Devour, p.11
Devour, page 11
When he looked at the situation through that lens, he felt sympathy for his father for the first time in his life.
At the very least, Sebastian would be able to meet his only granddaughter before he passed on.
With his next sigh came a fashion of release. “Perhaps you’re right,” Michael said quietly. “He has spent more time in here…” he said, eyes drifting to the bay, “Than out there.”
The juxtaposition of beauty and freedom to ugliness and confinement was palpable.
“Bottom line—as you’ve said,” Michael smiled, waving a hand between the two of them. “We both love food.”
Dalton nodded as a look of satisfaction spread across his face. “That we do.”
Michael checked his watch. “I really must be going. I need to get back to work. Plus, my mind’s on my daughter’s graduation this week. The restaurant’s going to be stacked with thrilled parents wanting to send their seniors off with a big hoorah.”
They stood.
“I completely understand. You have your hands full,” Dalton said. “I’m happy for you and your family. And again, this is going to really be something,” he patted Michael’s shoulder as he showed him out.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Michael said, stopping at the door. “We didn’t discuss specifics. For this, uh, large of a favor, I’m happy to break out some of my finest cuts—beef, lamb, fish, you name it. And the sauces, of course.”
“Yes, yes! And here’s where we both win, Michael,” he smiled. “I have a handsome assortment of fantastic cuts—some of which are dry-aged, some in deep freeze, but all exceptional. I’d like to provide several of mine along with yours. I think we could both benefit.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And while I have a fairly handsome wine collection, I would be thrilled to come by the restaurant and look yours over.”
Michael hesitated, “Yeah, that could work, or you just let me put together a list and we go—”
“Go from there. Of course,” Dalton nodded vigorously, waving like a gameshow model for Michael to proceed down the hall. “You’re the maestro.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“And just so you know, the dinner party will be for three or four of our closest friends and their spouses, and of course, you and your wife,” he leaned forward. “If we keep our girls happy, everyone’s happy. Am I right?”
Michael nodded, knowing Kathryn would likely be out of the country, but he left that alone for now.
“Alrighty then, shall we shake on our deal?” Dalton asked, extending his hand.
Michael did not know why, but the gesture felt odd. His hesitation and expression must have said such.
“Just a formality, Michael. Our both having served and all. I’m sure you agree that our word is our honor,” he smiled. “And something to take very seriously.”
“Of course,” he said, shaking Dalton’s hand. “Deal.”
22
Haute Lunch
Contemplating his recent victory, Dalton became increasingly hungry and wanted to get out of the office and get something special for lunch. He had managed to get the best chef in the country to cook for him and knew it would be the most significant evening of my life. It was time to toast his accomplishment before he began extensive preparations for the big event.
“Devil’s in the details,” he mumbled to himself, “What if my perfect night goes askew?”
A knock at the door interrupted him. “Come in,” he barked.
Officer Baxter peeked his head in.
“What is it, Baxter? Need to leave early for a wax with your boyfriend?”
“Very funny, Sir. I just wanted to know if I should begin the paperwork for Sebastian’s release.”
Dalton imagined things going wrong within the system and his worry began. “Good question, Baxter. How about you and I sit on that for just another day. Be sure we’re playing ball with the sort of person we hope we are. If you get my drift.”
Opening the door wider, he stepped in. “Yes, Sir. I know what you’re saying. Best be prudent with—”
“Shut it, Baxter,” he spat. “Don’t need your constant commentary. How about you just pull the necessary forms together and fill them in—well, except for the specifics. We can do the rest at the last minute, okay?”
Turning to leave, he said, “Understood, Sir.”
“Say Baxter, I’m guessing you don’t have any plans for lunch.” Not waiting for a response, he said, “Why don’t you join me?”
Baxter was shocked. He had never been asked by Dalton to do anything, much less have a meal. Besides being hated by all, and not socializing with any, Dalton treated every meal as a sacred pilgrimage. It was something Baxter never understood but thought it could help his professional relationship.
“That would be nice, Sir.”
His assistant’s confused expression tickled Dalton, and he said with a half-cocked smile, “Good, now scoot, but be ready to leave in 20.”
Baxter disappeared without a sound as Dalton reached in his drawer for some homemade jerky to tide him over. Looking at his waist, he chalked it up to stress of the job.
Halfway through the bag of jerky, he got an idea. Spinning the Rolodex on his desk, he located a number and dialed it.
Twenty minutes later, he and Baxter were passing under the 101 and into the Drakes Landing Office Park—home to Jason’s Restaurant, one of his favorite spots where they served refined seafood with an Italian twist.
“Man, this is fancy,” Baxter said, ogling a table of attractive and well-dressed people, as they entered.
“Well, keep it in your shorts, Sparky,” Dalton said, adding a thick redneck accent for effect. “They’re not big on gawkers from the compound of ill repute.”
Baxter chuckled, “Yes, Sir.”
“And when we’re off campus, you can drop the Sir. Hell, call me Frederick, if you like.”
Baxter considered it, said nothing, and followed Dalton inside.
A lovely hostess greeted them.“Your usual, Mr. Dalton?”
“Yes, thank you, Mona,” Dalton said with a charming smile.
Baxter had never seen this side of his boss before. The minute Dalton left the compound, he became more civil. Baxter thought it would be interesting to see how long that lasted.
“Mona, could you have David bring us an order of Dragon Prawns and Seared Ahi Tuna to begin?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “And to drink?”
Dalton looked toward Baxter, but before he could reply said, “We’ll start with two Negroni’s, thank you.”
With a nod, she disappeared.
Baxter started to speak. Dalton interrupted. “It’s Nolet Gin, Campari and Sweet Vermouth with fresh orange. Delicious.”
“Right. It’s just I don’t usually—”
“Drink at lunch?” He waved him off. “Me either. But I wanted to do something special for you, Baxter. It’s a big day. Big moment for us. And a reason to celebrate.”
“Why’s that, Sir—I mean, Frederick?”
“That a boy. Because I’ve just snagged the number one chef in America to cook for me,” he leaned in, “Whereupon I may learn some of his masterful secrets. And if you know anything about me—it’s how I can devour anything that’s ever had a pair of eyes.”
They were laughing as a handsome waiter delivered their drinks. “Hello, gentlemen.”
Dalton looked up and smiled. “Hello David. I’d like you to meet Baxter, my Boy Wonder. Baxter, this is David, a wonderful boy. Just kidding. He’s one of the best waiters you’ll ever meet.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” David nodded. “And Frederick, have you had enough time to decide what slice of heaven you’d like today?”
“Chilean Sea Bass for me, and Blackened Rib Eye for my guest. And—”
“Frederick, excuse me, but I’m not much for spicy food,” Baxter stammered, reaching for a menu.
Pushing his hand aside, Dalton said, “Then he’ll have the Dijon Rosemary Lamb with garlic mash and sautéed spinach.” Leaning toward Baxter, he added, “Another speciality, but not spicy, you little pussy.”
Dalton and David laughed as Baxter covered a nervous chuckle with a sip of water.
“And a side of Carbonara. For both.” Turning to Baxter, he said, “And don’t argue—you will love it.”
David nodded, looking to both men.
“Oh, and he’ll have the Michael-David Petite Syrah with his lamb, while I’ll have the Sonoma-Cutrer Chardonnay with my fish.”
“Perfect pairing, Frederick,” David bowed with a smile before disappearing.
Frederick watched him leave, turned to Baxter, and quietly said, “If I were gay, I’d gobble him up, wouldn’t you?” Before Baxter could answer, Dalton said—much too loudly—“Wait, but you are!” Smacking Baxter’s knee under the table, he said, “So, would you?”
The lunch crowd had all but disappeared. After finishing a couple of rich desserts along with another glass of wine, Dalton and Baxter enjoyed a couple of steaming Americanos.
“That’s got to be one of the best meals I’ve ever had, Frederick.”
Smiling, Dalton was pleased and satisfied—two entirely different states of being for him. Baxter was amazed at his boss’s dramatic personality shift.
“Gives you a real feeling of being satiated, doesn’t it?”
“Satiated,” Baxter said with a dramatic nod. “That’s a good word.”
Just then, David crossed the room and Baxter turned to eyeball him. Dalton followed his gaze.
“I noticed you excused yourself to the men’s room twice during lunch,” he winked. “Sure that wasn’t to get a little something else?”
Fighting to hide his inebriation, Baxter waved it away as nonsense, then after a sip of coffee, leaned over and whispered, “If you must know, I got his number.”
Dalton feigned surprise and leaned closer. “And what are you two little horn-doggies planning? If I may be so bold. And thoroughly rude.”
David approached with the check. “Gentlemen, I trust everything was to your liking?”
“Perfect as always, David,” Dalton smiled, watching the flirty eyes between the two men. “And I believe our first-time guest was very pleased.”
“Could not have been better,” Baxter said, reaching for his wallet.
Dalton pushed his hand away. “Are you kidding? This is my treat.”
Reaching for the check, Baxter said, “Frederick, that’s much too—”
“It’s fine, Baxter,” he barked too sternly. “You can have the pleasure another day.” Returning his focus to David, Dalton placed his credit card atop the check and lingered on David’s hand. “I’m certain we’ll be back.”
David smiled.
Without taking his eyes from David, he said, “Isn’t that right, Baxter?”
They were halfway to the prison when Dalton broke the silence. “That David showed you a lot of attention. Did you notice?”
Baxter grinned. “He’s a very good waiter. Just the right amount of attention without being overbearing. And didn’t come across phony like some wait staff at snooty restaurants.”
Dalton could not help but smile. They had worked closely together for some time, and Baxter had never mentioned going out on a date, much less saying if anyone was interested in him—or he, in them.
“I know what you mean,” Dalton said, patting Baxter’s leg. “And my biggest pet peeve, especially in restaurants which are more common, for lack of a better term.”
“What’s that?”
“The waitresses who turn on the charm at about 200 watts, but only at the end of the meal when they’re delivering the bill.”
Baxter laughed and added, “And the very worse? When they say, ‘Is there anything else I can get for you’ as their voices go higher and higher with each word.”
Dalton genuinely laughed.
“Yeah,” Baxter laughed heartily.
As soon as the two men crossed the threshold of the prison, Dalton’s acidic personality returned. Getting out of the car and approaching the building, he said, “Baxter, have Sebastian’s papers prepped for his release. I’ll make a move inside the next 48 hours. If not sooner.”
Still tipsy from the liquid lunch, he almost laughed aloud when Dalton gave the order, but the second he saw Dalton’s expression, Sebastian knew he was serious. “Yes, Sir.”
And with that, Dalton slammed his office door behind him, shouting through it, “And I don’t want to be disturbed for anything!”
“Asshole,” Baxter mumbled, plopping into his chair.
23
Wrong Number
After spending a portion of the day in class, a full day at the restaurant, and enduring a second hour-long drive home through bumper-to-bumper traffic, Michael walked in the front door and went straight to the living room bar. Pouring a healthy shot of Bourbon, he took a long sip, exhaled heavily—allowing the stress of the day to roll off his shoulders—and stared out the window where city lights twinkled in the distance.
“Long day, Babe?”
Startled, Michael turned, finding Kathryn in her favorite chair, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Brutal. Class was stacked, the restaurant was packed, and jumping through hoops for this second restaurant is taking more time than expected. City ordinances differ from ours—not to mention one of our financiers got busted for tax evasion.”
“Will it—”
He shook his head. “Won’t affect it. The other’s going to pick up the slack which means he has more ownership.”
“But you like that, right?”
“Oh, he’s way more emotionally invested. Always works better that way.”
“Good.”
“And how was your day?”
The sound of Natalie’s Ugg slippers shuffling across the hardwoods preceded her appearance. “Sorry to interrupt, but Mom, can I interest you in a late night snack?”
Tossing aside her script, Kathryn waved her closer. “How about a hug first?” Enjoying a hearty embrace, she said, “Much better. What about one of your father’s hand-tossed pizzas?”
He stifled an eye roll and started in that direction.
“No, Dad. You just got home from cooking. Last thing you want—”
“What I want to do is make sure my little girl’s happy,” he winked. “Top off your mother’s glass, then grate me a cup of pecorino. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Deal.”
An hour later, they were sitting around the fire pit on the front lawn, nursing drinks and laughing. After the umpteenth yawn, Natalie bid her parents good night and went inside. They were quiet for a long moment: Kathryn staring at the glowing fire and Michael gazing at the star-filled sky.
“Babe, I’ve got something I need to share.”
Without missing a beat, she said, “Me, too.”
That was followed by an uncomfortable silence before Michael said, “Dad’s in San Quentin.”
“What?”
He nodded, trying to figure out how he should continue.
“I thought he…died,” she frowned. “Years ago.”
“Me too. Kinda.”
She sat up straight, clearly in a different headspace. “What do you mean, kinda? You either knew, or you didn’t.”
He rolled his neck, attempting to loosen the knots that had instantly begun forming. “Well, he was dead to me. All those years ago. And as much as I had a feeling he might still be alive, I just didn’t care. Especially after….well, you know all that.”
She settled back into her chair, facing a topic she had not given attention to for years. The pain she felt for Michael superseded any frustration she had for not knowing, but she was torn, angry, and sad—unsure which trumped the other.
“How’d you find out?”
With a heavy sigh, Michael began. “Well, I got a call from a Warden Dalton. The one in charge at San Quentin. He was calling on Sebastian’s behalf.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘on his behalf,’ and how does he seem—”
“Okay, let me back up a second. My phone’s been ringing with a San Quentin number…for a long time. I figured it was a marketing scam at first. And you know how I hate that crap. Anyhow, it’s been ringing, come to think of it, for—I don’t know, maybe four, five months? The call comes on the first Tuesday of the month, and at about the same time. Usually between 8 and 9, often while driving Nat to school and before I hit the restaurant. The first time, I didn’t think much about it. In fact, the first three dozen times I didn’t give it much thought. Then one day, out of nowhere, I got to thinking about Sebastian and figured it had to be him. Either him or Scott—knowing all the trouble he’s been in and out of over the years. And one day, I just got the strongest feeling it was him.”
“But you never answered it?”
He shook his head.
“Never even wondered what he was up to?”
Another shake.
“Okay, so how did you come to meet this warden?”
“Right. So, this guy called and said he wanted me to meet someone. Long story short, I drove up to the prison and met him.”
Her mouth was agape when she said, “And when were you going to tell me about this?”
“I am now.”
Frowning, she said, “Okay, I get it. Burying the past, ignoring the pain. All that bullshit. Same story.”
“Hey, now wait a minute—”
“No, you wait a minute. He’s your father. And I know, he wasn’t a good one, or a nice one, but still…it’s been, what, thirty years?”
