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Author of magical, sensual romance |
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Melani Blazer |
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Copyright © MELANI BLAZER, 2005. Ivory Keys was supposedly in the John Hancock Building. About ninety-five floors up.
I wore skyscraper heels and a skirt that looked much shorter than it did the last time I wore it. This meant I would have to watch my posture when I leaned over to take a shot.
This was like showing up at prom without a date. My oversized bag and I approached the tiny podium and stood in line behind a couple who were attached at the hip.
This was not a place to start that window-shopping Hayley talked about. I couldn’t believe I listened to that. Still, this was work. I had to concentrate on work. All this dating nonsense was taking over my thoughts everywhere and it had to stop.
The restaurant smelled like a slice of heaven. A steamy warmth that only came from a well-working kitchen wrapped itself around me like a mink stole.
I sniffed the tang of tomatoes and garlic and the memory-inducing aroma of fresh baked pies. The main room was all black and white with giant splashes of red. Reminded me of black and white photographs with one color wash. Striking. Effective. Certainly different than anything else I’d seen in the city.
A light tinkling radiated through the hidden overhead speakers. Gentle piano music soothed and enticed. The whole aura was awesome. I couldn’t wait to read the review of this place. If the food were edible, it’d be a smash hit. And it was up to me to capture it on film.
“Ma’am? Are you meeting someone?”
The host—dressed in tails, so perhaps I should call him a maitre ‘d—interrupted my awestruck appraisal of the place. “Oh, uh, I’m Jill Anthony from the Daily Digest. I’m meeting with Mr. Roberts.”
“Ah, Ms. Anthony. Pleased to meet you. I was told the newspaper was sending someone, but I wasn’t expecting you.” He looked me up and down. I could only guess that meant I passed dress code. Phew.
He offered me his arm and escorted me to the back of the restaurant and to the kitchens. There a man in a tall chef hat gestured for me to follow him. “Johann Roberts.” He stuck out a small, wrinkled but firm hand once we were back in a little cubbyhole office. “Glad to see you.”
“My pleasure. I can’t wait to come back and try out your food here. I think I’m sold already based on sights and sounds.”
He nodded. The smile on his face deepened the wrinkles that hinted of a childhood spent someplace sunny. His eyes had disappeared into little creases. I had to smile back at the pure emotion written there.
“A sample plate to go then, yes? And I don’t take no for an answer. Just tell everyone to visit us?”
I didn’t tell him I’d be doing that anyway. “What sort of pictures did you have in mind for the article?” I liked to get an idea of what the boss thought would best showcase the attributes of his business.
“Have you met George?”
Um, who? I shook my head. “Just your uh, host.”
Little wrinkles crinkled at the corners of his coffee black eyes. “He’s certainly no George. I’ll introduce you. He’s our pianist. One of them, but certainly the most popular, especially with the ladies. You’ll want some pictures of him, absolutely. And perhaps of the kitchen—it is more than functional—it’s appealing to the eye.”
“And I saw you there, do you really cook?”
“Absolutely, that’s my primo love and how I ended up managing here. Most of the time I’m in the kitchen and let Jack, that’s who brought you in here, run the place. He’s bulldog outside, poodle inside. But don’t tell him I say that.” He guffawed at his own funny. I could do nothing except join in.
“You can be assured, Mr. Roberts, that I won’t be disturbing your diners. I wanted to come early to stay out of people’s way.”
“I expect people will be more curious than annoyed. But I should get back to the kitchen and you should get to snapping your camera. Let me know before you leave.”
I grinned. I’d have to sneak a peak at the menu to see if I could afford to eat here more than once a year. I liked it already.
The kitchen was awesome. Stainless steel and white and glass, all in harmony. All the kitchen staff were male. All wore matching aprons and chef hats. I stood at the doorway and found the music wasn’t made only at the piano—the place sang in orchestrated harmony.
A couple of food shots and then Mr. Roberts bustled up beside me and snagged my elbow. “It’s time for George’s break. Good time to get his portrait.”
The music had faded and had been replaced by the dim hum of patrons with the occasional clank of silverware on china. This was going well. I was nearly done.
Oh my. George.
I was convinced upon seeing him that he had to have a mile long last name that ended with “-polous” or something. His dark hair and thick eyebrows screamed his Greek heritage. I figured none other than Zeus was his father. No one else could have a son that perfect. My eyes lingered as they ventured downward and even noticed his feet.
Bad, bad, Jill.
“You see? He is very photogenic, yes?”
“Y-y-yes. Where’d you find him?” I couldn’t imagine him being real. He was that beautiful.
“George,” Mr. Roberts called.
The musician turned on his seat and flashed us the most dazzling smile I’d seen yet.
And I didn’t have my camera ready.
“Great playing, son.” Mr. Roberts slapped him on the back and pulled me over. He stood there with his arms around both of us, grinning.
Uh-oh. This felt like a setup. My hands got all clammy and I slid my legs together to keep my knees from knocking.
“George, this is Jill. She’s taking pictures for the newspaper. I want her to take a few of you—just in case.”
He just smiled. He so knew he was a magnet. Babe magnet. And even I wasn’t immune.
But hey, why should I be? I could flirt, take some shots, enjoy the Adonis look and then go home with nothing more than a beefy story for Hayley.
“So vhat do you vant me to do?”
I nearly burst out laughing. Mr. Roberts did. George had the Transylvania accent down pat. I liked him already. After clearing my throat and shrugging my shoulders to loosen up, I directed him. “Just sit at the piano, but look at me. Put your fingers on the keys as if you’re playing.” Nice long fingers began playing a light lullaby. I was entranced. He could use those fingers to play me to sleep, I was sure.
Before I totally lost my composure I yanked out the camera with black and white film and started snapping. I was in the zone.
There was this certain plateau one reached—they use it a lot to talk about sports people when they were right on in their game. Well, I was there. I felt it. It was practically…orgasmic when it happened.
“Mr. Roberts,” I said. “Why don’t you stand up there and look on.”
He complied.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
I hoped like hell I’d brought enough film.
With a few color shots captured I reached out for George’s hand to thank him for being a willing subject. He lifted it to his lips and kissed each of my knuckles.
I melted into a pool of chocolate there on the floor. “Wow,” I murmured to no one in particular. “He should be manning the front desk.”
“Come back and talk to me before you go,” George said in an accentless voice. I’d expected something—especially since Mr. Roberts had a pretty thick one. I knew the first one was a fake. But for all George’s exotic looks, he was an American born and raised.
Feeling my voice wouldn’t work, I nodded and followed the manager off to the various other vantage points of the restaurant.
I hadn’t planned on using so much film. I’d brought enough, to be sure, but usually a restaurant gets a half dozen to a dozen snapshots. Not two whole rolls. Still, I was enrapt. My visual taste buds had found a new dish, and it wasn’t just because of George. He was dessert.
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Reviewed by Susan for eCataromance
BRAND NAME DATES is a totally engrossing, vibrant, and wonderfully written story that is Chick Lit at its best. 5 stars! I loved this book! I couldn’t put it down. Ms. Blazer has created a fabulous story that that will keep you reading and wanting more. She has written each character in a way that is totally compelling and as you follow along with the story you can’t help but become emotionally involved in it. You’ll really want to take Jill and shake her good after a while as she so blindly misses the obvious but boy does it make for a good story and the ending is the best part. The whole story from start to finish is really one of the best I’ve read in a while. BRAND NAME DATES is one story you really shouldn’t miss.
Reviewed by Leigh for Coffee Time Romance
Told in first person, Miss Blazer gives readers in Brand Name Dates an endearing heroine in Jill Anthony. Her crack wit, coupled with a strong supporting player in friend Hayley and a series of situations (particularly Jill’s dealings with the Mother of all mothers), place DATES in league with the best of the chick lit genre out there today. |
