The house was already half-f by the time the first guests arrived; Sabrina and Aimee had come up to stay for the weekend, and Hannah, as usual, helped Gus greet the day with a cup of steaming coffee and a chat. The difference, however, was that for once Hannah had moved beyond her well-worn tracksuitcollection and was dressed, of all things, in an aubergine-colored skirt and a simple white top that Sabrina had helped her to choose. Her feet, out of sneakers for the first time in decades, were very pale inside a pair of metallic sandals, her toes painted a deep coral. And her red hair, free of its ponytail, shone (thanks to a conditioning treatment from Sabrina) in a sleek new cut.
There was something that made the manor house come alive when there were so many voices, Gus thought, and she loved having her rooms full. Porter and his wife, Ellie, rang the bell at 4 PM on the dot, their new grandchild in tow, and Gary Rose—yes, she’d even invited the facilitator from the retreat—followed soon after, then the grip, the gaffer, the sound guy, and the camera operator, all accompanied by spouses and significant others. Alan Holt made an unexpected appearance, too, carrying a bottle of champagne, which he handed to her at the door.
“I just heard from Porter the other day that Sabrina is getting married,” he said, kissing Gus on the check. “Congratulations!”
He handed her the bottle, a vintage Henri Giraud,
Fût de Chêne,
and steered her into the dining room.
“Look, now that we’ve got a moment,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you. ’Cause I’ve just had a stellar idea I’d like to run by you—”
The doorbell rang and more guests arrived, including members of the CookingChannel publicity department assigned to the show and the Web site editor. Then Priya was on the step, wearing a deep pink sari and bindi, introducing her brood with pride to Gus: Bina, Chitt, and Kiran.
“You look stunning, Priya,” Gus said, forgetting her own anger for a moment. “Your clothes, yes, but it’s something else about you that’s quite different. You seem brighter somehow.”
“I must thank Hannah,” Priya replied, pushing Kiran forward to hand Gus a platter of
badam pista
rolls and
jalebi
. “She sent me an email that very much changed my life.”
“And I am very happy about it,” said her husband, Raj, stepping across the threshold to shake Gus’s hand. “If it weren’t for your show, Mrs. Simpson,Priya would never have met this Hannah. She doesn’t even know it but she is quite a friend to the Patel family.”
“I hope you tell her that.” Gus ushered them inside. Later, she planned to surprise Priya by giving her the grand tour, just because she knew it would make her feel special. For now, she directed her to the pond, where Hannah was organizing competitive remote control boat races.
But the get-together had its challenges, as well.
Sabrina had very elaborately tried to keep Billy and Troy from meeting during the festivities. She recognized that Troy deserved to be there, and even wanted him to enjoy himself, but didn’t relish any sort of showdown. What she hadn’t counted on, however, was that Troy was just as desperate to steer clear of her fiancé.
And then it happened, the moment he had strenuously avoided throughout the entire evening. Meeting William Angle. At the door to Gus’s powder room.
“Hi,” said the broad-shouldered man. “I’m Billy.” He looked like a deer caught in headlights, but he didn’t back away.
“Troy.”
There was a drawn-out silence as both men considered their next move. And then Troy did something he never expected or imagined he was capableof. “Congratulations,” he said. And he meant it.
“Thanks,” said Billy, who looked as though a weight had lifted. “Sabrina’s a great girl.”
Troy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said. “She is.”
Then he strolled casually away, his back straight and stiff. That was enough for him; he lacked the ability and the inclination to play buddy-buddywith Sabrina’s fiancé. He had wanted the girl and he’d lost. Though that wasn’t quite the end of the story. He hoped she’d figured it out, finally, had sorted through her options and made a choice she could stick with. He could see Sabrina’s future—her new future—better than he suspected she could. And he very much hoped it would be happy. Troy had realized, when they were at the retreat, that what he once saw as Sabrina’s amazing spontaneitynow struck him as indecision and a lack of impulse control. He loved her. But he didn’t want to be with her.
The timing had been off. That was all. They’d moved in different directions,and by chasing her, he’d gotten himself a little lost in the process.
Out the kitchen window he could see Sabrina on the patio, animatedly acting out some anecdote to a laughing Priya and Ellie. He thought to himselfthat she seemed both lighter, somehow, than the day she walked into his office and swept him off his feet, and more serious. Quite by accident she glanced in his direction and he waved, as if by instinct. She saw him and returned the gesture, and then turned her head to greet Billy as he rejoined the group.
Troy wondered, as he watched his former girlfriend, her glossy black hair pinned loosely atop her head and wearing a cobalt blue sundress, when enough time and distance would have passed between them, in its natural way, that they would no longer be on a first-name-only basis. When he’d have to use his last name if ever he called her mother to discuss FarmFresh and Sabrina answered the line.
“Hello,” he imagined himself saying. “It’s Troy. Troy Park.”
And there would be a pause and then a warmth in her voice as she said hello, hello, Troy, remembering—as he would—the special moments they’d shared.
"Gather round, friends,” Alan was saying, as the sky grew dark and the guests were contentedly tired, full of watermelon and punch and Gus’s fresh strawberry shortcake piled high with vanilla-flavored whipped cream. Amid all the hubbub, the
Eat Drink and Be
team had managed to sneak in a live show of Oliver showing Troy how to grill fruit and make a sweet yogurt and honey dipping sauce, Gus mixing cake in the kitchen, and Carmen explainingthe wonderful spiciness of chorizo, interspersed with real-time action from the party. The crew had been delighted to have their loved ones finally see what it is they actually did on set, and the lightheartedness of the cast had made the episode a joy to film.
Even Alan had had a good time.
“It’s been such a thrill to literally be a part of an episode,” he was saying now. “You have all impressed me this season with how hard you’ve worked, and I know, with two episodes left to go on the schedule, you’ll no doubt race it to the finish line.”
No one picked up on the comment, too eager to hear what the president was about to say. Would the series be renewed?
“We have two episodes of
Eat Drink and Be
left, and Gus has already informed me that your final scheduled show is going to be a wonderful selectionof family favorites,” he said. “And I’ve just learned that Gus’s daughter Sabrina is getting married, to this fine gentleman, Billy. I call him a fine gentleman though in fact I’ve only just met him.”
Everyone laughed along with Alan. He was the boss, of course.
“But what most of the rest of you don’t know is that . . .”
The cast and crew leaned in closer.
“I’ve added an extra episode,” Alan shouted, raising his glass of punch in the air and spilling a few drops on his sleeve. He ignored the group’s collectivemoan of frustration. “This is pure genius, if I do say so myself: our season ender is now going to be a live, on-air wedding. It’ll be a ratings bonanza!”
And he tilted back his cup of punch and drank every last drop.
27
It Was all coming together. Finally. A quick breath mint in her mouth to freshen up and she was good to go. Bad breath just wouldn’t do.
She’d gotten the call three days ago. Somehow it had slipped her mind to tell Gus, even though she’d talked to her twice about the cookout episode. Besides, she’d had to share attention for quite a while now, and to be honest, she truly believed she deserved to have the spotlight all to herself.
“Carmen, hi!” said a short blond woman wearing a headset. “We’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Diane and Robin are so excited to meet you.”
With a veritable skip in her fire-engine-red Christian Louboutin slingback heels (which added an impressive four inches), Carmen entered the set of
Good Morning America
in triumph. She made understanding murmurs when Robin told her it was too bad that Gus couldn’t join her, and put on a neutral expression when Diane commented on how losing all that money seemed to have skyrocketed Gus Simpson to the front page of all the tabloids.
“And all the attention means her cookbooks have been selling like mad,” Diane said. “They can’t keep them in stock at my local bookstore. I know, I went to find one!”
“Yes,” piped up the pert supervising producer. “You’re really lucky to learn from one of the best in the business. Ready to go on?”
"Gus?” Oliver was watching her sleep, staring down at her. “Are you awake?” She hadn’t been and so his voice startled her. It had been eighteenyears since she’d woken next to a man, and all sorts of worries flashed through her mind: Had she been snoring? Did her face have those pillow wrinkles from sleeping too hard—or worse, actual wrinkles that flashed her maturity like a neon sign? Wisely, she kept her mouth shut as a barrier against morning breath. She wanted to clean up a bit but she wasn’t quite ready to parade about in her nightie in front of Oliver just yet. Though he clearly had no such worries, wearing only a half-wet towel tied loosely at his waist, his chest bare and looking very touchable.
“You look fantastic,” he said, moving his face closer for a kiss.
“Mmmm,” she said, still keeping those lips zipped. If only she’d thought to wake up early and brush her teeth. Then again, she hadn’t quite planned on this. They’d just been watching a movie the night before in her den— lying about on the sofa—with her pedicured feet on Oliver’s lap. He was smooth, that man, the way he massaged her toes, and then her ankles, then leaned in for a kiss, then went back to massaging her. Gus had practically melted under the caress of his strong hands, hadn’t thought to resist when he pulled her toward him to sit on his lap.
She hadn’t wanted to resist.
Instead, she’d unbuttoned Oliver’s shirt, insistent on getting her hands on his skin, until, in her clumsy eagerness, she popped one of those buttons right off. It went flying.
“Oh!” Gus said, blushing with embarrassment, her lack of practice obvious.
“Not a problem,” Oliver said, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. “Screw the buttons.”
He brought her face close to his own and kissed her hungrily. “No, on second thought,” he said. “Screw
me
.”
Gus had pushed him back against the cushions then. Not to hesitate. No, to really take in this man, the shape of his jaw and the crinkles near his eyes and the look of raw desire on his face. For her.
And then she did what he’d asked.
Later they’d gone upstairs, to the master suite, trying out her bed and, after that, her shower.
She’d forgotten what it was like to feel that sweet, achy soreness. The kind of ache that made her feel so desired, so feminine.
Sex with Oliver had been well worth the wait.
“I brought you up a coffee,” he said now, “but there’s something you’ve simply got to see.”
Oliver clicked on the television on the far wall of her bedroom; the jingle for household cleansers was just ending.
“And we’re back,” said Diane Sawyer, “with one of the most popular new cooks on television. Carmen Vega, from CookingChannel’s
Eat Drink and Be
, here to fix us a little something.”
“Hey, that’s my line,” Gus said, forgetting about her breath and nightie and throwing back the covers. She jumped out of the bed to move closer to the TV, as though seeing Carmen’s close-up would help.
“I can’t believe she went and booked herself a solo spot,” she said, pacingaround on the carpeted floor. “Why does she always behave this way? It’s infuriating.”
“She’s jealous of you.” Oliver took off his towel and stretched front-down across the end of the bed. “You can be intimidating.”
“That’s not true,” Gus said, trying not to stare but enjoying the view nonetheless.
“Sure it is. You’re a survivor, and a gorgeous one. It’s hard to compete.”
He made a lazy grab for Gus, who bobbed out of his reach.
“I’ve got to call Porter,” she said, grabbing the cordless phone from the night table.
“And do what?”
Gus took in a long breath and let it out, slowly.
“I don’t know,” she said. She tapped her teeth together for a few seconds. “Maybe all I have to do is nothing.”
"... and someday soon I plan to have my own restaurant,” TV Carmen was telling Robin Roberts. “Something that celebrates my Spanish heritage and my mother’s cooking.”
Gus put a hand on her hip and listened, very closely, to Carmen babble on about how much she loved inventing new dishes.
“At home I like to play around with making lobster foam,” she giggled to Diane, as though it was something everyone liked to do. It was more than she’d ever shared with Gus in the kitchen, and Gus, for her part, was transfixed. Carmen was actually quite perky and amusing when you didn’t have to work next to her.
“I think she’s telling the truth,” Gus said to Oliver. “The girl just wants to cook.”
“No, she also wants to be famous,” said Oliver. “But, yeah, she wants to be famous for the food.”
Gus put the phone back on its base and enticed Oliver to come back to bed. He didn’t require much convincing.
Later, without putting on a robe, she went down to the kitchen in her nightie. “What’s going on down here that smells so good?” she shouted up to Oliver, who had ducked into the bathroom for a quick second. “I think I can hear cinnamon rolls calling my name.”