Devour, p.9
Devour, page 9
“For a little…” she punctuated with finger and thumb squeezed together, “More ownership.”
He shrugged, “I got no problem with that. For that level of admiration, I’ll certainly share the wealth.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I told him.”
“And what about the Doctor?”
“Yeah, about Robert Duggan. He’s turned out to be, let’s say, a bit less ethical than we had hoped.”
“Shit,” he dropped his head. “What happened?”
“Tax evasion. And a little thing called fraud.”
Shaking his head, “Well, we always knew he was slick. Just glad he’s the minority owner.” Biting his lip, he stared out the window. “Let’s dump him now and go with Franklin. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, we’ll go halves. Well, 55/45.”
They both sat quiet for a long moment before Michael said, “How about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re an enormous part of this whole thing. Are you still—”
“In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“How delightfully old school.”
“Yep, that’s me, Little Miss Old School,” she cocked her head to the side. “But seriously, Michael, as I’ve said from the start. I’m all in. And as you’ll recall, you were in the top three companies I wanted to partner my career with.”
Taking her hand, he said, “That’s a great phrase. Partner your career with me. Thank you.”
“Absolutely. No hesitation.”
“Wait,” he frowned, “Who were the other two?”
She could not hide her grin as she looked out the window and nodded. He followed her gaze.
“The Fairmont?”
She nodded. “C’mon, a classic, right?”
“Yes. And who else?”
She fiddled with a spoon, then said, “Keiko.”
“Only my biggest competitor,” he laughed. “But seriously, why me?”
She took a deep breath. “You asked.”
“Yep.”
“It was the day I was researching jobs, and this was the area of town where I had concentrated my efforts. My cab stopped on this corner first, so I went with it.”
He broke out laughing. “Wait. You mean—”
She giggled, “Yes, there were two on this hill, and I stopped here first.”
He playfully frowned.
“But I knew within the first fifteen minutes you were the one.”
“Why?”
Holding up a finger, she said, “First, your reputation and work ethic were well known. I mean, I had no idea you were gunning for Wolfgang Puck, but—”
“Personal hero; guilty as charged.”
“Second, it was the passion with which you spoke—not only about the business but also the food. The way you described each item; how you prepared it. Every nuance. Amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“And third…” she began, nodding at his phone. “It was actually your phone screen. The one you never lock,” she snorted. “Who knows why?
“But it never leaves my side.”
“Whatever. Anyhow, it’s those two girls of yours,” she said, tapping the screen. “When I saw them, it made you—I don’t know—more human. But it was also the way you looked at them—that’s what made me so attracted to you. And I’ll admit, perhaps not the best way to begin a business relationship, but hell, I was smitten.”
Smiling, Jasmine touched his hand, and Michael leaned across the table and kissed her again.
16
Teen Angst
Natalie was feeling raw around the edges. That was the best way to describe it. After all these years thinking she did not have a grandfather who was still alive. Now, not only does she suddenly have one, but he is living right under her nose.
“How fucked up is that,” she asked Rachel who sat across from her with an expression begging the same question.
“Who does that?”
“Exactly,” Natalie said, shoving the remainder of avocado toast in her mouth. “Obviously, mi padre.”
Rachel leaned over and wiped guacamole from the corner of Natalie’s mouth. “Fucking insane.”
While Natalie wanted to sit and wallow in the angst, she realized it would get her nowhere but down a rabbit hole she had no desire to dig. Hence, she did what she always did when life sucked—she turned it around. “Whatev—,” she snorted. “All I can do is handle what I have. And if given the chance, I’ll meet him and embrace him the best I can.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“That’s so mature of you,” she grinned. “My little love button.”
Natalie blushed, more because of the intimacy than the compliment. “Thanks. I think,” she said, burying a dimple into her cheek.
In seconds, she was lost in thought as Rachel rambled about how her parents never made a deal about distant family. Natalie was more interested in the here and now than trying to suffer a past she had no control over. She began imagining what she would say and how she would act.
“Nattie? Are you listening to me?”
“Huh? Yeah, of course,” she said, bringing her eyes into focus. “Listen, what if—”
“I know that look. You’re up to something.”
“Why don’t we go visit him ourselves? You know, a little field trip. I’ve never been to a prison, have you?”
“What?” Rachel shook her head and frowned. “Are you high? I have no desire to go to a nasty place with hardened criminals to meet a perfect stranger—”
“He’s not really a stranger. More like family. And I’m hoping—planning, rather—to eventually meet him. Besides, it could be fun.”
Rachel, uninterested, started packing her bags. She and Natalie had been friends all through high school, but it was not until the last year they had become really close. And in all that time, she knew that once Natalie got something in her mind, she would set out to do it.
“Look, I’m not saying I won’t go with you. I’m just saying it’s not high on my list of want-to’s, ya dig? Besides, we have no way of getting there. Your graduation gift doesn’t show up until we return from Europe—if at all—and I don’t have one.”
Packing up, Natalie said, “I get it. No worries. We’ll figure it out another time.”
17
The Reconnection
Dalton stood at his office window watching life on the outside. He pondered matters percolating on the back of his mind. His appetite was hardy and growing stronger by the week. He was glad he had increased his workout regime to compensate for his insatiable snacking. And despite his sporadic migraines and iffy stomach, he was becoming more comfortable with his late night antics. Social interactions resulting in mutual satisfaction—perhaps more his than theirs—is how he preferred to think about it. Something else he had been chewing on for much too long remained strong in his mind: the need to surround himself with the best talent in order to take his hobby to the next level.
Next, he flashed back to a time when he was working hard to become one of the best marksmen in the Army. The solution? He found the sharpest shooters and hung with them and practiced at every opportunity. When he wanted to learn Tai Kwon Do, he found the best instructor in Mill Valley and mastered the centuries-old techniques. Tito Nazaki taught him everything he knew. And when he needed to learn to cook—specifically to master the grill—he took weekend classes at a local cooking school.
Dalton was obsessed with impressing dinner guests—even though he had few chances to do so. He needed the accolades. What he did not like was how many of his classmates were fat. He found it disgusting and imagined their wanting to get better at cooking in order to make excuses for overeating. Looking in the mirror, he saw his waistline a few extra inches larger than last inspection. He knew if he was going to master his hobby, he had to exercise even harder.
Turning away, he went to his desk and removed the number Sebastian had shared with him. He imagined the possibilities of a master chef in his own backyard. Staring at the paper, he began crafting how he would secure his next entreé. Caressing the phone, he ran conversations in his head and wondered how Sebastian had been able to get Rogan’s number. He was amazed at how industrious the old man had become, especially having been in prison for so long.
He whispered, “No time like the present,” and dialed the number.
Someone answered on the second ring. “Hello, this is Michael Rogan.”
“Hello, Michael. Not sure if you remember me, but it’s your old pal Frederick Dalton.”
Silence.
“Fort Bragg? A hundred years ago? You were the athlete. I was the short order cook?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah, Freddie Dalton, I remember.”
Dalton hated that nickname. Of all the things he was proud of, his proper name was one. He let it go. After all, he wanted something from his old pal.
“You still play basketball? I seem to recall you were always on the winning team.”
Michael laughed. “Don’t know about all that. Just lucky, I guess. And yeah, I still manage a rare pickup game in the park. But working 70 hours a week doesn’t let that happen much.”
“Understood.”
“Hey, Freddie, I’d love to get caught up on old times, but I’m in a bit of a pinch time wise. What can I do for you? Need some cooking tips?”
Dalton faked a laugh as he recalled how Michael had always ribbed him about his own cooking and the way he could ruin just about any dish. And with the food they served at Fort Bragg, it seemed impossible to make it any worse.
“Oddly enough, yes. Especially since you’re a what, world famous cook now?”
“World famous? Doubtful.”
“Michael, I’ll be brief. I left the Army as fast as I could—probably like most of us—and got into other kinds of government work.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been working in prisons for most of my life. In fact, I’m currently the Warden at San Quentin.”
“How funny. Right in my backyard.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Listen, I’ve got someone here who wants to see you. In fact, I’m told he’s been reaching out to you for some time. Evidently, to no avail. Is that true?”
After a long silence, Michael’s tone completely shifted. “Warden, I’m sure you’re as busy a man as me—running a place the size of San Quentin—so I’ll likewise be brief. I don’t know anyone in your facility. And I have no interest in meeting anyone who you think knows me.”
“Okay. I understand.”
“Do you?”
With thinning patience, Dalton barged ahead. “It’s your father. Sebastian is incarcerated here and would very much like to see you.”
“My father’s dead,” Michael responded with a cutting tone. “Has been for years.”
Dalton took a deep breath. “No, Michael, actually, he’s here on death row.”
“Well…he’s dead to me. Now, if you’ll please—”
“Sorry to interrupt Michael, but just allow me thirty more seconds, then I’ll hang up, never to bother you again. Fair enough?”
“Just get on with it.”
“As I began to say, and as difficult as this is, I feel obligated to tell you he will be dead…very soon.”
Silence.
“Michael?”
“Yes, Dalton, I’m here. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough, but I have little time as it is, and certainly no time for him, or you—for that matter. I’m sorry, but he left a lifetime ago, and I was sure he was gone for good. So, as I said—”
“Michael, please come and meet him. I promise it would do him a world of good, especially…before he passes. Wouldn’t you like to just—”
“No, actually, I wouldn’t. So, if you’ll—”
“Okay, but before I go, I do want to say how much I admire your work. And I know we were not the best of pals, but, well, I’ve been a fan of yours for years. I’m sure you can imagine how surprised I was to learn that I had just a degree of separation from you—what with your old man sitting just a hundred yards from my office. Anyhow, I’ll ring off, but I’ll tell you, Michael, I know your books and your restaurant, Dévorer. I mean, I’ve always wanted to dine there as I’m a helluva foodie myself. Guess I just assumed the price tag made it out of my league.”
Suddenly, Michael softened.
“It’s not as bad as you think, Dalton. And thank you for the nice words. Yeah, it’s been years in the making, but it’s the only thing I’ve ever really loved doing. Guess I got bit by the bug shortly after the Army. And just stuck with it. Who knew, right?”
Dalton turned it up a notch. “Right. You’re among the lucky ones.”
He chuckled, “How’s that?”
“You’re doing what you love. And I have to assume you’re making a good living, I mean, you have the restaurant that’s always being written up in the San Francisco Chronicle. You’ve got the TV show, all those books and…the sauces. Hell, from what I’ve seen that’s your real magic.”
“You are a fan. It’s rare I get to talk to people about my sauces. Well, besides the people in my classes at CIA. I mean, I get letters and such, but…do you have a favorite?”
Dalton smiled, “I sure do.”
They spoke for another twenty minutes, discussing Michael’s signature sauces, their favorite method of braising meat, and the complexity of wine pairing. In the end, and with one last attempt at persuasion, Michael agreed to come to meet his father, but because of demands said he would not have a great deal of time.
The Warden assured him any time would be an immeasurable gift and the sooner, the better.
18
Big Firsts
Kathryn sat on the deck, wrapped in a thick robe, nursing a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. Michael and Natalie hated her smoking, but it was one of those habits she had not been able to shake—that and an occasional taste of cocaine. But for the most part, those days were gone.
Back in her early modeling days, the addiction was problematic; however, because it was so prevalent and widely available, it was hard not to get wrapped up in it. The long days and longer nights created the need to stay up—often at all costs.
Staring out at the bay, Kathryn thought about Natalie’s upcoming graduation and how she would soon face the real world. Confident her daughter was prepared, she was not as worried as skeptical that sports would provide the happiness she was searching for. Luckily, she would have four years to figure it out, and perhaps in the end, she would find there are other things in life besides sports.
She was proud of her daughter and happy it came so easily, especially since Kathryn felt guilty she and Michael had not been able to spend more time with her. Michael had done a better job than she, especially when it came to getting her to school. But that was about it. Feeling an ample portion of guilt, she brushed it aside like a piece of lint. Allowing happier memories to fill her thoughts, she revisited snapshots of Natalie’s childhood: The first tooth. First steps. Birthday parties. Skinned knees. Sporting events. Her friends. Neighborhood parties. Good grades. Big awards.
The years had flashed past. “What a full life,” she whispered, inhaling the moment. She wiped a single tear from her cheek, knowing once they began, they may not stop.
Crushing out the cigarette, she tried to focus on what came next—graduation, dinner party, pack, leave. Soon, they would both leave for big adventures while Michael stayed behind to work.
The phone in her pocket rang, abruptly interrupting her nostalgia. Looking at the time, over an hour had passed. She checked the screen. It was Stephan, the producer of her upcoming film. She hesitated answering because she was thoroughly enjoying the peace…
Ring.
He pronounced it Stuh-Fahn. Tall, dark, and incredibly handsomely. She wondered if she wanted to invite drama this early…
Ring.
They met on a photo shoot in New York. The styles were amazing. Fabrics, divine. Chemistry, instantaneous…
Ring.
As much she considered keeping his advances at bay, she found him to be tremendously persuasive…
Ring.
“Hello?” she finally answered.
“Ciao, Katrina. I was about to hang up. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. How are you, Stephan?”
“Much better now, Katrina,” he cooed. “Are you excited for our big adventure?”
How could she not be excited, being courted by a sexy Italian movie producer, introduced to multi-millionaire filmmakers, working alongside Hollywood stars.
“Yes, I’m very excited. And so ready to travel.”
In the silence, he waited.
“Katrina, I’m sorry, but I have some bad news.”
Her stomach sank, and she took a deep breath.
“Katrina, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What’s the bad news,” she moaned.
“Oh, my Katrina,” he laughed. “You sound like you just lost a favorite kitten.”
“Stephan, what are—”
“Katrina, the news is only partly bad. The writers had to make some changes. You have less lines, but you don’t have to learn any new ones. We still need you, of course. And everything is fine. More than fine!”
As her shoulders relaxed, she laughed, “You scoundrel!”
After a healthy dose of flirting, confirming travel plans, and discussing upcoming schedules, they rang off, and she made her way inside for a long, hot soak.
Simultaneously, a pair of shaded eyes watched from the confines of an SUV with dark tinted windows on the street just above the Rogan’s home. Parked under the shadow of a bristlecone pine tree, it could have easily been mistaken as a neighbor’s car. The driver, however, was not from this neighborhood—and the soaking he had in mind was of an entirely different sort.
19
Shifting Tides
Michael had been working in his office when he decided it was time to face his past. Natalie’s graduation was closing in fast, the dinner party was going to be enormous, and shortly after, both his girls would disappear. He felt an odd urgency to get a piece of familial angst off his plate, so he asked Jasmine to take over.
