pea soup topped with cold sour cream and chervil.

And the dessert buffet is inspired by Loki, the villain of the piece, and Norse god of mischief. There are plenty of dessert options, many of the usual suspects, mini–crème brûlée, eight different cookies, small tarts. But here and there are mischievous and whimsical touches. Rice Krispies treats sprinkled with Pop Rocks for a shocking dining experience. One-bite brownies that have a molten chocolate center that explodes in the mouth. Rice pudding “sushi” topped with Swedish Fish.

At the bar, in addition to the usual fare, you can get custom Iron Man, Thor’s Hammer, and Hawkeye cocktails, handcrafted by a team I hired from The Violet Hour. And against the back wall behind the band, the movie is running at a scale that makes it just fuzzy enough to look almost abstract.

I have to admit, the place looks fantastic. Chic, sophisticated, urbane. Theme, yes, but not theme park. We have set up a store at the back for Elliot to sell all of his Avengers-related comics and collectibles, and the movie folks sent loads of T-shirts, mugs, mouse pads, and other gear for us to make fun swag bags for when the guests leave, including each person getting a small loaf of zucchini bread with a coupon for 10 percent off their first purchase at The Larder Library.

Wayne comes up next to me and puts his arm around me. “I think we did it.”

“I think we did.”

“And we didn’t kill each other.”

“No we did not.”

“And now I have to go over to that couch in the middle of the room and not move for the rest of the night.” It was our one agreement. I promised he would never be without food or drink or company if he promised that he would limit his movements within the room. I purposely placed a seating area in a location with a direct shot at the bathroom that does not come within eight feet of any of the stations. Wayne laughed when I suggested he be on lockdown, but on consideration, he agreed that perhaps it would be best for him to not move too freely around the space.

“Looks amazing, guys, you really did it,” Elliot says, sipping a Thor’s Hammer, a combination of mead and whisky with bitters. “Everything is just perfect.”

“Proof that if you throw a hundred grand at something, you can make it fabulous.”

“Hey, I have six clients coming tonight that are likely to spend at least half that tonight, and all I need is one of them to cough up the 300K for the one copy I have of Avengers number one, and we are golden.”

“Well, here’s to that!” Wayne raises his beer, and I toast with my hand. I never drink till an event is over.

Andrea is heading up the team in the kitchen, claiming that it is fun to be back on the circuit for a guest performance, and Benji is like a pig in shit playing sous-chef. Eloise and Lois did all the desserts. And I have to admit, while it has been stressful, and between you and me, the movie was dreadful, it was really a fun exercise figuring out how to make it happen.

Elliot leans over and kisses my cheek. “We’ll make a geek of you yet.” This makes my knees go all wobbly. I’m still getting mixed signals from him. On the one hand, we’ve been in almost constant contact, between planning the event, watching the movie, hanging out with Wayne, and two more dinners with just the two of us. On the other, while he is warm, affectionate, and darling, he has not made a move to take us to the next level. Sometimes I wonder if he might be gay.

“He’s not gay.”

Well then he should kiss me.

“Maybe you should kiss him.”

I can’t.

“Are your lips broken?”

If he rejects me, I’ll die.

“I believe you shouldn’t be so flippant about such things with me.”

Oh, yeah, sorry.

“Kiss him.”

He should kiss me.

“Oy. I’m out. You’re on your own.”

Yeah.

I am.

* * *

T
he night could not be a bigger success. Running the event is a muscle I may not have used in a few years, but it really is like riding a bike. We’ve hired excellent staff and trained them properly, the décor gets loads of compliments, the band is insanely great, doing everything from Motown to Lady Gaga to music from the movie. Hananiah can sing anything and I wonder how long it will be before they are snapped up by some label and made famous.

And the food goes over like gangbusters. Andrea and I slaved over the recipes, hunkering down in my kitchen for the better part of a week, making sure everything was delicious and replicable at scale. And I have to admit, it feels good. Really good to have obligations and purpose and activity again. Not that I will give my mother the satisfaction of knowing she might be right. I know tomorrow I’ll feel like I was hit by a truck, but for tonight, I’m happy. Actually happy. For the first time in months.

* * *

F
our people asked for our business card,” Wayne says, as he is driving me home.

“Yeah, I got about six requests on my end as well.”

“So what do you think?”

“I think I need to think, and in the heat of the moment of a job well done isn’t the time. But I promise, soon.”

“Okay. That’s fair. But even if you say no, which I will totally understand, I’m glad we did this one.”

“Me too.”

“I think sometimes I get so excited about my ideas, and well, I talk myself into thinking I can do them. But let’s be honest, I’m kind of a nightmare. It’s good to feel like I actually can do something.”

“Of course you can do things. Aimee always thought so.”

“She would have hated tonight.”

I laugh. “Her worst nightmare. SO . . .”

“NOT ELEGANT,” we say in unison.

“The dinner at EL on Saturday is at seven, right?”

“Technically seven thirty, but I called it for seven so we don’t throw off the kitchen if someone is late. Cars are coming to fetch everyone else around six thirty.” I arranged with a car service to pick up Andrea and Law; Jasmin and Gene; Benji and his plus-one, a mystery boy we are all eager to meet; Eloise, Lois, Alana, and RJ; my friend Naomi from Tipsycake and her hubby John. Elliot said Teddy would bring him, Wayne, and Noah. It should be a great party.

“Noah is VERY excited,” Wayne says.

“I’m glad he can come. And I found some fun nonalcoholic beverages for him so that he can get something specific with the different courses like the grown-ups.” Whole Foods has some varietal grape juices, as well as some unique soda flavors, so Noah should be able to swirl and swish with the rest of us.

We pull up in front of my house. My back has already started to cramp.

“Thanks, Wayne, and congrats. Great party.”

“Great party. See you Saturday.”

I get out of the car, wincing as my feet hit the ground. There is a hot bath in my future for sure.