Page 21 of Small Town Swoo
We skirted around the darkened restaurant at the Pier Inn, where I’d spent many summers working, and walked out onto the dock. The planks creaked beneath our feet as we strolled past sailboats and cabin cruisers and speedboats bobbing in the dark to our right and left. At the end of the dock was a bench that faced the lighthouse.
“This okay?” I asked.
“Sure.” Ari sat down and placed the bag with the hot dogs on her lap, unwrapping them to see which was hers—mustard only—and which was mine. “I’m hungry.”
Dropping to the bench on her left, I pulled two beers from the pack, pried off the caps, and handed one bottle to her. She placed it on her other side, then set the bag with the hot dogs and napkins between us. “Bon appétit.”
For a few minutes, we said nothing, just ate our dinner while listening to the slap of the water against the pilings and the metallic clang of a nearby flagpole. When we were done, we put the trash back into the bag, and Ari walked it over to a bin at the end of the dock.
“So graduates of the Culinary Institute still eat gas station hot dogs, huh?” I asked as she sat down on the bench again.
“This one does.”
Smiling, I stretched out my legs, crossing them at the ankle. The moon painted a silvery ribbon on the dark surface of the lake, and the lighthouse beacon flashed at regular intervals. It was familiar and peaceful.
I tipped up my beer. “I can’t remember the last time I sat out here like this.”
“You probably don’t miss it. You’ve got the ocean and all.”
“It’s not the same. I do miss it,” I said, realizing it was true. “I never thought I would.”
“Same. When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to get out of here. And Ineverthought I’d come back.”
I looked over at her. “What were you going to do?”
“After culinary school, I was going to go to New York or Paris or Tokyo—a huge city with millions of people and a fabulous restaurant scene. I was going to work in famous kitchens for world-renowned chefs before opening up my own place. I would earn Michelin stars and James Beard awards and publish cookbooks and maybe even have my own TV show.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Reality, I guess.”
I studied the shimmering water again. A breeze rippled its surface. “Mabel said you lived in New York for a while.”
“Yeah.” She was silent for a few seconds. “I had a rough time there.”
“What happened?”
She brought her heels up onto the bench, wrapping her arms around her legs. “I was recruited by a chef I really admired—I’d met him when he guest taught at my school—to come work in his restaurant. He made it sound like he saw something special in me. Like he would be a mentor to me. He talked about my raw talent and wanting to mold me.”
“What happened?”
“At first, it was great. I was thrown in over my head for sure, but he was patient with my mistakes, and I was learning. And then...” She shook her head. “Gradually, he was less understanding. More temperamental. ‘Good enough’ wasn’t going to cut it in his kitchen. I had to be perfect.”
“He sounds like an asshole,” I muttered.
“He is. But he’s also a genius.”
I took a swig of my beer.
“And he knew just how to manipulate me. If he gave me even the smallest amount of praise, I felt like a million bucks. I’m already a pleaser by nature, and he just had this extra talent for making me crave his approval. So I did everything he asked me to.”
I hesitated, not sure I wanted the answer to this question, but unable to resist asking it. “Do you mean in the kitchen?”
“Yes.” She paused. “But also beyond it. I know it makes me sound stupid, but I was really flattered to have his attention like that. And I thought maybe if I gave him what he wanted, he’d let up on me a little.”
I said nothing, because I was too busy being pissed.
“But he didn’t,” she went on. “In fact, he got worse. He told me my ideas were boring, my technique was average, and my palate was unsophisticated. When I’d get upset, he’d say I should be thankful for his guidance. And he had me convinced thatonly hecould make me better. But his criticism didn’t make me feel talented. It made me feel stupid and worthless.”
