Loving the Nurse by Piper Sullivan
Antonio
“Antonio! You’re looking as hot as ever, and this look is even turning me on.” Magda fanned her face with her hand and rolled her eyes. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few days? I could get you some high paid photo work. With those cheekbones and tattoos, I could probably even get you on somebody’s runway.”
It took me about a year to figure out that Magda wasn’t flirting, the woman was just brutally honest in both directions. “If you can squeeze something in before I leave for Oregon, fine. Otherwise I have to get back to Rosie.”
“That right there,” she pointed at my chest. “That whole good dad thing combined with this packaging, I could make us both some good money, Antonio.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I would never turn down the opportunity to make money and increase my channel’s exposure, as long as I didn’t have to stay away from my daughter for too long.
“I’m on it,” she promised and pulled out her phone just as a production assistant grabbed me and pulled me onto the cooking show set. Magda waved as she smiled into the phone.
“This is Antonio Ricci,” the assistant introduced me to Wallace Young and Akana Murphy, two popular chefs who found alternative paths to culinary success.
“Nice to meet you both. Akana, I had your kimchi breakfast burrito on my way to the set.”
She smiled proudly. “And?”
“It was incredible. The pork sausage was a fantastic addition.”
“I thought so too.” She smiled and was about to say something when the director interrupted us.
“Make sure you keep up a steady, but not too loud dialogue during the competition. Observe what the chefs are doing, offer up guesses about what they’re making and offer your own unique spins on the flavor profiles. Got it?”
We all nodded and offered a polite smile to the abrasive man in the flannel shirt.
“Great. Oh and thanks for being here.” The words were an afterthought but it didn’t matter. We were all here for one thing. Exposure.
“Dick,” Wallace muttered under his breath and turned to me and Akana. “Don’t forget to throw in a few phrases like, in my restaurant, or on my food truck to make this shoot worth it. In my book I describe how to do this even for the home cook. Sounds more organic and not like you’re just here to promote yourself.”
His advice surprised me. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Thanks for the shout out on my puffed tofu technique.”
“Saw that, did you?”
He laughed. “Got tagged in thousands of Instagram photos thanking us both, that’s how I found the video.”
I shrugged off his unintended compliment. “Even my kid loves the stuff, just needs ketchup and mustard according to her.”
Conversation mostly continued like that for the rest of the day, only focused on the four rounds of competition. The competitors were talented and innovative, and though the director was a dick, the shoot was more fun than I thought it would be.
And a hell of a lot longer.
“My ass is sore,” Akana complained as soon we wrapped filming. “I gotta go walk off these calories, see you guys around.” With a feminine finger wave, she sauntered off, already on her phone.
“I have to get going too,” Wallace offered for no apparent reason. “But I think we should do a cross-over shoot before you head back west. I’m filming in the morning, a steak video. Want to join me?”
“Hell yeah, man. Sounds good. When and where?”
Wallace flashed a satisfied smile and gave me the details. “I’m not a huge stickler for time, but don’t be a dick and keep me waiting all day.”
“My schedule is tight tomorrow, my flight leaves at four so I’ll be on time.”
“Perfect. Send my PA your links so we can start doing promo and I’ll see you in the A.M.”
When I left the studio, Magda took off with a promise to call later and I skipped the row of cabs waiting and decided to walk. I hadn’t been to New York for years, and I wanted to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city. More than that, I wanted to see what the new culinary scene looked like, so I stopped at about a dozen different restaurants to hit up some old friends and talk food with likeminded people.
When I left the last restaurant, I had at least sixty ideas typed out on a notepad app, and I was eager to sketch out a new production schedule to incorporate the ideas while they were fresh in my mind.
“Oh my god, Antonio! Is that you?”
I froze at that grating, phoney voice that I knew better than I wanted to, and I turned slowly.
“Trishelle.”
She pushed her red painted lips out into a pout. “Is that any way to greet your ex-wife?”
“She’s lucky I’m greeting her at all. What are you doing here?” I was instantly on edge, wondering if this was somehow a setup.
“Me? Oh, I’m just here to get some shopping in for the week. What are you doing here?”
“Working,” I grunted and looked around the street for cameras or boom mics, or some of her reality show minions. “Well, take care of yourself Trishelle.”
She took a step closer and then another and put her hands on my chest. “That’s it? Not even a nice to see you again, or you’re looking well babe?” She pouted again and looked up at me. “How about we get a late meal and catch up.”
I took a step back, out of her reach and shook my head. “No thanks. I’m busy.”
“How’s Rosie?”
“She’s good. Happy.” And I wanted to keep it that way. “How’s your sobriety?” It didn’t take an expert to see she was on something, probably pills and booze, at the moment.
Those words had the desired effect. “Fuck you, Antonio. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not.”
“I don’t think anything about you anymore, Trishelle.”
She smiled and reached out to me again, her smile darkened when I pushed her hands away. “You wish that was the case, don’t you?” She smiled over her shoulder and that’s when I knew this was most definitely a setup.
“No, because it is the truth. How can I want a woman back who almost killed my daughter?”
“Our daughter.” She growled and stepped in close. “Don’t forget that.”
I laughed loudly, just in case she thought of using this footage for some nefarious reason. “Yeah, when was the last time you’ve seen our daughter? Not since you lost custody, so go sell your lies to someone who doesn’t know you. And if you think I’m signing a release, you’d better think again.”
She sucked in an outraged breath and turned on her four-inch stilettos before she stormed off, probably perfectly planned from the outset.
I shook my head and shoved my hands in my pockets before I took off in the opposite direction, happy to get out of this interaction with my ex without getting the cops involved. It was another reminder that I made the right decision when I divorced Trishelle, took Rosie and left Los Angeles. There was too much drama in that world, too many opportunities to make the wrong choices, the kind that could cost me my kid. My career.
As soon as I made it back to my hotel room, I called Rosie. “Hey Princess, how are you?”
“Hi Daddy! I’m good, and I’m behaving for Mr. Ollie. Me and Nurse Gus are making cookies. With chocolate and gummies and sours.”
I winced at her list and shook my head. “Sounds delicious.”
Rosie giggled. “Nurse Gus said it sounds gross, but princesses are the boss so I got to choose.”
“Did she?”
“Uh-huh. And we made hero sandwiches for dinner. I got to pick what I wanted too, like a big girl.”
I smiled as Rosie talked until she was breathless, telling me about her entire day in fifteen minute increments. “Sounds like you’re having fun without me.”
“I miss you Daddy, but you’ll be back tomorrow, right?”
“You know I can’t stay away from you for too long, Princess.”
“I know,” she shouted and then gasped. “My cookies are done, Daddy. Gotta go!” The phone fell to the ground and I heard Ollie groan.
“That girl of yours has more energy than ten children. God love her, but if I could bottle that energy and sell it, I’d be a rich man. Rich enough to split the proceeds with you.” He let out a rusty laugh that made me smile.
“Thanks again, Ollie.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Augusta. She showed up after her shift and she’s been helping me all day. Not sure if it’s because she doesn’t trust me with her, or if she wants to spend time with me. Either way, I’ll take it.”
“Did she say that she doesn’t trust you with Rosie?”
“No,” he grunted. “But she must have better things to do than help her old man babysit.”
“Emphasis on old, Ollie. Maybe she was worried you’d overdo it with Rosie, and it sounds like she was right to worry. You sound exhausted.”
“I’m always exhausted,” he insisted. “I’m old.”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Hearing my daughter’s voice and talking to Ollie, were just more signs that I did the right thing by moving back to Jackson’s Ridge. Where else could my little girl have a surrogate grandfather happy to pitch in at the last minute to help out? She was thriving in my hometown, and so was I. I needed the reassurance after my run in with my ex-wife, and I got that with just one phone call to Jackson’s Ridge.
It was fun to do these small trips to get a taste of the life I gave up, to spend a little time in someone else’s kitchen and make a little cash in the process. It was a nice little vacation, but I couldn’t wait to get back to Rosie.
To Jackson’s Ridge.
To Augusta.
