“And it worked,” she told Cole. “It took a while, but eventually people began coming to Onions for my food.”
“And was it pleasant working for Mrs. Norman?” Cole asked softly.
Kady hesitated before answering. “Truthfully, it was very difficult,” she said, then began to explain. Despite Gregory’s mother’s claim that she wanted to modernize the restaurant, she didn’t really want any changes and resisted all that Kady tried to do. And she was a true skinflint, refusing to purchase new equipment, so Kady had been stuck with a broiler that didn’t work half the time and a stove that had been bought used in 1962.
“Kady,” Cole said, “you were the whole restaurant. Why didn’t you threaten to leave if she didn’t buy you new equipment?”
Kady sighed, then looked skyward. “Why is it that everyone thinks I am helpless? And stupid?”
“I don’t think—”
“Yes you do, and so did everyone at school when I accepted Mrs. Norman’s offer, but I knew exactly what I was doing. I was offered jobs everywhere, but I knew that if I worked for someone like Jean-Louis, for the rest of my life people would point out that I had studied under a master and they would compare me to him. I took the job at Onions out of vanity. Pure, old-fashioned vanity. I knew that if I could take a horrible old restaurant like that, and turn it around, then I alone would get credit. And afterward I could get a job anywhere as head chef, not as an assistant, or I could obtain financing to open my own restaurant.”
Cole smiled at her in a way to acknowledge her intelligence and planning. “So what happened?” he asked.
“Nothing happened. I did what I set out to do.” She smiled. “And I got the boss’s son in the bargain.”
“Didn’t you say you’d been there five years? Did you get a new stove after
the three-year contract was up?”
Kady laughed. “Not yet, but I’m working on it. I don’t think Mrs. Norman can deny her daughter-in-law a broiler, do you?”
She’d meant the words as lighthearted, but Cole didn’t smile. “Kady, who owns this restaurant that you work at?”
“Don’t give me that look, because I know very well where you’re heading. After I marry Gregory, as his wife, I will own half of all he owns.”
“Did he ask you to marry him before or after your contract was up?”
Kady almost smiled at Cole’s refusal to say Gregory’s name. “After. But don’t start trying to make it seem that Gregory wants to marry me just to keep me cooking for him.”
Kady took a deep breath because Cole’s insinuations were beginning to anger her. “You don’t understand about Gregory and me. We are a team. Gregory gives me the freedom to concentrate on the food. Since we met, he’s worked hard for Onions. He writes to food critics and courts newspapers and magazines to get write-ups. He gives free meals to people of influence so they’ll spread the word.”
“I guess if all my income depended on one woman, I’d do everything I could to keep her, too.”
“Well, his income doesn’t just depend on me! He’s in real estate. Plus he and his mother could replace me in a minute.”
“Oh? And how many cooks did his mother try to hire before you agreed to take the job?”
Part of Kady knew she shouldn’t answer him, but why should she hide? He could say whatever he wanted to and it still wouldn’t change what she knew to be true. “Seventeen.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Seventeen! Is that what you wanted to hear? Mrs. Norman went to three cooking schools and interviewed seventeen graduates, but not one of them wanted the challenge of that restaurant. But that’s because they had no vision. They all wanted to work for Wolfgang Puck or some other famous person.”
“Maybe they just saw that Gregory and his dear mother would try to do to them what they have done to you.”
“No one has done anything to me! I’m very happy and Gregory and I are getting married because we love each other. You don’t know how wonderful he is. He has courted me like something out of a novel, with roses and champagne, concerts and plays and—”
“But he hasn’t shelled out for a new stove, has he? And what kind of a buggy does he drive?”
“Not that you will know anything about it, but he drives a new red Porsche that he bought last year.”
“And what is your buggy like?”
“A ten-year-old Ford Escort. Stop it! I didn’t get into cooking to make money. And are you saying that no man could possibly love me for myself, that if he loves me it must be for some reason other than love?”
“I’m just saying that this man you think you love is making money off of you and that if you marry him, you’ll be stuck behind that broken stove for the rest of your life. He’ll be the big shot in the restaurant, wearing the nice clothes, glad-handing everyone, and you’ll be in the back doing the work. And you’ve already told me he has political ambitions. I’ll bet he could meet some pretty important people through your talent.”