She’d served as a judge on The Best New Bartender in New York since the show’s inception five years ago. Byron had emailed her late one night, his note arriving when Carly was having trouble sleeping as a baby. Julia had nursed her, but Carly was fussy, so Clay had been rocking her back to sleep. There, in the dark of their West Village home, sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed, she’d read Clay the email, and they’d tossed out names of cocktails into the wee hours.
What started as a fun little game had surprisingly turned into a real thing. Clay, with his experience and contacts in the entertainment business, had inked the deal for her. The show became a fast and steady hit on one of the premiere cable networks.
The best part? The hours. Julia only needed to be on camera a few times a week when the show was being shot, so it didn’t interfere with her work running Speakeasy or, more importantly, taking care of her girl. Julia’s various gigs made it possible for her to spend time with her daughter, to take her to pre-school and pick her up and soon to kindergarten, to bring her to the park and play, and take her to gymnastics classes and camp, since Carly was wildly energetic, like a border collie in little girl form.
“What are you going to do, Mom? Are you going to come up with the best recipe ever?”
“You know,” she said, as they strolled and Ace sniffed at stoops, “I think I am.”
Carly clasped her hands together, batting her big eyes innocently. “Can I help? Pretty please?”
Julia laughed and shook her head as they came to a stop at the corner, Ace plopping down on his bottom in a sit as they waited for the light to change.
“You know well and good that you may not help me make drinks, Miss Mischievous. What I do for a living is not something for young kids to play with.”
“Can we make cookies then?”
“I can’t think of a thing I’d rather do than bake cookies tonight with my little pumpkin pie,” she said, since cookies were most definitely a recipe they could partake in together in the kitchen.
They stopped by the Thai restaurant near their home, and Carly popped in, picking up the takeout order as Julia waited outside with the dog. When they returned to their home, they enjoyed a fine meal of pad thai and noodles on the balcony overlooking the Village.
As they finished, Ace’s furry black and white ears pricked, following a noise that sounded like a faint meow. Julia peered in the direction of her neighbor’s balcony and spotted a tiger cat.
She stroked Ace’s head. “Nothing to worry about, Ace. That’s just your cat friend, Fido.”
Carly popped up from her chair, looking around for the cat. “Mom, do Spencer and Charlotte know their cat is on the balcony? We should tell them. Want me to go tell them?”
Julia shook her head and pointed. “Fido has his harness on. See?”
Carly stared at the cat on the brick balcony. A long leash was attached to his harness, and the leash was likely tied to a table leg inside their home. Their neighbors, a newly married couple, liked to let their cat enjoy some evenings outside, albeit safe and sound, thanks to the leash.
Julia took her daughter’s hand, headed inside, and closed the balcony door. In the kitchen, the two of them proceeded to whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
“These are the best in Manhattan,” Julia declared and Carly agreed, her “yes” chased by a long, hearty yawn.
“Time for bed, Miss Mischievous.”
A little later, when Carly was asleep, Julia riffled through the cupboards for her best top-shelf liquor.
With a bottle of tequila, some of her favorite gin, and a fantastic vodka as her options, she set to work on her own potions. She might be a bar owner, and she might be a TV show judge, but at her core she was a drink maker, and she knew how to mix with the best of them.
She sampled a few combinations, took some notes, and made a list of what she needed to work on tomorrow. With Carly safe in bed, Julia took Ace outside the front door for one last pee break, then returned to their home, where the dog trotted into Carly’s room and curled up next to her. Julia headed up the stairs to the bedroom on the loft level, rinsed off the day in a hot, steamy shower, and slipped under the covers. Tiredness threaded through her, and she checked her phone, finding a note from Clay, letting her know that his business dinner was still going on.
Clay: Still thinking about my tongue between your legs.
She smiled, his note turning her on, as notes from her husband always did.
Julia: Do more than think about it when you get home. Do everything possible to wake me up, even if it means going down on me while I’m asleep. I do like to wake up to you eating me.