The Art of Love Read Online Free Page B

please you? Can I contort myself into any shape possible just so you’ll like me?” It really gets on my nerves.
    What makes a grown woman grovel that much? I bet she was the girl in high school that was always baking brownies to share during lunch and offering to help the popular boys with their homework. What she doesn’t get is that the more you do for a guy, the more he’ll just sit back and let you do all the work. You have to demand performance from a man if you want to be treated well. Otherwise, he’ll just get lazier and lazier, expecting you to do everything.
    The thing is, by being such an accommodating doormat, she makes things harder for the rest of us. Guys think, “Well, Sue was always happy to cook me dinner and clean my apartment and wipe my butt. This must be the way all women should behave.” Well, I’m not buying into that sucker’s game. If a guy wants me to treat him nice, then he’s got to treat me nice. Those are the rules for dating. Why the hell doesn’t some groveling simpleton like Sue realize that? Sometimes, I just want to shake her by the shoulders and yell, “Grow a spine, already!”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
    I really don’t want anyone to see that I’m upset, so I pull it together the best I can before hurrying through the kitchen to the employee locker room. I can feel June’s, Aspic’s, and Paolo’s eyes on me as I rush past. They are still prepping food, and I hate that a part of my brain tries to calculate if I have a spare twenty minutes to lend a hand.
    June calls after me with, “ Sue? Is everything okay? What did Escoffier want?”
    I slow my steps because I don’t want her following me into the locker room again and pressing to see if there really is anything wrong. “ Nothing, really,” I half mutter. “He made me the temporary chef de cuisine while               he's treating his gout.”
    I hear gasps of surprise from Aspic and Paolo. June exclaims, “ That's fantastic! Congratulations!”
    “Yeah, really good, Suzannah,” Paolo adds.
    I try to shrug it off. I’m too ashamed of why I was given the position to take any satisfaction in it. “It's only temporary,” I tell them. “And I’m not going to get more money or anything.”
    “ Suzannah, I am so glad,” Paolo tells me. “We were worried.”
    “Worried?” I wonder. “Why were you worried?”
    “We thought maybe you were getting the old eighty-six,” Aspic adds, his voice low and rumbly from infrequent use.
    I can’t conceal that I’m surprised by his comment. “Really?” I exclaim. “ Why would he fire me?”
    Paolo gestures toward Aspic with his thumb. “It is Bouche.” He usually takes over and does the talking for the big man when there are more than a few words to be said. “She no do so good. Aspic, he hear Mr. Trent say Bouche no make good money.” Trent Winchell is the great grandson of the man who started the Winchell way back in the day.
    “ Oh...” This surprises me a little. I knew Bouche wasn’t exactly booked to maximum capacity every night, but I didn’t think we were to the point where it was necessary to lay off staff. We all contemplate the impending loss of our jobs.
    “ Hey, let's not worry about that now.” June tries to brighten the mood. Turning to me she enthuses, “Congratulations! You're going to be chef de cuisine. That’s huge. Think how good that’ll look on your résumé once we’re all kicked out of here.”
    Paolo turns to Aspic, lifting his chin at the giant, “Aspic, where you have your flask? We will have a toast, yes?”
    Aspic always keeps a rather large flask concealed on his person. I have no idea what he keeps in the flask. It’s clear in color and reminds me vaguely of lighter fluid. I’m not a big drinker to begin with, so I try to avoid partaking from Aspic’s flask whenever I can, but this doesn’t feel like a time when I can bow out graciously from imbibing.
    June gathers up the cleanest of the employee