The Caterer

Chapter 12

A LICE CHAINED HER BIKE to a hook on the back of the food truck and went inside. Valencia called good morning, working to slice a series of limes on the cutting board. Alice asked about the rest of her weekend while she washed her hands and pulled her apron on. Two days later, she was still on a high from the wedding. Working an event without Carver showed her she could do it on her own. She had set the menu, coordinated with the host, and talked to the guests. It was easier to let Carver do those things, but Alice could do them too. The wedding Saturday gave her a whole new level of confidence, something Alice didn’t realize until she got home and thought about the event outside of Delany.

“Who was the little girl you were talking to?” Val asked as she sautéed veggies on the grill.

“Helene, I think. Delany’s daughter.” She scrunched her nose, hoping she had that right.

“And she wants to be a chef? ”

Alice faced the prep table again. “Okay, you can stop now.”

“I’m just saying…”

Alice didn’t hear the rest of Val’s sentence; the air sucked out of the food truck. Jonas stood in the park with his signature smirk and crossed arms. Even with his sunglasses on, she could feel the gloat in his eyes. She could be working at a (formerly) premiere restaurant in the city and instead she stood chopping jalape?os for street tacos.

He reminded her of the cliched image of a chef: overweight in all respects, arrogant, oblivious to what people wanted versus what he thought. A conniving dough boy with a baby face who lost all joy. Poke him and you’d get yelled at and degraded. She never understood how he got by considering his extreme lack of a palate. Her mother told her to look at the doofuses in Congress. People could be blind when they wanted to be.

“What is he doing here?” Valencia growled a bit. Jonas stepped to the window, taking off his sunglasses. His close-set, pale eyes reminded her of the hazelnut syrup they used at Marigolds. Those eyes lingered, telling her she’d never be good enough, and who was she kidding? The joy she’d felt over the weekend faded under the disapproval of the man who took everything from her.

“Are you going to take my order or talk about me?” It always sounded like he had marbles in his mouth, his words tending to flow together.

“Don’t you have a restaurant, or did you get tired of that bland goop you pass off as food?” Valencia’s hand rested on her back hip. “If you need a hint, Betty Crocker is great for beginners.”

Jonas laughed. “Three of your carne asada, please, dearie.” He winked at Valencia who started to reach for a knife.

“Just cook,” Alice whispered. Valencia went to the grill, muttering in Spanish. “Is that all for you?” Get him in and out and pray for another customer.

“Thought I’d come see what you were doing now, overheard some locals talking about your cute little truck. I heard you stole the Clare wedding. I didn’t think that was your style.” He gave her some cash.

“I didn’t steal anything. The caterer canceled on her…”

“Is that what we call it when a client dumps you the week before an event? Word is her brother said their food was too unoriginal and bland.”

“If it’s anyone you’re talking to that might be a valid assessment.” Alice gave him his change and closed the window. Jonas slid his sunglasses back on and stepped back. Delany told her the caterer canceled, but what if they didn’t? It wasn’t her fault his sister tasted real food and decided she wanted better. Any chef who would be complaining to Jonas either wanted favor with him or was on par with his cooking. Either felt like enough of a reason for Alice to write them off. The fact he came to check up on her was unsettling.

“As if that imbecile knows any seasoning outside of salt. Maybe he’ll choke on the pineapple salsa.” Valencia gave Alice his order. Alice called his name. Jonas took an envelope out from his jacket and slid it onto the counter before taking his box.

“I give your catering foray six months. When you fail, you know where I am.” He walked away, dumping the box in the garbage. Alice exhaled, grateful Valencia couldn’t see from her place beside the grill.

“I can stay, Alice. I don’t want to leave you in a lurch. Spain will be there a year from now.” Val deflated, her eyes sad. Alice refused to let that man destroy anyone else’s dream.

“With you living in it. I won’t hold you back, Val. You’re going.” If things kept going as they were, she might be eating tapas and drinking mojitos on the beach with her.

She told Val she’d see her in the morning and started on her bike toward Tabby’s apartment. Soon it would be too muggy to be out this time of day, D.C. miserable in the middle of summer. Even if it wasn’t too hot, the humidity made one feel like they were melting. She rode on the side streets and did her best to avoid the tourists around the Tidal Basin.

A few people milled around The FDR Memorial. It lingered over several acres, highlighting the country’s changing situation from the Dust Bowl to WWII. There were several water features, with quotes from the president etched in granite. And in the middle, tucked into an alcove, easily overlooked, stood a statue of Eleanor in a dress and knee-length coat, her hands clasped before her.

The bench before it became Alice’s escape in middle school when the pressure of being the Minority Whip’s daughter got to be too much. When she needed an escape from the meetings at the house, or her mother being on the phone at all hours, or yet another fundraiser in Maryland the girls just had to attend, she’d find her father. He’d laugh and tell her to get her coat and they would drive to the memorial. He would wander while Alice sat before Eleanor’s statue.

It wasn’t until high school Alice realized her father came for the same reason. He liked the sound of the waterfalls. They both appreciated the lack of people there at night, the memorial a bit removed from the main thoroughfare. Her father would sit beside the Tidal Basin and close his eyes. He grew up on a five-acre plot halfway between D.C. and Annapolis. He felt at home outside, loved nature, and the quiet. Her mother’s job in Congress kept them in D.C. If her father had his way, they would have lived in the country full-time. But his wife’s job was once in a lifetime. So, her father took a job at George Washington University, teaching biology and tried to cultivate nature wherever they lived. When her parents bought some acreage near the Pennsylvania border, her father finally had the land and space he craved. He only came into The District now to guest lecture or visit the girls. She missed having him close. They used to see each other all the time, Alice not realizing how special those moments were until they were gone.

Alice slid onto the bench and took off her helmet before running her hand through her hair to try to bring any sense of life or style to it.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

This woman heard far too many of her confessions. To be strong like Eleanor. Steadfast. To choose to persevere with everything stacked against you. To be faced with a cheating husband, a world war, and a society that only wanted to hold you back. And yet, to still take a stand for what was right, to fight for the equality of others, to not let men tell you how to behave. Alice never found a way of connecting with her mother, but she did so with Eleanor. Alice always felt a tie with the former first lady as they shared a birthday. She named her catering company after Eleanor’s favorite dessert—Hasty Pudding.

She pulled Jonas’ envelope out of her backpack. Valencia told her to throw it away. Alice wished she could. Let it be a truce or his admitting he was wrong and apologizing for massacring her career. More likely it was a rebuke for stealing the Clare event, a list of her deficiencies. What did she care what this imitation chef thought of her? She put her hands on it to tear it in half. Nothing this imbecile had to say she cared to hear. Tear it up and throw it in the garbage.

She sighed and opened the envelope, hating her weakness. Inside were torn out pages from a magazine, an article on the woman her ex got pregnant. The bottom of page two featured a photo of her ex, Chase, still dressed like a J.Crew ad, the woman he left her for, and their two kids.

Her ex came into Marigolds one day. They chatted, waiting for Cornelia to come up. At the time, Chase was a wine rep for his parents’ vineyard in Virginia. He came back a few days later and asked her out. It was extravagance meets simplicity. She rode her bike around the city. He drove a red Beamer. She shopped at thrift stores. He only wore J.Crew and Ralph Lauren. Alice preferred to eat at hidden gems (if she ate out at all). Chase called them greasy and gross. Tabby asked what Alice saw in him. Well, he was interesting and easy to be around. They had fun together. Her wardrobe became plaid dresses and patterned pants, wedges. She started brushing out her bob, letting it grow out.

They saw each other whenever he was in town on his sales route. He took her to expensive restaurants, fancier events, even up to New York City. He pushed to sleep with her, Alice not in any hurry. From the start, she questioned what he saw in her, Chase so unlike her last boyfriend who was a homebody like her. Chase refused to stay at her basement apartment near the restaurant, called it dingy and off-putting. He insisted she come to the apartment he rented near Dupont, even though it was further from the restaurant than she felt comfortable riding late at night. Two years in, he proposed in Mexico with a massive two-karat halo ring. Her breath caught in her throat, were they there yet? But she said what she had to: yes.

Alice went to work and wore the ring around her neck, always remembering to put it on when Chase was in town. She shifted her dream of running a white linen restaurant to the bistro on his vineyard. As things progressed toward the wedding, she moved into his apartment with his decorations, his art, his sheets, his taste. Her stuff barely made a dent. He found it childish and simple. She had money now and could afford better. Alice always had money; she didn’t choose to spend it on stuff.

Alice had been engaged for months when her mother asked about a dress or flowers or a venue. Alice hadn’t thought about it, but her menu was set. Her ex had opinions about the flowers (black dahlias, which she hated), the bridesmaid dresses (yellow, her least favorite), and their first song (“Fooled Around and Fell in Love”). The one thing they could agree on was having it at his parents’ vineyard in Virginia. Alice kept waiting for her mother to take charge like she did with Tabby, but instead, her mother said it was her day and she wanted Alice to be happy. Then came the day she was sitting in his apartment (it never felt like hers) with a list of things to do before the ceremony that weekend. A knock came at the door, the woman there. The woman worked at a local historical estate that also did events. Chase suggested maybe she could help Alice with the wedding since it wasn’t her strength. Alice didn’t know if she would call them friends, but when it came to her big day, the woman became indispensable. Alice tried to remember if the woman had agreed to help with the dozens of things on Alice’s list that day. Before she could ask, the woman dropped her bombshell: she was pregnant, and it was Chase’s.

He came in on cue. It was simple; he didn’t love Alice. She was a fun pastime, but it was time to move on. The woman told her to be gone by the time they got back from Jamaica on what was supposed to be Alice’s honeymoon. The affair started before Chase ever introduced them. Alice asked why he proposed, asked her to move in, pursued her at all.

“I guess I thought I could have both. She is so voracious, and well, you do entertain me. But with our little one coming, I realized it was time to follow my heart.”

“I have nowhere to go.” Alice’s tears started to build. She swallowed back the panic and pain. Her mother taught her to not let bullies see you cry.

“Well, I guess you have two weeks to figure that out.”

Just like that, they were gone. Alice stood in the apartment she hated, blindsided. Nothing about the last twenty minutes made sense, only she knew she’d been played for a fool.

Cornelia saw through her ex and told Alice to figure out her dreams for her life. He took her back without question. Alice hid at Marigolds and moved in with Tabby and Paul until she could find an apartment she liked. Mostly she stayed with the twins (now seven) or went to work. Then her parents offered Alice their place to live. Her father was almost always at the other house, her mother could stay with her or Tabby when she came into the city. Alice moved into their apartment, the silence overwhelming. She felt alone and wondered how she could have been so blind and stupid.

Shortly thereafter, Cornelia told her he wanted Marigolds to go to her. For the first time Alice stepped into the space her fear held her back from. Six months later came the story in The Washingtonian . Alice felt like she’d finally found the missing ingredients. Four months after the article, Cornelia died. She still remembered the frantic call from another chef at the restaurant. Was Alice watching the news? She saw the downed blue trek bike and knew. The phone slipped from her grasp as Alice watched what she’d been promised scald into nothing.