Jo Leigh - A Lick and a Promise

“MY BASIL IS DEAD.”

“Oh, no. When are the services?”

Margot flipped her hair back with her free hand and adjusted the volume on her phone. “You’re a riot, Corrie, and you should immediately go on the road with your act.”

“Only you, Margot, my dear, can tell a person to go jump in a lake in such an endearing fashion.”

“I must get fresh basil, or the entire meal is going to be dog chow. So come early and let everyone in.”

“They have basil at Martini’s.”

“They have lousy basil at Martini’s. I’m going to the Garden of Eden.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Margot looked at the ingredients for her grilled pizzas. Everything was ready, the dough was sufficiently rested, the coals in the grill on her patio were already lit. She’d have to cab it to the Garden, but their produce was the best, and it was worth it. She reminisced with longing about when she lived next door to her parents’ grocery store, where everything needed for any meal was footsteps away. But she’d spent years scoping out the best of the best food sources in Chelsea and beyond, and most of the friendly purveyors delivered. If there was enough time. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But Daniel is coming.”

“Tell him to just breathe hard until I get back.”

Corrie sighed, but Margot could tell she was smiling. “Fine. Be late to your own party.”

“It’s just us guys,” Margot said, grabbing her pocketbook as she headed for the door. “There’s wine in the fridge.”

“Hurry.”

“Yes, dear.” Margot clicked off her phone, and dashed out, hoping like hell she could quickly catch a cab. She was actually a little nervous about tonight. She still hadn’t seen Daniel, but boy, those in the know, Corrie, Devon, Eric, had drooled over his potential.

As a group, they had more in common with Queer Eye for the Straight Guy than they should. They loved nothing better than sitting in the local eateries and dishing on the clientele, and how to revamp them. Unfortunately, they rarely got to use their considerable skills with real-life people. Only twice, actually, and Tad didn’t count. One shopping trip with Devon and Eric had been enough to send him scampering to Yonkers on the first train. So Daniel was a treat indeed.

She ignored the elevator and raced down the stairs, ending up on the street in half the time. And as luck would have it there was a Yellow Cab, right there, and she flopped into the back seat with her heart still racing.

“Garden of Eden on 7th.”

The cabbie took off, and Margot closed her eyes. Despite the excitement of Daniel, her thoughts were never far from work these days. She’d made it through Thursday and Friday, and she was pretty sure she could handle Monday. She still couldn’t believe they hadn’t given her more staff. It was insane trying to do everything she had to with only Bettina and Rick. They were nice enough, but she’d had to show them every step, every trick. Whompies was a major chain, and she couldn’t believe there wasn’t money in the budget for more stylists. But when she’d talked to Janice, her boss had strongly implied that if Margot couldn’t make it work with what she had, perhaps she wasn’t the right person for the job. It made her so crazy—

No. Today she would stop obsessing about work and focus on Daniel. She was dying to see him. God, she hoped he wasn’t a total stick-in-the-mud, because that would ruin everything. Although, when it came to persuasion of the personal kind, she was pretty much a tank, rolling over all obstacles in her way, whatever or whoever she had to squish.

The cab turned onto 7th, and she dug her money out of her purse. If only she could be as assertive in her work as she was with her friends. When it came to being a food stylist, she was hell on wheels. But negotiating? Playing well with others?

Oh, well. She’d continue to strive. Take baby steps until she could stride with pride. And pray she didn’t self-destruct.

It was time to buy basil. And maybe some more fresh flowers. Oh, and some marinated olives. It was almost five, she’d better jet.

THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR surprised Daniel as he was on his way to get the wine from the kitchen. Corrie was there, only this time she was wearing this long pale dress that flowed over her tall, slim frame. Her hair was short and spiky, and she’d made her eyes up with quite a bit of dramatic black. Next to her was a man taller than she, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a shampoo commercial.

“Daniel, hi. This is Devon,” Corrie said.

Daniel put out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Corrie mentioned you when we met.”

Devon gave her an odd look, and she seemed equally puzzled.

“Oh, no. This isn’t Nels. My husband. Who can’t come tonight. This is Devon. He lives on the other side of Margot. With Eric.”

“Ah,” Daniel said.

“We’re here to get you,” Corrie said, looking past him into his apartment. “Wow, it looks great.”

He stepped to the side. “Come in.”

“We can’t stay long,” she said as she checked out the room as if she wanted to redecorate. “Margot’s getting basil so I have to be the hostess until she gets back.”

“Margot?”

“She’s first tonight. I think she’s making grilled pizza.”

Devon breezed by him, heading straight for the bookcases. He eyed them slowly, row by row, nodding his approval. “Interesting stuff. Lots of architecture.”

“That’s what I do.”

Devon grunted, and Daniel wasn’t sure if it was in approval or something else. Given what these two had on, he should really go change into something more casual.

“Come, come. Hurry. There’s going to be pouting people in the hallways if I don’t let them in.”

“I—”

Devon hooked an arm around his shoulder, which wasn’t a big deal, really. “Come on, New Guy. Into the fray.”

“Wine.”

“Ah, it’s not time to whine yet,” Devon said, leading him toward the door. “That’s for after you meet the others.”

“Um, no. I have some wine.”

“Oh.” The tall man let him go. “We must have vino.”

“Then I’ll go, uh, get it.”

“That’d be good.” Devon smiled, a little too kindly, as if Daniel was feebleminded.

He went to the kitchen, pulled out two bottles, one an excellent merlot, the other a decent chardonnay. When he got back to the living room, Corrie was gone, the door was open and Devon waited.

Walking as casually as he could, he closed his door behind him, silently rehearsing his speech about how he couldn’t stay long.

HE WANTED MORE WINE. Lots more wine. Because he needed to be drunk to process this…menagerie.

Corrie was the normal one, and it turned out she was an ex-exotic dancer who’d had to give up her career after she’d broken her leg.

Devon was a bartender at something called a she-been, and his partner, Eric, was a chiropractor who believed in auras and spirit guides. Then there was Anya, whom Daniel guessed was in her seventies. She’d had several long, involved conversations with her pets—three poodles, two cats and a parakeet. Her best friend was Rocco, also in his golden years. He was an ex-boxer, and his whole face, not just his ears, looked like a bruised cauliflower. Rocco watched soap operas, and he knitted. Evidently, he knitted a lot, and all the tenants in the building were recipients of his largesse. Daniel kept trying to take off the floppy yellow cap, and Devon kept putting it back on his head.

The introductions were over now, and all anyone could talk about was the missing hostess. Margot. He’d already learned she was a food stylist. He’d heard of the profession, although he’d never met anyone in the trade. It made him wonder about the market for such a thing. Was the pay very good? By the look of her rather extravagantly decorated apartment, it must be.