Save Me the Plums - Ruth Reichl Page 0,55

with fresh lemon juice, took a bite. The outside crackled gently before yielding to the small, savory custard inside. It was like eating sea foam, and I closed my eyes to better experience the pleasure. When I opened them, Doc was watching me. I silently handed him an oyster.

“Wine?” I asked. He nodded, and we listened to the clear pale liquid rush into our glasses. We clinked, the merry sound a nod to the simple goodness of the food.

Lobsters arrived and we tore into them with our fingers, teasing out the rich meat of the tail, the subtle smoothness of the claws. We were eating silently, sucking on the little swimmerets to extract every bit of meat. He seemed to feel no need to talk, no need to sell himself. An odd interview, perhaps, but it had told me everything I needed to know. He wasn’t Laurie, but if the time ever came, we’d work well together.

Salad then, a perfect Caesar, each crisp leaf of romaine reveling in its anchovy-laced dressing. Doc matched me bite for bite, and we did not leave a single crouton.

“Dessert?” I asked.

We shared a butterscotch praline sundae; he ate most of it. He was, I thought, a modest man with an appreciation for pleasure.

“I don’t have an opening now,” I said when he put his spoon down. I was still clueless. “But I’d love to work with you someday.”

“It would be tempting,” he conceded. “But…” He gestured toward the window. Outside, people were hurrying past, heads bent into the wind on the gritty Village street. “This would be a huge change, and I like my life now. Do I really want to give up everything I know to move to New York?”

I understood exactly how he felt.

* * *

—

“SO YOU LIKED him?” Looking relieved, Laurie finally revealed that she’d been asked to run the LA Weekly. “Editor in chief!” She looked apologetic. “I started my career there and I just can’t turn it down.” She reached out a hand, touched my arm. “It won’t be such a big change,” she promised. “We’ll still see lots of each other. Jonathan’s going to stay on as Gourmet’s restaurant critic, so we’ll be bicoastal.”

“But it won’t be the same!” Laurie was leaving and the change loomed, leaving me feeling frightened and betrayed. I’d liked Doc Willoughby, but who was he really? A silver-haired stranger who might turn out to be anyone at all.

I GAVE DOC A COPY of E. B. White’s Here Is New York as a welcome gift, but he didn’t need it; he fell in love with the city—and with Gourmet—on day one. He slid so seamlessly into our lives that it hardly felt like change. After the first few weeks, none of us could remember a time he hadn’t been there. Smart, forthright, and kind, he had the remarkable ability to say exactly what he thought, no matter how negative, without ever seeming hostile. He was always firm, but in seven years I never saw him lose his temper. Larry liked him immediately, and although he never said so, I thought he was relieved I’d chosen someone more conventional than Laurie. As for the staff, they adored him.

I missed Laurie, missed her calm presence and her brilliant editing instincts. I missed our forays to the far corners of the city to eat strange dishes none of our friends would touch. But the hard part was behind us; Gourmet was thriving, and our readers now seemed eager for increasingly challenging content. It was thrilling. And in an odd way, her leaving liberated me: I had weathered an enormous change, and it had proved painless.

But it was more than that. The Gourmet staff was now a solid team working seamlessly together, and Laurie’s leaving hadn’t changed that. I admired every one of the people I worked with, and I was proud of the magazine we were making. Now, for the first time, I acknowledged that it wasn’t just luck and it wasn’t an accident; I had actually spearheaded this. It made me very proud.

My new publisher was also promising, although I did have early doubts about Giulio’s competence. The first time he took me on an ad call, he looked askance when I asked who we were supposed to be.

I reminded myself that he was new at this game. “I’m asking what you want me to tell these ad reps about Gourmet,” I said patiently. “Are we a lifestyle book or a travel book?