Chef Read online

  I’M SO EXCITED when Grandma arrives. I take Dixon to the airport and say we are meeting a friend. We get off the bus at the terminal and make our way towards arrivals, but I stop suddenly, frozen on the spot when I see him, Caspian, walking towards departures. Oh, god. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him and trying to analyze what those feelings I had were, since my interview.

  I wonder where he is off to, even though it’s none of my business. He doesn’t see me, thankfully, although for one moment I think he has when he stops and turns around suddenly as though looking for someone. Luckily, Caspian’s view of Dixon is obscured by people, even if he did spot me. I quickly crouch down and talk to Dixon, knowing Caspian can’t see either of us. That was a close call.

  We make our way up to arrivals just as Grandma is coming through the doors. Dixon spots her, and he leaves me, making a beeline for her, running, and shouting, “Granny, Granny,” before leaping into her arms. He nearly knocks her flying; he's getting so big. We all hug and cry, just standing there in the middle, so everyone has to walk around us.

  “I missed you so much, Grandma,” I tell her.

  “I missed you both very much. I can’t wait to spend some real time with you,” she replies into his neck.

  I take her bags, and she holds Dixon’s hand as we head out to the bus terminal. I don’t drive and to be honest, you would have to be mad to drive in New York City.

  “Let’s get a cab?” Grandma says to us. “My treat.”

  “I’m not gonna argue with that, Grandma. It will be quicker than the bus.”

  We get back to my apartment, which is quite big for New York. I had money left from my dad's fund. I have never even met the man, but he has always looked after me financially, which has been a godsend to me since I came back to live in New York.

  AFTER I FOUND out I was pregnant, they wanted me to stay in hospital while they did a hysteroscopy, inserting a very small camera called a hysteroscope into me, to see the extent of the damage I had sustained. They explained that it takes pictures of my insides and sends them to a monitor so they could have a visual of what internal trauma I had. They said it was best to do it now rather than wait, because of the pregnancy, in case the trauma I had could affect the fetus. I consented and let them do what they had to. At that point, I didn’t care about anything or what anyone did to me.

  I was numb.

  I had no feelings at all.

  It was a quick procedure. I didn’t try to look at the monitor because I didn’t care. The doctor doing the procedure then started telling me what she saw, but I didn’t take any of it in. The doctor must have seen I was not listening, and she asked if they could bring Grandma into the room, and I just nodded, yes. All I heard was: torn, severe damage, serrated edge, cervix cut, one tube severely damaged. Too soon to see the baby growing, but not sure it will survive with the amount of damage.

  I turned my head, still not caring what they were talking about. They said I could go home and that the police would be coming to take a statement once they had all the facts of the rape. I remember wishing they wouldn’t use that word. It grated on me, and I bit the inside of my cheek, grinding my teeth. They gave Grandma some leaflets that she took and said she would read. They wanted me to make an appointment with my own doctor to have regular check-ups every week. We left.

  When we got home, Grandma saw me to bed, bringing me some soup as neither of us had eaten anything that day. I just curled up in a ball. She sat with me the rest of the night, hugging me to her. I knew she was devastated about what had happened, and I also knew she would be on the phone to the school as soon as term started again. I knew Grandma, and I knew she would give them hell, especially about the lock on my room not being fixed.

  I was supposed to go to the doctors. Grandma made me an appointment, but I refused to leave. She still didn’t see me completely. I mean really see me.

  The me that still took painkillers even though I was pregnant.

  The me that still poured the bottle into my hands trying to take them all.

  The me still standing in the shower scrubbing myself to rid him from me.

  The me in my bathroom with the razor blades in my hands.

  She pulled the leaflets out and sat with me on my bed to read them. One was on abortion, and one was on adoption. I think she wanted me to decide what I was going to do. I still didn’t believe I was pregnant, so I didn’t care.

  She made me go to the doctors the next day. She dragged me out of my bed, and she dressed me. I reluctantly went with her. I was still in denial. At the doctors they took blood, and I did a urine test. It confirmed I was pregnant. They also had the results from the hysteroscopy.

  The doctor told me that if I did want to proceed with the pregnancy, there was a very strong possibility I would not carry it full term due to the internal trauma. That it was questionable I would be able to have the baby, and it was also likely I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again, even if I did carry this one full term. This could be my only chance at becoming a mother. At that, I looked up at her. I actually registered what she said. I might never have children because of some selfish bastard who not only took my virginity but also ruined my life. I either attempt to have his baby, or I never have a chance at being a mother again. The tears just streamed down my face. Grandma took me into her side, and we left the office. She told the doctor we would be back.

  The police had tried to come and see me a few times, but I wouldn’t speak to them. I wasn’t ready. It was bad enough telling the nurse and doctors at the hospital. It was New Year’s Eve, and I had already ruined Christmas for us. I was eighteen years old and should have been out celebrating, yet I was stuck in my bedroom wallowing in self-pity, blaming myself for everything that happened. Grandma wanted me to see a counselor — to speak to someone. I just nodded when she said it, and I think she took that as yes, I would.

  I just didn't want to do anything. I was just existing — going through the motions. The police came, and Grandma made me go into the living room and speak to them. She sat with me, holding my hand as I told them everything. I felt drained going through it all, having to live it all again as though it was happening all over again. I couldn't control myself, and I broke down. They recorded my interview with them, as well as taking notes. It meant I would not need to attend the court and face whoever it was. I couldn't tell them anything about the bastard who did it. They asked me questions, trying to trigger my memory. They asked me about smells and if he’d spoken at all. I had forgotten about that. I told them the smell was a cologne I had smelt before but didn't know where or what type and also it was mixed with cigarette smoke, and then I remember what he said to me. ‘Leave Bitch'. I didn't know what it meant, but I remembered his voice — how angry and bitter he sounded. I remember feeling spittle on the side of my face when he leaned in to say it next to my ear — quietly but with so much venom in his words. Oh god, what if I heard him again?

  The day after New Year’s Day, Grandma drove me to see a counselor. I didn’t protest because I didn’t care. I sat in the room of Dr. Elizabeth Donnar. She was a nice lady, and although I didn’t speak much during the session, she actually vilified how I was feeling: the guilt, the anger and rage, the loss, the not caring if I lived or not, and she was spot on. I looked up at her quizzically. How did she know how I was feeling? She told me she too was raped in college, and she felt everything I was feeling. She thought her life was over, and she wanted to die. She went to counseling and from there decided that was the path she wanted to take — to help others like her in the same situation.

  I left the session still not feeling anything, but considering that something good had happened from something so horrific to Dr. Elizabeth. Was that going to happen for me? What good was going to come from the brutal attack I went through? While thinking all this walking to the car with Grandma, I didn't realize my hand was on my tummy until I saw my reflection in the glass window. I looked down. I was being protective of what was grow
ing inside me. But, I still didn't know how I felt about the baby. I had no feelings.

  I went to see Dr. Elizabeth a few more times, and I started to open up to her. I told her what had happened. The smells and noises I remembered. It was like re-living it all over again, and I cried telling her everything. She understood me though. She knew everything I was feeling. It wasn't just sympathy — she knew. When I told her I was pregnant, she smiled and asked me how I felt about that.

  Was I angry?

  Did I want it out of me because it was conceived from such a bad situation?

  Did I think about it at all?

  Had I decided to keep it or terminate it?

  How did I actually feel about it?

  I told her I hadn’t thought about it, but if I didn’t have the baby, then I may never have the chance to be a momma, and that scared me more than anything. I wanted to be someone’s momma someday. I just never envisaged it being so soon.

  I knew it was too soon — I would only be nineteen when I had it. Could I do that? Have the baby? Would I hate it because of the circumstances? I said these things out loud, which made me really think about my situation. I think at that moment, in Dr. Elizabeth's office, that was when I decided I wanted to keep the baby. It wasn't the baby's fault, and it would be my baby — not his. I didn't know if I would always look at the baby, and it would remind me of that night, but it was a chance I wanted to take. I would be a momma if I had the chance to be.

  Grandma phoned the school to tell them what happened and that I was not going back to finish my course. I couldn’t walk around the school not knowing if whoever attacked me was watching me, waiting to do it again. There was no way I was going back to that house. Grandma had the school ship my belongings back to me. She told them she was going to file a lawsuit against them, but I stopped that. The school offered me a place whenever I was ready, and there would be no fees to pay. They said it was the least they could do. I don’t think I will be going back after the baby though. I thought my dreams of becoming a top chef were just that now — dreams.

  The police kept Grandma informed on how the investigation was going. They had interviewed all my housemates and also got a list of everyone who was at the party. They didn't have any DNA from my attack, so until the baby was born, they wouldn't be able to do anything. They did take DNA samples from all the males who were at the party that my housemates knew of, including my housemates, so they had them all on file for when the baby was born.

  Lesley tried to contact me a couple of times, but I wouldn’t take her calls. I didn’t want anything to do with any of them. I don’t know if she’d found out who attacked me or if she knew anything, but I just stayed with Grandma and buried my head in the sand. I preferred it that way. At least I had a purpose to survive, and if anything, I think it made me stronger.

  Caspian

  I’M BACK IN New York, and I can't wait to get to the restaurant and see Macen. She's all I can think about. Those spectacular eyes haunt my dreams — those freckles on the bridge of her nose that I never noticed before and those fucking hips of hers. The fantasies I have of wrapping her long red hair around my wrist and pulling her head back while I ram into her. Oh fuck.

  I sorted the shit out with the LA restaurant, and it’s all back on track. Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through all this, but I know it will be worth it in the end. My dream has always been to have a chain of successful restaurants, and that’s what I’m going to have. I will have four before I’m thirty, five if I’m lucky. I want to go global. Who knows where it will take me?

  I head straight to my penthouse — a prime spot with the most amazing view over Central Park. I even have my own rooftop garden, which I love to relax in — when I have the time to relax, that is, which isn't very often with my business.

  In the cab on the way, I decide I’m going to nip to the restaurant and grab myself something to eat. If Macen is working, then I will stay and eat. If not, I will go home with the food.

  Fuck, everything is revolving around her. When did that start to happen? The cab drops me at home, so I pop in and ask the concierge to take my bags to my apartment then head straight to the restaurant. It’s on the corner of 5th and W 57th Street, opposite Tiffany's. In the early days, I relied on footfall and passing trade, and being on 5th made sense. It cost me an arm and a leg to get it up and running, but now it’s a huge success. I’m billed as the top celebrity chef in the USA and probably most of Europe too. I’ve traveled a lot.

  I do the three-minute walk to Casper's. It's busy tonight in NYC, and as I get nearer to Casper's, I can see the line outside. There's a line most nights. Although I'm fully booked for six months in advance, I have six tables a night that I always leave open for walk-ins. It helps keep our reputation; it's just they do end up in line for a long time. I figure if they are prepared to wait, then they should be able to eat at Casper's.

  You never know what celebrities are going to drop in, so I have a special room on the mezzanine especially for A-listers who want privacy. It has floor-to-ceiling bi-folding doors that at the flick of a switch become frosted glass if the celebrities want complete privacy. It seats sixteen people — that way they can bring family and friends and not get disturbed. I have a few regular celebrities that like that room and who use it a lot.

  I pass the line, greeting people and saying hi, even allowing one or two selfies. I can’t say no, even though I want to tell them to fuck off because it wouldn’t be good for business. More people seem to be stopping me tonight, and I just want to get in there to see if Macen is there and get some food.

  Once I manage to get inside, my Maître d’, Tobias, greets me. He is calm and collected, just what we need front of house. I nod and say hello, then move past him to the kitchen. If I were eating in, I would let him seat me and get me something to eat and drink because he knows what I like. I reach the kitchen and hold my breath before opening the in-door. I step inside to the hustle and bustle of a working kitchen. I love it, this relaxes me, and this is where I feel at home.

  My expeditor, Simon, is calling out orders while putting garnishes on the dishes ready for the servers to take out, my sous chef, Jean-Paul is shouting out orders to the pastry chef and my salad cook. There is so much going on, but it works, and it runs like clockwork. One of my servers passes me, and I check a couple of the dishes on his tray. Spot on, they look fucking perfect, just how they should be. I pat him on the back and nod, sending him out with the tray as I scan the kitchen. No new commis chef. Fuck. I thought she might be here, but no, it’s David on tonight. Macen is shadowing Louis until he leaves, and I guess it’s not his shift tonight. That’s just put a dampener on my evening.

  “Simon, can you get me a Portobello mushroom salad to go, please, and I wouldn’t mind a buttermilk panna cotta and honeycombed sandwich too.”

  “Sure, thing, Casp, will be about five minutes, is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, I'll just be in my office. Can you bring it through when it's done?” He nods at me as I head into my office. My main chefs and staff call me Casp when I'm not working but as soon as I put my whites on its ‘chef’ to everyone.

  I don't bother turning my computer on. I look through the papers on my desk that have piled up since I've been gone, and I come across Macen's file. I look over it. I already know she's twenty-five, but I have her address now and her cell number. It would be inappropriate of me to message her, but I put her number in my cell anyway. Just in case, I tell myself. I've been staring at her paperwork for a while when Simon comes in with my food. I'm going to look up her address on my laptop when I get home. I slide the paperwork into my draw because I don't want anyone coming in and seeing it lying around. I take my food and head for home, leaving out of the back entrance so I don't get stopped in front of house again.

  Once home, I grab a beer, plate my food, and go up onto my rooftop. It’s a lovely evening, although getting a bit cooler. I put the garden heater on just to take the chill off and start to eat my f
ood. I fire up my laptop and search for her address. I see she lives in Yorkville on the Upper East Side on 78th Street. Fuck, that's not that far from me, and quite upmarket, rent is quite a bit around there. I wonder how she can afford to live there. Maybe she has parents that help with the rent, or she lives with a boyfriend. Fuck, I never thought of that. She did mention she was working part-time in a diner until the right job offer came along. You get minimum wage in diners, and I don't expect the tips are huge. I never asked her where she lived in the interview. My mind was blank half the time and the other half I was just thinking about what I wanted to do to her. Not exactly the best way to conduct an interview, but I already knew I was going to offer her the job, how could I not with her glowing report from NYCS.

  I eat my food and drink my beer. It's a perfect evening to just sit here and think, and I decide to do some research on other locations where I can open a new restaurant. I bought the properties in London, Paris, and LA, and I want to buy one in Canada. I search for the best areas in Canada, and I send an email to a realtor there with a brief on what I'm looking for and ask them to look for me. LA will be open first, closely followed by London; the interior structures are all being worked on there, but it will be sometime before it’s ready for fittings. That one will probably open in about ten months, then Paris, and then hopefully Canada.

  I think back to Macen coming into the restaurant and what I was thinking about her childbearing hips. I want to find someone special eventually, but I don't see me settling down anytime soon, with all the new openings I have going on over the next few years. I do think about it. I do want a family. I have always wanted a family. When I was younger, all I wanted was to be loved. I was told I lived with my dad for a little while, but I only remember being brought up in the foster system in Florida. I lived in a few different homes. I wasn't a bad kid. I never got into trouble until I was a teenager and even then, it wasn't too bad. I was bullied throughout my life, and I guess that's why I'm the way I am now. I won't let anyone walk over me or give me shit.