A Lick and a Promise

They had almost a hundred buns that had to be sorted, looking for the perfect combination of symmetry, color, shape, size and the placement of the sesame seeds. Once they’d found the perfect bun, what they called the hero in the biz, they’d set that aside. The second best, they’d use as the stand-in, building a burger for the lighting guys. She had her bag of extra sesame seeds in her kit, along with glue, in case they had to make adjustments.

Then there was the lettuce to tear, the ketchup to drain, the burgers to shape and cook just enough so they wouldn’t look raw, the grill marks to place, the cheese to melt, the onions, the tomatoes… It was too much for so few people with so little time.

She sat down with Rick and examined buns. The thing to do was take it one step at a time. And not hyperventilate.

Fifteen minutes and forty-six rejects later, the assistant director stuck her head in the door. “What’s your ETA?”

“At least three hours.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Him was Joe DeVario, the director. In the five seconds she’d talked to him, she’d gotten a really bad feeling. He scowled, didn’t shake her hand and dismissed her without so much as a backward glance.

Her mood didn’t improve when she heard his voice, yelling from the sound stage.

Not a good way to start a new job.

The only bright spot in all of this was one Daniel Houghton III. Interesting.

From Corrie’s description, he sounded like a man who needed a fashionista’s touch. A designer’s eye. Devon and Eric had to be giddy with anticipation. She just hoped they wouldn’t scare Daniel off, as they had one of the previous residents.

Margot smiled. There was nothing she liked more than a new project. A challenge. Surprises.

“Aha,” she said, holding up the most gorgeous bun this side of heaven. “We have our hero!”

2

DANIEL LOOKED at the clothes in his closet as he tucked his white towel around his waist. He had no idea what to wear to this Sunday-night dinner. He’d only had glimpses of his neighbors in the four days he’d lived here. Mostly he’d been buried in unpacking, and although he wasn’t quite finished, he’d gotten most of it done.

He gazed around his new bedroom. His furniture looked good against the white walls, his favorite books placed neatly in the shelves. He’d even splurged and bought a new tartan bedspread with pillow shams, something he’d never had before. But this was his new beginning, and there was no law that said he had to have a traditional quilt just because he’d always had one. He could do whatever he pleased. Go nuts. Buy art because he liked it, not just because it would be a good investment.

Starting tomorrow, he’d go back to his regular world, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the same. Stepping outside of his comfort zone had already changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Last night, for dinner, he’d ordered a Hawaiian pizza. He’d hated it, but that was beside the point.

Back to the wardrobe. Nothing seemed right. Not his jeans, not his suits. Finally, he settled on something simple. Black slacks, white shirt, gray sportjacket. And what the hell, the purple tie his niece had given him last Christmas.

The decision made, he went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. As he shaved, he studied himself in the mirror, not at all happy with how long his hair had gotten. He’d visit the barber next week. But he was pleased with the bathroom itself. A place for everything and everything in its place.

As the seconds ticked by, he grew more and more concerned about the evening’s activities. Yes, he wanted to meet his neighbors, but did he really want to spend a whole night with all those strangers? Maybe he should wait, meet a few of them at a time, ease himself in instead of diving into the deep end. He’d bought wine. Maybe he should go up, give them the wine, then come up with some excuse why he couldn’t stay.

That sounded right. He’d have a quick look at who he would be dealing with, then he’d be better prepared for future encounters.

He wiped the last of the shaving cream off his face and neck, then headed to the bedroom. It was almost five, and he wanted to be on time.

“MY BASIL IS DEAD.”

“Oh, no. When are the services?”

Margot flipped her hair back with her free hand and adjusted the volume on her phone. “You’re a riot, Corrie, and you should immediately go on the road with your act.”

“Only you, Margot, my dear, can tell a person to go jump in a lake in such an endearing fashion.”

“I must get fresh basil, or the entire meal is going to be dog chow. So come early and let everyone in.”

“They have basil at Martini’s.”

“They have lousy basil at Martini’s. I’m going to the Garden of Eden.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Margot looked at the ingredients for her grilled pizzas. Everything was ready, the dough was sufficiently rested, the coals in the grill on her patio were already lit. She’d have to cab it to the Garden, but their produce was the best, and it was worth it. She reminisced with longing about when she lived next door to her parents’ grocery store, where everything needed for any meal was footsteps away. But she’d spent years scoping out the best of the best food sources in Chelsea and beyond, and most of the friendly purveyors delivered. If there was enough time. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But Daniel is coming.”

“Tell him to just breathe hard until I get back.”

Corrie sighed, but Margot could tell she was smiling. “Fine. Be late to your own party.”

“It’s just us guys,” Margot said, grabbing her pocketbook as she headed for the door. “There’s wine in the fridge.”

“Hurry.”

“Yes, dear.” Margot clicked off her phone, and dashed out, hoping like hell she could quickly catch a cab. She was actually a little nervous about tonight. She still hadn’t seen Daniel, but boy, those in the know, Corrie, Devon, Eric, had drooled over his potential.

As a group, they had more in common with Queer Eye for the Straight Guy than they should. They loved nothing better than sitting in the local eateries and dishing on the clientele, and how to revamp them. Unfortunately, they rarely got to use their considerable skills with real-life people. Only twice, actually, and Tad didn’t count. One shopping trip with Devon and Eric had been enough to send him scampering to Yonkers on the first train. So Daniel was a treat indeed.

She ignored the elevator and raced down the stairs, ending up on the street in half the time. And as luck would have it there was a Yellow Cab, right there, and she flopped into the back seat with her heart still racing.

“Garden of Eden on 7th.”

The cabbie took off, and Margot closed her eyes. Despite the excitement of Daniel, her thoughts were never far from work these days. She’d made it through Thursday and Friday, and she was pretty sure she could handle Monday. She still couldn’t believe they hadn’t given her more staff. It was insane trying to do everything she had to with only Bettina and Rick. They were nice enough, but she’d had to show them every step, every trick. Whompies was a major chain, and she couldn’t believe there wasn’t money in the budget for more stylists. But when she’d talked to Janice, her boss had strongly implied that if Margot couldn’t make it work with what she had, perhaps she wasn’t the right person for the job. It made her so crazy—

No. Today she would stop obsessing about work and focus on Daniel. She was dying to see him. God, she hoped he wasn’t a total stick-in-the-mud, because that would ruin everything. Although, when it came to persuasion of the personal kind, she was pretty much a tank, rolling over all obstacles in her way, whatever or whoever she had to squish.

The cab turned onto 7th, and she dug her money out of her purse. If only she could be as assertive in her work as she was with her friends. When it came to being a food stylist, she was hell on wheels. But negotiating? Playing well with others?

Oh, well. She’d continue to strive. Take baby steps until she could stride with pride. And pray she didn’t self-destruct.

It was time to buy basil. And maybe some more fresh flowers. Oh, and some marinated olives. It was almost five, she’d better jet.

THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR surprised Daniel as he was on his way to get the wine from the kitchen. Corrie was there, only this time she was wearing this long pale dress that flowed over her tall, slim frame. Her hair was short and spiky, and she’d made her eyes up with quite a bit of dramatic black. Next to her was a man taller than she, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a shampoo commercial.

“Daniel, hi. This is Devon,” Corrie said.

Daniel put out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Corrie mentioned you when we met.”