“Good?” Marie laughed. “Pouf, you did an amazing job! How can I ever thank you?”
“Three words: Acorn. Berry. Tart. Acorn berry tart! Remember that!”
As he dashed out the door to the alley, Marie shouted after him, “You got it!”
Toulouse and Berlioz returned, and there was no time to waste. Roquefort happily agreed to act as the customer for their tryout and would be there soon, along with some hungry mouse friends.
Marie popped a tray of cheddar walnut puffs into the oven. They didn’t look exactly like the ones she’d once cooked with Louis, but she hoped they tasted just as good. Berlioz rehearsed on the old piano while Toulouse worked on his mural. As Marie started to wash some old plates she’d found in the kitchen, Berlioz’s voice rang out through the café. He sang about scales and arpeggios.
“Urrrrr!” Marie grumbled. “It sounds like that piano hates the scales and arpeggios. We’re lucky Mama isn’t here.”
“Well, it’s not my fault,” Berlioz replied. “I tried to tune it, but it didn’t help.”
“Could you at least stop playing until we find someone to fix it? It’s really distracting!”
“Toulouse doesn’t seem distracted.” Berlioz pointed at their brother, who was scooping up green paint from a can with his paws.
“You know how he gets when he’s doing art,” Marie said. “He doesn’t pay attention to anything else.”
They both watched Toulouse for a moment. He smeared a blob of the green paint on the wall next to a blob of pink paint.
“Hey, Toulouse!” Berlioz said, moving closer. “What exactly are you painting, anyway? I thought you were going to make it look like a window with a view of the park.”
Toulouse glared at his brother. “Ahem, that is what I’m painting.”
“Really?” Marie asked. “Because it looks like you just splattered colors all over the place.”
“It’s modern art,” Toulouse said, “and it’s better than your music on that broken piano!”
The brothers scowled at each other as Marie looked over the rest of the wall. At the very top of the mural, big letters spelled out THE PAINT PALETTE PâTISSERIE.
“And what’s that?” Marie asked Toulouse, pointing to the letters.
“That’s what I think we should name the café. Do you like it?”
“But this isn’t a café about painting!” Berlioz protested. “Plus, I have a much better idea for the name: the Jazz-a-ma-tazz Pâtisserie.”
Marie and Toulouse exchanged glances.
“That’s too hard to say,” Marie said. “And we might want to play other music besides just jazz.”
“Let me guess,” Berlioz said. “You’ve come up with the perfect name.”
“Well…” Marie began, smiling. “This is a critter café, right? And the food will be tasty. So I was thinking we should name it the Tasty Tails Pâtisserie.”
“Ew,” Toulouse said. “It sounds like we’re baking tails into the food!”
The brothers laughed while Marie sat there, thinking. “Okay, that does sound a little strange. But you don’t have to tease me about it.”
Suddenly, Berlioz stopped giggling and sat up straight. “Hey, do you smell something burning?” he asked.
Marie sniffed the air. “My puffs!” she cried, darting into the kitchen.
When she opened the oven, a cloud of gray smoke billowed out. Marie removed the tray and dropped it on the counter. One of the puffs had caught fire! She blew on it like a birthday candle until the flame went out. But the other puffs were completely black and burnt on the bottom.
Marie sat down on the kitchen floor, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Maybe Pierre was right,” she said, sniffling. “Maybe it’s just too hard to run a café. Especially for us. We can’t do anything without ending up in a fight.”
Berlioz’s tail drooped, and Toulouse shuffled his paws against the floor. The brothers exchanged guilty looks. They both went to their sister.
Berlioz gave Marie a quick, comforting lick on her nose. “I’m sorry I made fun of your name idea.”
“And I’m sorry your puffs got burned,” Toulouse added, nuzzling her. “I’ll paint a better mural, and Berlioz will get that piano fixed. Won’t you, Berlioz?”
Berlioz nodded and said, “Don’t give up yet, Marie. I know we can make this happen.”
Marie wiped away her tears with one paw and looked at her brothers. “Hey, you both said sorry without Mama here to remind you. Maybe we can work as a team.”
“Maybe we just need some helping paws,” Toulouse suggested.
Marie suddenly sat up straight. “Yes, we do! And I know exactly who to ask!”
“I need to go home,” Marie said.
“Why?” Berlioz asked, confused.
“Home is where Alley Cat Parlor is,” Marie continued. “And Alley Cat Parlor is where Louis is. Louis is a chef, get it? He can help me with the menu!”
“Great idea, Marie!” Toulouse exclaimed. “We’ll go with you if you’d like. Teams should stick together.”
Marie thought for a moment. “Right now, I think teamwork means that you keep working on the mural, and, Berlioz, you keep trying to fix the piano. That way we’ll get three things done at once.”
“I like the sound of that,” Berlioz said, and Toulouse nodded in agreement.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Marie told them.
She darted out the secret door and raced home, imagining all the scrumptious café treats Louis could help her make. Once she arrived at Madame’s, she ran straight through the kitty door, past the grand staircase, and down the main hallway, then pushed open the big wooden door to Alley Cat Parlor.
She found Louis curled up on a purple velvet cushion by the fireplace. He was fast asleep, his paws and whiskers twitching.
“Louis,” Marie whispered. When he didn’t wake up, she said his name a bit louder. “Louis!”
One eye blinked open, then the other. “Are you okay, Mademoiselle Marie?” Louis said as he raised his head. “You’re out of breath.”
Marie’s words tumbled out quickly. “I ran all the way here from…Well, this is the first thing I need to tell you: my brothers and I want to open up our own café for the animals of Paris! We’d serve kitty croissants and cheddar walnut puffs and salmon mousse and all the other treats you’ve taught me how to make.”
“Ah, Marie,” Louis said, his eyes shining. “That sounds wonderful.”
“But first we need to pull off a tryout to prove we can do it. And I know we can. It’s just that…well, we could use an extra set of paws and, of course, your expertise as a chef. Monsieur Louis, would you please help us?”
“Help you cook and bake for a café?” Louis paused, thinking. “I haven’t done anything like that in years. Perhaps it’s time.”
“Oh, thank you, Louis!” Marie exclaimed, hugging him. “And just wait until you meet Pierre!”
Louis narrowed his eyes. “Pierre?”
“Our new friend. The café is in the secret basement of Pierre’s humans’ restaurant, the Luxembourg Brasserie. Near the park. It used to be called Le Café des Crea—”
Louis held up a paw, signaling Marie to stop. “I’m sorry. I was mistaken. I can’t help after all.”
“What?”
“I just remembered that—you see, I’m very busy—unfortunately I have somewhere to be right now and I’m already late.”
With that, Louis fled from the room in a flash of black fur.
Marie blinked at the spot where Louis had been sitting. “What just happened?”
Had she offended Louis? Where could he be rushing to? Why would he say he could help, then change his mind so quickly? And what should she do now? If Marie and her brothers failed the tryout, Pierre wouldn’t let them open the café.
She had to think. Marie slunk out of Alley Cat Parlor and went to the one place she knew she could be alone with her thoughts: a special spot that nobody else knew about.