Chapter 4
Gage knew by Tonya’s clipped tone that she did not like his response. Maybe he should have warned her that since there were so many restaurants in New Orleans, unless she offered dishes that were truly exceptional, her establishment might not survive.
“I’ll show you how to make the bread pudding.”
Tonya glanced over at Eustace, who nodded his acquiescence. “Okay.”
Eustace took off his apron. “If that’s the case, then I’m going home and put my feet up for a couple of hours. These big dogs are quick to remind me how long I’ve been standing.”
Gage stared at his brother under lowered lids. “That’s because you do too much. You were up all day yesterday cooking for St. John’s wedding, and now you’re back here this morning cooking for the book club. I told you before, it’s time you let go the reins and let your girls take over the day-to-day business, while you just concentrate on filling catering orders.”
“And who’s going to help me with the catering?”
“I will,” Gage volunteered.
Compressing his lips, dimples deepening in his rounded cheeks, Eustace appeared deep in thought. “Maybe I’ll start coming in four days a week instead of five so they can get used to running everything. Then after a couple of months it will be three days, and then two. After that I’ll relinquish all responsibility for Chez Toussaints to them.”
Gage nodded. “That sounds like a plan. Now, go home and make love with your wife for a change while Tonya and I finish up here. I’ll drop Tonya off at DuPont House, and then come back and deliver the food to the book club ladies.”
Eustace shot Tonya an uncomfortable look before he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Waiting until he out was out of earshot, she asked Gage, “Did you have to embarrass him like that?”
Opening the refrigerator, Gage removed a large plastic container filled with pieces of torn French bread and placed it on the prep table. “He isn’t as embarrassed as he is conscience-stricken. Just the other day my sister-in-law came to me in tears. She believes Eustace is having an affair because she cannot remember the last time they were intimate. I reassured Janine that if my brother is having an affair, then it’s with Chez Toussaints. He comes in at dawn Monday through Friday and doesn’t leave until late afternoon. And if he has to cater a party, then it’s much later. He’s probably so tired when he gets home that he just collapses. I can’t even get him to take a night off on the weekend to come to Jazzes to unwind.”
“How old is Eustace?”
“He’s fifty-seven.”
“Isn’t that a little young for him to retire?” Tonya asked Gage, as he reached for a jar of cinnamon and bottle of pure vanilla extract off an overhead shelf.
“It is. But, remember, he would only be semi-retired, because he still will be catering.”
“I’ll get the eggs, butter, and sugar,” she volunteered, opening the refrigerator and taking out the ingredients for a basic bread pudding recipe. “What’s the secret in making Chez Toussaints’ bread pudding?”
“We bake our own French bread for the bread pudding.”
Tonya blinked slowly. “Why bake it when you can buy it?”
Gage stood next to Tonya, realizing for the first time that she was much shorter than she appeared. He was six-three, and the top of her head came only to his shoulder. Maybe it was her slimness that made him think she was taller. She wasn’t skinny, far from it; although her body was slender, it was still curvy. In fact, he liked everything about her, because he preferred women who were comfortable with their bodies.
He had dated women who refused to let him touch their hair because they feared it would loosen their extensions. Then there were those who would not permit him to squeeze their breasts because of implants. The last woman he dated but refused to sleep with would only splash water on her face, for she feared losing the lashes glued to her lids, and she complained that her acrylic nails had become an obstacle when buttoning or unbuttoning her clothes. He wanted to be with a woman who did not have a laundry list of dos and don’ts. What happened to women who learned to love who they were without altering their appearances? It had gotten to a point that when a man went to bed, he woke up with a woman he barely recognized in the morning.
“New Orleans–style French bread is a uniquely light loaf made with yeasts you can only buy in specialty shops. The oven in the far corner is the one we use expressly for baking breads for this dessert. We do buy the rest.”
“How long have you been making your own bread?” Tonya asked.
Gage measured the equivalent of a loaf of torn bread into a large aluminum bowl. “My dad started making it when he married my mother. She continues the tradition handed down from the French who came to Louisiana from Acadia.”
“Your mother is Cajun.” The query was a statement.
“That she is.”
“Does she speak Cajun French?”
Gage smiled. “Yes. I speak traditional French, Cajun French, and Haitian Creole. It’s been a family tradition that goes back more than a century that everyone in the family speaks more than one language. I know it’s somewhat rude, but when we don’t want folks to know what we’re talking about, we immediately shift from English to a dialect.”
“I realized that when I helped Eustace at your family reunion. I understood most of the French, but not the Creole. I’m lucky to get by with whatever French I picked up in France.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “You lived in France?”
Tonya nodded. “I spent nearly a year there perfecting regional dishes. I also took cooking courses in China, South-east Asia, and the Mediterranean.”
“With that much experience, why aren’t you working for a restaurant serving international cuisine?”
“I did.” Tonya explained how she, Hannah, and dozens of others were downsized when the Manhattan-based investment bank they had worked for merged with an out-of-state bank.
“So, learning to prepare southern Louisiana dishes is your last frontier?” he teased, smiling.
She returned his smile with a dimpled one of her own. “I’d like to think so. Where did you do your training?”
“France. I’d just graduated Julliard when I decided to go to Paris on holiday. What I intended to be two months stretched into a little more than two years. I was fortunate enough to train under one of the best chefs in Europe.”
“You went from the Big Easy to the Big Apple, and then onto the City of Lights.”
Gage laughed softly. “And now I’m back to stay, while you’re leaving the Apple for the Easy. Even though New York is the city that never sleeps, New Orleans is the birthplace of the cocktail, along with a celebrated reputation for food, music, and drink.”
“Is it true what they say about laissez les bon temps rouler?”
“Oui, Madame. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my home until I came back.”
“Why did you come back?” Tonya asked.
A beat passed. “My father was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of pancreatic cancer. I wasn’t back more than three months before he passed away. That’s when I had to step up and help Eustace.”
Tonya braced an elbow on the table and cradled her chin on the heel of her hand. “How old were you when you came back?”
“I’d just turned twenty-three. I graduated high school at sixteen and college at twenty.”
“Your parents didn’t have a problem with you living in a foreign country at that age?”
Gage shrugged his shoulders. “There wasn’t much they could do when I’d left home at sixteen to study in New York. I’d saved enough money from playing gigs during my last two years at college that I didn’t have to ask them to subsidize the trip.”
“What made you decide to live in Paris instead of coming back to the States?”
“A week before I was scheduled to return to the States I met three expatriate musicians who invited me to move into their flat once I’d joined their band. Meanwhile I got a job at a Michelin-starred restaurant, and after a while I worked my way up from dishwasher to sous chef and eventually assistant chef.”
“Were you still playing with the band?”
Gage nodded. “Once the restaurant closed for the night, I went directly to the bar where I played sets until dawn. I didn’t get a lot of sleep, but at that time I was able to get by on less than five hours of sleep.”
Tonya met his eyes when he gave her a long, penetrating stare. “Should I assume you’re still not getting much sleep?”
He smiled, and attractive lines fanned out around his brilliant eyes with the expression. “I’m good during the week. It’s the weekends that are challenging.”
Her eyebrows lifted questioningly. “You don’t work during the week?” she asked. She watched him intently as he measured the ingredients for the bread pudding, and then he slipped on a pair of disposable gloves to blend the mixture with his fingers.
“I do have a day job. After I returned to the States I went back to college to get a master’s degree in education. Right now I’m teaching music at a local high school.”
“Does it have a marching band?”
“Yes. Why?”
She lowered her arm. “What I miss most not going to a Southern college are the marching bands.”
Gage smiled. “There’s nothing better than Friday night football, cheerleading, and marching bands.”
“Do you direct the marching band?”
“No. I’m an artist in residence. The grant’s objective is for me to start up a jazz band for high school students who plan to pursue a career in music.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Why would you say that?” he asked.
“Because so many schools have cut their music and art programs while your school has a marching and jazz band.”
“That’s because music is so much an intricate part of this city’s history. I know a number of musicians who fund-raise to support our schools’ music programs.” Gage filled the greased pockets of two muffin tins and spooned the pudding into the pockets, filling each just barely to the top.
“What do you use to make the sauce?” she asked, changing the topic of conversation.
“I use unsalted butter, sugar, orange juice, eggs, and bourbon. You can substitute rum or brandy for the whiskey, or if you want a nonalcoholic sauce, then use vanilla extract, although most vanilla does contain alcohol. By the way, have you eaten?” he asked her.
“Yes. Your brother made breakfast for me earlier this morning.”
“Did you have beignets?”
“No.”
“Breakfast isn’t breakfast unless you have a beignet. Do you know how to make them?”
“Yes!”
Tonya’s smile was dazzling. When she’d first come to New Orleans and had beignets and café au lait for breakfast, she knew she had to learn to make the fried, puffy, golden brown dough dusted with confectioners’ sugar. It took her two tries before they were doughy and with enough air inside so they wouldn’t sink to the bottom of the fryer.
“Maybe one of these days you’ll make them for me.”
Her smile slowly faded. “That probably won’t be for a while.”
He halted placing the tins on baking pans. “What do you mean by a while?”
“I don’t plan to move down here until next year.”
He went completely still. “Next year?”
“Yes. I still have to tie up a few things in New York.” Her explanation appeared to satisfy Gage; he covered the pans with plastic wrap and put them in the refrigerator. “Aren’t you going to bake them now?” she asked.
“No. I’ll put them in the oven after I take you home. The ladies don’t meet until four.”
Tonya removed her apron, dropped it in a canvas bin with soiled linen, and picked up her tote off the stool. She followed Gage out of the restaurant to the parking lot. He opened the passenger-side door to the SUV for her and waited until she was seated before rounding the vehicle to sit behind the wheel.
Gage slipped on a pair of sunglasses, started the engine, and then executed a smooth U-turn, and that is when Tonya noticed his hands for the first time. They were somewhat delicate for a man his size, the fingers long and beautifully formed. “How many instruments do you play?”
“I can play every instrument in the orchestra. I haven’t mastered the harp, so I don’t count that one.”
She smiled. “You must like music.”
“I love it.”
“More than cooking?”
There came a moment of silence before Gage said, “No. Right now they’re even.” He gave her a quick glance. “Did you always want to be a chef?”
“Yes. As a child I spent summers with my grandparents in Daytona Beach, Florida, and my grandmother prayed I’d grow up to become a better cook than my mother. It wasn’t that my mother is a bad cook, but her dishes are very bland because my dad has a sensitive stomach. Grandma said it’s hard to season food after you cook it.”
Gage nodded, smiling. “She’s right. So, your grandmamma taught you to cook?”
Tonya told him about sitting on the porch helping her grandma snap the ends off greens, and peeling white potatoes, which would eventually be added to smoked ham hocks after the skin was removed. “Nowadays folks wanting to eat healthier use smoked turkey instead of ham.”
“What do you plan to serve at your supper club?”
“I’m leaning toward tapas.”
Gage gave her a quick glance. “In other words, you’ll serve appetizers rather an entrées.”
“Yes, only because I plan to offer a fusion cuisine. Of course there will be quite a few popular appetizers, along with sushi, Asian, French, Spanish, and Mediterranean dishes.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little daunting?”
Tonya stared out the windshield as she chose her words carefully. Did he actually believe she would attempt to run a restaurant without having a concrete plan in place? “No. Once I train my staff, it shouldn’t be daunting.” She wasn’t a man hater, but Tonya had come to realize that it was men who openly expressed doubt whenever she mentioned running her own restaurant, while most women encouraged her to go for it.
“Good luck with that,” Gage said under his breath.
The drive ended in complete silence, and when he maneuvered up to the front of DuPont House, Tonya didn’t wait for Gage to come around and assist her. “Thanks for the ride.” She didn’t bother to give him a backward glance as she walked up the steps to the porch. She opened and closed the door and exhaled an audible breath.
There was something about his tone when wishing her luck that reminded Tonya of her ex-husband whenever he had attempted to discourage her from returning to college. After a while she learned to ignore his subtle digs, and in the end she promised herself not to let the naysayers or doubters affect her decision to determine her future.
She walked through the entryway to the parlor to find Jasmine sitting on a loveseat reading a magazine. The muted television was tuned to the New Orleans Saints’ game. Her head popped up. “Nydia and I were talking about sending out Nawlins’ finest to find you.”
Tonya flopped down on an armchair. “I went to Chez Toussaints so Eustace could show me how he makes some of his dishes.” She paused. “Where’s everyone?”
Jasmine closed the magazine. “LeAnn and Paige went to the Saints’ football game, and Nydia’s taking a nap. She claims she’s exhausted.”
“That’s because once the dancing began she never sat down,” Tonya reminded Jasmine.
“Word,” Jasmine drawled. “I can remember a time when my weekends would begin on Thursdays and not end until Sunday morning.”
Partying had never been an option for Tonya. “It was different with me. I met Samuel while I was still in high school, and because he was raised in a church where dancing and drinking were frowned upon, we didn’t go out.”
“What did you guys do for fun?”
A melancholy frown flitted over her features. “Now that I look back, I realize we never had much fun. We’d get together with family members for Sunday dinner or on holidays, but that was the extent of our so-called fun.” She waved her hand. “I don’t want to talk about the past.”
Jasmine nodded. “Okay. I need for you to give me your opinion about someone.”
Tonya’s curiosity is piqued. “Is it a he or a she?”
“It’s Cameron Singleton.”
“What about him?” she asked, when she wanted to tell her friend that the man hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her during the reception.
“He asked to take me out.”
Tonya settled back into the chair; her impassive expression did not reveal what she was feeling. It appeared that whatever Cameron wanted, he was willing to go after. “And what did you tell him?”
Jasmine lowered her eyes. “I told him that wasn’t possible because I was leaving today to go back to New York.”
“And what did he say?”
“He claims he comes to New York every May to hang out with his college buddies, and if I’m available then, he would like to take me out.”
“And what did you say?” She had asked Jasmine yet another question.
“I told him I didn’t know where I would be or what I would be doing seven months from now, so I couldn’t give him an answer.”
Tonya shook her head in exasperation. “Did you at least give the man your number?”
“Yes.”
“Well, well, well. You did something right.”
Vertical lines appeared between Jasmine’s eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“He’s only asking for one date. You preach to Nydia about seeing someone other than her trifling boyfriend, and meanwhile you need to take your own advice. You’ve been divorced for nearly two years, and it’s time you started dating again.”
“I’m not ready for a relationship,” Jasmine argued softly.
“No one said anything about a relationship, Jazz. Go out with different men, and just have a good time. That’s the only way you’re going to get over that slug you married.”
“Is that what happened to you, Tonya? You didn’t get over your ex until you hooked up with Darius?”
“I’d gone out with several men before I met Darius. They were co-workers, and I’d promised myself that I would never get that involved with a co-worker, because if we broke up then I would have to see them every day.”
“So, what did you do when you dated them?”
“We would take turns cooking for each other, or when we were off we would go on drives out to Long Island or Upstate New York to eat in little out-of-the-way restaurants to sample the dishes on their menus. I dated one guy who was into old black-and-white movies, and we’d spend hours watching them. In other words, we became good friends.”
“What makes Darius different from the others?”
Tonya crossed her feet at the ankles. “I’m allowed to be who I am. Whenever I tell him I can’t see him because either I’m too tired, or I have to work a party, he doesn’t give me grief or attitude. In other words, I have the freedom to live my life however I want.”
Jasmine closed her eyes for several seconds. “Have you told him you’re planning to move down here?”
Tonya shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll tell him once I get back. Hannah and I still have to go over a few things in our contract.”
“Does he ever talk about marriage?”
A hint of a smile lifted the corners of Tonya’s mouth. “No.”
“Not ever?”
“Maybe once. When we first met, I told him I was divorced, and he told me he wasn’t husband material.”
“What did he mean, he wasn’t husband material?” Jasmine asked.
“I never asked.”
Jasmine pulled her lip between her teeth as she appeared deep in thought. “What kind of vibes did you get from Cameron?”
Tonya decided to tell her what she’d witnessed. “That he’s a man who goes after what he wants.”
An expression of uncertainty flitted over Jasmine’s features. “I hope you’re not talking about me.”
“No, I’m not,” Tonya lied smoothly. She didn’t want to frighten her friend into rejecting a man who appeared interested in her. Five months ago she hadn’t known anything about Jasmine’s personal life; however, the day she, Hannah, Jasmine, and Nydia were downsized with dozens of other employees had become one that had changed their lives forever. Former employees of the investment bank, they were now friends and soon-to-be business partners.
“I know you have a problem with trust because of your ex,” Tonya continued, “but there has to come a time when you let go of the past. Look at Hannah. If she hadn’t gotten over her late husband’s infidelity, she never would’ve married St. John. Some men cheat. That’s just what they do, Jazz, and you need to understand that they’re probably in a minority, or the institution of marriage would never survive.”
“How did we go from my going out on a date with Cameron to marrying him?”
“You’re the one who mentioned marriage. All I’m saying is go out with the man. What do you have to lose?”
The seconds ticked, and then Jasmine said, “I’ll think about it.”
You do that, Tonya thought. There were times when she felt more like a counselor and an older sister when dealing with Nydia and Jasmine. Perhaps it was because she and Hannah were in their fifties and had adult children that they shared a similar outlook on life. “Well, not for nothing, you have seven months to think about it,” she said after a comfortable silence.
“I don’t know whether I told you, but I have an interview on Tuesday for a position with an agency that prepares single women with children to transition from living in shelters into permanent housing.”
Tonya was slightly taken aback with Jasmine’s disclosure. “I thought you were going to go back into the interior decorating business.”
“I’d thought about it, but then I changed my mind, because it would mean starting over. Remember, I lost all my clients once I sold my business after the divorce.”
“Have you given any more thought to investing in the inn with me and Hannah?”
Jasmine’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the same time a smile trembled over her lips. “I’ve been giving it some thought, but . . .” Her words trailed off.
“But you don’t want to leave your folks,” she said, finishing her statement. Jasmine nodded. Tonya understood her friend’s reluctance to move more than a thousand miles away from her parents. She had become an empty nester and at the same time her parents moved to a Florida retirement community in Daytona Beach; however, she made it a practice several times a year to drive to Atlanta and pick up Samara to visit with her daughter’s grandparents.
“Thirteen hundred miles between New York and New Orleans is just too much in the event of an emergency,” Jasmine said.
“Have they talked about leaving New York?”
Jasmine paused. “I know Daddy was talking about moving back to North Carolina, but he says it’s just talk.”
“Perhaps he’ll change his mind one of these days,” Tonya predicted.
“Who’s going to change their mind?” Nydia asked as she walked into the parlor and flopped down on the loveseat next to Jasmine.
“My father,” Jasmine answered.
Tonya stared at Nydia’s puffy eyes. “It’s really not nice to say, but you look a hot mess.”
Nydia closed her eyes. “I know. I think I had too much champagne.”
“You think? How much did you have?” Jasmine asked.
Nydia’s lids fluttered. “I stopped counting after the fifth glass.”
“Damn!” Tonya said under her breath. “You’re an accountant, but it appears that you have a problem with adding.”
Nydia moaned softly. “Please don’t remind me of that.” She moaned again. “It feels as if someone is playing congas in my head.”
Jasmine placed the back of her hand to Nydia’s forehead. “You don’t have a temperature, so you’re probably hungover.”
“I’m never drinking champagne again,” she said, grimacing. “But I have to admit Hannah and St. John really know how to throw a party.”
Tonya nodded in agreement. Everything about Hannah and St. John’s wedding, cocktail hour, and reception was nothing short of perfection—all of which made her look forward to relocating with the excitement of a child opening presents on Christmas morning. Working in restaurants, or assisting the head chef at the bank, paled in comparison to opening her own establishment, and she looked forward to the challenge of taste-testing recipes that would eventually end up on the supper club’s menu, while hiring and training a kitchen staff and musicians to play live music on weekends would prove less challenging. After all, New Orleans was filled with musicians looking for work as a permanent house band.
Nydia pushed to her feet. “I’m going to get some coffee. Would anyone else like a cup?”
“Not me,” Tonya said.
“I’ll pass, too,” Jasmine added.
Once Nydia returned to the parlor, the three women talked at length about Hannah’s plan to turn her ancestral home into a business. Jasmine continued to voice her opposition to investing in the venture because she did not want to relocate, while Nydia continued to be ambivalent about leaving her boyfriend.
Hours later, Tonya stood on the porch watching the taxi as it drove away with her friends for their return flight to New York. She would follow them in two days, and once she put her affairs in order she would return to New Orleans—this time to begin the next phase of her life.