Georgeanne tried to look contrite, but a little smile tilted the corners of her lips. “Well… I did embellish somewhat.”
Now Mae knew why she recognized the other woman. Georgeanne was an unrepentant bullshit artist just as Ray had been. For a brief moment she felt the emptiness of his death recede just a fraction. She pushed herself away from the table and walked over to her desk. “Have you ever worked as a cook’s assistant or done any waitressing?” she asked, and glanced down at the employment application.
Georgeanne quickly covered the paper with her hands, but not before Mae noticed the poor penmanship and that on the job-you’re-applying-for line she’d written chief’s assistant instead of chef’s.
“I was a waitress at Luby’s before I worked at Dillard’s, and I’ve taken just about every cooking class imaginable.”
“Have you ever worked for a caterer?”
“No, but I can cook anything from G
reek to Szechwan, baklava to sushi, and I’m real good with people.”
Mae looked Georgeanne over and hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. “I have one more question. Would you like a job?”
Chapter Six
Seattle
June 1996
Escaping the chaos in the kitchen, Georgeanne walked the banquet room one last time. With a critical eye, she scrutinized the thirty-seven linen-draped tables carefully placed about the room. In the center of each table, pressed-glass bowls had been artfully piled with a variety of wax-dipped roses, baby’s breath, and fern fronds.
Mae had accused her of being obsessed, possessed, or both. Georgeanne’s fingers still ached from all that hot paraffin, but as she gazed at each centerpiece, she knew the aggravation, pain, and mess had been worth it. She’d created something unique and beautiful. She, Georgeanne Howard, the girl who’d been raised to depend on others to take care of her, had created a wonderful life. She’d done it by herself. She’d learned methods to help her deal with her dyslexia. She no longer hid her problems, yet she didn’t talk about them openly either. She’d concealed her dyslexia too many years to announce it to the world now.
She’d overcome many of her old obstacles, and at the age of twenty-nine, she was a partner in a successful catering business and owned a modest little house in Bellevue. She took tremendous satisfaction from everything the backward little girl from Texas accomplished. She’d walked through fire, been burned to her soul, but she’d survived. She was a stronger person now, perhaps less trusting, and extremely reluctant to ever give her heart to a man again, but she didn’t view those two qualities as impedances to her happiness. She’d learned her lessons the hard way, and although she’d much rather give a vital organ than relive her life before she’d walked into Heron Catering seven years ago, she was the woman she was today because of what had happened to her then. She didn’t like to think of the past. Her life was full now and filled with things she loved.
She’d been born and raised in Texas, but she’d quickly come to love Seattle. She loved the hilly city surrounded by mountains and water. It had taken her a few years to get used to the rain, but like most natives, it didn’t bother her much now. She loved the tactile feel of Pike Place Market and the vibrant colors of the Pacific Northwest.
Georgeanne raised her forearm, pushed back the wrist of her black tuxedo jacket, and peered at her watch. Elsewhere in the old hotel, her waiting staff served sliced cucumber topped with salmon, stuffed mushrooms, and glasses of champagne to three hundred guests. But in a half hour, they would make their way to the banquet room and dine on veal scallopini, new potatoes with lemon butter, and endive and watercress salad.
She reached for a wineglass and plucked the napkin stuffed inside. Her hands trembled as she refolded the white linen to resemble a rose. She was nervous. More so than usual. She and Mae had catered parties of three hundred before. Nothing new. No sweat. But they’d never catered for the Harrison Foundation. They’d never catered a fund-raiser that charged its guests five hundred dollars a plate. Oh, realistically she knew the guests weren’t paying that amount of money for the food. The money raised tonight would go to The Children’s Hospital and Medical Center. Still, just the thought all those people, paying all that money for a piece of veal, gave her palpitations.
A door at the side of the room opened and Mae slipped through. “I thought I’d find you in here,” she said as she walked toward Georgeanne. In her hand she held the green folder that contained work and purchase orders, a running inventory of all supplies, and a cluster of receipts.
Georgeanne smiled at her close friend and business partner and placed the folded napkin back in the glass. “How are things in the kitchen?”
“Oh, the new cook’s assistant drank all that special white wine you bought for the veal.”
Georgeanne felt her stomach drop. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m kidding.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s not funny,” Georgeanne sighed as Mae came to stand next to her.
“Probably not. But you need to lighten up.”
“I won’t be able to lighten up until I’m on my way home,” Georgeanne said as she turned to adjust the pink rose pinned to the lapel of Mae’s cutaway tuxedo jacket. Although the two of them were dressed in identical suits, they were complete physical opposites. Mae had the smooth porcelain skin of a natural blonde, and at five feet one inch, was as slim as a ballerina. Georgeanne had always envied Mae’s metabolism, which allowed her to eat almost anything and never gain a pound.
“Everything is progressing right on schedule. Don’t get excited and zone out like you did at Angela Everett’s wedding.”
Georgeanne frowned and walked toward the side door. “I’d still like to get my hands on Grandma Everett’s little blue poodle.”
Mae laughed as she strolled beside Georgeanne. “I’ll never forget that night. I was serving the buffet and I could hear you screeching from the kitchen.” She lowered her voice a fraction, then proceeded to mimic Georgeanne’s accent. “Cryin‘ all night. A dawg ate my balls!”