Naked Ambition. Jule McBride

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СКАЧАТЬ meant he hadn’t yet. “Promises,” Susannah managed to say. “I can’t see you,” she’d added, then kicked herself for even having considered it.

      “Just do it. We’re worth it. What about all the years we’ve spent together? Come to town. Don’t meet me at the house. That way you won’t see any other people. Go to the Alabama,” he’d coaxed, picking up on her vulnerability. “Just you and me. No lawyers. No music people. There’s a direct flight in two hours. I checked. You’ll be at the airport in Bayou Blair by seven this evening, on the Alabama by eight. Just go outside right now and catch a cab to the airport. Don’t pass go. You know we can’t get a divorce.”

      It was just like him, spontaneous to a fault, showing he’d never change, but she’d begin to weaken, anyway. “I can’t.”

      “You have to, Susannah.”

      “Why?”

      “Because you’re my wife.”

      For a second, it seemed the best argument she’d ever heard.

      “Say yes.”

      The one word—so simple but so complex when it came to J.D.—came out before she could stop it. “Yes.”

      “Eight o’clock on the Alabama,” he’d repeated quickly. Before she could change her mind, she heard a soft click, then the dial tone.

      For the next few hours, she’d watched the clock, her eyes fixed on the minute hand until the time of the flight came and went. Then she’d phoned her attorney, Garrison Bedford, and explained that she was being pressured. When Garrison called back moments later he reported that J.D. now understood she wasn’t coming, and had to agree to the terms of the divorce. He’d promised to sign all necessary papers and vacate the house by eight, which was when she’d agreed to meet him. Now Susannah was waiting for Garrison’s final call.

      Just a few moments ago, she’d thought it had come. She’d been called to the phone, but then the caller had hung up. Maybe it was J.D. again. Each step in the separation had been messy. For months, J.D. had tried to keep Banner Manor, if only to antagonize Susannah. “He’s saying possession’s ninetenths of the law,” Garrison first reported.

      So Susannah had settled into the two-bedroom apartment she and Ellie had rented on the Lower East Side. She’d started scanning personal ads, just like Ellie, looking for hot dates, but then Garrison told her to stop, since it would jeopardize her divorce. She’s also taken the first waitress job she’d been offered.

      By the end of her first day at Joe O’Grady’s, she’d realized that sipping sodas while J.D. played music at various venues had taught her reams about the restaurant business and booking acts. Within a week, she’d devised an innovative plan to rearrange Joe’s restaurant, expanding seating capacity and revenue, then she’d doctored the pecan pie on his dessert menu by adding ingredients from her mama’s recipe, which in Bayou Banner, had been as famous as Delia’s strawberry-rhubarb confection.

      “She’s amazing,” Joe had bragged to Ellie, not bothering to hide his attraction when both women dined in his restaurant. “Susannah’s got a knack for this industry. She talked to our chef about the menu, and he’s desperate to try all her recipes. She ought to open her own place.”

      “That’s a great idea,” Ellie had enthused.

      “As soon as J.D. agrees to the terms of the divorce, I’m going home to Banner Manor,” Susannah had reminded.

      “You only have to supervise when you first open,” Joe had assured her, having heard about her situation during their interview. “Somebody else can manage the business later.”

      “J.D. hired somebody to run his daddy’s tackle shop,” Susannah had admitted, wishing she wasn’t still so fixated on J.D. Unlike Ellie, she’d found something wrong with every potential lover in the personals. They were too tall, too short, too smart or not smart enough, and as much as she’d hated to admit it, their only true flaw was that they weren’t J.D. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t have a fling till the divorce was finalized.

      “Lee Polls is being run by an outsider,” Ellie had reminded, as she and Joe had continued talking.

      “I’m a financial partner in other eateries around town,” Joe had continued. “I backed an ex-chef when he opened his own place and hired a manager here, so I can spend more time downtown booking acts in my jazz club, Blue Skies.”

      Ellie had shown Susannah an article about the club. “You own Blue Skies, too,” Ellie had murmured, admiring Joe’s entrepreneurial skills.

      “Because my favorite part of the job is booking acts, I’m there in the afternoons when people audition,” Joe had explained. “Susannah, if you’ve got more recipes as good as the one for pecan pie, and if you want to open a place, I might agree to be a partner, and even bring in music acts.”

      Susannah had started to feel as if she was stepping into a fairy tale. “You’re offering to back me financially?”

      “I’d have to sample your menu first,” Joe had said, his tone suggesting he wanted to try more than just food.

      “If we can make money, I’m in, too,” Ellie had said.

      “Tons,” Joe assured.

      Ellie and Joe had continued talking about restaurant leases, health codes and liquor licenses, but Susannah had barely heard. She’d begun mentally riffling through recipes handed down by women in her family for generations. The idea of opening a Southern-style eatery like Delia’s Diner was so exciting that whole minutes passed during which Susannah didn’t even think about J.D. It was the first relief she’d felt, and more than anything else, that had spurred her on.

      “I can use Mama’s recipes!” she’d exclaimed. “Why, Ellie, you know how everybody always loved her vinaigrette-mustard coleslaw and barbequed lima beans.”

      “Her hot pepper cheese grits were the best,” Ellie had answered. “And nothing beats her cardamom-sassafras tea and home-churned ice cream with fresh-crushed mint.”

      And so, Oh Susannah’s was born in a hole-in-the-wall near the famous Katz deli on New York’s Lower East Side, on Attorney Street, close to the apartment they were renting. Even the street’s name had seemed fitting, given Susannah’s ongoing long-distance legal battle with J.D. Putting her energy into the restaurant had helped her escape negative emotions, and she’d wound up using the butter-yellow and cherry-red color scheme she’d spent so much time devising for the kitchen at Banner Manor. The white eyelet curtains she’d dreamed about covered the windows, and mismatched rugs adorned hardwood floors. Short-stemmed flowers were bunched on rustic tables in mason jars.

      A month after the opening, The New York Times had run a picture of Susannah, Joe and Ellie, their arms slung around one another’s shoulders. The dining experience had been called “down-home elegance,” and ever since, there had been a line outside the door. Delia’s recipe for strawberry-rhubarb pie had arrived with a note that read,

      The article’s pinned to the bulletin board at the diner. You and Ellie have done Bayou Banner proud, and your folks would be tickled pink. Seeing as my competition (you) has moved out of state, I’m hoping you won’t hurt me with my own recipe. Just promise not to franchise anytime soon!

      P.S., СКАЧАТЬ