Authors: Laydin Michaels
“Really? So did you use your teaching degree?”
“I sure did. I taught fifth grade for seventeen years. I was good
too. Only reason I stopped teaching was because I came back to New Iberia to
care for my mamma before she passed. Mr. Claude then hired me to teach that
rascal, T’Claude. Lord, he was a handful that one. Couldn’t get that boy to sit
still to save my life. But he learned. He truly did. Mr. Big Claude was afraid
he’d never get into LSU, but he did just fine.”
Griffith could see how proud Bertie was of Michaud. Clearly, the
working relationship in this place was more like a family than a business. That
would make a great addition to her story. The way the team connected was
unique.
“So why a restaurant? What motivated the decision to open the
Boiling Pot?”
“It was like this, T’Claude wanted my cooking. Sometimes when I
was teaching him, we’d stop for lunch and I’d make him something special. When
he was grown, he wanted me to work for him as his own cook, but I found the
idea of that demeaning. I mean, I’m college educated, and I like making my way
on my own terms. So I had to tell him no. But he wouldn’t have it. He said then
we would just have to open a restaurant, him and me, so he could have my food
and I could have my self-respect.”
“So you opened the Pot together?”
“Absolutely. I’m the silent partner. We let folks believe it’s
all T’Claude’s place, but I own fifty percent. And when my time comes, that
will pass to Adi. She’s like my own daughter, so she’ll inherit my share.”
Griffith was impressed. Leaving your legacy to someone outside
your immediate family meant a lot.
I
wonder if Bertie has any children of her own?
“That’s a big gift. Will your family support your idea? I mean,
when the time comes? Why is it that you’ve chosen her? How did Adi come to mean
so much to you?”
“That girl nearly scared the life out of me. One morning I parked
my car and headed inside when I heard a rustling by the Dumpster. I was sure it
was some ornery raccoon or something. I walked over there, big as life, to
chase it away when up pops this skinny stick of a girl. Lord, I thought I was
going to have a heart attack. Only thing that saved me screaming was the
complete look of terror in her eyes. She looked like a colt about to jump out
of her skin. And dirty, mmm, mmm. Couldn’t tell what color she was from all the
road dust. I didn’t say much more than ‘Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and
fed.’ And she followed me right into the Pot.”
“Did she say anything about where she had been? What had happened
to her?”
“Look here, in this place we know better than to ask questions we
aren’t going to like the answers to. I knew she had come from trouble. I knew
we could help her find her way. That was what mattered.”
“But weren’t you curious? Didn’t you ever wonder what had become
of her family? Worry that they’d be missing her?”
“Well, sure, I worried. I can’t imagine someone having a child
and not worrying for them every day that they breathe on this earth. Oh, I did
my civic duty. I looked in all the papers and called around to the sheriff
asking about missing kids, but got nothing. It was like she grew up out of the
dirt under that Dumpster. Nobody looked for her. Never.”
“The sheriff didn’t take her to social services? Foster care or
something?”
“He would’ve if I told him she was with me. No, I just said I’d
seen a strange child out on the highway near Carencro. He never came to check
my story. Couldn’t be bothered, I guess.”
“So you just sort of adopted her?”
“That’s right. We adopted each other.”
“What did you do about school?”
“Well, I taught her. Just as I had taught T’Claude. Some kids are
meant for proper school, and some need something different. I tried talking her
into going to the local high school, just so she could have friends and such,
but she wouldn’t have it. Instead she made friends through church. Not too
many, but good ones.”
“Does she keep in touch with them?”
“Oh, some I guess. They all went off to college after graduation,
but Adi didn’t want to try for it. I know she could’ve gotten a scholarship,
smart as a whip, that one. But the idea of leaving here scared her. It still
scares her. She’s carrying something heavy in her soul. Something that makes
her feel she doesn’t deserve what other folks take for granted.”
“That’s a shame. That kind of fear can be so debilitating.”
“Lord, yes. I was hoping that being recognized as the fine chef
she is would bring out the brash in her, make her want to step out into life,
you know? But no, if I didn’t practically force her, she wouldn’t have talked
with you.”
“I’m easy to talk to, or so I’ve been told. I’m not giving up,
either. I wish I knew what it is that she’s afraid of.”
Bertie just smiled and shook her head. “You got your work cut out
for you, then. She ain’t likely to tell that story. The hurt it caused runs
deep. ” Bertie tilted her head and gave her a serious look. “But listen here.
If you hurt my girl digging around in her past just because you’re curious, you
going to answer to me. Some people don’t need their past brought up just to
satisfy other folk’s gossip needs. You be careful what you do, now. I want Adi
to get free, but only if it ain’t going to hurt her. You might be just the
ticket. I get a sense that she’s about done out on hiding and almost ready to
swing it loose. Make sure it’s her wanting to tell you, not you worrying at
something that can bust open and drown her. You hear me?”
“I do. I’ll be careful. Thanks. And thanks for letting me talk
with you, Bertie. You have a pretty amazing story yourself.”
“Nah, just a bunch of nothing.”
Griffith laughed. Being around people so self-effacing, so humble
and kind, was a far cry from her life in LA.
I’d
forgotten what the rest of the world can be like.
*
“Not that. That’s cumin. We want the coriander. It’s in the
aluminum can to your right.”
“This can?” Griffith asked.
“Yes, that’s it,” Adi said.
“How much do you want?”
“We need half a teaspoon. That will do these two fillets.”
“You mix the spices for one order at a time? Isn’t that hard to
stay on top of? Why not make a batch of the seasonings?”
“You would think that would make it easier, right? But no, what
that does is make for mistakes, under seasoned or over seasoned red fish isn’t
what we’re serving. I do individual orders, because the individuals who ordered
them want the best I can give them. It’s how I work.”
“Hmm, there might be something to that.”
“You think?”
Griffith’s breath caught at Adi’s rakish grin. She was
unbelievably sexy when she teased.
I’d
like to get her teasing me in a completely different way. Does she know what
she’s doing to me?
Griffith moved her hand closer to the cutting board where the red
fish was being dressed. As she hoped, Adi’s quick movements caused an
accidental brushing of their hands. Her body reacted to the touch with a
tensing of her nipples.
I
can imagine those strong hands playing across my abdomen
. She
pictured the dark bronze skin on her white belly, working magic. Griffith
moaned low in her throat at the image.
“I like watching you cook. It’s really magical. You’re like a
painter or something. And so serious! This is the first smile I’ve seen on your
face tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I get kind of lost when I cook, disconnected. I hope
I didn’t offend you.”
“Oh, no. It’s fascinating. Go on, keep doing your thing.”
Adi smiled again before turning back to her work. Griffith
enjoyed watching her in her element. She was completely absorbed in her work.
She would ask for certain ingredients to keep Griffith involved, but truly, she
was somewhere else entirely, and that was okay with Griffith. It gave her the
freedom to imagine all sorts of scenarios with spices and skin and heat.
So far they had prepared meals for over sixty diners. Each meal
was a work of art and created individually. Watching Adi move efficiently and
gracefully around the nicely equipped kitchen was a real turn-on.
I’ve never imagined wanting to be
a piece of meat, but to have those hands on me…
A sharp noise behind
her brought her back to where she was, a busy, working kitchen. Bertie was
plating sides on dishes Adi had handed her way. She was the bass to Adi’s
treble, weaving her own style of magic at the neighboring stove. Watching them
in tandem was amazing. Griffith leaned back and enjoyed the show.
Watching Adi, you would never guess what a skittish person she
was in reality. She was confident and secure in her knowledge of cooking, and
she made a point of going out to the tables to deliver about half of the meals
in person.
Jovial and
friendly. Really well suited to her craft.
Griffith felt especially
lucky that she had dined late on Sunday, allowing Adi time to spend with her at
her first meal. It colored the whole experience. She knew the diners who
received that special level of attention would find their food even more
delicious. Her article was practically writing itself. On the surface, anyway.
She watched a while longer before heading out into the dining
room. The noise level was higher than it had been earlier. Many of the diners
were finishing their entrees and getting comfortable in preparation for
dessert. She pushed through the entry door and turned, heading to the porch she
had discovered on the north side of the building. It was a charming space,
wooden clapboards painted dove gray, a full railing, and the ceiling painted
baby blue to ward off wasps.
She slipped into the wicker rocking chair and watched the night
drift by. This was such a peaceful place. No wonder a scared runaway girl would
choose this as the place to land. She imagined what that must have felt like to
a young, frightened Adi. To come across an unlikely sanctuary that gave her all
she needed to grow into such a fine person.
If
I can get her to talk about her fear, what she’s hiding from, I’ll feel better
about this article. But is that true? Do I want to know out of professional
integrity or is it something else?
Griffith wasn’t sure if her
motivation to find Adi’s past had to do with her need to be accurate or her
curiosity about Adi. Did she really need that background to stand by the story?
Probably not.
Her determination not to be tricked into writing Adi into a
person she wasn’t came from her experience with Tabitha. But Tabitha had been a
criminal and had deliberately subverted the truth. The article she’d written had
cost innocent people their life savings and her, her reputation. The stakes
were different here. No one would be bankrupted by her not revealing Adi’s
history. The one at risk was Adi.
So
why am I so hungry to know? Is it just instinct, the journalist in me wanting
more? Is that a valid reason to dig into her past?
When she had written the in-depth article about Tabitha Moore for
the
Wall Street Journal
,
she had failed. She had allowed her personal feelings to cloud her professional
judgment. Her backside was still bruised from the beating she had taken from
her profession. She had completely bought Tabitha’s line that she had been a
pawn in the Ponzi scheme at Trenton, Bigelow, and Culp. Griff had derided the
CFO of that corporation, slandering his name in Tabitha’s defense, writing
things Tabitha had told her as information from a “source.” Lies, most of them,
and when the crap storm hit, Tabitha was nowhere to be found. She’d gone
missing with over thirty million dollars that belonged to the workers’ 401k
plan.
Not only did her peers vilify Tabitha, but Griffith along with
her. If she had been more impartial, she wouldn’t have created the doubt that
gave Tabitha her chance to run. She couldn’t be any more penitent for her part
in the escape and misinformation, but she had been duped as well. Tabitha
wasn’t paying for her crime; Griffith was. She was persona non grata in the
world of serious print journalism. Complicit through stupidity.
Fact checking wasn’t optional and half-truths weren’t going to cut
it. She would be subtle, but she would get to the truth, no matter how painful.
It might be just an article on a chef for a magazine about food, but if she
wanted her career back, she had to build it carefully and as strongly as she
could at every step. And if her instincts were right, there was more to the
story that might mean a step back toward the kind of writing she’d built her
life around.
She pushed herself up from the deep-seated rocker and headed back
inside.
No time like the
present
. She was fairly certain Bertie would back her up if needed.
She walked into the kitchen just in time to see the quick caramelization of
sugar on a crème brûlée. It looked yummy, making her wish she had one of her
own.
“You’re back. Perfect timing. I have two more crèmes to do, then
Bertie and I were going to have a little bread pudding. You want?”
“Um, yes!”
That smile again, it just changed Adi’s whole demeanor. “Good.
I’ll be done in a sec. Bertie’s making the Jack Daniels sauce now. Go watch.”
Griffith walked up behind Bertie and watched as she deftly
whipped in the whiskey. The sauce was a beautiful golden brown and smelled
divine. “Hey there, get those mitts on and pull three ramekins out of the lower
oven.”
Griffith did as she was told, her stomach growling in anticipation.
The puddings had a fine golden crust, and brown hints of raisin poked through.
She knew the ultimate touch would be the addition of the sauce, but she
could’ve eaten the pudding as is. Bertie slid the tray onto the counter. She
pulled out three saucers and upended the puddings as quick as you please.
“The trick is the turning. If you turn them when they’re nice and
fresh from the oven, they want to let go of the bowl a lot easier. Let ’em cool
and forget about it.”