French Quarter Kisses. Zuri Day
why are you acting like you’re seeing him for the first time?”
“This is different. He isn’t at a television studio in New York. He’s here, in our city. Almost close enough for me to touch. Which I would if there was any chance that I could snag a reservation.”
“I read where there’s a huge waiting list, so good luck with that.”
“Yeah, I saw it posted on their website. But there’s got to be a way to not have to wait three months for a table.”
“Probably, if you have the right connections.”
Roz turned back to her computer and the internet research she’d conducted for a month-long series, “Hurricane Katrina Survivors: Where Are They Now?” Solid, serious journalism about a local catastrophe from which even now, more than a dozen years later, the city was still recovering. Amid recent devastating hurricanes like Sandy, Maria and Harvey, Katrina remained the deadliest and costliest one in America’s history.
“Do you think Brooke got one?”
“Of course.”
“If I know her MO, they’ll be dating within the month.”
“At least in her mind. Everyone watching TV knows she wants to taste him.” Roz delivered the line in Brooke’s signature drawl, causing Ginny to break out laughing.
“Can’t say I blame her. He could cook for me anytime. And not just in the kitchen. Do you think he has a girlfriend?”
“Who?”
“Mickey Mouse, Roz. Who do you think?”
Again Roz glanced at the mounted TV screen as a handsome, smiling Pierre accepted a key to the city before walking into his restaurant with a sold-out crowd of hungry-looking patrons in tow.
“He’s very handsome, I’ll give him that. Probably has several girlfriends.”
Ginny’s look turned wistful as she rested her chin in her palm. “I’d love to be one of them.”
“Along with...her?”
“Who?”
Both women turned around as their editor-in-chief entered the room. A visionary with a Mohawk haircut and a penchant for tattoos, Andy O’Connor had relocated to the Big Easy ten years prior, but his East Coast accent wasn’t the only reminder of his New York birthplace. He preferred chowder to gumbo, soft rock to cool jazz, and when cut, his blood ran Yankee blue. Everyone adored him.
“Who?” he asked again, reaching for a chip from Roz’s bag and munching loudly.
Roz gave him a look. “Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” It was said with a wink as he grabbed a handful.
“We’re talking about Brooke Evans making an unprofessional public pass at Pierre LeBlanc,” Ginny said. “I think he should be a feature next week.”
“Should have been this week,” Andy replied. “Next week the restaurant opening will be old news.”
“True, but he won’t.”
“Can’t argue with that, Gin.” Andy swiveled a chair around and straddled it, facing its back. “What would be your angle?”
She shrugged. “The restaurant. His menu. How it feels to be a celebrity chef.”
Andy turned to Roz. “What about you?”
“What about me what?”
“What kinds of questions would you ask the city’s hometown golden boy?”
“So he’s from New Orleans, or just lived here before?”
“Born here,” Ginny said confidently. “I checked.”
“I’m sure you’ve Googled him from here to heaven,” Andy said to Ginny with a laugh.
“Absolutely. There’s a ton of stuff online about his professional life. But very little personal information.”
Roz picked up a pen and idly tapped it against the desk. “Since he’s from here, I’d ask why he moved to Houston to learn about New Orleans cuisine. And since I’m preparing the series for next month’s anniversary, I’d ask him about Katrina. How it affected him and his family. If that was the reason he moved to Houston. How does the New Orleans he returned to compare to the town he left? There’ll be enough stories on his culinary prowess and celebrity stats. My focus would be on the man behind the food.”
“That’s an excellent angle,” Andy said as he rose from the chair. “One I expect you to cover in the first series piece.”
Ginny’s jaw dropped. Roz’s, too.
“Wait! Doing a story on him was my idea.”
“It was Ginny’s idea,” Roz parroted. “She should do the story. She’s already done research. Religiously watched his TV show. Aside from him being a chef and spokesperson for the energy drink, I know nothing about the guy and could care even less.”
“Which is why you’re the perfect one to cover him. No bias. Besides, I’ve got something else for you, Gin.”
“What?” Ginny unashamedly crossed her arms and pouted as though she were two.
“Football.”
“The Saints?”
Andy nodded. “Preseason coverage. I’ve got tickets to the home games, but—”
“Who dat! What? I’m all in.”
“I thought you might be. You’re the only person I know who likes football more than food.”
“Wait a minute. I like football, too.” Roz looked at Ginny. “Sure you don’t want to switch?”
“Positive,” she replied, her voice filled with pure glee. “Pierre’s hot, but he’s not the breeze.”
“So...everybody’s happy?” Andy smiled as he eyed Roz’s not-so-happy frown on his way out of the room. “Everybody in the country is loving LeBlanc right now,” he told her. “Write something great.”
Roz wasn’t pleased with her assignment, but after sending inquiries for information and an interview to Pierre’s publicist, Cathy Weiss, she spent the next couple weeks on the July articles that had been approved. Crime had increased with the heat index. City Hall was in the middle of another political scandal.
On a lighter note, the whole city united behind eight-year-old child prodigy Zach Johnson, whose keyboard mastery made him America’s New Star on the hit TV talent show, with a first prize of a recording contract and half a million dollars. The youngest of seven being raised by a single mother, who’d taken in four more children after her sister died, he and his life-changing win were front page news on NO Beat and some national papers, too. Roz met with the entire family for an interview and photo shoot. They were a joy. The kind of people she loved to meet, and the type of story she lived to write.
As August neared Roz switched her focus to the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and the four-part “Where Are They Now?” series to mark the event. Wanting to start on a high note, she hoped LeBlanc’s story would fit the topic, was almost certain she could spin it so that it would. Actually got a little excited about meeting the chef. For business purposes only, she always reminded herself, when at the thought of an “up close and personal” her heart did a little step-ball-chage.
But after spending almost the entire month of July trying to contact him for an interview, she found herself stymied. Andy was totally unsympathetic, responding to her woes of the elusive celebrity with “get the story.” She scoured the internet for info, then called the restaurant, emailed