Split (27 page)

“Sorry, man, can’t go in there.”

I nodded. “Bathroom?”

He pointed to the back, and then hurriedly headed for the table of six.

I took a few steps back, springing through the kitchen door as he was jotting down orders.

As I did, another waiter, who looked like Al Pacino in his younger days, barked, “I need two and five for mains, and three is on desserts, no nuts on the veiled.” He pushed the door open with his ass and screamed over the gigantic tray loaded with soups and salads. “Chef, I need four tossed back on the grill, the lady says too bloody—”

“What?” Nick’s voice rose over the stove tops. “What the fuck! Goddamn it, Jimmy, can you check your fucking doneness—” Nick flipped a piece of salmon onto a plate, swung around to squeeze some oil into a scorching pan, then, with a steady hand, ladled some sauce over a sirloin steak. “Seven is up !” He tore a pink sheet off the pass and yelled, “Seven is up! Let’s go! Where’s Gab? Fuckin’ better not be tokin’ up in the back!”

The young man, whom I suspected was the said Gab, popped his head over the counter at my left. “No, Chef, I’m here, just—”

“Why aren’t you at the pass?” Nick threw some green vegetables into the oiled pan and flipped a line of chicken breast on the grill. I could feel the scalding heat from where I stood.

What did it feel like over there?

All their faces gleamed with sweat, and everywhere I looked, gigantic bottles of Voss water stood empty—testaments to their parched mouths.

“Get your ass at the pass.” Nick wiped his forehead with the back of his crisp white sleeve, squinting at the line of pink papers, and rubbed his chin. “We’re doing three and two. I want it up in five.”

A waiter flung the door open at my right, and I shrank back, hugging the wall.

I was in a war zone.

I glanced over at the blackboard above my head. On it were the names of the dishes, and next to every one of the day’s dishes was a symbol.

I smiled.

That’s how Nick gets through it.

One word at a time.

“Chef, where’s my four!”

“Keep your cock in your pants.” Nick was garnishing a dish with some pink foam. “Fuckin’ comin’.” He tore another pink slip off the pass. “Eleven is up. Go before my fuckin’ foam collapses!”

“Who the hell is this?” The waiter’s sweaty brow shone with sweat. He frowned at me. “Hello?”

“I’m—”

“O’Reilly. Goddamn it
.
No.” Nick’s voice, though contained, simmered with firm disapproval. “Not now.
Later.
”

“Boone is here.”

Nick pushed a plate up on the pass. “Later!”

I chewed on my lip, looking around.

One of the line cooks gave me a cocky smile.

The waiter pushed the door open. “You heard the man.
Out.
”

I hesitated for a moment, and decided I was through with hesitation. Through with it for this life, and some of the next. “Nick,” I said, quite steadily, to my surprise. “Your brother and I are in the dining room. We expect to be fed.”

Nick’s cold blue eyes darted up.

“And we’d like the chef to make an appearance within the next hour,” I added boldly.

I winced a little, waiting for him to hurl a plate at me.

A disarming smile turned up on his lips. “Tony.” Nick’s gaze lingered on my mouth. “Take care of my brother and him.”

Tony looked me up and down. “All right. Come on.”

I found Boone at the bar, chatting it up with Andy.

Andy seemed to be hanging on his every word.

That’s Boone for you. He must be very good at what he does.

“I got us a table.”

Boone grinned. “Of course you did.” He got to his feet and wrapped his bulky arm around my shoulder, nearly squeezing the breath out of me. “My man Red. Good job. Where’s Nico?”

“Trust me, Boone, your brother has his hands full.”

“What’s it like in there?”

“Ever seen
Apocalypse Now
?”

He chuckled. “Fuckin’ Nico. Always has to live it up a notch.”

“It’s his nature.” I thought of Nick’s passion. His drive. “The man is incapable of mediocrity.”

Boone bounced his eyebrows. “Is that why he’s been doin’ you?”

I gave him my best disapproving stare.

“What? You don’t think I know you guys are jumping in each other’s pants every other night?”

“You mean, every other week,” I said, quite sourly.

“That’s ’cause you let him get away with it.”

I frowned.

“Derek, man,” Boone leaned back into his chair. “how do you expect him to know how you feel if you never tell him? I mean, shit, how long have you been pining away for my brother? Ever think about lettin’ him in on your little secret?”

“What secret?”

Boone’s smile vanished. “That you’re totally, madly, fucking crazy in love with him. Always have been. Always will be.”

My heart jumped a little.

I would, if only Nick let me.

Nick never came out that night.

Boone and I did enjoy one of the best meals of our lives, and many more rum and Cokes, but we left just at the edge of midnight, exhausted and light-headed, without having been graced by Chef Lund’s commanding presence.

*

This morning, I sank deeper into Lene’s sofa-bed and rolled myself into the blanket.

Gently, the scent of cologne tickled my senses, and I cracked an eye open, watching the sun-drenched living room through a half-shut lid.

“Good morning.” A man, shirtless and stunning, fumbled through the clutter on the coffee table. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

I cleared my throat.

The stranger pulled a sweater over his olive-toned skin. “You’re Derek.”

I nodded.

The man’s full lip stretched into a smile. “I’m Giovanni.” He extended his hand.

I sat up, being careful not to let my morning wood tear through the blanket. “Nice to-to meet you.”

He shook my hand, and I caught another gust of his subtle fragrance.

“So you’re Cassandra’s father.” He laughed.

Lene still has that famous doll. Our plastic offspring sits on her commode, and with every passing day, I grow more and more fond of it. She even looks a little like me.

Living with a shrink has done nothing for my lucidity.

Giovanni ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. “Coffee?” He headed for the kitchen.

I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and locked myself in the washroom.

When I stepped out, I found Lene and Giovanni nestled comfortably on the couch.

I had found one of Lene’s T-shirts hanging on the towel rack and had hastily slipped it on.

It was two sizes too small.

“You’ve met Gio.” Lene handed me a steaming cup. “Sorry we woke you.” She smiled. “You look cute.”

I glanced down at myself.

She laughed. “Sit down, let’s talk.”

Her man nodded. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I sat.

“I didn’t think you would come home last night.” Lene took a sip of her coffee, and winked. “How’s Nico?”

Lene is an aunt.

An aunt.

And she doesn’t even know it.

“He’s busy,” I returned, staring at my bare feet.

Giovanni set his cup on the table. “It’s a tough business he’s in.”

“Gio knows,” said Lene. “He used to be a dry cleaner.”

I frowned.

Gio laughed. “I cleaned uniforms.”

Gio’s sexy smile could possibly sell Crest toothpaste to Colgate’s chief financial officer.

“You can tell a lot about a job by the state the uniform’s in at the end of a week. Chefs’ uniforms are the worst of the lot. I’ve cleaned oil and blood out of them. And man, the burn marks, those never come out.”

I smiled, but my heart had begun pounding.

Unfinished thoughts swarmed my head.

“Derek?” Lene’s indigo blue eyes watched me. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” I rose. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“You don’t want breakfast?”

I kissed her head. “Thank you.”

She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Okay.”

I hurried to the small room that serves as Lene’s office and opened my closet, which in fact is my unpacked suitcase, and got dressed in more appropriate attire.

I stepped back into the living room. “Lene, I’m going to take that apartment on Sainte-Émilie.”

Her smile turned upside down. “You don’t have to move out.”

Gio coughed. “I’m gonna go make some eggs.” He eased himself out of the couch and Lene’s embrace. “I’ll put on another pot of coffee.”

We both watched him disappear into the kitchen, and then Lene leaned in. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“No, Lene. I need to grow up.” I slipped my coat on. “And really fast too.”

Her eyebrows met. “What do you mean?”

If Nick is a father, then what am I?

What’s my place?

My contribution?

Do I have one?

I zipped up my coat. “I’m going to ask something of your brother.”

Lene nodded. “All right, but can I give you some advice?”

I wrapped my scarf around my neck and smiled. “Please do, Dr. Lund.”

“For once in your life, Derek, be fearless.”

My skin warmed.

She held my inquisitive stare. “There’s only one thing no one has ever asked of Nicolai.”

My chest tightened. “And what is that?”

Lene threw her head back and laughed.

Then, her expression became somber.
“Everything,”
she said in a breath.

*

“We’re closed.” Andy’s tight little body guarded Split’s entrance.

I pushed on the door. “Good morning.”

He rolled his eyes.

I stepped into the warm dining room and blew into my frozen hands.

Andy shut the door behind us. “Don’t get snow on the floor.” He turned the lock. “I just washed it.”

I wiped my boots on the carpet. “Is he here?”

Andy had fled to the bar, and stood behind it, wiping glasses.

He poured orange juice into one of them. “Thirsty?”

I glanced down at my boots.

They dripped with melted brown snow.

Andy sighed impatiently. “Forget the floor.”

I stared at the kitchen door. Nothing stirred behind it.

“He’s in his office. Do you want this orange juice or not?”

I frowned.

“Eric, right?” Andy leaned on the bar top, studying me.

“Derek.”

“Right.” His lips formed a subtle smile. “Sit down.” He pointed to a bar stool.

I hesitated and then walked to the bar.

This disguised duel was necessary.

Nathan always said,
“You can’t beat the competition if you don’t get close enough to touch it.”

Andy’s eyes roamed over my face.

I reached for the glass and paused. “Will there be any suffering?”

His face opened with surprise, and he cocked his head. “What?”

My fingertip tapped the rim of the glass. “When the poison sets in.”

His eyes widened, and a genuine smile lit up his features. “You’re all right.”

I took a generous gulp of the orange juice.

Andy watched me. “Come on, I’ll show you to the office.”

I set the glass down and smiled. “Thanks.”

Andy sighed. “But I warn you, he’s in one of his moods.”

He paused by the closed office door. “This is as far as I go.” He smiled. “Honestly.”

I watched the door, listening.

Something something fuck shit goddamn it.

Andy cocked an eyebrow and walked away.

I knocked on the door. “Nick?”

I heard the lock slide, but the door remained closed. I pushed on it. “Hi.”

Nick’s azure eyes looked over a mountain of paper. “Do you see this?” He swept his hand across the desk, blowing sheets of paper through the cluttered office. “Look at this fucking mess.” He jumped out of his chair. “Gimme that box.”

“What box?” I glanced around.

“There.” Nick let out an explosive sigh. “Give.”

My mouth dried up, and I wondered, was I panicked or madly turned on? “Here,” I whispered, handing him the box, my eyes fixed to his heated face.

Nick’s long fingers slipped it out of my hand. “Thank you.”

My breath left me, and I leaned up against the closed door, watching Nick toss half of his office into the large cardboard box. Every paper his fingers landed on was severely punished.