I own nothing of Twilight and mean no copyright infringement. Any other famous establishments or publications seen throughout this story are not mine for the taking, either.
This chapter was a long time coming and I apologize for my tardiness. All I have to say is that my RL held me captive for two and half months. I no longer have any idea how long this story will pan out to be, but it will be wrapped up soon. Thanks to everyone who favorited and alerted this story.
I also have to warn that this chapter contains even more language and adult situations that aren't exactly suitable for the kiddies. That means 18+ only, por favor. I'm not comfortable with the corrupting of minors through my bad words.
"So, Bakin' and Eggs for brunch at 11:45. Capisce?"
"Your Italian is almost as bad as your French."
"Mon Dieu. Your attitude leaves a little something to be desired this sunshiney morning, Iron Fist." Alice flinched at the booming tenor of Bella's phone voice and how it seemed to ping like a pinball and reverberate back into her skull.
"I'm really not interested in a three-way brunch invite when all you're going to be doing is licking Edward." Even as the words left Alice's lips, the adamant refusal was weakened by the lingering effects of a modest hangover and the scratchy dryness of a sleep saturated throat. The dregs of alcohol that still remained in her system did little to stem the slight nausea that had accompanied her waking.
"Oh, you watching me lick Edward? Sounds kinky. How about we move that up to 11?"
"Good-bye."
"Hey! I was just warming up to the idea of a three-way..."
Hanging up on Bella never seemed to produce the result of her actually recognizing the end of the call. It was usually preceded by some off-color remark on her sex life or, if she was hungry, a half formed thought regarding Joe, the oddly placed hot dog vendor who broke up the upper class monotony of the Magnificent Mile. Bella had dubbed him Abe Frohman, in a frenzy of Ferris Bueller induced hysteria, the REAL sausage king of Chicago.
Either way, Alice reasoned that Bella made good on her pledge to check up on her at the earliest convenient hour as Alice had awoken to an obnoxious chiming that had invaded her subconscious. Her dreams disappeared into wisps of smoke as she struggled to open her eyes against both the emboldened rays of a rising sun and salt caked lids from the tears she seemed to have shed even after succumbing to sleep.
Last night had done little to solve the dilemmas that pricked progressively harder on her mind as she rose to face the morning. While the shock had steadily waned at Jasper's appearance, her curiosity and dread had grown exponentially overnight.
She glanced to her right as she stretched out the unfortunate kinks in her body that resulted from a halfhearted sleep on her leather couch.
Her wool coat continued to hold the white envelope captive.
She went to the bathroom, dousing her toothbrush under the cold tap and stalked to the living room area with the frothy mouth full of mint paste. Her feet moved of their own accord and she was steps away from the same scene she had awoken to.
It was still there.
Wrapped in a towel, marking wet footprints upon the wood as she battled a bone chilling draft, she went to check again.
Still there.
Before leaving the apartment, Alice pulled a pair of face engulfing, aviator sunglasses that would help ward off an unwelcome glare. The black, wool coat that she had worn last night lay shrouded in it newly acquired mystery as she pulled on her alternate, a high collared white cashmere jacket that didn't fend off the cold nearly as well as she would have liked.
Tempting fate was not on this morning's agenda, and she strode out of her building, tugging hard on a strong will that just wouldn't yield to the vulnerability within her: the small voice that pleaded with her to confront herself.
As she entered the restaurant ten minutes after the designated time, she caught sight of two figures huddled over the morning paper by the plated glass windows. One marked the third seat in their corner as off limits to brunch stragglers stalking tables for empty chairs, by placing his scrub clad leg diagonally across the seat.
She kept the glasses on, attempting to visually drown out the slightly higher than acceptable din that surrounded her, and winced a path to the table.
"Is that chair for me, or did you grow a third leg?"
The newspaper settled with an abrupt rattle, revealing alternately weary and mischievous smirks. It seemed Bella had been as hard hit by their heavy drinking the night before, as her voice rasped uncharacteristically with her tired smile. And here she had seemed so well adjusted during her morning check-up. She lifted her head off the shoulder of her table-mate.
"Well, Jackie Onassis, it's about time you deigned us with your presence. Where's your pillbox hat?" Her words were dripping in a good-natured sarcasm that could only be appreciated in a tired greeting.
Alice hurriedly removed her sunglasses and coat, shaking off the alleged resemblance and poked at the light blue clothed leg occupying her place. The owner's smirk increased tenfold, and he wiggled his foot suggestively at her.
"I assure you, my third leg is at least twice the girth…" His voice was heavy with insinuation.
"No, no, just no. Your wife graced me with enough of that shit yesterday." His hair incorrigibly mussed and his angular jaw enhanced by a four day stubble, Edward dropped his foot and shrugged dismissively. How it was possible to enter a hospital with such minimal regard for hygiene was beyond her. She took her seat not even bothering with a glance at the menu.
All parts of her simply ached for coffee. And for an answer, but she wouldn't find a piping hot serving of that here.
Edward continued, his face devilishly uncompromising as he lifted his eyebrows in question over the edge of his paper.
"So, last night, ehh?" Alice's face fell in aggravation at the ominous direction of his words. "You sly minx, Alice. I didn't realize all those times we were having such serious discussions about HMO's, you were actually mentally measuring my -."
"We were drunk." She blurted, glaring as Bella's shoulders vibrated with silent laughter into the arm of her cable-knit sweater. "Bella told me…it's…I didn't…"
"Still, my johnson wholeheartedly accepts the compliment." He informed her offhandedly.
"Oh, my god!" Her fingers found her scalp and glued themselves there, shielding both her burning, red cheeks that glowed under complete mortification.
"And you must have gotten Bella really revved up, because whatever I had planned, she did to me at least three times over…"
Bella nodded sagely, before nuzzling her lips into the crook of his neck. "Actually four, you're not counting the kitchen."
Alice's aching forehead settled against the formica with a heavy groan. Not only had unsavory images of the couple in front of her planted themselves in her head, but heated memories dredged from a not so distant past and a not so welcome guest uncomfortably reemerged from their prompt.
The inside of her elbow tingled with pricks of deliciously unanticipated lust, his lips smoothed like windswept petals up the bare length of her arm.
"Jasper, this isn't right."
She hadn't been able to suppress everything by moving to Chicago.
She dwelled too long on both, and realizing so, swept up her menu as a prop. The blueberry pancake special stared her in the face as the warmth traveled up her neck. It wasn't the time and she had no understanding or hope if it would ever be the place.
The fogged depression clouded over her once again when she recalled her unwillingness to even welcome the possibility of seeing him again.
"Alice?"
Edward's elbow lightly tapped against the laminated shield obscuring her face. She lowered it slowly, grunting out 'headache' as explanation of her weirdness and smiled weakly at the waitress who had arrived with a pot of dark roast.
Bella eyed her intently as the waitress made her rounds, her interest undoubtedly redoubled from last night's revelations and Alice's current behavior. Edward noticed nothing, accepting Alice's hysterically mimed reactions to their brazenness with thorough amusement.
It comforted her slightly that he seemed to know nothing. In a world in which she felt the constant presence of shrewdly aware eyes on her always, it was comforting to be offered ignorance.
Bella didn't extend the same courtesy.
"Edward, I want you to tackle down that waiter and change my order to French toast."
"Uh, what?" His eyebrows slanted, caught unaware by her sudden demand.
"French toast. Bread, egg coating, sugar. Bring anything to mind."
"Bellllaaaaa." Bella drooped like an unwatered fern at Edward's knowing tone, the Lucy to his Ricky Ricardo. "What are you up to?"
He gave a half-hearted kick to the leg of her chair, implying that is she was concrete in her demands, he would be up and running with a snap of her fingers. He wasn't buying her excuse at this point.
She sighed, leaning back in her chair, and gave up the ruse. "Fine, then pretend you need the men's room while I try and force something out of Alice?" Alice's head tilted onto her shoulder, and she scowled, annoyed at Bella's admission.
"That sounds more like it." Edward jutted his chin quizzically towards Alice as she shredded a packet of Equal, imagining Bella's flapping tongue in its place. The granules spilt in a small pile that she scattered with shaking fingers off the edge of the tabletop. The woman couldn't stand an unsolved mystery, even if she had been relatively restrained and tight lipped last night, and at this point she was forcing Alice to contemplate violence. "What are you in for, Alice Cooper?" Edward asked, a little concerned that he had been unwittingly insensitive to her hidden predicament. "Last night not go as well as you hoped?"
The little patience that was tiding Alice over was wearing dangerously thin.
Gritting her teeth at Bella, Alice reassured Edward. "Nothing happened. Last night at the restaurant was perfect, I wouldn't have expected anything less."
Edward grew apprehensive, glancing between Bella and Alice. If Bella was defiant, then Alice was downright murderous.
"And that's why you are miming passing a kidney stone?" he continued slowly, treading lightly where his steps were unwanted.
Alice bit back a retort and its place, directed a seething glare towards Bella.
Bella shook her head, tasting defeat, and her white surrender flag dragged down her words. "Fine, no one needs to leave. Conversation end." She deadpanned robotically. "Inserting new topic."
"Fine, I understand the signals. No juicy gossip for Edward." Edward raised his hands in mocking surrender, pulling back further into his chair while folding the scattered remnants of the business section.
Bella prided herself on discretion, on minding her own damn business. She promised she wouldn't pry, even if she was haunted by the pleading glint of hurt that decorated Alice's expression. She was wary of when the churning build up of suppressed emotion would come to a head and how it would impact Alice. But once again, she was undoubtedly unearthing issues and resentments that weren't prepared to come to light, just yet.
Alice relaxed marginally with the concession and tapped Bella's foot playfully in thanks and in silent warning. What she revealed she couldn't take back, and the less who knew of it, the better.
"I have the morning off because we're reworking the brunch menu at Le Bon. My chefs don't get their lazy asses into work until three. You have plans, or you got a free morning to piss away with me?" she offered hopefully in exchange for Bella's cooperation.
Bella hummed in regret around a burning mouthful of joe, clutching at Edward's arm to counteract the singing pain of her large gulp. Edward grimaced slightly in response to her grip, but rubbed her soothingly on the back of her neck.
"Ouch. I think my tongue melted." She swallowed loudly, recovering from the burn. "Sorry, can't today. I'm covering a story: The whole controversy surrounding the decision to nominate Chicago as a potential location for the 2016 Olympics." Alice's eyebrows rose in mild interest, but mostly in veiled skepticism. "What? Michelle Obama already left to represent Chicago in Copenhagen. There's going to be a big crowd surrounding that issue this entire week, shouldn't be hard to get a few interviews for an op-ed piece as well." She widened her eyes, conveying the gravity of the topic. "It's big news, baby."
"No, I understand. I just wouldn't get anyone's hopes too high for a positive outcome. Make it a pessimistic piece." Alice had lived abroad and traveled extensively. She was no stranger to the international community's collective opinion of Americans and the heavy propaganda that surrounded foreign nations. She wasn't in any way supportive of these sentiments, but had the distinct impression that the First Lady and her campaign would be outright shunned.
"Oh, but see, that's why it's called controversy." Bella rubbed her hands excitedly, her words still slightly thick from her coffee mishap. "More story for me!"
"Mmm." Alice was amused but mostly disenchanted by Bella's response. Now she had an entire morning to contemplate the reason for why she was so desperate for a few hours of companionship.
'Edward?" she inquired hopefully.
"Oh, now that you can't have me, you want me. No, can do." He lifted an arm off the back of Bella's chair while arching backwards to reach his coat. "I've got to check in to the hospital for a consult, if you haven't noticed the threads." He postured exaggeratedly in front of the table, earning the unabashed stares of an admiring group of women to their left.
"I think everyone noticed." Alice answered dryly, her eyes unfocused as he gave Bella a parting kiss and swiftly loped his way through the exit and into to the steadily growing throng of Sunday morning street-goers. Their neighbors conspicuously deflated in disappointment at his departure.
Alice gauged the less than subtle shift of the table atmosphere as she became the uncomfortable subject of Bella's deliberately trained gaze.
They were alone.
The two of them sat, mentally sizing each other up in a crowded room where the odor of gourmet eggs began to rend on their senses.
Bella's intent was clear as polished glass and when she made to open her mouth, Alice preemptively struck with a forceful reminder.
"I still don't want to talk about it."
"I didn't say anything."
"Good."
"Fine."
Bella lifted the rim of her mug to her mouth and Alice's lips tightened in mocking at her action.
"Don't burn yourself."
"Oh, bite me."
They finished their coffee in plaintive silence, interspersed with the awkwardness that accompanies the avoidance of eye contact and parted ways.
"I don't know what you think you saw, but that's the last thing Chef Brandon would be caught doing."
"Yeah, no one actually caught her, Raph. That's the beauty of it. She acts like a freaking hard-ass around here all the time and then she disappears for twenty minutes after slamming us into the ground over the platings. I overheard Henri saying she was taking care of a guest. You know what I'm saying?"
When Alice had left brunch, she had bloomed with tension, unsure that her idle hands and head could take the weight of a full, free morning. It had been with uncontained enthusiasm that she accepted a call from the poultry suppliers, who were apparently stumped when they arrived at the restaurant to a locked and empty loading dock.
Chicago dock worker unions had been riding a second wind throughout the late summer into the fall and now it seemed they had struck an opportunity to galvanize in the name of better wages.
The blue collar Chicagoans were on strike and Alice couldn't have planned such timing in her favor if she herself had stapled a 9x5 plank to a piece of condemning poster board and began picketing, .
After promising hefty checks to the deliverymen in the mail, if they agreed to unload the cargo themselves, she had wandered inside in search of some ever-present paperwork or prep that would keep her levelly occupied and assist her in crossing over to work mode.
That was when she dropped inside, and ambled past the kitchen. She had been shocked to hear the voices of a few of her employees, their voices raucous and uninhibited streaming from the back.
"No, I don't get what you're saying. You're such a jackass."
"Are you kidding me? All that pent-up aggression, shit. You don't think boss lady gets off on the domination? I know it get's me hot, and I'm not talking about the kitchen, homie."
"Mike, you and your lily white ass are getting a South-side beat down if you call me homie again."
Raph's threat unfortunately did not have the intended effect, instead spurring Mike's inflated theories into overdrive.
"Dude, Jess was waiting tables in Section 5 and she saw the guy walk out. Said he looked like he was in pain. Like maybe someone left him hanging without a…" He clicked his tongue with all the immaturity of a twelve year old flipping through a dirty magazine, "you know, a little something to help him grease one out."
Oh God, Alice froze in utter disbelief. If anything could call into question her credibility and judgment, it would have been the skeptical hire of one, Mike Newton. Fresh out of culinary school with a gigantic ego and less ambition than an entitled celebutante, Mike held a tenuous position as kitchen assistant and even that was running some of her brighter workers into the ground. With a mouth whose circumference rivaled Steve Tyler's., he had brought upon himself the title of kitchen gossip.
If only that meaning behind that title was as innocuous as she assumed.
They were talking about her. Everything she feared as a women, as a professional, and especially as both those labels strung together, knocked her with the ferocity of a wind tunnel.
There were no more words exchanged, which Alice realized when she pulled herself out of her head enough to note the stretching silence at the back of the room. One in which she imagined Mike was punctuating his remarks with a gesture crude enough to test Raph's patience with the overgrown man-child.
Alice pulled her wits about her. The only circumstance under which she would ever be talked about in her own kitchen by a man undermining her authority would be if the assumptions held a scrap of truth. And while she had to admit she didn't wholly exude innocence, his words were so out of line that they bordered on a spiteful jealousy.
In a different time, a different place, had she had more patience or had she not been undergoing an unanticipated personal crisis , maybe she would have used her position as 'boss-lady' to only knock him down a few pegs. Maybe just render a warning for creating and enabling malicious gossip, and make his position under her employ contingent on the idea that he actually did his job well.
But was she was the 'Iron Fist', goddamnit. And Newton was about to get knocked down the entire fucking row.
It's a nice day for a firing, she thought airily, her frustration from the morning taking on a different tone as she channeled it into a furious haze that she was sure visibly rippled in front of her. The double-swing doors swung violently in her periphery and when Raph's head jerked upwards from the force of her entrance, his face expressed his agreement that if he valued his job, he would stay silent. And keep manipulating the tube of pastry cream in his hands as if Newton's culinary career wasn't about to be obliterated.
Mike, fortunately, obliviously kept reeling out his demise "You know it makes sense. She's one frigid bitch. Teasing people like that, it's just cruel…ahhhh."
One automatic shift to his left put her straight in his eye line, and it was enough to leave his sentence hanging in barely concealed horror.
"Che..Chef?" She could almost observe his swift and utterly miscalculated reassurances that she hadn't heard a word he had foolishly said at her expense. Or at the least, she hadn't connected his words to her situation. His face drifted from frozen fear into a lazy grin as he leaned against the stainless steel of the sink basin.
"Oh man, Chef Brandon, you scared me." He chuckled, rubbing his knuckles confidently on the nape of his smock. "Raph and I are getting an early start, you know, taking initiative and all that."
Raph shook his head in sincere pity at the train wreck Newton insisted on perpetuating.
Oh, she would have so much fun cutting him down until nothing was left except for his smiling gums.
"Mike," her voice and smile took on a sickening sweetness, one that frightened the ever living crap out of Raph. "Please finish that thought." She asked under an amused charade, gesturing for him to continue. Even so, her words crackled with disdain.
He stared dumbly, still quite under the impression that he was safe from her knowing expression.
"What? I don't get what you're…"
Alice's fingers clinched the edge of the countertop she was leaning against like a vise. Her smirk disappeared, confusing Newton.
"Oh, I don't know. Its just curiosity I guess. The frigid bitch wants to know who else she ended up screwing last night." Alice's face morphed into a deadly, pinched sneer as Mike paced backwards three steps.
"No, I didn't mean…oh, shit." His revelation ended in a whisper.
Oh shit is right, Alice raged silently.
"You can see my dilemma, right? I don't like little turncoats running their mouths off about things they don't know. You have something to say, Mike? Then say it. But say it to my face!" Alice's voice echoed in the trembling silence that filled the kitchen.
"Of course, you'd still be out of a job, but I might actually have some respect for you as a man." Mike stood ramrod straight, his eyes glassing over as he realized the potential consequences. She snapped her fingers deliberately to draw his attention to her verdict. "Truly, as one of the laziest, most incompetent, and ironically arrogant workers to ever pass through my kitchen, I thought you might actually have the decency to keep your head down and your nose clean." Raph, who was stricken by watching the proceedings, automatically curved his neck into a more submissive position.
She tugged on Mike's coat lapel. "This stays here. You're not fit to wear anything that pertains to this restaurant. If your locker is not cleared out within the hour, I'm calling Chef LaSalle's personal security team to have you escorted out of the building." Mike, still processing the shock of his impending joblessness, gaped at her and floundered with a futile excuse.
"You can't…no…you just can't."
Alice crossed her arms, unsatisfied that her words still hadn't seemed to reach him.
"Oh yes, I can. And I have. I also have it on good authority that Chef LaSalle was two seconds away from booting your ass out before he left, so good luck trying to sue anyone connected with his establishment."
It would have been an easy victory for Alice had he hung his head in shame, conceding defeat while sulking on his way through the door. She wanted every last defense ripped down, every misogynistic atom completely emasculated. But she knew Mike wouldn't leave without ensuring she heard what he really thought of her.
Here it comes.
He gripped the collar of his coat, ripping the buttons from their threads as they rattled to the ground. He threw the garment past her head before bending forward menacingly to make eye contact.
"You're nothing but a power hungry bitch who steps on everything that gets on her way. Yeah, that's been two years in the making, and it feels good to get it out." He spat. "I can not wait for the day until all this, everything, comes crashing down on you. You are going to fall so far you won't be able to recognize the bottom until you hit it head on."
Alice held his gaze without flinching, heeding no more than annoyance from his threat.
You stupid bastard. You have no idea what it is to bottom out. I can't fall any further from where I am.
She took some solace in this fact.
Raph finally growing disturbed with Newton's behavior and unprofessional words, and slightly surprised by Alice goading him, grasped the vile man by the shoulder. He pushed him stumbling towards the exit.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Mike? Get outta here!"
He fumed as he reached out to steady himself.
"Oh, and Mike." Alice continued in almost malevolent glee. Mike stalled at Alice's too charming voice, ready to go for another round if it was warranted. "You're going to have to find yourself another city or another career because you've just blackballed yourself for the entire city of Chicago." Her voice darkened. "That's a guarantee you know you can hold me to."
Even if she was relatively young, her influence reached far and wide within the city. Her colleagues wouldn't think twice over her recommendation that they avoid hiring a certain, inept jackass.
Newton's fist collided with the metal sheeting of a row of ovens by the door, before shouting his vindictive farewell and scrambling out.
"Fucking bitch!"
"The one and only!" Alice replied in a mocking salute, spreading her arms wide and welcoming the insult.
She then slumped backwards, fury and weariness battling to take her over. She had not expected to have such a mess of a morning when she arrived. Her palms began to tingle in pain as she disengaged her fists from her sides. Uncurling them both alternately, she noted the crescent shaped indentations left in her skin by her jagged cuticles, a few even dotted with blood.
She never let anything get to her in such a debilitating manner. With the way she was feeling, she was surprised she was able to maintain some composure without going postal on the entire kitchen. And making some poor mixing bowls and the newly installed stove ranges her unsuspecting victims.
Raph assessed her warily, not wanting to spur another verbal thrashing in addition to being mildly discomfited by the fact that this was a side of the unyielding Chef Brandon he had never before been privy to.
He raised his hands in a sign of not so humorous surrender as she lifted her head and drooping eyes to acknowledge him.
"You know I tried to get him to stop, right? The guy's an idiot and didn't know when to quit. I'm sorry about the-"
Alice lifted her hand to cut him off and shook her head. "I think it would be in both our best interests if we pretended this happened differently. Or that it didn't happen at all."
Raph nodded in agreement, but continued his defense.
"I know. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry." He hesitated; busying himself with the last dessert he was preparing and piping across a fruit filling, swiping his tan finger lightly at a wayward ribbon of cream. "He was way out of line. He had no right to say those things to you, especially if he valued his job."
Alice glanced at Raph with a raised eyebrow, a little startled but not exactly surprised by this uncompromising show of solidarity. The six foot four, gentle mannered Raphael Cena was a product of a Puerto Rican family on the south-side of Chicago, and one of the most diligent employees who had ever climbed his own ladder to success. After working as a dishwasher and kitchen assistant for a year at Le Bon, he persuaded Chef LaSalle to sponsor his education at the Culinary Institute of America after presenting his skills in several cooking demonstrations. His application was of course accepted with the backing he had, and he was personally assured of a position at the restaurant after graduation. He had come back at the same time Alice had arrived, filling a position on their team of pastry chefs.
It wasn't shocking to find him here early, and Alice certainly didn't hold him responsible for whatever had been said. Even if she was still resentful that he had gotten an earful of the blatant lies.
"Well, fortunately, we both know people smart enough to recognize that fact." She laughed harshly, the sound forced out quickly as she straightened herself to a position of confidence once again.
Despite a burning curiosity to ask her in this rare moment of openness, about the mystery man the entire kitchen and wait staff had presumed to have seen, Raph simply nodded. His eyes still slightly nervous, he put down the tubing and grabbed the tray of fruit tortes to place in the industrial size refrigerator
Alice gave him a thin smile before winding back to the entrance to the dining room to begin her trek to the office. On top of her ever increasing workload, she grimaced when she realized that she now had to finish the paperwork that dealt with the restaurant's release of Mike Newton.
Ah, I guess it's a little worth it, she thought smugly as she unlocked the office door and flipped the light switch.
When she settled herself at her desk, reaching for the black corded phone that occupied the upper left hand corner, she was equally relieved and anxious to find her voicemail empty. Her late night visitor seemed to have gotten the message that even if she wanted, she couldn't have anything to do with him.
It was one less thing to have to consider right now, and one more thing to face in the days to come.
Jasper moved to add ice to his glass with a clink, taking in the generic décor of his dimly lit hotel room. The beige, turquoise, and reds of his wall began to swirl in random patterns of nonsense, and he laughed derisively at the idea that he was losing his mind even before he had even taken a sip of the marked-up bottle of scotch he had procured from his room's mini-bar.
Madness is as madness does, he thought, detached from the day's events and the client conference he had attended that morning. Only attended in body, that is.
His mind was only focused on one thing. And she was beautiful.
Keeping with his theme of disintegrating sanity, Jasper thought better of watering down his scotch and fished out the rapidly melting cylinder of ice.
Pushing off from the nubby fabric of his armchair, he swirled the amber of his drink before downing the whole glass in one fell swoop, swallowing the pleasurable burn that concentrated in his throat.
Jasper lifted his watch to check the time, almost amused that the day was diminishing into the deep hues of blue and silhouetted black that accompanied a city night. He had been almost motionless for four hours and the telltale tug of hunger pressed in his stomach.
Food felled his train of thought, as he humored the idea of trying his luck once again at the restaurant, and it carried his mind straight back to her.
No. She asked me to leave. I won't go back there.
The same sentiment was what held him back from contacting her hourly via the maître'd service phone in the front foyer of Le Bon Plat.
He groaned at the memory of her hand enclosed in his. The nightmare of uncertainty that shrouded the last two years seemed to lift at their light contact. After countless hours of research, private detectives, innumerable calls to her previous employer, he had ironically found her in an online feature for the now defunct Food and Wine Magazine. With one serendipitous click, the illustrious career of Laurent LaSalle's new protégé was laid before his eyes on a glowing screen. But he knew those details from long, intimate conversations that seemed to reside in another life. The one detail he needed was typed carelessly throughout the article.
Chicago. He had found her here, in this city of all places.
His window at the hotel overlooked the rolling greens and illuminated fountain of Grant Park, bordered by a steady stream of blinking lights that gleamed from the cars travelling on Lake Shore Drive. Beyond those ribbons of light, was a smooth darkness, the surface of Lake Michigan currently placid as the wind died down for the few moments he stood sentinel behind the cold pane of his window.
He decided that Chicago, being away from what had occurred, had been good for her soul.
She's never looked so…good. Strong. Magnificent.
Well, he amended, hardening the clutch on his glass until his knuckles shone white, there was another time.
The first time Mary Alice Brandon had strolled into his life, he felt as if his world had shifted into a Technicolor dream. Nothing before her had ever seemed so vivid.
"You've kept me waiting a long time."
Jasper's sweaty palms slipped against the side of the black D60 camera, his fingers bumping clumsily over the lens nozzle and buttons. The heat was a little too oppressive for an early October afternoon, and he had been contemplating finding some shade underneath the tree-line that spanned the park. Other parents and volunteers had already carved out spaces for themselves to settle into until the end of the afternoon's events.
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"I said, you've kept me waiting a very long time." The voice appeared in front of him in the form of a woman, toting a large woven basket of royal purple eggplant. She squinted against the glare of sunlight and gave him a cheeky smile. "Well, us. You've kept us waiting a long time."
She was so small, all radiating energy and warmth and beauty in one petite package. He could barely believe she was standing in front of him, her ethereal presence accusing him of something he didn't fully understand.
His head swerved from side to side and he surreptitiously eyed his immediate surroundings for another person she might have been addressing. But there was only him.
He gave her a puzzled grin, not knowing why she was all of sudden choosing to talk to him, but not minding it even a little bit. His native Texan charm overrode any type of rational response his brain could form and he replied in a cheesy, exaggerated drawl, "I'm sorry ma'am. How exactly have I kept you waiting?" He couldn't help but construe her comment as flirting, and Jasper always gave as good as he got.
Her bright smile faltered minutely as she gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "Um, the kids? They've been asking about the group shot with their t-shirts since they got here this morning. Aren't you the photographer from USA Weekend?"
He automatically trained his eyes on the booth directly set up behind them, the banner "French Culinary Institute NYC: Kids Kan Kook 2006" waving in the light breeze that lifted past them. The intentional misspelling made Jasper smile. A score of giggling kids poked amongst produce scattered on a picnic table, picking the best tomato they could find for the cooking lesson that was about to take place at the hands of an experienced chef. A smattering of outdoor ranges and ovens were lined neatly in a row past the first, each paired with a sponsored booth.
"Oh, no. No,no." Jasper fumbled at the camera in his hands in embarrassment. "This isn't actually mine. I'm holding it for a friend while he uses the bathroom." He chuckled awkwardly, silently cursing Peter for taking his sweet time at the porter potties. And cursing the fact that an undeniably attractive woman he had just barely met was already disinterested in him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. I guess you're off the hook then." She chuckled in apology, swiping at her forehead in mock relief.
He laughed along, not wanting give off the vibe he was in any way offended. When Peter had asked him to join him for a shoot he was assisting for a photojournalist at the New York Times, Jasper wasn't exactly looking forward to a sweaty afternoon in Central Park. Least of all surrounded by people he didn't even know. The event was an opportunity geared towards inner city kids, inviting them to partake in day of games and lessons while instilling the ideals of good ingredients and nutrition. Jasper hadn't known the cause was so widespread that it had received the backing of culinary establishments across the city, and even the state. But Peter had been insistent, urging Jasper to come because there was a girl he just had to meet. A girl Peter had met a month before in Paris that he claimed made him feel things he never knew he was capable of feeling. And she would be there, volunteering for her former school. That was the reason Peter had even brought his own camera equipment, as a favor to her.
In the rush and frenzy of the event, Jasper still had yet to meet the new girlfriend. He decided that if he could get a conversation started with his present company, the new girlfriend could spare a few more moments. The connection he felt was easy, as if he had been unwittingly waiting in the very spot he was standing for the purpose of running into her.
The girl cocked her head suspiciously after taking in his face, once again. He hadn't shaved for a couple days and was in serious need of haircut. He regretted his unkempt appearance of jeans and a t-shirt, as he swept a nervous hand to push back the dirty blonde strands sticking to his forehead. But she oddly enough didn't seem to be honing in on his appearance.
"Who did you say you were here with?" she asked him, rising excitement evident on her face. She glanced at the camera again, not giving him time to respond. "I know that camera."
Jasper's stomach flipped anxiously but he dismissed her remark as coincidence.
"Well, I don't know if you know this one, specifically…"
"Oh my God, you're him! You're Peter's friend from the West Village! I can't believe I didn't recognize you! He's shown me pictures, but…here you are." Her unbridled enthusiasm caught him unaware as he struggled to come to terms with her words, outwardly staring blankly at her face mouthing words he couldn't discern. He noticed her eyes glinted mischievously through a murky hazel, the shades of green almost overpowering the brown.
She paused her rambling just to slant her eyebrows in question. "He has told you about me, hasn't he?"
And there was the confirmation. Jasper's throat almost closed with the force of his disappointment. For as long as she was talking to him, she belonged to someone else.
His tongue rasped like sandpaper against wood as he forced out the few words he could.
"Yes. Yes, he has."
"Oh, good. That's good. I got a little worried there for a second." Her hand went to cup the back of her neck, and Jasper followed the motion with dull eyes, swallowing painfully.
This is Peter's dream girl, he reminded himself.
"Hey, guys!" Peter finally bounded up to them in long strides, his buzzed head not overheating his brain like Jasper's mop of hair and his excitement bleeding over to the girl.
Jasper watched as she shifted the weight of her basket to her hip like she was the freaking Sun Maid Raisin girl for the entire world to fawn over. Her eyes and smile glittered as Peter closed in on them. With a sinking stomach, Jasper averted his gaze in order to avoid seeing Peter lay an almost exaggeratedly passionate kiss on the girl's amused lips.
It was the exact thing Jasper would have done, had she been his.
"Hey Jazz man, this is her! I guess you guys got started without me!" Jasper nodded with a stiff smile that hinted at a grimace. Peter noticed his sudden reticence. "Hey man, don't look so excited."
Jasper shook his head to clear the hazy air surrounding his thoughts. He had to get it together.
"Nah, I'm fine. I just didn't even get around to catching your name…" He inquired softly towards the girl he had no hope in ever winning over.
She tsked warmly, swinging her ebony braid over her shoulder. "Wow he hasn't gotten around to telling you my name." She elbowed Peter playfully as he nudged his head towards hers. "Don't I feel special."
"Aww, c'mon I wanted it to be a surprise." Peter bent down to kiss her cheek.
Jasper's melancholy spiked as he mentally voiced that she had been more of a surprise than he could have ever hoped for.
"Well," the girl stuck out her hand in determination, like she would be damned if she didn't make an effort now to make herself known. "I'm Mary Alice. But if you want to live, you'll just call me Alice." She grinned at her playful threat and it tore into Jasper.
There was nothing he could do.
"I'm Jasper." He clasped her hand lamely before allowing his arm drop to his side like a dead fish.
She scoffed. "Well, believe it or not, I know who you are. This one won't shut up about you."
Peter rolled his eyes, before looking conspiratorially at Jasper.
"Hey Jazz, get a picture of us with my camera." He herded Alice towards him for a side hug, and Jasper glanced downwards at the item that had instigated the entire encounter. He felt himself falling nauseous from the bewildering flood of emotions that he had suddenly fallen victim to.
That day, Jasper captured Mary Alice in her white smock and shorts clutching fondly at the hand of his friend that lay casually on her shoulder. The blend of green and gold that served as their backdrop only enhanced the sharpness of her features, the humor in her smile. Jasper couldn't bring himself to tell Peter that she was all he saw in that moment, gazing through the viewfinder of his digital camera.
Jasper's glass shattered with satisfying intensity as it collided with the armoire housing the hotel's standard issue flat-screen television. He stared for a solid minute before becoming disgusted by his action. A little paranoid his temper had drawn unwanted attention from the next room, he sighed deeply and crouched down to collect the broken shards.
It had been five years since that fateful fall day. Jasper found himself failing once again in choosing the right words to help Alice understand the truth.
After last night, he wasn't certain she ever would.
Geez, what's eating Jasper? Reviews are appreciated!