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Don't Diss the Chef

By: PostScriptor



Copyright 2011, All Rights Reserved

*

Sarah Bell was wondering how she had gotten to this point in her life. How could she be so miserable? And worse, she knew it was all her own fault. Sarah had made her own bed, so to speak, and now she was sleeping in it. Alone. And THAT was a large part of her problem.

She shivered from the cold — standing outside on the pier at night in Malibu was cold in February. Even for California!

"Brenda," she asked her friend from work who had dragged her out for the evening, "Remind me why we are standing here in a line, waiting on this freezing pier?" 

Brenda could barely understand Sarah, whose teeth were chattering. A gust of wind came by at just that second, and even through her pants Sarah could feel the cold ocean air. Thank god she'd opted to wear pants, and not a skirt, for the evening.

"We are waiting in line, because that is what you have to do if you want to eat at L.A.'s hottest new restaurant, and it happens that they don't take reservations!" Brenda replied. "Anyway, it's been months since you've been out, Sarah. Not since your boyfriend Mark left you, anyway."

Sarah was slightly annoyed at Brenda's remark about Mark, but not for the reason one might expect.

"He didn't 'leave' me, Brenda; I drove him out by being a first class b-i-t-c-h..."

Brenda quickly interrupted Sarah, before the tears could start.

"Don't go getting all upset and beating yourself up again, Sarah. We're here to have a good time, and eat a meal to die for. I've been told..." Brenda continued on, not noticing that Sarah was lost in her own world.

Sarah could still see the picture in her mind of Mark lying there in their bed, the sheets only partially covering his lean, masculine body. She looked down on his sleeping form, his wavy black hair ruffled, his face peaceful and his eyelids closed concealing dark eyes that burned with passion when they made love. 

Mark never exercised as such, but his work involved lifting and moving heavy boxes every day, and it showed in his muscular arms and shoulders. He didn't have the highly defined abs that the body builders who displayed themselves on Venice Beach exhibited, but his torso was nevertheless well muscled, and, in Sarah's opinion, very sexy. And the line of hair that descended from his chest down his abdomen like an arrow pointing to his organ, concealed at that moment under the sheets, made Sarah wish she had time to crawl back into the bed to kiss and caress him awake. 

Alas, she had to get to work. Damn! She looked at the clock next to the bed and realized she was running late as it was. She turned and walked out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.

She and Mark had been living together for just a little over eighteen months, and for most of that time, it had been bliss.

Sarah Bell worked in the financial industry, having gotten her undergraduate degree from a top-50 mid-western university. Following graduation, Sarah had fulfilled her dream of getting a job in Southern California, in the Wealth Management department of UBL — United Bank of Liechtenstein, in Santa Monica. Actually, her dream wasn't so much that of working in Southern California — Florida would have served as well — as it was escaping from the bitter cold winters of her native Chicago!

She had first met Mark while getting lunch with a couple of her friends at the restaurant across the street from her office. They had often dined there before, but that day as they ordered their usual meals, there were two changes.

First, which only Sarah seemed to notice, was that instead of their waiter, another man, with wavy black hair, an olive complexion and deep-set dark eyes, served them their food. Sarah looked at the attractive young man, and found herself staring directly into his eyes — which were looking directly back at hers! She froze like a deer in the headlights for a moment, until he smiled showing his white teeth against his tanned skin, and showing even more cheek, winked at her!

The second difference, although not a bad one, was the food. The five women who had come to lunch that day had all ordered the same meals that they regularly ate at the restaurant. But this time, and there was no other way to say it, the food was simply better. Each of them noticed small changes in the preparation of their meals that enhanced the flavor. Changes had been made to the spice combinations; a sprinkling of cheese and garlic butter was added to the vegetables. The beef was slightly more tender; the fish was delicate and flaky to the fork. Little things, but which in total made the meal memorable.

As Sarah left to return to work, she asked the waiter, "Who was the man who served us out food? Don't you normally do that?"

The waiter grinned, "Yeah, I do. But for some reason, today the cook wanted to take care of your table himself. Very odd, but who am I to argue; I get to keep the tip."

Sarah, intrigued, began eating at the little bistro on a regular basis, and when the black-haired cook was working, he always seemed to find an excuse to serve her. She finally learned that his name was Mark, and she began plotting how she could engage him in conversation.

Mark had been entranced by the slim redhead with the pale skin and sky-blue eyes from the moment he'd seen her come into the restaurant. When she wore a skirt and heels, he could see her long, shapely legs, and just watching the motion of her derriere as she walked across the room could give him a hard-on.

Sarah finally decided to take the bull by the horns, and use the direct approach.

"Do you have time to sit down with me for a minute, please," Sarah finally requested, as he was arranging plates of food on the table in front of her.

Mark thought about it — nothing was cooking that he had to supervise for a couple of minutes, so he took a seat across the small table from his dream woman.

She extended her hand, "I'm Sarah, and I work for UBL across the street."

"I'm Mark, Mark Flore," he replied, taking her hand, but just gently holding it between his dry, warm hands. "I'm the chef here, sometimes server, and your fervent admirer!" He said that with a twinkle in his eyes and his generous smile, which revealed dimples in his cheeks. Mark was anything but shy and retiring.

Sarah could feel a blush that started in her neck and quickly rose to her hairline. It took her a minute before she remembered to pull her hand back away from Mark's. There was definitely chemistry between the two of them.

"Mark, you know, instead of waiting until I come for lunch and serving me, you could just ask me out on a date!" Sarah told him flat out. It had taken her days to get her courage up to make her approach, but she wasn't going to take a chance that Mark wouldn't ask her out or that some other woman would get her claws into him.

Mark was gob smacked! He sat there looking as guilty as a little boy caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. Sarah thought he was even cuter, if it was possible, at that moment. It took Mark only a second to recover. Before he responded, he took a deep breath, released it, and then took another. Then his smile returned and Sarah could almost see his heart melting.

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day; in fact it's the best idea I've heard all week — no, all month. Maybe the best idea I've ever heard in my life!"

That was the beginning, for of course, he did ask her out. In fact, from that moment on, they spent every spare minute that they could together. After dating for a couple of months, Mark and Sarah, fairly certain that they had found their soul mates and life partners, moved into an apartment together, not far from the beach.

In many ways, theirs was a match made in heaven.

Sarah and Mark enjoyed the same music; they watched the same classic movies, and laughed at the same jokes. They were both relatively neat, not a Felix and Oscar odd couple. They compromised with each other, each willing to give a little on their position if by doing so they would make the other happy.

And when it came to making love, they were a perfect fit. Neither one of them had been virgins when they met, but they were such an incredible match that when they made love, it was like they had never known any other lovers. They were attuned to each other's needs and desires. They both had the attitude that the other's pleasure was more important and came first before their own.

There was always one, actually two, flies in the ointment for Sarah. 

The first was Mark's work. His job demanded an immense dedication — he worked long hours, sometimes starting so early in the day, that Sarah would awaken to find him missing from their bed, even from the apartment. Other times, he would be working late long after Sarah had gone to bed. Mark would slip in so quietly that he wouldn't even wake Sarah (who admittedly slept like a log!), but he would still be asleep the next morning long after Sarah had left for work. She would bend down and kiss his cheek or forehead, and the edges of his mouth would turn up in an unconscious smile, and he would mutter a few words in his sleep.

Of course, Mark also had to work most weekends when Sarah was off, and while she intellectually understood why he wasn't available to her, at an emotional level it bothered her anyway.

The other aspect of Mark's chosen field that bothered her was that as hard as he worked, and as many hours as he put in, he wasn't paid what Sarah thought he should be. Not that Mark didn't contribute his share of expenses; he did. But he had to watch his spending, which limited what they could do as a couple, and how often. Not that spending money was a problem, getting back to the fact that so much of the time he was either working or sleeping, recovering for his next shift.

Even Sarah, though, had to admit that she had never eaten so well in her entire life as since she'd lived with Mark! There was never a real reason to go out for dinner, because Mark could prepare a better meal at home in their own kitchen than one could buy at any but the most exclusive and expensive restaurants. 

In short — several aspects of Mark's work caused Sarah a certain level of heartburn. 

The second 'fly in the ointment' for Sarah was subtler, and if anyone had pointed it out to her, she would have dismissed it as utter nonsense.

Looking back, while Sarah had been away taking classes at her university, Mark was traveling the world learning to cook. 

Sarah, in addition to her Finance and business classes, had a general education that included history and political science classes, English literature and psychology classes, and a host of classes in other subjects as well. Many of those were classes that on her own Sarah would have never taken, but they were required. Which of course is the point of a Liberal Arts education — a broad field of knowledge introducing students to subjects that left to their own devices they would otherwise ignore.

With her degree in hand, Sarah was something of a snob regarding formal education, which Mark didn't have.

Mark had traveled through Asia, learning to cook Chinese, Indian, and other Asian ethnic cuisines. Mark had worked in Latin America cooking everything from tamales in Mexico, to delicate fish dishes in Lima. He had spent time in Germany and Central Europe making sauerbraten and goulash. In France he had worked in bakeries, and even attended culinary school in Paris.

His true culinary love, though, was Italian food; cooking and eating the dishes of his ancestors. And in the end, his most important teacher was his mother, who passed to him the knowledge that generations of his family before him had perfected in the art of food preparation.

Mark's lack of what passed in Sarah's mind as 'formal education' hadn't been a huge issue for the first fifteen months that they had lived together. While Mark hadn't taken classes at a university, he was interested in current events and history, especially European Renaissance history. He was also knowledgeable about classical music and painting — another knowledge set that he had learned from his mother.

The upshot was, that on those few occasions when Mark had been able to attend social events held by Sarah's employer, he was perfectly capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation on a variety of subjects, and no one thought about whether he had a college degree one way or the other.

That was until Mark and Sarah had been living together for about sixteen months. That was when, like in every Garden of Eden, the serpent appeared. In this case, it was a serpent by the name of J. Phillip Woodword.

Phillip (never 'Phil') was transferred into the Santa Monica branch of UBL as part of a program intended to groom him for upper management (at least that was what he made sure all of his co-workers were informed). He had gone to one of the snooty east-coast schools and came from an 'old money' family. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot of the money left by the time Phillip arrived on the scene, but it didn't prevent him from looking down on almost everyone, especially these west coast upstarts.

While Phillip might have been an insufferable snob, he wasn't blind and his reaction to watching Sarah's divinely proportioned ass in motion as she walked down the hallways of UBL was about the same as Marks. He wanted to tap some of that! And he tried.

Unsuccessfully!

He could hardly believe that Sarah would turn him down when he asked her out, but she politely let him know that she already had a boyfriend and that although she and Phillip could be friends and colleagues, they would never be more than that. Phillip, to all outward appearances, took the rebuff well.

On the inside, he was seething. Phillip decided rather than giving up on Sarah, to redouble his effort to get into her pants. He just had to figure out how to split her away from her damn boyfriend.

His attack started with a casual conversation over a cup of coffee in Sarah's office.

"So Sarah, what does your boyfriend do?" was Phillip's first foray of gathering intelligence.

"Oh, he's a cook. He works at 'Bistro Parisian' across the street," she replied, not knowing that she had just given Phillip his line of attack.

"A cook? That's really interesting," is what he said, but what he was thinking was, "What the hell is a stone fox like her doing hooking up with a cook?"

"Does he have a degree? Or is he, you know, one of those English Lit majors who couldn't find a job, or something?"

"Oh no. He never went to college. Actually, he spent about six years traveling around the world working as a cook. He saw a lot of interesting places and met a lot of different people," Sarah explained.

"But he never pursued any formal education?" Phillip pressed the issue.

"Well, he did go to a cooking school in France, I think," Sarah told him, trying to remember something that Mark had mentioned in passing one time. "Yeah, I think it was called 'Gordon Blues' cooking school, or something."

"Wow, that's, ah..." Phillip started, but just trailed off.

"What?"

"Well, it seems pretty unusual for someone as educated as you who went to a highly ranked university, to be together with someone who doesn't share the same kind of educational background. But hey, I'm sure that you two have worked it out just fine." Phillip didn't want to be too obvious about his approach.

Sarah just nodded her head, taking in what Phillip had said.

"Oh, we do really well together, and Mark is very intelligent even if he didn't go to school. He reads a lot too, when he isn't working."

Not long after that, Phillip returned to his own office. But the seed had been sown in Sarah's mind.

That evening after dinner, when she and Mark were sitting together in the living room talking, she raised the issue of education herself.

"Mark, honey? You know, I was thinking: if you wanted to go to college, I make enough money now that you could quit your cooking job and go back to school."

Mark looked at her incredulously.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked - his attention now fully focused on Sarah.

"I don't know; you might find all sorts of subjects that interest you at college. I know I did. When I started at the university, I thought that I was going to major in biology and go to medical school; instead, I discovered that what I really enjoyed was business and finance, and ended up getting my degree in that. And look at the job I got as a result."

Mark didn't answer immediately, but Sarah could see that he was literally getting 'hot under the collar'.

"Sarah, how would going to college help me to be a better chef? Or are you saying that cooking is a profession that is somehow less important than working in finance. Or are you suggesting that I'm not educated enough or smart enough for you?"

Sarah became somewhat defensive herself, "No, I'm not saying any of those things; I was just offering to support you if you were to decide to go to school." Now she was getting wound up too, "And I think you're very smart; so smart that I think you could be working a regular work week, and making more money if you were to get a degree and find something else to do!"

"I don't think that you understand me very well," Mark hotly replied, "Cooking is all I've ever wanted to do, and I'm happy doing what I'm doing. It is hard work, and demands long hours, I know, but it's what I'm good at, and what I love."

Sarah backed off a bit, "OK Mark, I didn't mean to get you upset, but I wanted to offer just in case. And if you were to ever change your mind, the offer stands."

That was the end of their first spat, although a couple of hours later as they lay next to each other in bed, they were each thinking their own thoughts and for the first time in their relationship, they were unwilling to communicate them. 

So it went for the next two months; Phillip always 'as a friend' would make observations about Mark's job or his inferior level of education compared with Sarah's, or even implying that Sarah should be with someone on a higher intellectual plain. 

From that night forward, there was always an edge to Mark and Sarah's conversations. Mark had become sensitive, perhaps too sensitive to Sarah's words, seeing more in them than she meant. He began to interpret what she would say as subtle criticisms. He in turn would become short with her. Soon their interactions became an exercise in verbal sniping at each other. In other words, they were hurting each other on a daily basis, both of them acting out of the fear that they were losing the other, and it was becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

The final crisis came about two months after their first little argument.

Given Mark's long hours, sometimes into the evenings, it was not unusual for Sarah to go out for a drink or two with the girls after work. Mark had never objected to her having time with her friends. But that night, he began to wonder about the 'girl's nights out' as well.

That evening, Phillip joined the other Wealth Management group employees at the bar. In truth, Phillip could be a charming man, and quite a conversationalist when he wanted to be, and that evening he dominated Sarah's time. Indeed, they spent almost the entire evening talking with each other to the exclusion of any of the other members of the group. Even after the others had called it a night and left, Phillip and Sarah continued to chitchat. Finally, almost two hours later than was her normal habit, Sarah arrived home to find that Mark had actually gotten there ahead of her.

Mark was somewhat disappointed that Sarah wasn't there when he arrived. He'd been able to take off early from work, and had hoped to have some time to spend with Sarah, to try and address the problems that had been developing in their relationship. Plus, he had some exciting news that he had hoped to share with her — news that would change his future career.


Don't Diss the Chef



Instead, Sarah got home late and had obviously had a few more drinks than her usual. When he tried to talk to her, she began to go on and on about the wonderful time she'd had that evening with Phillip, her new co-worker.

"Phillip?" Mark asked, "I don't recall meeting him."

"I guess not, he's only been with us for a couple of months," the slightly inebriated Sarah admitted. "But you'd like him. He's really smart and went to one of the top schools on the East Coast. He's pretty funny too, once you get to know him."

A light went off in Marks brain the second that Sarah laid that little tidbit on him. The change in Sarah's attitude had begun just about the same time that this Phillip character had come to her office. He wasn't at all persuaded that he would like Phillip; in fact he suspected quite the opposite.

"Ah. Did his wife join you at the bar?" he inquired.

"Don't be silly," Sarah said with a laugh, "He's not married!"

"Really? My, what a surprise," Mark remarked with a grimace that went unnoticed by Sarah. "Was it Phillip who suggested to you that I might one day rise to the level of a wage slave, if only I went to college?"

Sarah frowned thinking about Mark's remark.

"Oh no. I thought of that myself. But we had been talking about your job and how you hadn't gone to school. You know..." her sentence just trailing off.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Phillip might be trying to split us up, and that he is doing it by convincing you that I'm not good enough for you?"

"No, no, no. Phillip is just a friend. He's not interested in splitting us up," Sarah insisted.

"So he's never tried to ask you out, or put moves on you?" Mark pressed the point home.

"Well, when he first arrived he asked me out once, but I told him that you were my boyfriend, and that I couldn't go out with him."

"Sarah, I think that he does want to go out with you, and probably figures that if your boyfriend wasn't around, he would have a shot at getting into your pants!" Mark explained, becoming rather upset. "And one way to get in between us is to try and poison your mind against me."

"Mark," Sarah got loud right back in Mark's face, "You're being unfair to Phillip. He's done nothing to try and 'get in my pants' since I told him no. You're just jealous because Phillip is an investment banker with a degree, and you're just a..." 

Sarah stopped, and she instantly become sober, because she knew that she had gone too far. 

She could see the look on Mark's face that combined the pain of what she had implied about him, with disgust that she had finally exposed her true assessment in a moment of candor.

"Mark, no, no... I'm sorry; I didn't mean what I said. I was just angry and saying the most vicious thing that came into my head..." she said, her entire being filled with a sense of shame.

Mark, shocked and hurt, put an end to it.

"I think I'm going to go to bed. I have an early day tomorrow," he said in a quiet voice, his strength having drained out of him. "Let's talk after we've both had a chance to calm down. That way maybe we won't say anything more that we will regret."

And with that, Mark turned and walked back to the bedroom.

By the time that Sarah joined him, Mark had turned and faced away from her side of the bed. She climbed under the covers and moved over to spoon with her beloved, but he was still and unresponsive to the warmth of her body for the first time since they started living together.

"Mark," she whispered into his ear, "I love you. I love you the way you are. I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to hurt you."

Eventually, they both fell asleep.

The next morning by the time that Sarah woke up, Mark was already gone. She was disappointed that he hadn't even bothered to wake her, and had (she figured) gone off to work kind of pissed off. But she felt more optimistic in the daylight — she would make it up to Mark this evening. In the meantime, she needed to get to work too.

Mark had started off his morning in the opposite kind of mood. So far as he was concerned, he had been putting up with Sarah's complete lack of respect, her dwindling affections, and a growing ration of nagging for the past two months. And worse, now he knew that the sudden rift in their relationship could be attributed to one Phillip Woodword. Mark was not a believer in coincidence, and the arrival of this man on the scene was just too convenient.

But as he sat and had his first cup of coffee for the day, Mark shook his head to clear his mind, because he couldn't let his deteriorating relationship with Sarah interfere with business today. Mark had to put his shit together, because in a couple of hours, he had a meeting this afternoon with Luci Vandenhousen, known in L.A. food circles as 'Luci V.' Luci was a well-known 'angel' in the L.A. restaurant scene. She found great chefs, usually just as their reputations were growing, and she would enter into partnerships with them — they supplied the cooking and the recipes, she supplied the financing, and publicity and voila! A hot new restaurant would be born.

And Mark was her next project.

The downside for Mark was, Luci was an attractive blond in her early forties, and a well-known 'cougar' with a particular taste for young chefs. She was said to have sampled the wares of every chef whose restaurants she had funded. One of the dirty little secrets of the industry was, that like rock-and-roll musicians, celebrities, and politicians, the top chefs also had 'groupies' — one of the reasons why so many of them were divorced. 

"At least," Mark thought to himself, "if I have to service Luci, I won't have to worry about two-timing Sarah anymore." As he'd sat, he made his decision. That afternoon he was going to move out of the apartment that Sarah and he had shared.

After Mark had prepared the lunch meals, he left them for his assistant to finish, and took one of those rare afternoons off. He returned to the apartment, and packed his bags. A sad and depressing thing for him, because he truly loved Sarah, but felt it was his only choice. 

He didn't need a mother telling him what to do, nor a condescending virago, harping day and night trying to 'improve' him. At this time of his life, taking advantage of the opportunity to open his own restaurant was simply too good to pass up.

Before he returned to the restaurant, he wrote out a note and left it for Sarah to find on their dining room table.

~*~*~*~

The day dragged on slowly for Sarah. Even though she thought she had repaired the damage she'd done with Mark, their fight the night before — and she had to admit to herself that it was a fight not just a spat or disagreement — it had left her afraid that it would leave a permanent stain on their relationship. 

She realized that she was desperately in love with Mark, regardless of his job, his working hours, or his lack of a degree. And finally, she was feeling terribly guilty at the fact she had been such a bitch to her lover and partner for the past couple of months.

One of the first things she concluded was that she was going to stop allowing Phillip to have the influence on her opinions that she'd ceded to him since he arrived on the scene. Her opportunity came that morning when he dropped by her office.

"Hey Sarah! How's it going this morning?"

"Not all that well, Phillip. Could you sit down for a minute?" she asked. He took a seat in the chair across the desk from her.

"Sure. By the way, I had a great time with you last night. You're really a lot of fun to be around."

"That's one of the things I want to talk to you about.

"After I got home last night, my boyfriend and I had a big fight. You know that I appreciate your trying to help me out and give me advice, but I'm afraid that some of the ideas that I've been picking up from you are hurting, not helping. I know that wasn't your intention, but that's what the result has been. So, if you don't mind, I would prefer if we didn't discuss my boyfriend or our relationship anymore."

Phillip tried to look abashed on the outside, but inside he was jumping for joy that his strategy had been so successful. So now he would just have to make an adjustment to his method.

"Oh Sarah! I'm so sorry. I certainly didn't mean to cause you any trouble. All I was doing was being a sounding board for your frustrations, and giving you whatever guidance I could.

"But I will absolutely stay away from the subject of your boyfriend, if that's what you think is best. I hope that we can remain friends, though."

Sarah nodded, "Absolutely — after all we still work together, and see each other every day, so I wouldn't want it any other way. But I think from now on, we need to keep things on a more professional basis."

"Absolutely," Phillip agreed, assuming that Sarah's stance wouldn't last long after she broke up with her current boyfriend. Sarah couldn't see the grin on his face as he walked back to his office.

The hours passed with agonizing slowness, until lunchtime finally arrived. Sarah was out the door right at noon, which was earlier than she regularly took her lunch, and across the street to Bistro Parisian to talk to Mark.

"Alas no, Miss Sarah," replied Pierre, the maître d' of Bistro, "Mark said he had some business to attend to, and left. I expect that he will return later this afternoon, if that would help?"

"Thank you, Pierre. I guess that I can come back later."

Pierre looked at Sarah and could see that she was agitated and unhappy not to find Mark at work. Perhaps she was worried that Mark was seeing another woman, he though briefly, before dismissing the thought. No. Not Mark, that wasn't his style. Something else, he decided.

"Miss Sarah — you look, how you say it? Unhappy and disturbed. Can I bring you something to eat? You know life's difficulties are always easier to face on a full stomach."

Sarah had to smile at Pierre's concern as well as his attitude towards food. Like Mark, he lived a life centered around food and the Bistro.

"Thank you, Pierre, but I don't think so. I'm not really very hungry."

"Oh Miss Sarah, Mark made Lobster Bisque for the soup d'jour — can't I get you at least a bowl of bisque and some fresh bread still hot from the oven..."

Sarah could feel her resolve melting at Pierre's description of the soup, so she allowed herself to be convinced. Pierre sat her at a table that was in the kitchen and served her there himself. 

While she ate, Mark's coworkers came by, one after another, and each sat with her for a minute or two, talking and passing the time in pleasant companionship until they had to get back to work. They all had words of praise for Mark: he is a great chef, he is a pleasure to work with, an all around nice man. 

Sarah actually had a great time and enjoyed just being in the hot, steamy, bustling kitchen, filled with dedicated hard working but pleasant people. These were Mark's friends, and this was his world.

And Pierre was right — the troubles between her and Mark seemed less ominous and more solvable to her on a full stomach.

The only worrisome thing was that Mark didn't get back to the Bistro in time for Sarah to see him. She had to return to work.

~*~*~*~

Luci was right on time for the meeting at 4:30 that afternoon. There wasn't really much left to do as far as the partnership was concerned. Over the last two months they had gone over the details a hundred times — the menus, the décor of the dining room, the kitchen requirements, the staffing, the location, and the financing. All that was left now were the signatures on the papers. The lawyers had reviewed the documents and everyone all around conceded that the contract accurately reflected the desires of both parties.

As Mark looked across the table at Luci, he couldn't help but think to himself that she was a work of art — the art of the cosmetic surgeon!

He knew she was at least forty-years old, but she looked ten years younger, at least if you didn't look too closely. Her nose had been straightened, her cheekbones enhanced. Her breasts weren't that large, but they stood out like bullets from her chest, firmer than would look natural even on a younger woman. Her ass was so perfectly rounded, that it screamed of liposuction and surgical shaping. 

She was thin, almost to the point of anorexia, which surprised most people when they discovered that she was the part owner of half-a-dozen of L.A.'s top restaurants. But it was easily explained by the hours each day she spent with her expensive trainers in her home gym, who kept her fit and thin.

She was, though, a natural blond, a fact to which her lovers could attest. She did not go in for 'brazilians', leaving a thin blond landing strip for their delight.

"I can't tell you how excited I am, Mark," she exclaimed, an obvious glow lighting her face. For Luci, starting a new restaurant was comparable to being pregnant and giving birth for most women. They had just finished signing the paperwork and were finishing off their celebratory glasses of Champaign before Mark had to get back to the kitchen to prepare for the dinner seating.

Even Mark was feeling better, despite the situation between him and Sarah. With his own restaurant, he was sure that he could hit the big time. Mark was so pleased, in fact, that he didn't object when Luci reached across the table and took both of his hands in hers.

Luci was ecstatic, and could hardly stop talking. 

"We should be able to open in about six weeks — thank god that the kitchen was already set up, and is fairly new. So we get the decorators in there and let them go to town.

"In the meantime, I'll start talking up 'Trattoria Veni Vidi' with my contacts at the Times, and Channel 7. Once they are on to it, everyone else will follow. Oh, I guess L.A. Magazine too. They will all be completely blown away by the food."

As she finished speaking, Luci looked up to see a young woman with red hair standing at the doorway of the Bistro staring directly at their table with a horrified look on her face. Feeling more than a little mischievous, Luci raised her voice.

"Mark, the two of us are going to be SO good together; it's a marriage made in heaven!"

Then she looked back at the redhead with a smug look, and smiled.

Sarah's face fell when she heard the blond bimbo sitting with Mark say those ugly words. Whatever pain she had caused Mark, she had just received back ten-fold. Tears began to run from her eyes, even before she could take a breath, which was followed by a sobbing gasp. Then she turned and ran out the door into the evening.

Hearing her sudden gasp, Mark disentangled his hands from Luci's grasp. He turned, just in time to recognize Sarah fleeing from the Bistro.

"Sarah, Sarah! Wait!" he called at the fleeing figure.

He stood up from the table so quickly that he knocked the chair he was sitting on over. He ran to the door, but it was too late. By the time he made it out onto the street, Sarah could not be seen. He looked one way and then the other, but it was made more difficult because it was right at closing time for all of the surrounding businesses, and the sidewalks were at their most congested of the day.

Mark slowly walked back into the Bistro. Luci, having done her damage, kissed him on the cheek as she walked out.

"OK Mark. We'll talk tomorrow, and get YOUR new restaurant started. By the way, who was the woman?" Luci asked, already having a fairly good notion.

"She's my girlfriend — I mean... I guess my ex-girlfriend."

"Oh no! I hope I didn't frighten her off!" Luci replied, with a sincere tone that bespoke of her acting abilities.

"No, I don't think so. I didn't expect her for a while. She told Pierre that she was coming by this evening to talk to me. I guess she wasn't that keen on the idea. She was probably going to bitch at me for one thing or another," Mark said, trying to make light of what had just happened. But Luci could tell how badly the break-up was affecting him just by the dispirited tone of his voice.

She reached over and caressed the side of Mark's face.

"Don't worry, darling. You are going to be so busy for the next couple of months, you won't have a second to worry about women. And after 'Veni Vidi' is open, your main problem will be keeping the women at bay!' she laughed, not saying what she was thinking — that one of those women stalking the lithe young chef would be her.

Strangely enough, she was right. For the next six weeks, he was too busy to worry about anything except getting the restaurant opened in time.

~*~*~*~

When Sarah arrived back at the apartment that she and Mark had shared, it didn't take long for her to discover that he'd left her.

His clothes were gone from the closet, his toiletries were missing from the bathroom, none of his personal effects remained, just the photos of the two of them together still hanging on the walls.

She found the note on the table.

Dearest Sarah,

Sarah, I love you more than anything else in this world — yes, even more than my other love, cooking. I can't conceive that I will ever 'not love' you. You were my perfect other half. You completed me; you filled my soul with joy. You were a perfect lover, and a perfect love. I'm mystified how I will be able to live without you, but I can promise you, it will be with less happiness in my life.

But I cannot go on living with you the way things have been recently. Your lack of respect for what I do, and the goals that motivate me in MY life, hurts me beyond my capacity to explain. And I will not accept living with someone who has recently begun to criticize everything that I do, and everything that I am. So perhaps it is time that we part.

Perhaps you have already left me in spirit, leaving me for Phillip, or some other man who will better match your needs. I hope you find the right man, the man with whom you can live a fulfilling life, have the children that we talked about having one day, and who can love you as much as I do. I truly wish you happiness and love.

One last thing: I left you a dish of Coq au Vin in the refrigerator. Bake it at 275 degrees for about two-and-a-half hours. Remember not to cook it any higher than 275 (the oven cooks a little hot), and don't forget to take it out on time — set the timer. You'll have leftovers for a couple of nights out of that; just reheat until it's warm enough to eat.

Love forever,

Mark

Ps: I also put some tamales that I made in the freezer. The cooking instructions are on a piece of paper in the bag.

Pps: Don't use the damn microwave to reheat the Coq au Vin; use the oven at a low temperature.

Sarah read the note and sat at the table most of the rest of the night bawling her eyes out. Even on his way out the door, Mark wanted to make sure she didn't go hungry. 

"What kind of bitch am I," she asked herself, "to drive off a man like Mark! And how could he possible imagine that I had anything, anything at ALL, going with Phillip."

She was having a difficult time reconciling what Mark wrote in his farewell letter with what Sarah had seen in the Bistro. She simply could NOT believe that Mark was involved with that skanky old bimbo who reeked of plastic surgery, regardless of what she heard. An old cougar like that was just 'so not Mark!' 

Not that it really mattered. Mark had left her, and that was the only important fact. 

Sarah didn't go into work the following day because she was felt so miserable, but the day afterwards she knew that she couldn't keep acting as if the world had ended, and that she had to continue living, so it was back to the old grind.

There was a shocking surprise awaiting her at work that day.

Sarah was sitting in her office when her friend, Brenda, knocked on her door.

"Come on in Brenda. What's going on?"

Brenda looked rather uncomfortable.




Don't Diss the Chef



"Sarah, do know who R. Bradley Leonard is?"

"Oh course. He is the Vice-President for UBL's west coast Wealth Management operations. My boss's boss. Why do you ask?" Brenda tilted her head a little and smiled a pseudo-smile that implied bad, evil, even earth shaking events.

"Well, Mr. R Bradley Leonard is in Phillip's office, and he would like to see you. Next."

Sarah looked puzzled, "Next? And what is Mr. Leonard doing here? I didn't see any emails to the effect that he was coming?"

"'Next' means everyone else in the department has already been in to see him. As for why he's here — I'll let him explain."

To say that Sarah walked down the hall to Phillip's office with a certain amount of trepidation would be an understatement. She was scared stiff that she was going to be fired for some reason, although in truth, she couldn't remember doing anything worse than maybe 'borrowing' a pencil or pen from the office to take home. Just to write shopping lists.

"Please, Sarah, come in," boomed the voice of R. Bradley Leonard, "I think that we've met before at the regional meetings, but I've never had the pleasure of speaking to you one-on-one. Oh, and please call me 'Brad'. I don't stand much on formalities."

"Yes sir, I mean 'Brad," Sarah replied, while entering the office and sitting as instructed. She looked around at the office; something seemed a little odd.

"Excuse me Sir, I mean, Brad. Where is Phillip?" 

"Ahem. Well that is the reason for our little meeting here today.

"Tell me, how well did you know Phillip?" he asked.

"Not terribly well. We spoke here at the office on occasion, and once recently Phillip joined us after work for drinks," Sarah replied, her curiosity evident.

"Did he ever ask you about your work, or about the procedures that the Wealth Management Group used?" Formality or not, Brad seemed to be very serious about this line of questioning.

"No Sir. Actually, he and I only ever spoke about personal things — he was giving me advice in how to deal with my boyfriend, you know, from a man's point of view," Sarah said, blushing as she admitted to the fact. "And in fact, his advice wasn't very good, because it only made things worse. May I ask why you are interested?"

"In short," Brad explained, "The man we knew as Phillip, it turns out, was not Phillip Woodword. He is some sort of imposter, who managed to get the real Phillip Woodword's information, and acquired or manufactured documentation that convinced our corporate HR people that he was Phillip Woodword.

"At this point, it's not clear who he actually was, and he seems to have cottoned on to the fact that we were on to him, and he has disappeared into the woodwork. And now we have to figure out what, if anything, he took or did during his tenure with UBL. 

"Thank you for coming in and answering our questions, Sarah. I hope that we meet again in more positive circumstances. And if you hear from him, or have any relevant information that might come to mind — anything that he might have told you that you don't remember at this moment, here is a card for my office; call me and let us know."

Sarah walked quietly back to her office. "How stupid could I have been? Some complete fraud convinced me he was so educated and smart and I believed him. And he shook my faith in a man who I knew was smart, and who was educated, just in a different way." She made it back to her office before she started weeping again.

Sarah wanted to, no, she needed to talk to Mark, to explain, to apologize, even to grovel a little. But she couldn't find him. It was like he'd dropped off the face of the earth. His phone was no longer in service; no one from Bistro knew where he'd moved, but he wasn't working there anymore. Even his Facebook page had been shut down. It seemed ironic to Sarah that Mark Flore had disappeared as completely as the phony Phillip Woodword.

~*~*~*~

WARNING! Dear readers — in the remainder of the story, some of the dialog is in 'dialect'. This is not intended to offend anyone. I was in Italy last year and I've tried to recreate the wonderful English with an Italian accent that I heard there. There are a lot of words to which an 'ah' sound is added. Some words lose letters — 'g's at the end of words, and 'h's at the beginnings. 'The' sounds like 'dee'. So be prepared. Put on your best Italian accent, and read the dialog out loud phonetically. And to add a real Italian flavor, with your hands, put your thumb touching the first and second fingers, and turn your hand so it's pointing up, then go back and forth moving your hands at the wrist. Now'a thats'a real Italiano!

~*~*~*~

So it was that months later, Sarah and her friend Brenda found themselves waiting in a line to get into L.A.'s newest, hottest restaurant — 'Trattoria Veni Vidi' on the Malibu pier.

Mark and the new maître d' of Veni Vidi, Antonio Fiumi, an Italian immigrant, known universally as 'Tony', were looking through a small window in the kitchen at the line of people waiting to get into the restaurant. Although they didn't take reservations, if they spotted Goldie Hawn or Pamela Anderson, or one of the other famous Malibu residents waiting, Tony would sneak them in and seat them at Mark's special 'reserved' table.

"Oh shit," Mark said under his breath.

"Wha's that'a, boss?" Tony asked, thinking that perhaps a food critic or some other vile reprobate was in line. 

"There towards the back of the line. See the redhead?"

"Oh, si. D' one wi' the nice apair?" Tony noted when he spotted her, his hands making the universal 'big tits' motion.

"Yeah, she's the one. Her name is Sarah Bell, and she's my ex-girlfriend."

Tony thought that one over, and considered for a moment how he would respond to one of his old girlfriends showing up.

"You want I should'a tell her to butts off, an' forget'a 'bout eatin' here?"

Mark just shook his head, and looked at Tony.

"First Tony, it's 'buzz off' not 'butts off'. Lord, you will get us in to trouble if you confuse those two words. And no, I don't want you to get rid of her. Why don't you bring her around and put her at my table, and I'll put together dinner for her and her friend."

"Ok'a boss'a man. I jus' 'ope that'a Barbara not'a show up tonight. You know 'ow upset'a she get, when you'a no seat 'er at your'a table!"

"Tony, you know as well as I do that Miss Streisand was here last night, so it is very unlikely that she will be here again tonight..."

The upshot was, that Tony ventured into the night, and found himself face-to-face with Sarah and Brenda.

" 'eya, you two nice'a ladies, I'm'a Tony d' maître d' of'a Veni Vidi. Could'a you please'a come with'a me, aroun' d' side?"

A suspicious Brenda looked askance at the stranger.

"If we follow you, we'll lose our place in line."

Tony was nonplussed by her response.

"But I'm'a take'n you in'a d' restaurant by d' side door!" he stated.

"How do I know you're really the maître d', and not some imposter who suckers people out their place in line?"

"Lady," Tony said in a firm, no nonsense tone, "You see'a how I am dress? You think'a d' phony-baloney maître d' go outta and buy d' tuxedo suit to'a fool you?"

Sarah intervened, "Brenda, just follow the man. If we lose our place, we'll just scream bloody murder until they give us our place back."

Tony beamed.

"You see! Do'a wha' d' lady she say."

And with that, Tony led them around to the side door, into the dining room and seated them at the special 'Chef's Reserved' table.

Tony seated them himself, pulling out their chairs for them, presenting them with napkins, and generally treating them like royalty. As soon as they had been seated, Tony turned and snapped his fingers, and a waiter instantly came to the table and dropped off a champaign style glass filled with a clear sparkling liquid for each of them.

Tony stood by, as they picked up their glasses, and made a little 'toast' to themselves and took a sip.

"This'a drink'a she is called in Venezia, d' 'Spritz', and she is'a made from..."

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed, and interrupted Tony.

"From Prosecco, sparkling water and Aperol! And it's perfect. Brenda, this tastes exactly like the ones that Mark used to make for me."

Tony smiled, bowed and excused himself to return to his other duties.

While Sarah and Brenda sat enjoying their 'Spritz's and wondering when someone would arrive with their menus, other people in the room were wondering who these two lovely ladies were who had been put to the head of the line, so to speak, and seated at what the connoisseurs knew was the table reserved for VIPs. Models? Movie stars? They had become ladies of mystery who'd taken the chef's fancy.

Back in the kitchen, Mark was getting ready to leave for a while.

"OK Tony. Everything is set — serve them the dishes I've set out, and make sure that they have a really great time. No bill! They are on the house tonight."

"Boss'a, where'a you goin'?" Tony asked, looking at Mark as he donned his leather jacket.

"I'm going for a ride up the coast. I...well; I just can't stay here right now."

And with that, Mark walked out of the restaurant, and over to the parking area where his Porsche was parked. He started up his new toy, pulled out, and headed up PCH towards Oxnard. He figured he could stop at Paradise Cove, or find a bar in Oxnard to hang in for a little while.

Back at the table, the girls were on their second Spritz, and had been served a basket full of sliced whole wheat Nicosia olive bread, made with olives, onions and thyme, accompanied by a small dish of garlic butter and an olive bruschetta in a second dish.

Brenda was eating slices of bread, alternating between spreading butter and the bruschetta on the robust loaf.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven!" she said between pieces.

Sarah, on the other hand, had a strange, quizzical look on her face.

"You know, Brenda, this bread and the bruschetta taste just like what Mark used to make for us, when he was doing his 'Italian' thing."

"Really? And you dumped a man who could cook for you like this?" was the ever practical Brenda's response.

Before Sarah could go any further with her thought, the waiter brought a bottle of red wine to the table. Sarah noticed that it was Chianti Reserve 2007 from the Verrazzano winery in Tuscany — a wine that Mark had told her was one of his favorite wines, from one of the best wineries in the Tuscan region.

"Excuse me," Sarah said to the waiter to get his attention, "but we didn't order this. In fact, we haven't actually ordered anything yet — but we keep getting served!"

"But Miss, it's all on the meal ticket. I saw it back in the kitchen."

Sarah persisted, "But if we aren't ordering all of this, how can you expect us to pay for it?" Sarah was actually becoming a little worried, since she'd heard about the prices at the restaurant, and meals costing several hundred dollars per person were not unusual.

The waiter looked at Sarah blankly, "The meal ticket is marked 'paid', so you aren't paying for it."

Brenda perked right up when she heard that!

"Sarah, we've won the lottery! Don't say another thing, because I, for one, am really enjoying this meal. Do not question this. It is a sign from God."

Sarah shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, but stopped complaining. Plus the wine was excellent.

The main course was no surprise in an Italian restaurant. A pizza, but what a pizza it was.

The dough was thick, with a slightly sweet bread-like consistency, covered by a pizza sauce and pieces of cooked tomatoes and topped with mushrooms, sausage and cheese. But when Sarah tasted her first bite of the pizza, she motioned Tony to come over to their table.

"Tony, this pizza — can you tell me about it?" asked a now rather stern looking Sarah.

"Well, d' boss'a, he make'a d' dough ever' day. We make'a the sauce d' couple times a week. We use'a only d' mozzarella bufala cheese, and d' sausage, she'a come from'a fellow in Pear Blossom who'a he's makin' it especial for d' boss. We only use'a tomatoes that are'a kept until they are'a red on'a d' vine, and d' fungi..."

Sarah interrupted again, "are rare, and they use pigs to find them?"

Once again, Tony beamed, as he nodded in the affirmative.

"You'a got it. All'a of d' things together make'a this d' best'a pizza in'a Los Angeles, maybe in'a California, maybe in'a d' world!"

As Tony walked back to his station, Sarah turned to Brenda.

"Brenda, this pizza is exactly like the ones Mark used to make; this was my favorite pizza combination. And only Mark made them like this!"

Brenda shrugged her shoulders, and took another bite from the pie.

"It's great. I love it. Eat. We can talk later," she concluded, getting back to the serious business of devouring this unique and extraordinary pizza.

Sarah did as Brenda suggested, and joined her friend as they drank their Chianti and ate their pizza. Sarah though, still had her suspicions.

It was the dessert that tipped Sarah from suspicion to out-and-out paranoia.

It was a triple-berry pie filling, in a tort style crust, topped with a hand-made lavender-infused whip cream and fresh berries. It was delicious, with its fragrant lavender smell, combined with the mixture of blueberries, black berries and raspberries, and it was the final outrage for Sarah.

"Brenda, I swear: this dessert recipe is identical to the one that Mark makes. There is something funny going on here!" And with that, she motioned Tony over again.

"She's a good'a dessert, si?" he said, as he approached the table.

"Yes, it was a delicious dessert Tony. But could we possibly speak to the chef?" Sarah asked, on the trail of a mystery.

"Im'a sorry, lady, but'a d' boss'a, 'e a left just'a about'a d' same time'a you are arriving," Tony explained, apologetically.

"Ah," Sarah said, not sure if she really believed Tony's story of the missing chef. "Then may I ask: what is the chef's name?"

"Oh sure'a — his'a name is'a Marko d'Fiorenze," Tony revealed.

"Is there'a anythin' else you ladies would'a like? A digestif? D' glass of'a sherry, perhaps'a d' port? And 'ow are you'a liking d' pizza? She is'a d' 'Bella Sara', our'a mos' popular'a pizza."

Hearing the name of the pizza, the 'Bella Sara', Sarah and Brenda looked at each other. Sarah was about to start making a fuss, when Brenda stopped her again.

"Don't you dare say a word. If you do, they'll decide that they made a mistake and that we're really supposed to pay for this meal. And I don't want to be washing the dishes here for the next week!"

Sarah glared at Brenda for her unwillingness to stand up and defend Mark's honor, but decided that now was not the time or the place.

Even though they had assured Tony that they were completely sated, a small glass of icy cold Limoncello was presented to complete the meal.

Shortly afterwards, the two women left Veni Vidi; one happy as a lark to be stuffed to the gills with exquisite Italian food, the other equally filled, but indignant at what she suspected was a great miscarriage of justice. 

Sarah feared that this chef Marko d'Fiorenze was making his reputation by stealing her boyfriend's (well, she conceded, ex-boyfriend's) culinary masterpieces. He would NOT succeed!

Sarah was determined she was going to come back and have it out with this ruthless food pirate!

~*~*~*~

The next day things had returned to normal at Veni Vidi.

Tony and Mark were quietly eating an early lunch before the restaurant opened for the day, going over the specials for the dinner sitting, and reviewing the surprise visit from the night before.

"Boss'a, now I am'a understand why you have'a d' Botticelli paintings in d' dining room — you 'ave you' own Simonetta!" exclaimed Tony.

"Simonetta?" Mark asked, obviously missing Tony's meaning.

"Sure — she is'a Sandro Botticelli's redhead'a model who is a d' Venus who is a rising from'a d' 'alf-shell! That was 'er'a name: Simonetta Vespucci. You ex look'a jus' alike her."

Mark thought about it, "You know, I never thought about that but I guess you're right. Sarah does look a lot like the redhead in the paintings."

Then, joking, he turned back to Tony, "But Tony, you better not turn on the Italian charm. I'm still not completely over her," he touched his heart, "and I'd never forgive you if you were to steal off with her!"

"Not to worry, boss. My wife'a, Fabiola, she'sa Italiano too, and she 'ave'a d' 'Christmas' attitude'a about'a d' other women."

"Don't you mean a 'Christian' attitude, Tony?" asked Mark.

"No, no! A 'Christmas' attitude'a: I touch'a d' other woman, Fabiola she a have'a my'a chestnuts roastin' on d' open fire!" he answered, laughing uproariously at his own joke. 

There are several places that have been widely recognized for the fact that they provide no real privacy — the Captain's stateroom on an old sailing ship, and anywhere at all in a restaurant. The proof of the latter was that the entire conversation that passed between Mark and Tony was overheard in its entirety by Mark's business partner, Luci, who was sitting in the adjacent dining room area going over the books with her accountant.

Luci was very, very satisfied with the way that 'Trattoria Veni Vidi' had developed. She had gotten the word around to key members of the food press in L.A., who in turn had spoken and written with great anticipation of the opening of a new 'Luci V.' restaurant. The first couple of nights the restaurant served meals limited to a small group of invited friends, to allow the staff of Veni Vidi to work out any kinks in the operation, but after that when the 'official' opening night rolled around, the lines were long and the diners were hungry. And fortunately, the food that Veni Vidi served was so good, that they kept coming back for more.

On the other hand, Luci was not happy that thus far she had not been able to consummate her erotic desires with Mark.

Luci was a wealthy woman. She had been born with the proverbial 'silver spoon' in her mouth. She, with her combined skill at spotting great chefs and her business acumen in the restaurant industry, had actually multiplied the wealth she started with several times over. Luci was a smart, savvy businesswoman. 

And she was used to getting her way, but this time her target was not cooperating. Mark just wasn't responding. Her hints, he ignored; the flirting seemed to bounce off of him like water off a duck. When she would give him a wide-open shot of her boobs, or open her legs to invite him to consider dining at the 'Y', he just turned his eyes away. It was really irritating.

Overhearing Mark and Tony's candid conversation, though, gave her an idea.

~*~*~*~

Sarah had gone in to work the day after her dinner at Veni Vidi, but she had been close to useless. Her body was sitting at the desk, but her mind was in a quandary, wondering what her best approach would be to stop this... this... culinary interloper who was poaching Mark's recipes.

"You don't really know that, Sarah," Brenda had insisted that morning. "Maybe Mark 'sold' him the right to use the recipes, or something."

"Never!" Sarah replied, with firm conviction. "Those were HIS recipes that he'd worked on, and he always told me that the only way that he would part with them was if he became really famous, he might put one or two of them in a cookbook.

"If I could only find him, I would let him know — but there still aren't any new listings for Mark Flore. I think he must have moved completely out of the area. If I told him, though, he would be raising hell about it. Mark was such a nice guy, but he was pretty tough too. I wouldn't want to be in the guy's shoes at Veni Vidi when Mark shows up."

Brenda reflected for a moment, "Well, the only way for you to really know what is going on is for you to talk to that chef and confront him. See what he says, and if he doesn't have a good explanation, then you contact the food critic guys who write for the papers and accuse him publicly."




Don't Diss the Chef



That made sense to Sarah. Now all she had to do was summon the courage to make a call to the chef. It was time for her to throw down the gauntlet to protect her man, even if he would never know.

"No, no — I'm'a sorry lady, but'a d' chef he is really no here right'a now. I'm'a criss-a-cross my'a heart!' Tony explained.

"Well he can't be gone all of the time. He is stealing the recipes that he is using from my boyfriend, and I will not let him get away with it. I'll write a letter to the newspaper. I'll get in touch with the television stations. I'll go to the State Department of Consumer Affairs!" Sarah threatened.

Tony blinked, "d' Departmento of'a Consumer Affairs?"

"Yes. I'll charge Veni Vidi with food fraud!" 

There was a long silent pause at the other end of the phone, as Tony silently prayed for patience.

"OK'a lady, I talk'a to d' boss'a when he get in and letta 'im know what'a you say. Here, lemme get'a d' piece a paper and I take'a you phone number..."

A couple of hours later, Tony was repeating the conversation to Mark.

"The Department of Consumer Affairs? She wants to charge us with food fraud? I don't think that they care about someone stealing a recipe," Mark observed.

Tony nodded in agreement, "They are'a never'a showin' up'a d' restaurants where'a I'm'a workin'. Public Health, si, but not'a Consumer Affair'a peoples."

"Not to mention that I could hardly steal my own recipes. I think this is some sort of karma thing — I must have done a lot of really stupid things in a previous life that I'm paying for now," Mark said, sighing.

"OK, Tony. Call Sarah back and tell her to come out here Monday for lunch. I'll meet with her and straighten this whole thing out."

"But'a boss!"

"Yeah, I know Tony — it's Valentine's Day. But we aren't open for lunch on Monday, and the staff won't be coming in until 2:00 to prepare for our special Valentine's dinner. That should give me a little time alone with her."

"You know'a, boss, I'm'a thinkin' she'sa still in'a love wit' you," Tony interjected, because as a man, as a lover, and as an Italian, he was a big believer in the power of love!

"I'm still in love with her too, Tony. But she was never able to respect what I do, and I can't face living a life together with someone who doesn't understand and support my art," and saying that, Mark shrugged his shoulders and turned to go back to the kitchen.

~*~*~*~

After overhearing Tony and Mark talking about Mark's taste for Botticelli's model, Simonette Vespucci, Luci first spent some time looking at the reproduction of 'The Birth of Venus' in the dining room; then she acquired a book that also contained a copy of the famous painting. If a Simonette was what Mark wanted, then a Simonette was what she would give him.

From one of the workers in the kitchen, Luci had also learned that Mark was coming in early on Monday, when no one else would be around the restaurant.

It was her chance, her opportunity to ambush Mark.

Over the weekend Luci's hairdresser spent hours and hours getting Luci's hair just the right shade of red. And that meant coloring her 'landing strip' as well. Luci already had blue-gray eyes, so that wasn't a problem. But there was no way that Luci, who had always prided herself on her complete tan, as in 'no pale areas from bathing suits' and the like, could manage to get her complexion to mimic the very pale ivory color of Venus in the painting. She would just have to make do.

Luci's highest hurdle to overcome was finding extensions for her hair that were the right color, and long enough. In the painting, Simonette's hair was so long it extended below her butt, for heavens sake! They promised her at the salon that they would have them by Monday morning, and she would just have to hope that they could come through for her.

Sarah wasn't happy at being put off until Monday, but it was what she could get. She would meet with this Chef d'Fiorenze and give him a piece of her mind. Maybe she hadn't supported Mark the way she should have before when they were together, but she was going to stand up for him now, when he wasn't there to defend himself.

For both women, it was a long slow weekend, as they waited for their respective plans to come to fruition.

Mark worked at Veni Vidi the whole weekend, and didn't have a moment to spare thinking about either woman.

On Monday morning, Luci was at the hairdresser by 10:00 getting her extensions put on, and having a few last minute touch ups done to match her hair and the extensions. By 11:00, she was getting in her car to drive from her West Side luxury condo up to Malibu, to Veni Vidi. She estimated about a 45-minute drive, given traffic conditions.

Sarah, on the other hand, had gone to work in the morning, but had claimed to have a doctor's appointment. She figured that if she left work at 11:30, she could make it up the coast to the pier in Malibu in about a half-an-hour. That would be perfect to make sure that she was on time for her appointment to see Chef d'Fiorenze.

Mark had slept in late for once, after working both days of the weekend. Normally Veni Vidi was closed on Mondays, but because this was Valentine's Day, they had a special 'by invitation only' dinner planned.

Mark was excited about the dinner that night, for it was not about the VIPs, the big-money people, or the entertainment industry mavens. Tonight's dinner was for the people who had supported Mark's efforts and appreciated his cooking for years, and who had loyally followed him from restaurant to restaurant. The people invited tonight were patrons of Trattoria Veni Vidi today, but had eaten Marks cooking at the Bistro Parisian before that. 

Some had been his customers, co-workers and friends from the three other eateries in L.A. where he'd worked before Bistro. Heck, there was a customer who was coming who'd first met Mark when he was working as a baker in France, and another from his short time working as the dessert chef in a famous hotel in Monaco. 

This was his chance to pay them back a little, by sharing his now more developed and mature cuisine.

Tonight, these were his guests. They weren't paying money tonight, but they were paying homage to a wonderful cook, and he was saying to all of them, "Thank you, my friends."

As much as Mark was looking forward to the dinner, he had to take care of a few business matters first, including dealing with his ex-girlfriend Sarah. Sarah — who still came to him in his dreams, and who tore his heart apart when he awoke, only to find the bed empty next to him. Sarah, who was his love, but with whom he could no longer live.

So it was that by 11:30 Monday, the morning of Valentine's Day, Mark parked in his space on the pier, unlocked and entered Veni Vidi's door, leaving it unlocked behind him.

By 11:45, Mark was already completely involved in reviewing purchase orders for ingredients, looking over time cards, and checking the feedback from customers on their comment cards.

So intent was he that he never heard as Luci entered into the dining room at Veni Vidi, and it was only when she poked her head into the kitchen area and spoke to him that he was aware of her presence.

"Oh Mark?" Luci called, trying to sound as sweet and enticing as she could. "Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you."

A little irritated, Mark looked at his watch. 

"Yeah, Luci. Come on in."

Her voice came back, sounding a little breathless, "Could we talk out in the dining area?"

The distracted chef swore under his breath, but she was his business partner after all.

"Sure," he called out, "Just give me a minute to finish what I'm working on here and I'll be right out."

"OK Mark. I'll wait out here," Luci answered. The timing would be perfect.

So while she was waiting for Mark, Luci stripped down completely, folding her clothes and placing them on one of the tables. Then she walked over to stand in front of the painting of Venus by Botticelli. She posed just like Simonette was posed in the painting, and waited for Mark to come into the dining area and discover her. How could he resist!

Sarah had arrived just on time, although she had to park a little further away than either Mark or Luci, so she was a couple of minutes behind Luci. Long enough that she didn't see Luci enter the restaurant before her.

She walked up to the restaurant door, and even though the sign said 'CLOSED', it opened when she pulled on the handle. She entered into the dark building, first into the little foyer, and passing through that into the dining area where she expected to find Chef d'Fiorenze.

A couple more steps into the dining room, and then,

Sarah froze in place, as her eyes came into contact with...

A woman, standing there completely nude!

Sarah, shocked, raised her hand to her mouth, unable to make a sound. Luci, on the other hand, saw Sarah walk into the room and, 

SCREAMED!!

"AHHHHHH, WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

Luci's screams had broken Sarah's paralysis, so that she too was screaming.

"AHHHHHH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU'RE NAKED!"

"THIS IS MY RESTAURANT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY RESTAURANT?"

"I"M SUPPOSED TO BE MEETING THE CHEF HERE, NOT SOME CRAZY NAKED WOMAN!"

This little and remarkably uncivil exchange might have gone on for some time, except that Mark, having heard the sounds of two clearly deranged women, hurried out from the kitchen into the dining room.

He looked across the room from one to the other and then back again, before he too shouted:

"STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!"

There was a quiet pause as both of the women shifted their eyes from each other to Mark.

"Luci?"

"Mark!"

"Sarah?"

"Mark?"

Luci finally had the presence of mind to grab a tablecloth from the nearest table and wrapped it around herself. Sarah, in shock, had rather slowly sunk down into a chair, trying to avoid fainting away, where she sat staring at Mark. In the meantime, Mark was trying to figure out where to start the conversation.

"What, pray tell, is going on out here?" he finally asked, after which both woman began to talk again, each trying to get her story out first.

"Well, I was waiting for..." "And there was this crazy woman..." "I don't understand what she's doing here..." "So I was..."

"HOLD ON," he shouted again, and a silence descended on the room. "That's better; let's do this one at a time."

"Ah, Luci, first. May I ask you a question?" he asked looking at Luci. She nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Why are you, or at least, were you, standing naked in the dining area?"

By this time, Luci was crying and sobbing, and as she answered, her nose was running, and — need one describe it in more detail?

"Well, (sniff) I overheard you and Tony talking (rapid ragged breath) about how you were attracted to women who looked (sniff, sniff) like some model (sob) in this painting, (ragged breath) and I thought (sniff) that if I looked more (little delicate snort) like her, then you might (sniff, sniff) notice me. (Out and out crying for a moment) (Deep breath) So I was going to (sniff) let you see me nude like the woman (sob) in the painting, so you would know (another little snort) that I could look just like her, (small wail) if that's what you wanted!" at which point she just sat there softly crying with a defeated look on her face.

Mark looked at his business partner, who had helped him so much, and of whom, he was very fond. But he had no real desire for her, and frankly was not especially attracted to older women — although he had to admit that Luci was a very attractive woman regardless of her age.

Mark gathered Luci in his arms, still wrapped in nothing expect a tablecloth, and sat her on his lap. He picked up a handy napkin from the adjacent table and carefully wiped her face of its tears and other effluvia. Then he kissed her gently on her forehead.

"Oh Luci. I like you just the way you are — you don't need to change for me. And I'm flattered that you would do this for me. What man wouldn't be? If the situation was different, well, who knows? You've always impressed me, with your mind, you are one smart cookie; you're hard working and determined, and no one is better at getting a restaurant up and running than you."

Mark paused for a second before adding, "And you've got a great looking body and are very pretty too, by the way."

"But Luci, you are also my business partner, and I don't think that it is ever a good idea for business partners to mix their business and private lives together. What would happen if we got together for a while, but then split up? Could you run the restaurant without me?"

Mark looked at Luci, and she shook her head 'no'.

"No you couldn't. And could I find the money and get the publicity for the restaurant that you do?"

He looked back at her, and again she shook her head 'no'.

"See, we each have to do our part. But if either one of us got angry and left, Veni Vidi would fall apart. So it's best if we are not physically involved with each other.

"And there is another problem. I'm not in love with you. I just had my heart broken," Mark said, glancing at Sarah sitting in the chair not ten feet away, "and I'm not ready for any other woman right now."

Mark helped Luci back up to her feet, and gave her a gentle pat on her rear end.

"So why don't you go and get dressed, and get yourself ready to do some hostess duty for the dinner tonight. Will you do that for me?"

Luci nodded, gathered her clothes, and went back through the kitchen doors to the staff bathroom.

Luci taken care of, Mark turned his attention to Sarah.

"So what is this about turning us in to the Department of Consumer Affairs? Calling the critics and the television stations? What were you thinking?" he asked.

Sarah was looking rather abashed.

"What are you doing here Mark? Do you work for Chef d'Fiorenze? I ate dinner here last week, and I was sure he was stealing your recipes and taking the credit for himself. I wasn't going to let him get away with it..."at which point Sarah's tears started in earnest, and she was crying and sobbing and her nose was running, and — need one describe it in more detail?

"Because (sniff,) I love you so much, (rapid ragged breath,) and I couldn't find you, and I couldn't let you know (sniff, sniff,) that they were serving your (sob) recipes, that you spent so much time (ragged breath) creating, so I had to protect you myself (sniff) but it's so hard without you. (little delicate snort) I was so stupid, not appreciating (sniff, sniff) that you were a really great chef. (Out and out crying for a moment) (Deep breath) And I still love you (sniff) and I'm so lonely and miss you so much (sob) and now I don't understand (another little snort) what's going on, but it's too late (small wail) for me to get you back!" at which point she just sat there softly crying with a defeated look on her face.

Mark thought about what Sarah had said and decided to start from the beginning.

"First, Sarah, I'm Chef d'Fiorenze."

She gasped, "But you're Mark Flore!"

Mark smiled a little, "Yeah, I'm Mark Flore too.

"You have to understand that when my parents came to the U.S., they decided to simplify their name and make it sound more 'American.' In Italy, our name was d'Fiorenze — which means, roughly, 'from Florence.' So my folks took the English name for Fiorenze, and then they shortened it to 'Flore.'

"And that's what I've gone by for all of my life. But when Luci approached me about opening my own restaurant, we got talking and I told her the story. She thought that it would be great for me to go back to my Italian family name, especially for an Italian restaurant like Veni Vidi. It sounds more exotic and authentic —'Chef Marko d'Fiorenze'.

Sarah pulled her chair over closer to Mark's to where they were almost touching. Mark looked at her, and picking up another clean napkin from the table, gently wiped the tears (yes, and the other effluvia as well) from her face.

"I was going to tell you about our plan for opening the new restaurant, but we never had a chance to talk. And then you and I had the big fight, and I didn't feel like sharing the good news anymore. It was kind of small potatoes compared to our breaking up," Mark explained.

Sarah then explained how her eyes were opened by the discovery that Phillip was a fraud and a con artist, who had not only been taking her company, but her as well, for a ride. 

"You were right about him, and I fell into his trap, and I became a real bitch towards you. I pushed you out of my life; a man filled with love and kindness, who had always put me on a pedestal, and who I still love and miss every day.

"But I guess you've had the last laugh, Mark. While I was nagging you about going to college as the path to success, you were becoming a famous chef and proving me wrong," Sarah said, as she started to cry again.

As the tear ran down her face, she looked up into Marks eyes.

"I want you to know how happy I am for you. You've achieved your dream, and I'm glad. I just wish that I could have been there, standing beside you and supporting you while did it. I'm so sorry Mark, because I know that it's too late now."

The art of cooking is in some ways the art of making one mistake after the next until you get the dish just right. If the yeast isn't fresh enough, or if you don't use high-gluten flour, the bread doesn't rise enough. If you don't cook the Thanksgiving turkey at a high enough temperature, and for a long enough time, it comes out underdone; if you cook it at too high a temperature, or for too long, it comes out dry and overdone. And good cooks learn from their mistakes.

Mark was a great chef, and understood that we all make mistakes. As he looked over at Sarah, her makeup a disaster, tears staining her cheeks, but her eyes filled with love, it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he'd made a mistake. Perhaps he'd been too hasty in making his judgment. But perhaps this was a mistake that could be corrected. After all, without knowing that Mark was in fact Chef d'Fiorenze, Sarah had been willing to enter the dragon's den to defend Mark's cooking legacy. That was a proof of loyalty that meant a great deal to Mark. 

"Sarah?" he asked aloud.

"Yes, Mark?"

"Would you be my Valentine? I love you too, you know; and I've been so lonely without you."

Sarah practically leapt from her chair and into Mark's arms, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing his face. As he returned Sarah's kisses, he remembered how much he missed being close to this woman. She was his friend, his love, and his one-and-only.

After a couple minutes, when Mark and Sarah had calmed down a little, Mark went into the kitchen briefly, before returning with a platter. It had slices of toasted bread, and a bowl of a spread.

"In all of the excitement, I almost forgot. I'd made us something to eat for our meeting. The toast is a bread that you make without kneading, so it is very light and airy, but it takes over 24 hours to rise; and I made the spread that you always liked so much, with the Swiss cheese, Portobello mushrooms and grilled sweet onion..."

"Oh Mark," Sarah exclaimed with a laugh, "Always thinking about food!"

He smiled, "It's who I am!"

~*~*~*~

The Valentine's Day dinner at Trattoria Veni Vidi was a huge success. This was one occasion that no one who was invited was going to miss.

Prior to being seated, everyone partook from the open bar, and mingled. The attendees, most being members of the L.A. restaurant royalty, knew each other, and if they didn't know each other personally, they had heard of each other. And, to be honest, they were all delighted knowing that the meal that they would eat, they didn't have to fix themselves! Even chefs enjoy an evening out.

Luci was in her element, as she flitted from one group to another. Almost everyone remarked at how beautiful she was looking in her light green floor-length gown, with her hair so long and in that wonderful shade of red. Quite a number noticed that she could almost pass for the woman in the painting on the wall. She would smile and say thank you. She was seriously considering of changing her name from Luci to Simonette.




Don't Diss the Chef



Sarah, who was dressed in a red silk mid-calf creation (and yes, there are some redheads who are so beautiful that they can get away with dressing in red!), was also having a wonderful time. She was worried that she might feel out of place; but in fact she knew a number of people at the dinner from Bistro Parisian, who all came by and spent time talking with her. 

Mark and Tony, of course were dressed in tuxedos, which Sarah thought made them both so handsome. When she told them, Mark smiled, showing his dimples. Tony actually winked at her, but then he looked over at his wife, Fabiola, who gave him a mild 'stink eye', which Mark whispered in her ear, meant 'I kill or maim you later.' Tony shrugged his shoulders, as he and Fabiola walked off together arm-in-arm, laughing.

Finally the announcement was made to please take your seats. At his special reserved table, Mark sat with Luci in the chair to his left, and Sarah in the place of honor to his right. Tony and his wife Fabiola, and several other friends filled out the remaining places.

After everyone had found his or her seats, Mark started the show, tapping his spoon on a glass until he had everyone's attention.

"My dear friends and colleagues; I want to thank you all for joining us tonight to celebrate our first Valentines Day at Trattoria Veni Vidi. I cannot tell you how much I've appreciated your encouragement and support over the years, and this is my way of saying 'Thank you' to all of you." Then he raised his glass of Prosecco and toasted his guests.

As Mark sat, Tony stood up before the room could get noisy again.

"Ladies, an'a Gentlemen; I would'a like to propose another'a toast as'a well'a: To my'a boss, Chef Marko, an'a to his'a ex'a girlfrien', Sarah, who'a now is'a d' new again girlfrien'," and with that he raised his glass, "To Amore!"

And the restaurant filled with the sound, as the guests repeated the toast:

"To Amore!"

Would it surprise anyone to find out that they lived happily ever after?

*

Dear Readers: Although this is a romance story, and part of it takes place on Valentine's Day, it is NOT part of the contest. It is just for your reading pleasure!