Devour, p.2
Devour, page 2
“You okay?” Michael asked.
“Huh? Yeah,” she said, snapping back to the present. “Just tired. Been a helluva week. Between that gig in New York and the shoot at the Apple campus yesterday...” she yawned and stretched. “Let’s just say the old gray mare ain’t what she used to be.”
He crossed the room and kissed her forehead. “First of all, Babe, you’re no gray mare. Secondly, why don’t you slow down? Relax more? Reservations are a mile long and a month out. The restaurant’s doing well.”
She looked away, thinking quietly.
“What?”
She faked a smile. “Nothing.”
“Babe,” he squatted down to look her in the eyes, “I know that nothing meant something. What’s bothering you?”
She sighed, “You were in really late last night. Later than most.”
“Not really. They’re all late these days. Grueling is more like it.”
Nothing.
Taking a sip, she glanced out the window. “Sorry. I know it’s your passion. It’s just that…”
“Just what,” he asked, looking down the hall for Natalie.
“Let’s get away. Soon. Just you and me.”
“When you get back from your trip,” he smiled. “Promise.”
“Right,” she tried another smile. “Like you promised Natalie you’d see her play basketball. In middle school. Then in high school. But you were too busy. Then volleyball in high school. And again…”
Frowning, he stood. She pulled his sleeve for him to face her.
“Babe, you know this is my life and—”
“That’s just it. Cooking is your life. Not Natalie. Not me.”
“Wait, that’s not fair.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. For any of us. And who…” she paused, then shook her head.
“What? Go ahead and finish,” he sighed, looking down the hall again.
“No, you’ve got to get ready.”
“I am. What is it?”
“How many years did you miss seeing her play?” She held up a hand to stop him before he could answer. “I’ll tell you. None. No, you went to one. Well, to be fair, you went once when she was very young, then once when it was clear she was going to be an elite athlete.”
“Hon, I’m sorry. It’s just…mine is more than a full-time job. This is what it takes to be the best.”
Now her smile seemed nearly authentic. “I know, Babe. And you’re right. I don’t mean to jam you up the first day of a new week—especially with your, no, our girl facing such a momentous time. Sorry.”
“No, you’re right. On some of it. And no need to be sorry. I should be sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Right,” she nodded, taking his left hand. It was cold. She turned it over and frowned, running a fingertip along a scar that ran from the heel of his palm to the crook of his arm. It was barely apparent thanks to a full sleeve of tattoos. The deep scar had been artfully crafted into the spine of a dragon with the tip of the tail ending at his palm. It was intricate and multi-colored: the perfect camouflage.
“How’s it feeling today?”
Gently pulling away, he turned his attention to the clouds being split open with streaks of sun. “Pretty much SOP. Cold, numb, and with a mind of its own,” he said, crossing the room for his car keys. “But it still works, and no one’s the wiser. Right?”
“Right,” she forced a smile as Natalie came bounding into the room.
“Okay, my happy family, let’s get on down the road.”
After a flurry of kisses and high-fives, dad and daughter were out the door and off to the city.
2
Two Peas
Michael’s Tesla weaved through the streets of Tiburon, Belvedere, and finally onto Highway 101 toward San Francisco. The morning was crisp, the sky clear, and the day ahead bright. All was at peace with the world—at least on the surface. Natalie removed her Beats headphones and began stirring a familiar pot.
“What was that all about?”
“Huh?” he said, apparently lost in thought.
She tossed a chin over her shoulder.
“Nothing. Just your mother and me talking about…stuff.”
“Uh huh. What sort of stuff?”
“Just how excited we are about your graduation.”
She squinted. “Right.”
Smearing a broad smile across his face, he said, “Well, we are.”
“Okay,” she said, before putting her headphones back on. In two seconds, she took them back off and turned in her seat. “Pops, don’t you think it’s about time you told me the real story about your hand?”
He kept his eyes on the road, punctuating her inquiry with a smirk. “Where’d that come from?”
“Remember when I turned 16 and you told me I could have any two things I wanted?”
“Yeah.”
“And I said a trip to Europe before college and a convertible Mini Cooper?”
He coughed dramatically.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s exactly what you did then.”
“I’m joking, but it’s just a lot—”
“No, it’s not about that,” she frowned. “You wanna know what I really wanted?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Don’t be. Besides Europe? The real explanation.”
Suddenly, the only sound inside the car was music coming from her headphones and an occasional lane reflector bumping underneath the tires.
“I told you, my brother and I were in Boy Scouts chopping wood. I was holding a limb and he wanted to form it into a stake. To this day, I don’t know why I was holding it, but anyway, he slipped. And his hatchet cut my arm.”
She stared out the window, silent.
This was not the first time she had asked. In fact, he had lost count. And he could not decide if she knew differently or was testing him. Either way, he felt it best to just go with this story. He looked from the road to her several times before saying, “Nattie? What’s on your mind? And what’s the fascination with my arm?”
She shifted back to face him and with a dramatic sigh said, “Here’s why. And don’t forget the exit. I need an extra—”
“Breakfast,” he nods, “And lunch. Or two.”
“Hey, I burn a lotta calories in practice. And you’re not getting off the hook,” she said, pointing toward an upcoming exit sign.
“Not trying to get off the hook, just trying to understand why it’s so important, and why you think it’s otherwise.”
Approaching Marin City, he took Exit 445A to Bridgeway, heading south into the charming town of Sausalito.
“Here’s the thing,” she began by grabbing his arm. “And don’t take this the wrong way because you know I love you more than anything.”
He relished these moments. His love for her was full, and he would do anything to keep her safe and happy.
“But you’re not a very good liar,” she said with a scrunched face.
He whipped his head toward her and shouted, “What?”
“Really? she winced, “I think they heard you in Stinson Beach.”
“Sorry.”
“Not to offend you, but I guess I inherited your—how shall I say—lack of trust?”
“What?”
“Skepticism in mankind?”
“What?”
“Your cynic mindset?”
Shaking his head, he barked, “What?”
Laughing, she delivered a perfect impersonation of Samuel Jackson from Pulp Fiction. “Say what again. Say what again! I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time!”
Now, they were laughing hysterically as Michael coughed, “I would quote your Mother and say language…” he whined mockingly, “But that’s just too funny.”
They were still chuckling when he pulled into the parking lot of Cibo, a hip coffeehouse that served espresso drinks and local fare. Natalie fist-bumped her dad and headed inside where Michael knew Natalie would order the usual: a triple Americano with avocado toast plus a turkey panini for lunch.
He watched her run in, then flipped through email on his phone. She was heading back out before he had swiped five times, and just as he looked up, Michael saw a young man who looked like a surfer holding the door for her. She paused, and with a hearty blush and a smile, thanked him.
Michael reached to the Yeti cooler in the back seat and opened it for her. It was a favorite container, one he used on those rare weekend getaways to Muir, Stinson, or Lake Tahoe. Opening the car door, she took a last glance back toward the store before putting the food in the waiting chest.
“Cute guy, huh?” Michael asked with a mile-wide smile.
“Yeah, kinda,” she grinned, getting in and buckling up. Then, as they pulled out onto the 101, she added, “Like, hella gorgeous!”
“I like how he held the door for you. A real gentleman,” he grinned. “Not many of those around these days.”
“Must’ve had a father like you,” she said, blowing steam from her coffee. “Ya know, to teach him such things.”
Reaching over to squeeze her knee, he whispered, “Thanks, Nattie.”
“Just don’t think that lets you off the hook.”
Letting out a deep breath, he shook his head and merged into traffic as she turned to watch the passing landscape. He needed to be patient. Like her mother, Natalie did not like to be pushed.
“Dad, what do you want more than anything else in life? Maybe something you don’t have right now?”
He smiled. “I have everything I need.”
“Do you?”
Swiveling his head—one eye on traffic, the other on her—Michael kept looking at his squinting and precocious co-pilot until she made the expression she always did when gearing up for hearty discussion. “I do, Nat. For the most part, anyway.”
She managed an acknowledging nod. “But can we dig just a little deeper? I mean, it’s me after all. I’m not going to attack you. I’m not going to judge you. I just…”
“You just what?”
“I just want you to know you can trust me. And Mom. And pretty much anyone else you know,” she smiled.
He matched her smile because he knew she was just trying to help. “I, uh, never really trusted anyone. After my Mom died, anyway. Not Scott, and certainly not Dad. Not much of anyone, well, until your mother came along.”
Natalie couldn’t help but smile, knowing this was big for him.
“All I’ve ever wanted was to be the best. I mean really make it. Have the restaurants, the TV and Radio shows, the best-selling books. I want it all. But I want it for you and your mother, so you both have all the things you’ve ever dreamed of.”
As much as he tried, Michael couldn’t keep a tear from pooling in his eye. He quickly wiped it away.
“Aw, Daddy, what is it?”
Shaking his head, he whispered, “Something in my eye. Probably dust.”
She giggled.
“Dad, you do know that all I really want…all I’ve ever wanted…was your love and attention. Nothing more.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“Do you?”
He smacked her leg. “There you go again with the Do yous. Have you been seeing a shrink? Taking extra psych classes at school?”
Her dimple appeared. “I read. A lot.”
Checking the time, he nodded.
“Just one more thing and I’ll stop the interrogation,” she grinned. “How much more do you need or want…before it will be enough. I mean, how many restaurants have you been a part of launching and want to launch? How many shows and books will you have to create until you…really make it?”
“Good question.”
“Right. But how many until you feel fulfilled or satisfied, or whatever the hell the magical word is that’ll make you feel, I don’t know, accomplished?”
He wrinkled his brow for a long minute—chewing his inside cheek before he let a sly grin slide across his face—“Just one more.”
Parking her coffee in the center console, Natalie shook her head. “Of course,” then slipped on her headphones and cranked a tune. “Okay, smarty pants, I tried. Now excuse me while I get in the flow.”
He nodded in affirmation. She nodded in rhythm.
3
Long Play
The drive—minus the bumper-to-bumper traffic—was peaceful. Michael enjoyed getting lost in the space of time, especially before being inundated with the noise of traffic and the city. He never tired of seeing the stately bridge. Whether her bright red color was laced with fog or sun glow, he felt the same excitement now as he did the first time he saw her.
His mind flashed back to their wedding day on East Hampton. A year later, an opportunity arose for Kathryn in L.A. with a huge magazine contract that would also get Michael one step closer to his dream of running a restaurant full time.
He had watched several restaurateurs rise to spectacular fame in the world of food. One such visionary was Wolfgang Puck who had moved from Austria to the States when only 24 years old. Less than nine years later, Wolfgang would open Spago in LA. It was 1982 and the big Hollywood players were spending money on three priorities: homes, food, and cocaine—not necessarily in that order. And Michael knew what Wolfgang knew: food was the way to a person’s heart and that circuitous path meant spending lots of money. Reading the signs, Michael merged his life’s passion into a roadmap and began setting his course.
They first landed in Studio City where Kathryn would be near the studios and he could find jobs in “the valley.” In short order, the money from her jobs increased with each photo shoot while his increased with each catered private party. Soon, they were moving from the valley to the beach.
Living in Malibu took most of what they earned to match the lifestyle, but the connections they made were top shelf. The downside was they were both working obscene hours, and with those hours came increased pressure to perform. With the intoxication of the attention, they were soon in over their heads—in more ways than one.
It was not long before Kathryn was doing one drug to endure relentless shoots and another to shut down. With endless nights of wine and cocktails with clients and investors, Michael had his own constant drip of pain relief keeping his energy high and his mind off his arm. Working all day and entertaining all night began to take its toll.
Not long after landing in Malibu, a child was added to the mix and they became stretched toward ends they could not possibly endure while the child became independent of parents who were not available. In the process over several years, all three became distant with increasing speed, until one day, some of those planets aligned while others collided.
At a near-breaking point and in search for sanity, they moved north to be near Kathryn’s family and her Mill Valley roots.
Michael and Natalie reached the end of the bridge and merged onto the parkway, passing the famous Presidio—a 1,500 acre park on a former military post—currently home to miles of walking and biking trails, a golf course, the Walt Disney Family Museum, and Lucasfilm offices. One turn onto Lyon and another one onto Jackson, and Natalie would be ready for another day of education. Gathering her things, she looked over the top of her mirrored Ray Bans.
“About that earlier chat of ours?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t think there’s not more of where that came from.”
Michael gave an exaggerated eye roll. “You bet. I’ll have so much more to share. Doctor.”
Getting out, she walked around the car and stuck her face in the window for a kiss on the cheek.
“Have fun and play hard, and I’ll see you for dinner; that is if you think you’ll be hungry.”
She buried her dimple with a smirk. “Yeah, right. Meet you out front at 6.”
“You got it, Champ. I love you.”
Already walking away, she spun around and shouted, “Love you, too, Popsadoodle!”
Before pulling away, he watched her bound up the front steps and put an arm around a classmate before the two made their way into the courtyard.
With his daughter in the rearview, he pulled into traffic and took the remaining moments focusing on what he needed to accomplish for the upcoming week. He also felt a rush of pure adrenaline thinking about opening his second restaurant. With sights set on culinary world domination—as he liked to joke with his staff—Michael’s goal was not only having the most popular fine dining establishment in the Bay Area but also in other cities across the country. His second restaurant would open later this year, either in Silicon Valley where millionaires sprout faster than weeds and spend a great deal of income dining on the finest cuisine—or in Beverly Hills where Hollywood celebrities love to be seen in the poshest of locations, devouring delightful delicacies. If all went as planned, they would plan on opening on Manhattan’s High Line and perhaps even Miami’s South Beach within the next year. Two other cities on his not-too-distant radar included Chicago’s Miracle Mile and D.C.’s Georgetown.
Michael’s excitement felt boundless with possibilities. He had hired the best research and marketing teams, and his investors believed in his mission, admired his drive, and benefitted from his talents.
Driving through the well-known Pacific Heights neighborhood, he practically salivated at the thought of the wealthy clientele who packed his restaurant six nights a week. From the beginning, Michael had promised to keep one night dark: Mondays. Not only did it provide his staff a brief respite from the day-to-day pressure, but it also kept his captive audience hungry. Given today was that day, he wanted to get in early to pay bills, check inventory, and fulfill his long-standing tradition of creating handwritten Thank You notes for his most prized dinner guests.
