Play Me (19 page)

“It’s not
like I could take the phone in the shower with me,” I informed
Jake.

“Nope.” He
rang the doorbell and wiggled his eyebrows at me. “But you
could have always taken me in the shower with you.”

I shook my head at him
and tugged at the blue sundress I was wearing. Like Jake, my parents
always teased me about my black clothes—I was suddenly nervous
about their reaction to my new outfit. Would they act the same way
they did when I ate all that take-out a few weeks ago? Staring at me
like I was some sort of alien for the whole night? After all the
years of being purposefully unobtrusive everywhere but the stage, I
was still getting used to the kind of attention I was getting from
everyone around me.

Not like Jake, who
looked totally comfortable and not at all flustered about meeting the
parents of the girl he was . . . what were we
exactly? Dating sounded too casual. Boyfriend and girlfriend seemed
too childish. Lovers sounded too literary. And what did I want us to
be? We had just met but already I trusted him. In a way I had never
trusted anyone before.

I glanced over at Jake
who didn’t seem nervous at all. What did
he
think about
us? Was what I was feeling just simple infatuation—fueled by
sex and kindness? Or was it something more? We heard footsteps coming
our way and Jake shifted the bottle of wine in his hand and gave me a
smile. I took a breath and held it.

The door flew open and
there was my mother, wearing her brightest caftan, the crystals
around her neck jangling.

“Ella!” She
gathered me into a hug. “You didn’t have to ring the
bell.” She pulled back and regarded me at arm’s length.
“Blue is a gorgeous color on you. Don’t you agree?”
she asked Jake. I could tell she was testing him—the same way
she had tested Mark. Mark had failed.

“I think every
color is a gorgeous color on her,” Jake replied smoothly.

My mother’s face
split into a grin. “I like you,” she told him. “What
was your name again?”

“This is Jake,
Mom,” I informed her, even though I had no doubt that she knew.

“Well, Jake, I’m
Helen.” My mom looped her arms through Jake’s. “Let’s
introduce you to the others and get you settled.”

“Mom,” I
warned, knowing exactly what she meant when she said “settled”.

“Oh, come on,
Ella.” My mom pulled Jake into the house. “Don’t be
such a fuddy-duddy. Do you like brownies, Jake?” She began
leading him towards the kitchen.

“Of course.”
Jake gave me a curious glance.

I rolled my eyes.
“She’s trying to offer you a pot brownie,” I told
him, glad I had warned him about my parents’ habits before we
had arrived.

“Oh!” he
laughed. “I do like brownies,” he informed my mom as we
entered the kitchen. “But I prefer mine laced with chocolate,
not anything else.”

“Oh well.”
My mom released him and grabbed a brownie off the kitchen island.
Breaking off a tiny piece, she popped it in her mouth. “If you
change your mind.” She winked at him and swept off presumably
to find my dad and Nina.

“I am so sorry.”
I turned to Jake. “I had no idea they were going to get high
tonight.”

“It’s fine.
I have plenty of friends who partake.” He picked up a brownie,
sniffed, and put it down. “At least your folks seem to invest
in the high quality stuff.”

“Jake!” my
father’s voice boomed as he came into the kitchen. “So
good to meet you!” he gave Jake a hearty handshake. “Ella
rarely brings her gentlemen friends home.”

“Dad!” Nina
shrieked from the hallway. “Did you just crop dust me? That was
nasty!”

My dad snickered.

For god sakes, I
thought, had my entire family gone completely off their rockers
tonight? Not that they were ever remotely well-behaved around the
guests I brought home, but this was bonkers, even for them. Pot
brownies, fart jokes, what was going to be next? I held my breath as
Nina entered the kitchen, praying that she hadn’t returned to
her brief but incredibly awkward attempt at being a nudist.

Thankfully, she was
fully dressed. Holding her nose and wearing some bright neon leotard
thing, but fully dressed.

“You are gross,”
she told my dad who was still smirking. “Hi, Jake.” She
came over and gave him a hug as if they were old friends.

“Uh, hi.”
He looked at me over her shoulder.

Nina, I mouthed and
then pointed to my dad. Frank. I couldn’t even count on them to
make proper introductions.

“Ooh!” Nina
had released Jake and in the process noticed the wine he was
carrying. “Nice!”

“Let’s have
some.” I took it from his hands. It was more for myself then
anyone—my family was already socially lubricated. Too socially
lubricated, in fact, but a glass of wine might make it seem less
ridiculous.

I went around the
kitchen island to get the wine opener. I struggled with the label for
a couple of seconds before a warm hand covered mine.

“Let me,”
Jake said and with a few smooth gestures had unwrapped and uncorked
the wine. “Glasses?” he asked and I grabbed them from the
cabinet. He poured me a nice, generous glass and one slightly less
generous for himself. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his
glass against mine.

I took a nice long sip
as Jake poured for my parents and Nina.

“Great flavor,”
my dad said, as if he was a wine expert of some sort.

My mom was staring at
Jake, though.

“Are you a Leo?”
she asked him.

“Mom,” I
said warningly, but she ignored me.

“You are, aren’t
you?”

“I am,”
Jake confirmed.

“I knew it!”
she crowed. Looking down at the dozens of crystals she had around her
neck, she untangled one and pulled it over her head. It was red, much
like the one she had given me last time. “This is for you.”
She handed it to Jake. “It will help center you, when you need
it.”

“Mom.” I
remembered how horrified Mark had been when she did the same to him,
only the crystal she gave him was to help him “relax.”
“Jake doesn’t need any of your crystals.”

“Actually.”
Jake examined the red stone. “This is really pretty. And who
doesn’t need a little extra focus?”

My mom beamed.

“Who doesn’t
need more focus?” my dad interrupted. “Well, Ella
doesn’t. All she does is focus. On classical music.”

Great, I thought.
Another lecture.

“You need to
loosen up, Ella,” my dad told me. “Get up from the piano
and your goddamn sheet music once in a while.”

Immediately the room
became tense. I opened my mouth to tell my dad that if he paid
attention he’d notice that I was up from my piano at that very
moment and if I wanted to follow sheet music, then I was going to
follow sheet music, but before I could say anything, Jake took my
hand.

“Ella is an
incredibly talented musician.” His grip was firm and
comforting. “And she got that way because she is so dedicated.
If my staff had half the focus that she did, I would have the best
restaurant in the city. I’m just learning about classical
music, but Ella is a fantastic teacher—and she loves the music.
That’s obvious in every note she plays. There’s no way
she won’t win this competition.”

Everyone was silent and
I felt a lump form in my throat. No one else had ever stood up for me
like that. I felt a swell of emotion towards Jake, something far more
powerful than just infatuation. Something that felt suspiciously like
love.

I waited for my dad to
argue, to tell Jake that the only real music was the kind you created
yourself, but instead he just grinned.

“I like this
one,” he said and clapped Jake on the back. “Come on.
Let’s eat!”

The rest of the meal
went off without a hitch. My parents, despite being slightly high,
behaved themselves for the most part. There was the occasional
inappropriate joke, but Jake didn’t seem to notice or care. I
had expected to spend the evening crawling deeper and deeper into my
wine glass but I found that I was enjoying myself.

After dinner, as Jake
helped my dad and Nina clear the table, my mom pulled me aside.

“You look really
good, Ella,” she told me, placing her hand on my cheek. “Really
happy.”

“Thanks, Mom.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I am happy.”

“I’m so
glad to see you in something other than those drab dark clothes you
always wore.” She smoothed her hands over my arms. “It
even looks like you’ve gained some weight.”

I had noticed that I
was filling out my clothes a little more than usual.

“I think so,”
I confessed. “Jake likes to feed me.”

“You hold on to
him,” my mother ordered. “A man that makes you happy and
fat is one you want to keep.”

Luckily I had no
intention of letting him get away any time soon.

My dad and Jake were
talking as they joined us in the hallway.

“He was a real
jerk,” my dad was saying.

“Who are you
talking about?” my mom asked.

“Mark.”

“Oh.” My
mom nodded. “A complete jerk.”

“I didn’t
know that you and Mark had dated,” Jake told me, his face
inscrutable. Was he jealous?

“Just for a
little while,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t serious.”

“Your dad said
you were living with him.”

Uh-oh.

“Is he still your
teacher?” my dad asked. “I know you and I don’t
agree on the kind of music you play, but surely there’s got to
be another teacher out there that doesn’t put you on stupid
diets and act like he’s got a big stick up his—”

“Frank,” my
mom warned.

“You’re
right, Dad. Mark is a jerk,” I told them, and saw Jake’s
face relax. “And after the competition is over, I won’t
be working with him anymore. I’m going to find a new teacher.”

“Good.” My
dad leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You deserve
better.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You know I’m
proud of you, right?”

I felt a lump form in
my throat. I knew my dad was proud of me, but it was the first time
he had said it out loud. And I knew I owed part of that confession to
Jake. For standing up to my dad, to my family. For forcing them to
see that they weren’t as supportive as they might have thought
they were.

“And Jake.”
My dad shook his hand. “It was great meeting you.”

“You too.”
Jake then gave my mom a hug. “Thank you for having me.”

“You’re
welcome here anytime,” my mom told him, both of my parents
suddenly normal again. Had this whole thing been a test for Jake, I
wondered as we left. Well, if so, I thought as I looked back at my
parents waving at us from the doorway, it looked like he passed with
flying colors.

Jake slung his arm
around my waist, his hand resting against my hip.

“Your parents are
nice,” he said. “Weird, but nice.”

“You have no
idea,” I told him. If anyone deserved a reward for putting up
with their oddness, then Jake certainly did. I grinned to myself as
he pulled me closer, his body warm against my side. And I had a whole
bunch of ideas for exactly what that reward should be.

Jake

I told myself it didn’t
matter that Ella’s current teacher was her former live-in
boyfriend. After all, she was with me now. And she had spent all last
night showing me exactly how appreciative she was that I was in her
life. A thank you I couldn’t wait to repeat as soon as I got
off of work tonight. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so
eager to get home after the restaurant closed. There was something
really nice knowing that Ella would be waiting for me when I got
home. Especially when she was waiting in some of that lingerie she so
loved.

I grinned as I headed
into the kitchen, the image of her in garters and lace burned into my
memory. I reminded myself to make a trip to some fancy lingerie place
when I had the time. Nothing better than buying skimpy nothings you
plan to rip to shreds. After all, they had to be that flimsy for a
reason, right?

Usually the kitchen
would be bustling at this point, everyone prepping for the night
ahead. But today, the entire crew was huddled in a corner, whispering
to each other. I stopped dead in my tracks as a wall of nervous eyes
met mine and quickly looked away. Except for Dakota’s. Her
expression was sullen, but she held eye contact.

“What’s
going on?” I asked and everyone scattered to their station,
still avoiding my gaze.

Dakota came over to me
and I saw that she had a newspaper in her hand.

“Let’s go
to your office,” she said.

I followed her, my
heart dropping into my stomach. The newspaper and a terrified kitchen
crew? This could only mean one thing: a bad review. And by the looks
of it, it was really, really bad.

“Who was it?”
I demanded as soon as my office door closed behind me.

Dakota handed over the
newspaper. “Matt Metcalf.”

I scanned the column,
finding phrases like “wouldn’t feed to my dog,”
“unoriginal, unimaginative, and just plain lazy,” and the
final sentence: “Patricia Roberts would be ashamed of what her
beloved Grassfed has become under the hands of an inexperienced,
copycat chef with no vision of his own.”

My blood boiled as I
smashed the paper into a ball and lobbed it at the other end of the
room.

“Fuck!”

“Matt Metcalf is
a dick.” Dakota’s voice was calm, which somehow made me
even more furious.

“He’s the
number one food critic in San Francisco,” I reminded her,
wanting to throw something else. “This could end my career,
Dakota.”

“He’s a
contrarian, everyone knows that.” Dakota’s chill was
really infuriating me. “He called Patricia lazy and unoriginal
at the place she was at before she started Grassfed, remember?”

“Everyone in the
industry might know that,” I informed her, balling my hands
into fists. “But the thousands of people that read the paper
looking for a place to go to dinner don’t know that Matt
Metcalf is a fucking douchebag that hates anything new.”