The Dollhouse(60)

“Yowza. Warn a guy before you disrobe. Of course it’s a good idea. Like the dresses. We’ve got to elevate our clientele’s taste, make the club stand out from all the others. And tonight’s the night.” He turned his head in their direction, still keeping his eyes covered. “Please, Darby?”

“I should stick with Esme.” She shivered when Esme stepped behind her and unzipped her dress.

Esme’s breath was hot on her neck. “Sure, she’s free.”

Darby wished Esme would stay out of it. There was no need to embarrass herself further in front of Sam.

Before she could make up an excuse, Sam spoke. “Thank you. I’ll see you in a few.”

After he’d left, Esme changed into slacks and a blouse and grabbed her purse. “Hang up the dresses so the musicians don’t sit on them or use them to clean their instruments. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out. No questions. Have fun cooking with Sam; you’ll be domesticated in no time.”

“But, Esme, I have to tell you something.”

“What? That you’re in love with a cook? Your mother won’t be pleased.”

Darby wished Esme would calm down for one second, not be so flippant. “She’s already not pleased. She sent me a letter saying I had to pull myself together at Gibbs or she’d be very unhappy.”

Esme eyed her warily. “What does she mean, you have to ‘pull yourself together’?”

“I can’t come here anymore. I’m tired when I show up to class the next day. And I can’t do shorthand nearly as fast as the other girls. I’m falling behind.”

Now she had Esme’s attention. “Don’t let me down now, Darby. We’re just getting started here. If you quit, it won’t be nearly as much fun. And Sam would pout, I’m pretty sure of it.”

“That’s just it. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Sam that way. That’s not why I’m in New York.”

“He’s obviously got a crush on you.”

“Do you think so?” She let her mind wander for a second, before biting her lip hard. “No. That’s a dangerous path. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

“Who said anything about marrying? You can enjoy a kiss or two, right?”

Darby remembered the disastrous night in the park. And her kiss with Esme in the booth. One had disgusted her. The other, she wasn’t so sure about.

Esme shrugged. “Fine. Look, I have to go. Help him in the kitchen, or don’t, but make sure you’re ready by the time we have to go on.” She took her hand. “This one time. Promise me?”

“I promise.”

The kitchen staff’s pace had reached a feverish pitch by the time Darby walked in. The busboy was rubbing some powder from a bowl on a pan full of chicken pieces, and Sam stood in front of the burners poaching juicy pink shrimp. Instead of the usual smell of fryer fat, fragrant odors circulated around the small space.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the small bowl beside him.

“Verbena, thyme, and sage.” He held it up to her nose. “Smell.”

The scent reminded her of climbing the hills behind their house in the spring. A moan of pleasure escaped from her lips.

“I’m going to add it to the shrimp, and serve that instead when someone orders boring old shrimp cocktail.”

“Won’t the customers be angry?”

“We’ll see. Hopefully, they’ll be hungry enough to try it without sending it back.”

“What will your father do when he finds out?”

“No idea. Probably fire me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Acting on Sam’s orders, she laid out shiny white plates as Sam supervised the modified menu. She prayed she wouldn’t drop anything or say something stupid.

“Here’s what’s on the menu for tonight: Instead of fried chicken, we have a spiced roast chicken with satay sauce. Lamb burgers with cumin and garlic instead of the usual burger, and so on and so on.”

“I hope your experiment goes well,” teased Darby. “Because if not, Esme and I and the rest of the musicians will be facing an angry, hungry crowd tonight.”

“I’ll do my best. Once I heard my father would be out of town, I went straight to Mr. Kalai’s shop. We can always run for it and hide out there until things die down.”

She laughed at his teasing, but she could tell he was worried. Uptown, this type of cuisine might go over, but down in the East Village, late at night, the regulars could be surly, drunk, and quick to rebel.

About a half hour later, the first set of orders had been filled. During the lull, Sam cleaned every surface he could. Even though he was smiling and joking around, Darby could tell his nerves were on fire.

The door to the main floor opened and one of the waiters returned, carrying the burger on the plate. He laid it down carefully on the counter and stepped back.

The burger was practically untouched; only one bite had been taken.

“Table six said he didn’t like this. Wants fries instead.”

Sam rubbed his face with his hand. “Dominic, fire up the fryer.” He picked up the plate and dumped the unwanted burger in the trash.

“Sorry, Sam.” Darby meant it. “These folks aren’t the crowd you should be cooking for. You need to be uptown, in your own restaurant.”