"No. Thanks." Looking at the enormous menu, I search for the smallest steak and order it with a gla.s.s of Cabernet Sauvignon. Aaron orders the largest steak, French fries, and string beans. "And a Coors Light," he finishes.

When the food comes, Aaron reaches for the salt and pepper, which he liberally applies to his beans and fries. "You haven't tasted it yet," I say.

"What?"

"How do you know the food needs seasoning if you haven't tasted it?" I ask.

"It's not seasoning," he says. "It's salt and pepper." When he's done with the salt and pepper, Aaron reaches for the A1 Steak Sauce.

"You can't use that," I tell him.

Confused, Aaron looks at the label. "Why not?"

"If a steak is cooked to perfection, it has its own juices and doesn't need to be suffocated with sauce."

Aaron points at my plate. "You eat your steak the way you like, and I'll eat mine the way I like. Okay?"

"Okay," I say with a sigh. "But you're doing it wrong."

Aaron laughs.

Aaron eats with gusto. He cuts a piece of meat, puts it on his fork, spears a French fry or string bean, and puts the whole thing in his mouth. He chews rhythmically, his head bobbing slightly. When he has swallowed, Aaron takes a swig of beer, then starts the whole process over again. Piece of meat, French fry, string bean. Chew, swallow, swig. And again. And again.

I find this fascinating.

Long have I believed that men eat the same way they screw. A man who shovels food into his mouth is not interested in taste or texture. A man who eats the same things all the time is not interested in variety. A man who gets up from the table before the woman has finished eating? Please. I want a man who smells his vegetables, savors his meat, and plays with his potatoes.

Aaron is eating quickly, but he looks to be enjoying his food. His eating method does not fit into any of my categories. I don't know what to do about that.

Soft, Gentle, Nice.

Aaron drives me back to Cafe Louis. "I have to go inside and finish the night," I tell him.

"Should I walk you to the door, or would you like to be kissed in the car?"

Turning in my seat, I look at Aaron. The date was perfectly fine, but I'm not overcome with desire for Aaron. I like that he enjoys life. And food. And clothes. Aaron appreciates the finer things in life. So what is he doing with me? Good question. I ask it. "Why are you pursuing me? You could have any woman you want."

"Here's the thing." Aaron looks serious. "I've dated a lot of women and it always turns out the same way. They start out saying my family's money doesn't matter, but in time, they forget about me, the person, and only see the lifestyle. Then I lose respect for them and start treating them badly. But they put up with it, because they think it'll pay off in the end. You, Mimi, don't let me get away with anything. You are independent, smart, and successful in your own right. That's incredibly attractive to me, as is the fact that you aren't falling all over me. And you have a great a.s.s."

"You'll hold that against me later."

Aaron smiles. "Your a.s.s?"

"No. Way no," I say. "The things you said about me. Independent, smart, successful. You'll learn to hate those things."

Aaron is quiet for a few moments. Then, "I don't get it."

"It's like this." I turn to face him. "Right now you like my independence because it poses a challenge for you. But you'll come to resent it."

"Before we get to the resentment, may I kiss you?"

"Might as well do it now," I say, "before we break up."

His lips are smooth, and warm. Soft. Gentle. Nice.

Falling "And that's how the date ended," I tell Madeline. "With a nice kiss."

We are shopping for kitchen gadgets at Fante's on Ninth Street, in Philadelphia's Italian Market. I buy equipment from the much cheaper Trenton China and Pottery store, but Madeline wants only top-of-the-line stuff. Sieves, peelers, mandolins. She shops for kitchen gadgets the way other women shop for shoes.

"This is the good-on-paper predicament right?" Madeline squeezes down an aisle. "I'm bored already. You'll never fall for this guy."

"What good is falling? Falling is a bad thing. It hurts. It leaves bruises. And if you fall hard enough, it takes a while to get back on your feet."

"What if someone catches you?" Madeline asks.

"For me to fall in love, I'd have to trust that someone is going to catch me. Right now I'm not big on trusting men. I'm definitely not ready to have s.e.x. So maybe I don't want to fall in love. Maybe I want to stand upright and walk into love. Or at least glide. That's it, Maddie. I'll glide into a relationship with Aaron. I should. He's a nice person."

"What's nice got to do with it? There's either chemistry or there isn't." Madeline tosses a chocolate mold into her basket. "Speaking of which, what's up with Farmer Joe?"

"I haven't heard from him. He has yet to ask me out for a date."

"Call him."

"No. No. Oh, and? No."

"Excuse me," Madeline says. "What millennium is this?"

"If Joe wants me, he knows where to find me. Look at Aaron. He's pursuing me. It's nice. It's good for my battered ego."

"Batter." Madeline reaches for a wooden spoon. "Thanks for reminding me."

Specials "You hungry?" Nelson asks me when I walk into the kitchen in the late afternoon.

"A little." Nelson is wearing a Sean John baseball hat and a T-shirt with Malcom X's picture. What would Brother Malcolm think of Brother Diddy? What does Nelson think of them? I don't know.

"Let me make you something." Nelson reaches for his chef coat.

"You don't have to, Nellie. You worked all day."

"I want to." Nelson smiles at me. "You worked with famous chefs, right? How about I cook you one of my specialties and you tell me what you think."

Twenty minutes later, Nelson brings me a plate holding peanut-crusted tuna, sauteed spinach, and white rice spiked with corn, diced tomato, and cilantro. "Wow," I say.

Chewing, I look at Nelson with surprise. "You got game."

Nelson smiles broadly. "It's good?"

"Yes." I put more food in my mouth. With real delight, Nelson watches me eat. Mouth full, I ask, "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"Grammy Jeff taught me a lot, but she doesn't know formal cooking. I read a lot of cookbooks. I watch cooking shows on TV. Then I try stuff here or at home."

"You like cooking?" I ask. I thought this was only a job to him.

"Yeah," Nelson says. "I guess it runs in the family."

"Nelson, you have talent."

"Thank you." Nelson hangs his head to hide his grin. "I thought about going to culinary school, but I can't afford it."

When I finally put my fork down, I say, "You should do the daily specials."

Nelson frowns. "We don't do daily specials here."

"We do now."

Mom AWOL At the end of the night, Christopher von Hecht sits across from me in the office while I count money. "You can go home," I tell him.

"I'm waiting," Christopher says.

"For what?"

"For you to tell me about your first of many dates with Aaron Schein."

"Oh. Why do I have to tell you?"

"You have to tell me so I can tell everyone else."

Christopher rolls his eyes. "Come on, kiwi. You know there are no secrets in restaurants."

"It was very nice. Ended with a kiss. A nice kiss."

"Ah, isn't that sweet?" Christopher claps. "Can I be a bridesmaid?"

"Chrissie, stop."

"Look at you, dating a nice Jewish boy. Your mother must be thrilled."

It's then that I realize I haven't told Mom about Aaron. I haven't seen her for days. Mom's been spending almost all of her time with Sid.

She's not home when I get there. I could call Mom's cell, but it's almost midnight and she's probably asleep. And if she isn't asleep, I don't want to know why not.

I leave a note on Mom's bed. "Mom-Let's have lunch or dinner. Come to the restaurant.-Mimi." She's gotta eat and she's gotta come home. Eventually.

Awakening the Diva The summer slump begins the first week of July. Everyone who can afford to goes to the Jersey sh.o.r.e. On the first Sat.u.r.day of July, business slows to a crawl. The waiters gossip and groan about the lack of tippage. When the phone rings, I jump at it and pray for a reservation.

"Cafe Louis. This is Mimi. How can I help you?"

"This is Joe Hunter."

Just the sound of his voice gives me tingles. "h.e.l.lo, Joe. How are you?"

"Well, Mimi. I think it's time."

"For?"

"Us to get together."

"Yeah?" Flip flop goes my tummy.

"What are you doing for the Fourth of July?" Joe asks.

"I don't know."

"Well, Fourth of July is the only day during the summer that I let everyone on the farm take off. I'm going to my family's house down the sh.o.r.e. Would you like to come with me?"

"That all depends," I say. "What sh.o.r.e?"

"LBI," Joe answers. That's Jersey-speak for Long Beach Island.

I haven't been to LBI since I was in high school. We spent our annual family vacations there. At the end of August, Dad closed the restaurant and rented a house for a week. Mom preferred the more urbane town of Margate, but my father loved rustic LBI.

No man is an island, he'd say, except the Isle of Man.

"I'd love to go with you," I tell Joe.

"I'm driving to Hunter Farm and Joe is driving to the sh.o.r.e from there," I tell Madeline over the phone.

"What about Aaron?"

"I haven't made a commitment to Aaron. Joe asked me out and there's nothing wrong with going."

Madeline says, "Get your s.e.xual energy out with Joe so you can take things slowly with Aaron."

"Maddie, I'm not sleeping with Joe."

"Fine. But your s.e.xuality is a precious thing. Maybe it's time to rouse your diva."