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“That’s great, but I thought you wanted to do your own show?”
“Not so much anymore. Too many skeletons in this closet.” She pointed at herself. “I don’t want my nudes hitting the internet.”
I smiled, trying not to let it gnaw at me—the feeling I had whenever I thought of my own photograph somewhere on the internet. Even after it had been scrubbed, it wasn’t completely scrubbed. Enterprising people would be able to get at it.
“I really love working for her, and it was my experience with you that got me the job, so . . .”
She smiled, grateful. It was all water under the bridge as far as she was concerned. Why wouldn’t it be? She had gone on to do better things—things she should have been doing anyway. Maybe a bigger person would have been glad to see it. And part of me was. The other part of me was sneaking into Amber’s party with the hope that I would ever again have good career news to tell anyone.
Violet’s headset went off. She pulled the microphone to her ear. “I’ve got to jet! Duty calls.”
“Is Julie representing Amber now?”
“No, she’s representing a certain celebrity who’s a friend of Amber’s. I think Amber catered a bridal shower for her. She didn’t end up getting married. Though it did end up on the cover of Martha Stewart Weddings, so . . . everybody won. Anyway, the former fiancé is also stopping by. So I’m on duty in case he brings the new girlfriend, and our girl needs to make a quick exit.”
She started walking away.
“Let me know when you’re moving back though, all right? We should get coffee or something.”
I nodded. “Definitely, sounds great.”
She looked at me like she was trying to decide whether she believed me. “I mean, you’re not going to just hide out here forever? It gets creepy in the Hamptons after Labor Day. Like, I’m talking The Shining creepy.”
I laughed. “That it does.”
“Besides, your scandal is so over. There have been like fifteen better ones since. There was a better one this morning. A certain sexy-if-sexually-ambivalent hunk of a movie star’s male assistant just got hacked, and I have two words for you. Camping trips.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
The porch had cleared out.
When I walked inside, everyone was turned toward the front of the vaulted living room. I actually thought they were turned toward me.
After all, it could have been a party for me. I had eerie flashbacks, looking around the exquisitely designed room—rustic beams and a fireplace. All the usual suspects were milling around. Julie and Christopher. The food writers and journalists. It reminded me of my party at Locanda Verde. It could have been my party at Locanda Verde. Except instead of me being feted by Louis and a variety of Food Network and publishing brass, it was Amber. She was standing a little to my left, behind a rustic farm table covered with farm-fresh ingredients and cookware, wearing a Dolce & Gabbana dress.
I quickly stepped down into the room, before she saw me, before any of them did.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Louis said, putting his hands together for quiet. “If I could please get your attention. Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate the release of Tender Toast.”
There were whoops and cheers from the crowd—which Amber pretended to be embarrassed by. It was all I could do to not vomit.
“We couldn’t be more excited to be releasing Amber’s cookbook. Her recipes are not only inventive, but they reflect her rustic approach to cooking. And of course, they are pulled together by her signature ingredient. Toast. Made tenderly.” He paused while a couple of people let out cheers. “We are thrilled to welcome her into our family, and for you to welcome her into your home.”
Amber put her hand on her chest, as though touched by this. And the crowd smiled at one another—at her humility, at her talent. It was funny being on the outside of it all. How bullshitty it seemed. After all, Louis was saying all the same things he would have been saying about me.
“Amber is going to make us a little something, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “That’s right. I wanted to pick something both sexy and homey. Something that really exemplifies my cookbook. My ricotta and raw honey toast, if that sounds good to everybody?”
“It sure does!” someone called out.
Amber threw her head back, laughing.
Then she went to work, whipping together a fresh, homemade sheep ricotta, drizzling it with raw honey.
As she prepped, she explained what she was doing, and I could already see it. She was going to be great on television.
“I made the buckwheat toast from scratch, of course,” she said. “As can you, if you go to page fifty-five in Tender Toast.”
