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He asked, “Are you sure I shouldn’t say anything?”
“Positive. Just go and enjoy your dinner.”
When we joined the party, an assistant directed us to our seats. Wes kissed my cheek before we went off in opposite directions. His table was close to the house, beside the table of honor where his parents and four distinguished guests were seated.
As predicted, mine was at the outer edge of the party near the lagoon, and it was one hundred percent the rejects table. Eloise had stuck me with a pair of eccentric aunties in their seventies, two sullen-looking college-age cousins on their phones, and a ninety-year-old man with a lopsided toupee.
I grabbed the roll from the little plate beside my place setting, then said, “Silly me. I forgot my false teeth at my hotel, so I’d better go get them. If I don’t make it back in time, enjoy dinner, y’all.”
Then I took off down the beach as the ninety-year-old man asked, much too loudly, “What did he say?”
I had plenty of time, so I decided to do a lap of the island before ending up at the boathouse. I picked pieces off the roll and ate them along the way.
The direction I chose took me past the dock. Eight lovely, vintage power boats were waiting to ferry guests back to their hotels at the end of the event, and their pilots were relaxing and chatting on the lawn a few feet away. They started to jump up when they saw me, but I raised a hand and said, “Oh no, I’m good. Y’all just enjoy some peace and quiet while the rich people are busy with their bacchanal.” That possibly wasn’t the word I was looking for, or maybe it was. Either way, it got me some odd looks, but I just smiled and kept walking.
The island was long and narrow, and my path took me close to the front of the house. I recognized a familiar redhead outside smoking a cigarette, and I said, “Hey, man. One of my buddies used to work at your restaurant in L.A., and he brought me some of your gumbo one time when I was down there visiting. It was better than my granny’s, I shit you not.”
The celebrity chef grinned at me and replied, in a Louisiana accent much thicker than mine, “You better not let your gran hear say you that boy, or she bound to tan your hide.”
“Granny’s gone on to the great bayou in the sky, otherwise you’d be right. She would’ve come after me with a wooden spoon for that kind of blasphemy.”
He chuckled and said, “I know that’s right.” Then he asked, “Why you out here, and not back with the fancy folk enjoying the meal I slaved over all afternoon?”
“Because my boyfriend’s mama hates me, so she stuck me at the table with those people you invite to a party because you have to, then hope they don’t actually show up.”
He dropped his cigarette and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot, then re-rolled the cuffs of his white chef’s coat, revealing full sleeves of tattoos on each forearm. “Come inside with me,” he said. “Let me fix you a plate.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
That made him grin. “First time at a high society party?”
“Is it obvious?”
“Definitely, and that’s a good thing.” He shook my hand and introduced himself. “I’m Chet, but I guess you already know that if you’ve had my gumbo.”
“I’m Ash, and I’m pretty sure everyone knows your name.”
That was how I ended up sitting on a kitchen counter for a couple of hours, doing tequila shots with a world-famous chef and his three assistants while stuffing myself with the best seafood I’d ever had in my life.
We were all laughing like old friends when Jack came into the kitchen at the end of the meal. “Mr. Fontenot, the food was divine,” he told Chet. “Will you please come and say hello to my in-laws’ guests? They’re all eager to meet you.”
When Jack saw me sitting there, his mouth literally fell open. He looked so ridiculous that it made me chuckle. I slid off the counter and wavered a bit as I wondered how many shots I’d had. Then I said, “They’re not your in-laws yet, Jack-Jack. I know your wedding’s only six days away, but as we know that’s plenty of time for all sorts of shit to hit the fan. Am I right?”
Chet grabbed me in a back-slapping hug and said, “I have to get back to work, but I’m looking you up when I’m in San Francisco, my man. You take care of yourself, you hear?”
“You do the same. Until next time, my friend.” Then I turned back to Jack and slurred, “Just FYI, I hate you for the way you hurt Wes. But like, if you hadn’t been dumb enough to dump him, he and I wouldn’t have gotten together, and that would be a tragedy.”
