Cook the Books

powerful, horrible dreams about Josh, Digger, and Snacker, the kinds of blurry dreams that you can’t remember in detail but that sure as hell leave you with an awful, gut-wrenching feeling when you wake up. I hauled myself out of bed and tried to shower off the bad night’s sleep, but it took a few cups of coffee to shake off the residue of my nightmares. I always hated Sunday anyway, because it meant school and work were imminent. Still, I had to rouse myself: Hank and Kyle were coming for appetizers and drinks at five o’clock. Because I had a lot to do, I went out and did the food shopping early. I’d need plenty of time to prep the food and clean the house, which was even more of a mess than it had been on Friday when I’d left for the opening of the Penthouse.
    I was tackling a few seafood appetizers tonight: seared scallops served on polenta cakes with red pepper and chive jam, and also baked oysters with heavy cream, turmeric, fennel, and Asian pear. But the one I was most eager to eat myself was the shrimp and Brie wrapped in puff pastry and served with apricot chutney. Any excuse to eat melted Brie, and I was all over it! I’d bought a very expensive bottle of dry Riesling and an equally pricey bottle of Viognier that had a subtle floral note. I put on the stereo and listened to music while I pureed red peppers. I added sugar to the peppers and cooked the mixture down to a thick consistency before I added chives. I whisked the polenta in a pot and then spread it out on a sheet pan to let it set before I cut out circles to panfry. I chopped the fresh apricots and cooked them with water, honey, vinegar, and onions until I had a chunky sweet-and-sour chutney. I then cut the store-bought phyllo dough and made little purses that I filled with shrimp and Brie and then brushed with an egg wash. At best, I’d have Hank Boucher’s attention for a very short time, so I wanted to have as much prep as possible completed before he arrived; otherwise, I’d waste my opportunity by disappearing into the kitchen.
    Since I was trying to impress upon Hank that I was worthy of being a coauthor, I intended to look professional. Consequently, I put on a pair of straight-leg dress pants and a pale green linen shirt. My condo was white-glove clean, and candles burned in the living room. Wineglasses and the two bottles of wine were ready on the coffee table, and I’d set out small hand-painted ceramic plates as well as forks and carefully ironed cloth napkins. Whew! I was as prepared for the celebrity chef’s visit as I could be.
    To my surprise, Kyle and Hank arrived precisely at five o’clock; I’d expected Kyle’s busy father to cause some sort of delay. When I opened my door, one look at Kyle’s face told me how stressed he was about this evening. I smiled reassuringly at Kyle as I said hello
    “Hi, Chloe.” Kyle’s voice shook.
    “Good evening, Chloe. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” said Hank with no hint of sincerity. “We can’t stay too long. We have dinner reservations later this evening.”
    “Of course. I understand. Please come in and sit down.” I pointed to the couch as I took their coats.
    Hank dumped himself onto the couch and sighed. “I hear you’re attempting to cook something for us? Something from the book?”
    Attempting? What a jerk. “Yes. Appetizers. I just need a few minutes to finish them off. Can I pour you a glass of wine?”
    Hank inspected the two bottles and raised his eyebrows, as if he were as amazed by my choices as he was pleased with them. “This one.” He tapped the Riesling, sat back against the cushion, and checked his watch.
    “Kyle?” I asked as I poured Hank’s wine. He nodded, and since he looked in need of alcohol, I filled his glass high. “Give me ten minutes, and the appetizers will be ready.”
    I walked quickly to the kitchen and was glad that I’d had the foresight to preheat the oven and to set out all the pans that I’d need. I stuck the sheet of phyllo purses and the tray of oysters into the oven. While they cooked, I quickly seared the scallops and the polenta cakes in a pan and hastily plated everything on serving trays. Well, I told myself, my presentation wasn’t as stupendous as a professional chef’s, but it wasn’t awful, either. I carried two of the trays to the living room. “Kyle, would you mind getting the other tray and the two small bowls with sauces?”
    “Of course.” Kyle practically jumped out of his seat at the