One To Watch(77)

The final member of their party was Boaz, who was Israeli and a chef as well. He and Luc came up together at “some shit fusion concept in Flatbush, all pretension, no flavor” (Boaz’s words), but now he co-owned his own restaurant in Cobble Hill, a fact Luc noted with palpable envy.

“You too, soon enough,” Boaz said to Luc, draping an arm about his shoulders and massaging his neck.

“Yes, but you have said this for years,” Luc groused.

“But now you’re a big TV star, eh?” Boaz winked at Bea. “You’re making all his dreams come true.”

Bea pressed her lips together—that was exactly why she was worried.

There was no time to say more about it, though, as servers arrived bearing platters of flaky white fish grilled with lemon and tomatoes, bowls of fresh greens in sour mustard dressing, and an overflowing pot of mouthwatering cassoulet.

“You see?” Boaz said to Luc. “This is what I’ve been telling you. For your place, forget all that Instagram shit. This is your food.”

“This food isn’t on your menu?” Bea asked.

“Non,” Luc explained. “For you I wanted to make something more traditional, like what my mother would prepare if she were here.”

“You should see the stuff he cooks here.” Boaz laughed. “Everything a tower, tiny little portions stacked up high. He lets the presentation talk instead of the taste.”

“Mais non, it’s not my menu,” Luc protested.

“Sure.” Bea gave Luc a knowing look. “But even if you’re working at someone else’s restaurant, wouldn’t you rather be somewhere where you can make your own food? Don’t you get tired of always pretending to be someone you’re not?”

“I am not always pretending,” he said softly. An awkward silence fell over the group.

“The fish is scrumptious.” Stefania broke the tension. “Luc, do you remember when we went to that little place in Calais, what was it called?”

“Angelie Sur la Mer,” Luc answered.

“Yes, Angelie by the sea!” she said, translating. “It was the quaintest little place, with a view of the cliffs, and the fish.” She groaned with pleasure at the memory. “You could barely get Luc and me to leave our room, we hardly saw daylight, but when it was time for dinner, it was on with our things and out the door so fast your head would spin.”

“This guy.” Boaz laughed. “The only thing he loves more than sex is food.”

Bea sighed. Of course Luc had slept with Stefania—of course.

“This depends on the food—and the sex.” Luc grinned and kissed Bea’s cheek, and the rest of the table laughed amiably when she blushed crimson. She was mortified. How many times was this man going to imply she’d slept with him when she hadn’t?

“This poses an interesting question,” Isabeau mused. “If you ask any of us which we prefer, the best meal of our lives or the best night of lovemaking, I am hard-pressed to think of anyone who’d choose the meal.”

“I don’t know,” Bea countered. “I think I might.”

“Really?” Isabeau looked intrigued.

“The memory of the sex is so much more subjective. If the person you had the wonderful sex with doesn’t turn out to be so wonderful, the memory can become a source of pain.” Bea shrugged. “But a really great cheeseburger is still a really great cheeseburger, no matter who was across from you when you ate it.”

“This is your best meal?” Luc teased. “A cheeseburger? So American.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Bea met his eyes, only half-joking.

“Never,” Luc responded. “But I am curious to know about this amazing night that has caused you so much pain.”

Bea shook her head. “That’s my point exactly. Some nights, you’d just as soon forget.”

Luc raised his glass. “Then we must toast to nights we are glad to remember. And to people we are glad to have beside us, even if we are eating a cheeseburger.”

The others raised their glasses in turn, and Luc leaned over to kiss Bea softly. As he pulled away, she searched his eyes, wondering how she could have spent so many hours with him and still feel she didn’t know him at all.

After dinner and goodbyes, it was still light out—just after 5 P.M.—so Lauren decided that Bea and Luc should take a stroll along the High Line. It was a chilly day, so the promenade was fairly empty, but of the few joggers and tourists about, several gawked at Bea and Luc and their camera crew, and a few even paused to take photos. A harsh wind blew and the sun was beginning to set over New Jersey as Luc and Bea walked side by side.

“So,” Luc said, breaking the silence, “did you enjoy the dinner? And the company?”

“The food and the people were lovely,” Bea replied.

“Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset,” Bea snapped.

Luc shot her a pointed look. “Upset and lying about it.”

Bea exhaled. “I take it you and Stefania used to date.”

“Yes, what of it?”

“I just didn’t know I was going to meet someone you slept with today.”

“Two people, en fait.”

Bea frowned. “Isabeau too?”