AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Henry stepped in. His hair was matted down from the rain, and he looked confused and slightly pale. “Did you see the kid’s face?” he asked Diana.
“I didn’t get a good look.”
“He looks like the clown from It,” he said.
Diana sputtered with giggles and draped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
Henry glanced at Rachelle, seeming to weigh up whether he wanted to ask what she did or not. “Anyway, it looks like the kid’s out, at least for now.”
“Too bad,” Diana said.
“But we need to keep the drama up,” Henry continued. “So we’re going to bring in another love interest. Someone for both of you. We’ll scout the island today.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “Come on, Henry. Are you serious? Do you know what Rachelle and I have to deal with tonight? We have a politician and another actor coming, and we have so much food to prep. We can’t deal with another ‘love interest.’ It’s totally disrespectful to debase us to romantic plots, anyway.”
Henry looked taken aback, as though he wasn’t accustomed to people disputing his decisions. He palmed the back of his neck. “To be honest with you?” he sputtered, “I never wanted this job, anyway. If someone had actually funded my documentary, I wouldn’t be on this stupid rock in the middle of the ocean.” Then he kicked back through Diana’s door, saying, “Make a boring cooking show! What do I care? My career is shot, anyway.”
Rachelle and Diana watched him go with buggy eyes. Rachelle had never expected such humanity from Henry. She let out another nervous laugh.
“All right,” Diana said, clapping her hands. “I guess we have our work cut out for us, don’t we?”
“A celebrity and a politician,” Rachelle repeated.
“And about a zillion scallops to prep,” Diana said. “Let’s hit it.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Rachelle grinned, feeling swept up in Diana’s delightful mood. It seemed impossible that the network had ever tried to pit them against one another. As women, they were meant to stick together—and protect one another.
Chapter Eighteen
It was one of the better days of Diana’s career—a day that reminded Diana why she’d fallen in love with cooking in the first place. She and Rachelle fell in step with one another, whipping through kitchen tasks, sautéing, boiling, laughing, firing, baking, in wild repetitions, chasing the hours away as the tickets printed and printed with orders. Paul, Benny, and the other kitchen staff whirled around them as though they could sense exactly what they needed without them saying so. It was pure magic.
When The Clam Factory closed its doors at ten thirty, Diana and Rachelle left the cleaning tasks to Benny and Paul and slid onto two barstools for a glass of wine. They needed to come down from their frantic mental states. They needed to relax.
Diana ached to ask Rachelle the specifics of what she’d done to Eddie. How had she messed up his face? Why was it her fault? But she didn’t want to know too much of Rachelle’s quasi-illicit scheme. It was better to just be impressed from afar.
Diana raised her glass of Malbec to Rachelle. “Here’s to you and your very bright future, Rachelle.”
“And here’s to you and your incredible career, past and future,” Rachelle said.
Diana sipped her wine and smiled inwardly. After a pause, she asked, “Have you told Eddie yet?”
“That it’s reversible? Yes. He still called me a ton of terrible things after that,” Rachelle said. “But he has an appointment next week to get everything removed. My sister says he’ll look the same as ever in ten days or so.”
“A ten-day punishment,” Diana breathed. “Impressive. You know, I can’t help but think I would have loved to use that technique on a few men in my life. Men who pushed my life into strange areas of fiction. Men who demanded I become someone, publicly, I never wanted to be.”
Rachelle’s face echoed compassion. After a moment, she said, “Can I say something?”
“Okay.” Diana’s heartbeat quickened.
“Why do you do this to yourself? I mean, you’re a brilliant chef. Really excellent and inventive and patient and sure. You could have your own restaurant anywhere in the world, and it would be a success. Why do you still maintain your ‘celebrity chef’ status?”
Diana hated hearing her own questions shot back to her from a woman so much younger. She took a large sip of wine.
“If that’s too forward, don’t worry about it,” Rachelle said. “I’m sorry for prying.”
“No. It’s okay.” Diana sighed and rolled her shoulders back. The television cameras were off; the crew was occupied. There was no reason she shouldn’t be honest. “Last year, I approached Henry to make a show on my own,” she said. “I swore him to secrecy. I knew that if my husband learned about the show before I fully went through with it, he would find a way to have it canceled before it even began.”
Rachelle’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. This was the first time Diana had openly spoken about Ryan.
