Hadley becketts next dis.., p.24
Hadley Beckett's Next Dish, page 24
Her eyes flew open wide and she turned to her pan, which was beginning to smoke a bit more than it should. She quickly took care of that, and Max faced Marshall again.
“There is no justification,” he resumed. “None whatsoever. But you wanted to know what the final straws were that led to the crash and burn, and I suppose that’s the answer to that.”
He took a deep breath. He knew Marshall was going to step in and ask for more details, and he knew he could probably anticipate exactly what those requested details would be.
Deciding a preemptive strike was in order, he said, “I don’t have a drinking problem. At least not in the traditional sense. Alcohol isn’t my problem. My temper isn’t even really the problem. According to my counselor, at rehab,” he added freely and emphatically, looking straight into the camera, “I’m attempting to mask the pain . . . that’s the problem.” He poured more chicken stock into his rice, kept his head down, and stirred. “Last night I almost went for a drink, without even thinking. And it’s not that that was bad, necessarily. It’s just that without even realizing it, I almost took the easy way out. It would have been so much easier to not have to feel everything I was feeling. But then I thought of all the pain I’d caused by being a drunk idiot, and of course all the pain my dad had caused by being a drunk idiot. And in that moment, the thing that stopped me from potentially allowing myself to turn into that idiot again was asking myself, ‘What would Hadley do?’”
He had to clear his throat again. The power of the memory was enough to overwhelm him. He tilted his head to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, and as he did, he looked up at her. He just couldn’t help himself.
He kept staring at her and her beautiful, tear-stained face as he said, “So I went home and got online and printed out some of your dessert recipes. And I don’t know if that’s really what you would have done. I mean, I know you wouldn’t have gone to your website and printed out your own recipes. You know what I mean. But it felt good. It felt good to go back to my first love. To cook because I wanted to cook.”
“Which of Chef Hadley’s recipes did you attempt to conquer, Chef Max?” Marshall asked, his tone and volume having completely transformed into something much kinder and more compassionate.
Max laughed and swiped at his eyes again. “Well, actually, I didn’t have the right ingredients for any of them.”
“Such as,” Marshall prodded.
Max turned back to face him. “Sugar. Butter. Enough cream to take a bath in.” Hadley began laughing and Max added, “That’s actually how she has it written in one of the recipes. ‘Enough cream to take a bath in.’ I don’t know the last time I came up with something truly new, before last night. It was . . . well . . .” He looked at Hadley and matched her smile with his own, and whatever words he’d been preparing to say faded away.
The two of them stared at each other in silence—and somehow the crew’s silence was even quieter than theirs—until Marshall asked Hadley, “Chef Hadley, do you have anything you wish to say in response?”
She smiled and sniffed, and then half-heartedly stirred her dish as she said, “I’m pretty sure these risottos are going to be as unimpressive as all get-out.”
26. Reduce and set aside.
HADLEY
“Not bad,” Max said as he tasted my risotto, after filming had wrapped.
I laughed. “You’re being generous. I hate that the first time I cook one of your dishes for you, this is what we get.”
“Hey, don’t worry. You haven’t tasted mine yet. Actually, I haven’t tasted mine yet either.”
“You didn’t taste it?”
He shook his head. “I was so behind, and I had to get it plated. The whole thing was just a disaster.”
I leaned down and put my elbows on the island. “Yeah. But we should be really proud of ourselves. I doubt any other chefs have ever had a judge say things to them like, ‘This dish is clearly not up to the caliber we traditionally find on Renowned.’ We broke new ground, my friend.”
A laugh burst out of him. “Was that for yours or mine? I can’t remember.”
“Oh, who knows! Now we have only to hope that we will be remembered for our contributions prior to today.”
“Here, here! A lofty goal indeed!” He took my fork and got a scoop of his risotto on it, and then repeated the action for himself. “Together? On three?”
On the count of three we both tried a Max Cavanagh attempt at comfort food, and it took everything in me not to spit it out.
“Oh Max, that’s awful!”
He laughed as I attempted to rub the horrible aftertaste off of my tongue. “That’s right. That’s what they said about mine. Yours was the ‘not up to the normal caliber’ thing.”
We stared at each other for a moment, the smiles remaining on our faces, until I sighed and set down my fork. “Well.”
“Well,” he echoed.
We both removed our aprons in silence and handed them off to a production assistant passing by. And then my desire to alleviate any perceived awkwardness grew too strong to ignore.
“I wonder which moments from today are going to make it into the promos for Sunday?”
He laughed, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “Yeah, I don’t know. Do you think we gave them anything to work with?”
I put my hand on top of his and hoped my touch would somehow relay the comfort I didn’t quite know how to give him with my words. But in an instant his fingers had spread and mine willingly eased into the gaps he had created for me, and they all curled and interlocked in a way that made it difficult to tell whose were whose.
He was looking down at our hands as he said, “I can just picture it now.” His voice took on the timbre of a voice-over announcer. “Hadley Beckett and Maxwell Cavanagh, as you’ve never seen them before. Finally, it’s all out in the open.”
“You didn’t have to say all of that, Max,” I breathed. “I can’t imagine how difficult that was. And I know you didn’t want everyone to know—”
“No, but I wanted you to know.”
“You could have just told me.”
He smirked as his thumb began gently tracing meaningless patterns on my skin. “We weren’t really talking . . . except when the cameras were rolling.”
I suddenly felt exhausted at the thought of all that had happened between the two of us in such a short period of time. “About that. I’m really sorry I—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I was way out of line.” He took a deep breath and then his eyes, which had still been cast downward, began lifting to look at me. “I have to tell you something.”
I chuckled nervously in response to the foreboding expression on his face. “Should I sit down for this?”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t seem inclined to let go of my hand, but he also made no move to accompany me to a seat, so I just steeled myself and asked, “What is it?”
He took another deep breath and then let it out so slowly. “I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” With his free hand he rubbed his knuckles against his beard. “See, the thing is, Leo Landry . . . well, he started representing me when I was twenty-five years old. He’s pretty much the reason anything ever happened for me in my career, and I guess at some point—well, I’d say he changed, but I don’t think he did. Anyway, the point is—”
“Max.” I released the breath I’d been holding and smiled. There was a little part of me that wanted to watch him keep digging out and sorting through everything that had to be going through his brain, but there was a bigger part of me that wanted to put him out of his misery. And the biggest part of all knew that Max’s misery and concern would have just taken away any lingering doubts or questions I had—if there had been any. “I know that Leo is your manager. I figured it out yesterday.”
He finally released my hand and began pacing slowly in front of the island. “I didn’t know he was your manager until a little over a week ago. I swear I didn’t. By the time we were at the Bluebird, I had myself convinced that you’d known all along, and that you and Leo had actually been conspiring against me.”
I closed my eyes and bit my lip as that thought registered, and then I began nodding as it all started making sense. “That explains a lot.”
That fear had flooded my mind, of course. On the phone with Leo, my heart had broken at the thought of Max thinking he couldn’t trust me. Knowing that was exactly what he’d thought didn’t make me feel all that great, but at least I understood why he was so critical of me that night at the Bluebird.
What I didn’t understand was what had made him back down and apologize.
“So, what changed?”
He stopped pacing and faced me. “You were so hurt. It was . . .” He shook his head and looked down at his feet. “I said those awful things I said, and you looked . . .” His voice trailed off again and his shoulders drooped. “When I looked at you, I had that feeling you get when you write a text bad-mouthing someone, and then realize you accidentally sent it to that person. You know?”
I didn’t bother telling him that I didn’t know. I understood what he meant, and I understood how he felt, and right then that was all that was needed.
“What?” he asked.
“What what?”
He smiled. “I don’t know. You’re looking at me kind of funny.”
Was I? Hmm. My thoughts certainly hadn’t been humorous.
I took a step toward him. “Max, I think I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay.”
His eyes widened, and it was very clear he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his arms. He crossed and uncrossed them, put them behind his back and then in front. It was pretty fun to see him flustered. Maybe I needed to tell him I was going to kiss him more often.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s fine with me.” The way his lips curled and his jaw clenched gave me the impression it may have even been slightly better than fine.
It only took one more step to get close enough to touch him, and then I felt all of my boldness begin to slip away. I wanted to kiss him, and the way he was eyeing my lips made it plain as day he wanted to kiss me. But there I was, close enough to notice he was holding his breath, and my brain started to get in the way.
I don’t know how much time passed with us awkwardly standing there, inches apart.
“Um, Hadley?” I was so close that I couldn’t see his entire face, but his eyes were smiling at me.
“Yeah?”
“When you said you were going to kiss me, did you mean you wanted me to kiss you?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Okay. Because I’d be happy to—”
“I’m getting there,” I whispered.
The smile in his eyes grew. “Okay. Take your time.”
“It’s just . . . I don’t know . . . I’m having a difficult time shutting my brain off.”
“I think I could maybe help with—”
“I said I’d do it. I’ll do it.”
He began chewing on his lip, probably to keep from laughing at me, I figured. “I have complete faith in you. But I have an idea. No big deal. You’re definitely going to be the one to do it. But maybe I can just . . .” He placed his hands just above my hips and slowly pulled me closer to him. “How’s that?”
I instinctively rested my hands on his chest. “That’s good.”
“Good,” he whispered, nearly brushing my lips with his. “If I can offer any further assistance . . .” One of his hands stayed on my waist while the fingers of the other began tracing the line of my jaw.
“Max?”
“Hmm?”
“I need you to know something.”
He traced the outline of my lips. “Okay.”
“When I found out Leo was your manager, I trusted you. I didn’t wonder. I didn’t doubt. I just . . . trusted you.” My hands eased their way up and briefly combed through his hair before looping around his neck. “And I have to tell you, even as I was trusting you, I realized how weird it was that I was trusting you.”
He laughed a little too loudly, considering how quiet our whispers had been. When I saw the redness of his eyes I understood. Emotion was threatening to break free in all sorts of ways he couldn’t control.
“Hadley Beckett, I’ll give you about three more seconds and then I’m taking over here.”
Just then the studio lights shut off with a whoosh that, in the context of how intimate our thoughts and conversation had become, sounded like I imagined New York City would at the moment of total blackout.
The darkness gave me the confidence boost I needed, I suppose, and I closed the minimal gap between us. And I quickly discovered that it didn’t matter who initiated. When Max and I kissed, his lips were in control.
“Is someone here?” Lowell’s voice called out.
“Don’t answer and maybe he’ll go away,” Max somehow muttered, though he never really stopped kissing me.
“And we’ll be stuck here all night,” I replied, pulling away slightly.
He attempted to pull me back. “We have a fully stocked professional kitchen. We’ll be fine.”
I planted one quick peck on his lips and laughed. “We’re here, Lowell! Heading out now!”
A light flipped on in the kitchen set and Lowell appeared just after Max and I fully separated. “Hadley, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was still here.” It seemed to dawn on him that I wasn’t alone, and he looked from me to Max and back again. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. We were just . . .” I glanced at Max, who crossed his arms, quirked his eyebrow, and was generally no help whatsoever. “We were just working through some things before tomorrow’s shoot.”
Not a lie. Moral high ground maintained yet again!
“Okay, well, do you want to share a cab?” Lowell asked. “I’m heading to Midtown so—”
“Thanks, Lowell,” Max responded. “But I live in SoHo, so . . .” He lifted his hands and became the perfect personification of the shrugging emoji.
“Oh, well, um, I meant Hadley, since she’s staying on the Upper East Side, but if you need a ride—”
“Nah. I’m good, but thanks. Actually . . .” He turned to face me, and even though I knew he was looking at me, I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off of my face. “I can drive you to your hotel.”
I just nodded. So many thoughts were intersecting in my mind that it seemed my brain had turned into a bumper car track. On the one hand, I definitely had feelings for Max. I was well past the point of being able to deny that. But on the other hand, absolutely none of the reasons I knew I couldn’t date him had gone away. Nothing had changed except now I apparently had taken to kissing him whenever I felt like it. Because that was going to make it easier to not date him.
We got out to the parking lot and said good night to Lowell, and by then some time and distance, not to mention the cool Brooklyn evening air, was allowing me to think a little more clearly.
“You know, I have a guy.”
“You have a guy?”
“I mean, I have a driver guy. A driver. Renowned gave me a driver while I’m here. You don’t need to go out of your way just to take me home.”
His key fob caused his vehicle to beep, and he stepped in front of me to open my door. “I was actually hoping we could grab some dinner. I’m starving, and all I’ve had is some really bad risotto.”
I smiled as I climbed in. “Okay, but it’s pretty late. Are places still open?” I closed my eyes and shook my head, instantly realizing how silly my comment had been. “Don’t mind me. Remember, I have the nightlife of a sunflower. I suppose there are probably a few places that stay open past 10:00 in Manhattan, right?”
He winked at me and, just before closing my door, said, “I know a place.”
27. Season to taste.
MAX
“Are you trying to impress me?” Hadley asked as Max pulled her chair out for her and then scooted her in like a pro once she sat. “Because if so, it’s working.”
His flagship restaurant in Lenox Hill was indeed impressive. Occupying the 44th floor of the Talbot, one of the most luxurious hotels in the world, Cavanagh’s was a sight to behold. The hotel itself was an art deco masterpiece, but Cavanagh’s—with its opulent gold-on-white at every turn and breathtaking views of Central Park—took it to another level. Max knew there was probably no better restaurant anywhere for a man to take a woman on a first date, if impressing her was the goal. Although, considering the menu prices, most men would be wise to consider what they thought the odds were of getting the woman to agree to a second date. Cavanagh’s was too pricey to be considered a good idea for every first date.
Of course, Max didn’t know if he was actually on a date at all. Good thing he didn’t have to worry about the bill.
“I am, as a matter of fact,” he acknowledged. “I hope this is okay. If you were just wanting to run by Shake Shack or something . . .”
Hadley laughed. “I enjoy Shake Shack, thank you very much. But, no. This is great. I’ve actually never been here before. I’ve been to a couple of your restaurants that run more on the ‘mere mortal’ side of the price scale, but Cavanagh’s . . . wow.” She looked around the room and then back at him. “Is it any good?”
He smiled with all the humility he could muster, but when it came to the crown jewel of his career, there really wasn’t much point or hope of modesty. His first three Michelin stars were obtained by Cavanagh’s, and they’d been maintained for the seven years since. It had also been at Cavanagh’s that Max had earned his first James Beard Award, as well as his most recent. Hadley, no doubt, knew all of that. And yes, of course he was trying to impress her. But he also could think of no better way to let her see the most genuine parts of him than by sharing with her the thing he was most proud of in the world.
“Good evening,” their waiter greeted them. “Welcome to Cavanagh’s, madam.” He bowed slightly toward Hadley, and she smiled and put her hand out to shake his. Such an unusual move. Such a heartfelt attempt at connection beyond what normally existed between diner and waitstaff. So unmistakably Hadley. In kind, the waiter, Vikram Kaur, kissed her knuckles in genteel fashion. “Chef Beckett. An honor.”
