I could guess where my carefully applied eye makeup was. “Is there mascara running down my face?”
Mae looked up from her work. “There is. It looks kind of funky cool.” This from someone who paints her face with Magic Markers.
“I thought it was one of those new American looks. It’s kind of sexy.” Danny’s wicked twinkle looked right into my mascara-streaked eyes as he said it, and I was back to feeling like a dingus. I stood up.
“You know what, Danny? This will be a lot easier if I have your menus first. Why don’t you get them to Sonya or me as soon as possible and I’ll look them over. I’m sorry that I’m not familiar with your food. I haven’t had a chance to get to your restaurant.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” He reached into the pocket of a rain jacket he’d hung on a coat hook—he obviously listened to the right weather forecasts—and pulled out two envelopes. “I have an invitation for all of you and any of your friends for this Thursday night. Oran Mor will be a year old and we’ve decided kind of at the last minute to have a party to celebrate.”
He handed me a generic envelope, and I could see that the other one had “Sally Woods” written on it. “I also have one for Sally Woods and wanted to deliver it to her in person. Is she around?”
I got it then. The outrageous come-on. He wasn’t coming on to me; he wanted Sally. This wasn’t the first chef to try to use me to get to her. Sally was the closest thing to a megastar the culinary world had to offer, and chefs wanted the celebrity status of having her in their restaurants. It guaranteed press at an event that might otherwise be just another night out. A lot ofclimbers in the field thought that if they befriended me, they’d get Sally in the bargain.
“Not today.” Executive-chef tone.
Mae ignored my tone. “But she’ll be here Thursday, and I’ll bet she’d love to go. Sally craves a good party.”
Danny turned his twinkle on Mae and handed her the invitation. “Brilliant. Would you mind seeing that she gets this, love? And I hope you’ll be coming.”
Way-cool Mae March simply melted in front of my eyes. Danny turned back to me and said, “If you come, I can give you the menus then, if that’s soon enough.”
“That’ll be fine, if I can make it. Otherwise, can you fax them?”
“Not a problem.” He smiled at me and left.
As soon as he was out the door, Mae let out her breath and said, “Isn’t he gorgeous?”
“Actually, I found him arrogant, self-centered, and rude.”
Mae looked horrified. “You have to be kidding. He was so charming.”
“Charming? He’s just another trendy chef, hoping to make the right connections that will make him a star.”
“Wow.” Mae raised her eyebrows, but said no more. I didn’t mention that I did think he was one of the most gorgeous specimens of masculinity I had ever seen. Besides, I thought as I checked out my damp attire, I wasn’t in my best connecting condition.
The rain had stopped by the time I left the studio, and I assessed the damage it had done before heading off to meet Mary. My hair was okay. At least it was dry. My skirt had lost the crisp sateen finish of its former life but it had dried evenly, so it looked okay. My shirt, however, had shrunk on my body,and my shoes were history. I didn’t look quite as chic as I had planned, but I wasn’t a total disaster. Mary, on the other hand, looked incredible and could easily be mistaken for one of Calvin’s models.
We’ve always been just about the same height, but growing up she was many pounds lighter than I was. She was what you might call “gangling,” if your definition included gawky and awkward. She had a Letterman gap between her front teeth, seriously mousy brown hair, and thick glasses secured to her head with an elasticized black strap. By her junior year in college, a large orthodontic bill, a talented Fifth Avenue hairdresser, and tinted contact lenses had re-created Mary as a