Naked Ambition. Jule Mcbride
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Joe’s restaurant, expanding seating capacity and revenue, then she’d doctored the pecan pie on his dessert menu by adding ingredients from her mama’s recipe, which in Bayou Banner, had been as famous as Delia’s strawberry-rhubarb confection.
“She’s amazing,” Joe had bragged to Ellie, not bothering to hide his attraction when both women dined in his restaurant. “Susannah’s got a knack for this industry. She talked to our chef about the menu, and he’s desperate to try all her recipes. She ought to open her own place.”
“That’s a great idea,” Ellie had enthused.
“As soon as J.D. agrees to the terms of the divorce, I’m going home to Banner Manor,” Susannah had reminded.
“You only have to supervise when you first open,” Joe had assured her, having heard about her situation during their interview. “Somebody else can manage the business later.”
“J.D. hired somebody to run his daddy’s tackle shop,” Susannah had admitted, wishing she wasn’t still so fixated on J.D. Unlike Ellie, she’d found something wrong with every potential lover in the personals. They were too tall, too short, too smart or not smart enough, and as much as she’d hated to admit it, their only true flaw was that they weren’t J.D. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t have a fling till the divorce was finalized.
“Lee Polls is being run by an outsider,” Ellie had reminded, as she and Joe had continued talking.
“I’m a financial partner in other eateries around town,” Joe had continued. “I backed an ex-chef when he opened his own place and hired a manager here, so I can spend more time downtown booking acts in my jazz club, Blue Skies.”
Ellie had shown Susannah an article about the club. “You own Blue Skies, too,” Ellie had murmured, admiring Joe’s entrepreneurial skills.
“Because my favorite part of the job is booking acts, I’m there in the afternoons when people audition,” Joe had explained. “Susannah, if you’ve got more recipes as good as the one for pecan pie, and if you want to open a place, I might agree to be a partner, and even bring in music acts.”
Susannah had started to feel as if she was stepping into a fairy tale. “You’re offering to back me financially?”
“I’d have to sample your menu first,” Joe had said, his tone suggesting he wanted to try more than just food.
“If we can make money, I’m in, too,” Ellie had said.
“Tons,” Joe assured.
Ellie and Joe had continued talking about restaurant leases, health codes and liquor licenses, but Susannah had barely heard. She’d begun mentally riffling through recipes handed down by women in her family for generations. The idea of opening a Southern-style eatery like Delia’s Diner was so exciting that whole minutes passed during which Susannah didn’t even think about J.D. It was the first relief she’d felt, and more than anything else, that had spurred her on.
“I can use Mama’s recipes!” she’d exclaimed. “Why, Ellie, you know how everybody always loved her vinaigrette-mustard coleslaw and barbequed lima beans.”
“Her hot pepper cheese grits were the best,” Ellie had answered. “And nothing beats her cardamom-sassafras tea and home-churned ice cream with fresh-crushed mint.”
And so, Oh Susannah’s was born in a hole-in-the-wall near the famous Katz deli on New York’s Lower East Side, on Attorney Street, close to the apartment they were renting. Even the street’s name had seemed fitting, given Susannah’s ongoing long-distance legal battle with J.D. Putting her energy into the restaurant had helped her escape negative emotions, and she’d wound up using the butter-yellow and cherry-red color scheme she’d spent so much time devising for the kitchen at Banner Manor. The white eyelet curtains she’d dreamed about covered the windows, and mismatched rugs adorned hardwood floors. Short-stemmed flowers were bunched on rustic tables in mason jars.
A month after the opening, The New York Times had run a picture of Susannah, Joe and Ellie, their arms slung around one another’s shoulders. The dining experience had been called “down-home elegance,” and ever since, there had been a line outside the door. Delia’s recipe for strawberry-rhubarb pie had arrived with a note that read,
The article’s pinned to the bulletin board at the diner. You and Ellie have done Bayou Banner proud, and your folks would be tickled pink. Seeing as my competition (you) has moved out of state, I’m hoping you won’t hurt me with my own recipe. Just promise not to franchise anytime soon!
P.S., J.D. got even crazier after you left town, if that can be imagined. Of course, since Sheriff Kemp finally asked me out on a date (and I’m going), I’ll do whatever I can to keep your soon-to-be-ex-husband from getting arrested. But you must know: Mama Ambrosia came in for coffee, and she says trouble is brewing in J.D.’s future.
Later that day, Susannah’s emotions had tangled into knots. Since the New York Times article was on Delia’s bulletin board, J.D. must have seen it, which would serve him right. He wasn’t the only one who make a name for themselves. She didn’t want to rub his nose in her success, she told herself now, glancing around Oh Susannah’s, but the man deserved some comeuppance. Yes…revenge was a dish best served cold, she decided with satisfaction, studying a slice of Delia’s pie as a waiter passed.
Still, what had Delia meant when she’d said J.D. was worse than before? Was the gorgeous Sandy Smithers gone? And was there more trouble on the horizon, as Mama Ambrosia claimed.
Kicking herself for caring, Susannah reminded herself of all the holidays, birthdays and anniversaries J.D. had missed. Before he’d gotten famous, holidays had been fun. On Valentine’s Day, J.D. had licked chocolate syrup from all her erogenous zones, and now, as she recalled the event, an unwanted shiver of longing sizzled along her veins, then ka-boomed at her nerve endings in a grand finale.
No matter how much she fought it, desire for him felt like a rope uncoiling inside her. Her hands were burning to grab that rope and climb, but it wound around and around her making her dizzy as it spun.
Now she was coming undone, imagining J.D.’s hands grabbing the backs of her thighs, pulling her close. His hips connected, rocking with hers, and his erection was hot and hard, searing her belly. Sensation suddenly somersaulted into her limbs, racing to all her choicest places, and tiny jolts of electricity shot to her toes like lightning.
She could almost taste J.D.’s mouth, too, which was always as sweet as cotton candy. Realizing she’d been swept away again by her own imagination, she thanked God she hadn’t gone to meet him on the Alabama and groaned inwardly, reminding herself to think of her soon-to-be-ex-husband as poison. And as soon as Garrison called tonight to say her divorce was final, she was going to take an antidote called “sex with Joe O’Grady.”
“I can’t wait to hear Tara Jones sing,” Ellie was saying, nodding toward the stage.
This was the first time live music was being offered. “Me, neither,” Susannah managed, but in reality, she just wished she could shake off the aftershocks of her fantasy about J.D. The backs of her knees felt weak and her pulse uneven.
Clearing her throat, Susannah added, “She wants a low-key place to play on weekends, but I’m not sure I can stand to hear country-western,” The last thing she needed was to hear Willie Nelson singing “Angel Flying Too Close To the Ground,” or Johnny Cash and June Carter’s snappy version of “Walk The Line,” or Patsy Cline belting out “Crazy.”
New York wasn’t agreeing with her, either. Even without Sandy Smithers in the picture, Susannah might have run away with Ellie just to escape J.D.’s big-city friends. All their hustle, bustle and hype had been worrying her every last nerve. Now that she’d traded places and was living in their world, she missed Banner Manor even more. A new part-time manager at the restaurant was working out well, so technically Susannah could have toured the city some, but she just wasn’t interested.
Ellie was taking to the place like a fish to water,