“Was it just the two of you?” John propped his fingers into a tent.
“Yes.”
“Did you have dinner?” He added a nod.
“You know I did. I’m reviewing the restaurant.” Al sensed a trap.
“So you told her what you do? She knew you were on the clock?”
“No.” Al rolled his eyes.
“Then you went to Summerfest to watch a band?”
“Yes.”
“Did you meet any other people?”
“No, but it wasn’t a . . .” Al sat up straighter.
“Hang on.” John held his hand up. “Did you kiss?”
Al paused, remembering the near miss. “No.”
“There was a pause—what was the pause for?” John pointed at Al as if catching him with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Nothing. We almost kissed, but it didn’t happen. It wasn’t a date.” He slumped back into the office chair.
“Did you slip her the hot beef—”
“Mate, watch it. I assure you, the answer is no, and even if it wasn’t, I’m not about to discuss it like we’re in a secondary school locker room.”
“I was gonna say sandwich. There are great hot beef sandwiches at Summerfest. Way to go to the gutter.”
Al smiled at John’s cover-up. The guy was growing on him. Plus, he’d read all John’s articles in the paper’s archives. Under the sloppy, hairy exterior dwelt an astute critic of all things style and culture. He understood fashion so well, why he continued to break every fashion rule with his own appearance baffled Al, but he’d figure it out soon enough.
“Quite right,” Al said. “I need to finish typing my notes from the Good Land visit now. Shh.”
Al spun back around to his computer monitor and returned to deciphering his loo-scrawled notes. He could barely read them, but the inconvenience had been well worth it. Dining with Lou beat dining alone any day. She clearly loved food, ate everything, and understood that if you didn’t like a food, it didn’t mean the dish wasn’t successful. If you focused on the flavors and textures, you could break a dish down into definable components. By analyzing the components, you could decide whether the dish worked or didn’t.
And sometimes, when a chef understood each ingredient so completely, down to its roots, he or she could create something wholly new and complete, the culinary equivalent of alchemy, and almost as elusive. But when it happened, the diner could taste and feel that chef’s love and passion in the food. Al searched for and craved these experiences, and he’d gotten one on Saturday night from Lou’s friend Chef Tom.
“Al, come to my office for a minute,” Hannah said, interrupting his thoughts.
Al put his computer into sleep mode and followed Hannah to her office. He didn’t trust John to not do something in his absence. He’d already changed his desktop twice to lewd Photoshopped pictures of the Queen. Al ran through his last few reviews, trying to imagine why Hannah needed to talk to him. He hadn’t libeled any restaurants or chefs. In fact, all the reviews were positive. He’d finally found some good restaurants.
Hannah walked around her desk and picked up a handful of papers to hand to Al.
“These are the latest letters we’ve received,” said Hannah. Al scanned them, picking out a few phrases: “Wodyski really helped me pick the perfect restaurant” and “I learned so much about Thai food, I can’t wait to try it.” Al looked up at Hannah, his eyebrows scrunched together.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“It’s hard to believe, but you are getting even more letters. I thought since you’ve started being less critical, people would get bored. Your writing changed.” Hannah looked at him closely, trying to find the difference. “Perhaps you’ve changed? Whatever is different, keep it up.”
Al stood still, shocked by what she’d said. Was he different? He didn’t feel different. And if he was different, why? And how?
“Now, out.” Hannah shooed him out with a wave of her hand, already looking at her computer monitor and mousing with the other hand.
Al stepped out into the hallway and returned to his desk but couldn’t get Hannah’s words out of his mind.
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN •
As she briefed the staff on the evening’s service, Sue looked at Lou, checking to see whether she’d make a dash for the restroom. She’d told Sue and Harley about her decision earlier, before the rest of the staff arrived. She’d visited the bathroom twice since then. Billy kept peeking at her stomach, searching for a nonexistent baby bump.
Lou looked at each employee, trying to memorize their unsuspecting faces. They didn’t know that in a few minutes she’d tell them their jobs would end soon. Billy and his partner had just bought a small house and were hoping to adopt. Tyler’s car was in the shop again. Most of the busboys sent money back to family in Mexico, every dollar making a huge difference to little sisters and brothers, parents and grandparents.
She accepted her decision, knew it made sense, but her body rejected it. Thus the vomiting, cold sweats, and wet lashes.
Sue finished the daily specials. It was now or never. Lou stood. Sue sat down, nodding encouragement at her. She sipped her ice water and cleared her throat.
“I’m sure a lot of you have noticed business is slower. I’ve tried to schedule fewer waiters per shift so your tips wouldn’t suffer too much.”
Lou took another sip of water and a deep breath.
“I’ve worked the numbers every possible way, but there’s no way I can keep the restaurant open past New Year’s. I’ll probably close sooner than that.”
During the staff’s murmured shock and muttered no’s, Lou’s throat threatened to seal itself shut. More ice water didn’t do much to help.
“So, I’d like you all to start finding new jobs. We have a little bit of time, so hold out for a good position. I’ve written each of you a wonderful recommendation, which I’ll hand out after the meeting.”
Lou just let the tears fall.
“I want you all to know you’ve been my family and will always be my family. I can’t imagine a day when I don’t see your faces, hear your jokes, listen to your stories. I will keep the restaurant open until you all find good, new jobs or until the bank forces me out. Whichever comes first. I’m so sorry I messed up. I’ve got a few calls in to some friends with good restaurants, like The Good Land. I want you all to know how much your support and friendship mean to me. These past few months have been rough. Without you all, I probably wouldn’t be sober most days. So thank you.”
Lou turned around to wipe her face dry on her apron. Before she could turn back, arms surrounded her. Voices said, “We love you,” “It’s not your fault,” “Screw Wodyski,” and “We aren’t going anywhere.” She was quite sure this last one was Harley. He and Sue had insisted they would stay with her until the bank knocked down the front door.
Sue broke through the sentimental moment with one brisk “Get to work, people,” and the staff scattered to ready their stations for open. Sue handed Lou a clean napkin and pushed her toward the Lair.
Relieved to have the restaurant’s fate known to their staff, Lou used the Lair’s solitude to calm her tense nerves. As usual, her staff’s reaction exceeded her expectations—all love and support, no blame.
Lou sat at the desk, admiring the beautiful painting Al had given her. She had hung it above her desk so she could see it often. It never failed to improve her day. Lou checked her phone, thrilled to see she had a voice mail, then crushed to see the missed call came from Devlin.
Delete.
She opened the top drawer and pulled out the engagement ring he’d given her. She’d had it appraised. Emerald-cut, just under two carats, with a platinum band from Tiffany. A jeweler had offered her fifteen thousand, though it was worth twice that. It would pay rent for a few months.