Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen was filled with smoke such that Antonio could barely read the tickets. They had opened the back door of the office and the six narrow windows and they pulled the two oscillating fans out of the utility closet and Paco was yanked off his station-his new job was to stand in front of the smoke detector waving a large offset spatula. Adrienne returned to the front. She drank her third glass of champagne and contemplated another kamikaze shot. Every time one of the waitstaff emerged, he smelled like a barbecue.

“Whew! It’s getting bad back there,” Joe said. “Have you called Cat?”

“She’s on her way,” Adrienne said, praying that Cat didn’t get stopped on Milestone Road for drunk driving. Adrienne considered calling Thatcher and asking quickly about Fiona, but she wouldn’t be able to keep the panic out of her voice. As she finished her champagne, Cat walked in the door-black cocktail dress, Manolo Blahniks, tool belt.

“Praise Allah,” Adrienne said.

Cat stuck out her lower lip. “The 1972 Mouton Rothschild,” she said.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Adrienne said.

Cat disappeared into the kitchen and Adrienne called Thatcher.

“Hi,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” Adrienne said.

“Her O 2sats are back up for the time being,” Thatcher said. “The doctors are worried, though.”

“About what?”

“She’s becoming resistant to the antibiotics, and there’s a lot of other stuff going on that I don’t even pretend to understand. The doctor nixed the trip to the Galápagos, and Fiona was crushed. Can you make a note in the book for me to cancel with the travel agent? We’ll be home tomorrow night, Fiona will be back to work on Monday. Would you pass that on to Antonio?”

“Sure,” Adrienne said, scribbling a note about the travel agent. No Galápagos, then. She thought she might feel relieved, but instead she just felt sad. “JZ was in this morning. He’s worried.”

“He should be here,” Thatcher said. “She’s been asking for him.” He sighed. “I got your messages. Sounds like everything is going well there.”

“Going well?” Adrienne said.

“Isn’t it?”

At that moment, Adrienne heard a muted cheer from the kitchen and Cat stepped out, hoisting her tool belt in victory. Adrienne blew her a kiss as she ran out the door.

“Sure,” Adrienne said.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night. We’ll be on the four o’clock flight so I hope to make the menu meeting. How many covers are on the book?”

“Two thirty-five,” Adrienne said.

“Whoa,” Thatcher said. “It’s July. Hey, would you call Jack at the flower shop in the morning and have him deliver fresh hydrangeas on Monday? I want it to look nice when Fee comes back.”

“No problem,” Adrienne said.

“I miss you,” Thatcher said. “Do you miss me?”

“I do,” she said.

She hung up the phone. She felt better, like she was the one whose exhaust fan had been broken, and now she sucked in clean, fresh air. The phone rang again, private line. Adrienne had to do rounds through the dining room, but she picked up the phone in case it was Thatcher with one last thing.

It wasn’t Thatcher, but Adrienne was glad she took the call anyway. Harry Henderson informed her, in a voice both jubilant and humbled, of the birth of Sebastian Robert Elpern, nine pounds, twelve ounces, perfect in every way, and of an official offer on the Blue Bistro for eight and a half million dollars.

Phosphorescence

The Inquirer and Mirror , Week of July 15, 2005

“HERE AND THERE” column

There have been several reports of phosphorescence in the water at beaches along the north shore this week. Phosphorescence is caused by a type of algae called dinoflagellates, which are capable of bioluminescence when the water they reside in is disturbed.

Sports Illustrated cover story:

“THE HEROES OF AMERICA’S HEARTLAND:

CAN THE WHITE SOX WIN THE PENNANT?”

TO: Ade12177@hotmail.com

FROM: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com

DATE: July 13, 2005, 9:02 A.M.

SUBJECT: Things I can’t believe

I can’t believe you’ve traded in the cushy life of the hotel front desk for the restaurant business. I can’t believe you’re dating your boss. I can’t believe you’re living with my dreamboat Duncan. You should thank me for recommending Nantucket. You should remember me in your will.

TO: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com

FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com

DATE: July 13, 2005, 10:35 A.M.

SUBJECT: Thank you

Thank you for recommending Nantucket. I am in a much better place, following my new rules, feeling good about myself. I paid off both Mr. Visa and Ms. MasterCard and I have a positive bank balance. I am in a relationship with a real, live, grown-up man. I sing in the shower.

It is amazing, Kyra, the way that happiness changes a person.

TO: Ade12177@hotmail.com

FROM: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com

DATE: July 14, 2005, 8:41 A.M.

SUBJECT: the way that happiness changes a person

Is happiness contagious? Can you send me some spores in the mail?

When Fiona returned from Boston, Adrienne studied her for signs of illness, but Fiona had never looked better. One very busy Thursday night, the kitchen was waist-deep in the weeds. The kitchen had so many tickets, there wasn’t enough room for them above the pass. The Subiacos were sweating and cursing and busting their humps to keep up. Fiona slid behind the line to plate soups, sauce pasta, and sauté foie gras while singing “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow.” Every time Adrienne peeked her head in, she found Fiona in soaring good spirits.

“One plate at a time,” Fiona called out. She even helped Jojo, the youngest Subiaco, load the dishwasher. She was a general in the foxhole with her men, but singing, gleeful. It was strange. Adrienne thought maybe the hospital had given Fiona a personality transplant.

It didn’t take Adrienne long to figure out that Fiona’s improvement in attitude had nothing to do with the hospital or facing her own mortality. It had, very simply, to do with love. Right after first seating, JZ walked in. Shaughnessy was away at camp and he had rented a house on Liberty Street. Today was Day One of a week’s vacation.

Fiona and JZ were inseparable. By Day Three they had established a routine: They did yoga together on the beach in the mornings, and then JZ helped Fiona in the kitchen. One morning Adrienne found him pitting Bing cherries and joking with the Subiacos. (The Subiacos were in a collective good mood because the White Sox had won eleven straight and held first place by a game and a half.) Fiona and JZ escaped from the kitchen by noon with a picnic basket and off they would go in Fiona’s Range Rover to secret, out-of-the-way beaches where no one would ever find them. JZ ate dinner at the bar and spent the hour after second seating in the kitchen-and Adrienne knew that after eating with Thatch, Fiona drove her Range Rover to the house on Liberty Street and spent the night.

Was happiness contagious? By Day Four, it was safe to say that the food at the Bistro had never been better and Adrienne wasn’t sure how to explain that. How did the best get better? It just did. Every single guest raved about the food. Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, the freshest, the creamiest, the most succulent. The best I’ve ever had. Adrienne noticed it, too, at family meal: the Asian shrimp noodles, the Croque monsieurs, the steak sandwiches with creamy horseradish sauce and crispy Vidalia onion rings. Are you kidding me? Adrienne thought as she stuffed her face. She thought: JZ, never leave.