She sighed. “Julien, I can’t. Especially now. I can’t work with you like we’re just two chefs cooking together. And I also don’t feel right to have you as a . . . boss type of figure anymore. Things are just too different now and I don’t want to pretend.”
They listened from inside the apartment as a taxi honked loudly down 218th Street.
Julien nodded slowly. “I understand. But you don’t have to pretend, Lu. Everyone knows by now. We’re on the other side of that fence.”
She covered her eyes with her hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He thought for a minute. “What if there was a third option?”
She looked up at him quizzically.
“What if we were to go into business together?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean? How would that even work?” she asked.
“Well,” he mused, “I could close DAX for a few weeks. And then we could reopen it as something else.”
“As what? You love DAX. And you worked very hard to create that for yourself. I’ll be damned if I let you close it on my account. Besides, the clientele love DAX for what it is now. They know what to expect, they trust the quality. You have diners who come nightly because they want to eat classic French food but don’t want to cook it themselves. If they can’t order their favorite dishes anymore, do you think they’ll still come?” she asked.
“Maybe some yes, maybe some no. But then, maybe others who don’t come at all would be drawn in by something more inventive,” he said.
Lumi frowned. “Would you even enjoy doing that?”
“With you, I would.” He picked up a crusty bread round and licked a dollop of silken white chocolate off the jagged edge. “Or,” he said, “I could sell some of my bonds, and with the proceeds we can open a new location that will be its own entity.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’d do that?” she asked.
“That’s the least of what I would do for you,” he said, his face completely serious as he crushed the tiny caviar bubbles between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
She pursed her lips, holding back a laugh. “You’re such an ass sometimes,” she said, snapping a dish towel in his direction.
He leveled his gaze with hers. “Lumi, I’m serious about the business. I mean it. What do you think?” he asked, searching her face for any hints.
Lumi sighed, pausing for a moment. “Julien, it’s more than I would’ve ever asked of you, but I have to be honest. I have something else in mind.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want to reopen Caraluna, don’t you?” he asked.
Lumi reached across the kitchen counter to lay her hand over his. “Yes, sort of. Not just reopen Caraluna but start a new venture. I’ve learned so much in the last few months that I think if I apply a DAX-type structure to my own restaurant, I could really have a chance this time.”
Julien drew closer and laid an arm around her shoulders. “I know you miss your place, and the truth is that if you keep it closed, there will continue to be a hole here in Inwood where it used to be.”
She looked at him in gratitude.
“So, how are you going to do it?” he asked.
She sighed and let her forehead fall into her palm. “I haven’t figured that part out just yet,” she said. “I still have bills from last season.”
He nodded in understanding. “But you still have your restaurant license, right?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “One thing I was thinking was that I could put in a bid to cater some of the Summer Series events at Lincoln Center.”
Julien rubbed his chin between his thumb and his forefinger. “That’s not a bad idea at all. I did it two years ago. Sixty-five thousand for the summer.”
“Pretty decent,” she said.
“If you wanted to, you could cook everything at DAX on Saturday morning. This plan could help put a dent in those bills and still leave you with some start-up,” he said.
“That would be amazing. Can I see the proposal you used to win the bid?” she asked.
“Of course. Just promise me, no ropa vieja and no swans in the flan.”
“Ugh! Those were the bride’s idea.” She laughed and kissed him. Having her ideas heard wasn’t half bad.
JULIEN’S PINEAPPLE PESTO
Makes 1 cup of pesto
2 cups fresh basil
2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons pine nuts
2 tablespoons parmesan cheese
1/2 cup crushed pineapple
Blend all the ingredients in a blender until smooth.
38
Lumi
Lumi was dabbing her scars with aloe when her phone vibrated with a text message. She expected it to be Julien telling her he was on his way over, as he’d been every day for the past three weeks since she came home from her accident.
“Oh!” she cried when the screen revealed that it was Richard.
Coming over in 10, mujer.
“Yikes,” she said as she surveyed the sweaters, jackets, and jeans draped over her couch. She was glad Richard had thought to take the time and stop by, but if she had known he was coming by, she would’ve cleaned. She snatched the clothes up and stuffed them in the closet, closing the door tight. She wiped off the remaining aloe and braided her hair, lest Richard find her looking like an iguana had made a nest on her head.
Lumi unlatched the door and left it ajar, and a moment later, Richard slid through, Kramer-style.
“Querida!” he said, pulling her in for a hug. “Ooh . . . let me get a look at you.”
With both arms he leaned her away from him, taking in the scars on her face.
“They look better than before and they already look flatter than in the photo you sent me. You’ve been taking good care of them, I can tell.”
“Yeah,” she said, “you know, just making sure they heal. They don’t seem to be getting any lighter, though.”
“So what, reina? They’re yours,” he said.
Lumi stifled a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. “Well, what can I say,” she said, “either I’m going to laugh about it or cry, and crying hurts my face, so . . .” She let her words trail off.
She noticed Richard held a gray neoprene sack in his hand.
“Whatcha got there?” she asked.
“Some vino, linda! Care for a glass?” He peeled back the sack and produced a bottle of cabernet.
Lumi glanced at the clock. “It’s eleven,” she said, giving him a pointed look.
Richard sighed. “Child, please. At this point, I have wine for blood. Where’s the corkscrew in this place?”
He walked over to the kitchen cabinets, and she pointed to the one just above the stove. He gasped in delight as he stood before it.
“On second thought . . . girrrl! You have a greca! Let’s make a little espresso first, then wine.” He unscrewed the top of the espresso maker and held out his hand, gesturing for Lumi to bring the coffee.
“Now that’s a plan I can get behind,” she said. She lifted a lilac earthenware jar off her kitchen counter and brought it to where he stood.
They made coffee together and sat down on opposite ends of the couch, sipping their demitasse cups in companionable silence.