Page 65 of The Husband Diet
I looked at Julian desperately, and he said, ‘It’s a seizure.’
I repeated the information to the operator.
The sight of that poor girl made me cringe. Never had I seen someone in such a state, but Julian acted swiftly, like he knew what he was doing. Then she fainted. Or I hoped.
He turned her onto her side and then set her back to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I stared at him as he touched her throat for a pulse, lowered his face to her naked breasts and listened, then began all over again. After a moment, he placed one hand on top of the other on her chest and pushed in short, rapid shoves.
Juan still lay sprawled in the corner on the floor, still bawling like a baby. That sure was a deterrent from betrayal to anyone.
‘Juan, what’s her name?’ Julian demanded, but all Juan could do was hold his head in his hands.
‘Juan!’ he shouted. ‘Her name!’
‘I don’t know!’ he exclaimed. ‘I think she said Lola.’
Holy crap. Juan, whom everyone thought was happily married. He even had children, for Christ’s sake. And he’d brought her into his own home? What the hell was happening to the world? I should listen to my instincts more often. And now here I was, having to clean up after his marital indiscretions, as if I didn’t have my own problems. I only hoped this poor girl would make it. And that Rita would be strong enough to face this.
After what seemed like forever, the wail of an ambulance filled the air and in no time, paramedics spilled into the house with a stretcher, asking Julian all kinds of questions, which he promptly answered.
‘Sir, you may have well saved this woman’s life,’ one informed him gravely.
‘So she’s going to be OK?’ I asked.
The poor girl looked wasted. I cringed at the thought of her mother receiving the news.
‘She’s coming to,’ one of the paramedics said as they hauled the gurney into the back of the ambulance and disappeared.
Julian turned to me and I sagged with relief. Juan went back inside and threw himself on the sofa in his droopy underwear. Not a good sight. And to think that this man had served me food.
‘Thank you, Julian,’ I moaned as I pulled him close to kiss him smack on the mouth.
He tasted yummy – good enough to eat. And then I remembered my Europeans.
‘Crap!’ I screamed. ‘I have to go take care of my twelve guests!’
It was like The Last supper, or at least it would be for me if I couldn’t pull this off. I whipped out my cellphone and started barking orders at my sous-chef, Walter.
‘Get Hank in pronto. Tell him Juan’s ill and he’s got ten minutes to get his butt to the hotel, otherwise it’s his job! And get Marie and Angie to start dicing vegetables. And make sure you pull out the right cut of meat.’ Then I hung up and huffed.
Julian was looking at me.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But the show must go on.’
Julian escorted me back to his jeep and closed the door for me.
‘Lucky for you, I’m a great cook.’ He grinned.
We barely made it. The delegation was fifteen minutes late, which gave us the time we needed. As it turned out, Julian really was a good cook – and fast, too. He expertly cut the meat and seasoned the vegetables as I ran around giving my staff orders. Still, I didn’t miss his furtive glances at me. I couldn’t tell if he was scared or impressed. This was one side of me he’d never seen. But he, too, was extremely efficient. He worked quickly and quietly, except to communicate his timing. Gordon Ramsay would have loved him.
‘You’re hired,’ I beamed, and he smiled and shrugged. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
He grinned. ‘There is one thing.’
‘Done!’ I exulted.
‘Seriously. I’d like to learn how to cook Italian food. Would you teach me?’
‘You want me to teach you to cook Italian food?’
