Chapter 25
Monica
“Twelve dollars a pound. For branzino? You’re kidding, right?”
Tony, my seafood wholesaler, shook his balding head.
“It’s been a bad year. The catch was way down, so the prices went up.” He shrugged. “What can I tell you, Monica? Supply and demand. At twelve bucks a pound, I’m practically losing money on that fish.”
“Sure, sure, Tony. I get it. Everybody’s got to make a living. But the median price point for my customers is around twenty dollars a plate. So, at twelve dollars a pound,” I said, glancing at his so-far empty order slip, “branzino isn’t on the menu. And the way your prices have been going up, neither is shrimp, cod, crab, or salmon.
“But, hey, no hard feelings. I understand. I’ll just stick to chicken and beef. Most of my customers prefer it anyway. Or, maybe I’ll give St. Clair Seafood a call. They might be willing to give me a break, a new customer discount or something. But I’ll miss you, Tony. I really will. How many years have we been doing business now? Four? Or is it five?”
Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Eleven fifty a pound.”
I shook my head. “Ten dollars even.”
“Ten seventy-five. Final offer.”
“Ten fifty.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. Ten fifty. You’re killin’ me here, Monica. How am I supposed to keep food on the table selling you branzino at ten fifty a pound, eh?”
“Oh, somehow I think you’ll manage,” I said, looking pointedly at his ample waistline.
Tony started laughing and I grinned. It was the same every week—the sparring, the back-and-forth, the bickering and bargaining. He enjoyed it as much as I did.
“So how much do you need, Monica? Fifteen pounds?”
“Make it twenty. Twenty-five pounds of shrimp. And twenty-two pounds of salmon—filets not steaks.” He wrote down the numbers. “Oh, and listen, Tony, I’m catering this big fund-raiser in June, a dog rescue benefit. Think you could give me a deal on about fifty pounds of salmon?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I like dogs. I’ll do it at cost. Must be a pretty big party if you need fifty pounds.”
“Should be,” I said. “That’s not even counting the vegetarians. We just started advertising and they’ve already sold sixty tickets. It’s a Fairy Dogmother’s Ball. You and Brenda want to come? Should be a fun night. You can bring Bruno.”
Tony looked intrigued. “Dogs are invited? Even St. Bernards?”
“Sure, as long as he doesn’t try to eat the Chihuahuas or anything.”
“Naw. Bruno’s like me, a real marshmallow.” Tony laughed, patting his belly.
“Here, take a look.” I handed him a hot-off-the-press flyer from a stack near the mixer. “Second Saturday in June. It’ll be outside, but we’ll have tents and heaters, just in case the weather doesn’t cooperate. The food, of course, will be fantastic.”
“Seeing as you’re making it,” Tony said.
“Exactly. And we’re going to have a dance band and a costume contest.”
“Dancing, eh?” Tony mused, reading the flyer. “Our anniversary is that weekend—thirty-eight years. Brenda always says I never take her anyplace nice. This might be good. I could get out of buying an anniversary present and get her off my back at the same time.”
“And it’s tax-deductible. Which, you know, always adds that extra touch of romance.” I grinned. “Take it home to Brenda and see what she says. Tell you what, I’ll send you home with some cheesecake to sweeten her up.
“Hey, Ben,” I said as my sous-chef walked in the door, “can you wrap up a couple of pieces of cheesecake for Tony to take with him?”
“Sure,” he said, then gestured toward the dining room. “Luke Pascal is in there. He brought the new tables and stuff.”
“Already? I didn’t think they’d be done for another two weeks. Tell him it’s fine. I’ll be out there in a minute.”
Tony handed me a pen so I could sign the purchase order.
“Monica, you okay? Your hand is shaking.”
“I’m just tired,” I said, yawning and waving off his concern simultaneously. “Dining month was great—brought in a ton of new customers—but keeping up was a killer. Now the kids have all their spring activities—Zoe’s on the dance team and Alex has cross-country, so I’m hauling them back and forth to practices and meets and trying to run a business at the same time. Plus, I’ve got this big fund-raiser coming up and I’m catering a wedding the week after next.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just too busy.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Tony said, shaking his head. “You cook, run a business, raise a family—and you’re gorgeous.” He sighed. “If only I was twenty years younger . . .”
I flapped my hand at him. “Bah. More like thirty. And if you were, paisano, I’m sure you’d figure out a way to break my heart like all the rest of them. Besides, what would I want with a broken-down old fish salesman who never takes his wife anyplace nice?”
Tony grinned, slipped his pen back into his shirt pocket, and picked up the container of cheesecake Ben had placed on the counter.
“Monica, you’re a good girl,” he said, and patted my cheek. “You take care of yourself. See you next week.”
“See you next week. Tell Brenda I said hello.”
* * *
Ben and a couple of the dishwashers helped bring the tables and banquettes in from Luke’s truck. After the guys hauled out the old stuff, Luke and I arranged the new furniture.
“Take a load off,” Luke said once the seating was in place. “I can do the rest.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. I sank down onto the closest banquette bench and ran my hand over the luscious, rich, honey-colored wood. “It’s so smooth,” I said. “It’s like silk. How do you do that?”
“Pick a really good piece of wood and then sand it and sand it and sand it some more,” he said, picking up one of the smaller, two-seater tables, then setting it in a corner and pulling two chairs up next to it.
“It’s beautiful. Exactly what I wanted—real furniture, like you’re having dinner in somebody’s home instead of a restaurant. But how’d you finish so quickly? You said it’d be two more weeks.”
“Well,” Luke said, grunting as he hefted one of the larger tables. “I’d rather promise late and deliver early than the other way around. And I’ve got another couple of orders behind yours, so I was motivated—a standup desk for an architect and a very custom, carved sleigh bed for a couple in the West Hills.”
“Oooh,” I cooed. “Sounds fancy. I hope you’re charging them an arm and a leg.”
“Not an arm and a leg,” he smiled. “But it’ll be a good project for me and they have a lot of friends, so, hopefully, it’ll lead to other orders.”
“Sounds like you’re off to a good start. I’m glad.”
“Me too. So, how’ve you been?”
“Fine. Busy. You know how it is.”
He placed another two-seater next to the first table, lining them up, then pulling out a tape measure to make certain there was sixteen inches between the tables. Some restaurants put their tables twelve, even ten inches apart, but I like to give my customers a little breathing room.
“How are ticket sales going for the Dogmother’s Ball?”
“Good,” I said. “Sold sixty so far. I was worried at first—new event and all, you never know how it’ll go until you do. But Bob designed these cute flyers—”
“Bob?”
“Bob Smith, Alex’s cross-country coach and advisor. He also teaches tech. Not only did he design the flyers and posters, he got some of his students to make a website for us where people can buy tickets online. Saved us all kinds of headaches doing it that way and the kids got extra credit—everybody wins.”
“Bob sounds like a good guy.”
“He’s a good coach too. Alex shaved a full minute off his 5K this season. And Bob drops him off at the house after practice, which is a big help. Saves me a trip at my busiest time of day. It’s good for Alex too. Bob’s a good influence.”
While I’d been talking, Luke added two more tables to the lineup under the windows. Now he crossed the room and started repeating the process on the long wall, near the gas fireplace I’d installed over the winter.
There’s something so romantic about dining in front of a fire. We’d already had three proposals in front of that fireplace. In fact, the wedding I was catering later in the month was for the first couple to become engaged in the glow of that fireplace.
That was the really good part about my job, the part I truly loved. Running a restaurant was more work than I could ever have imagined, but it was worth it because I got to be part of my customers’ lives. When I did my job right, my restaurant was more than a restaurant—it was the place memories were made, happy ones. I couldn’t think of a better reason to go to work every day.
Luke put the final two small tables in place.
“Thank you. It all looks so beautiful.”
“Thank you for being my first order.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down, puffing a little. It was a lot of work for one person. If I’d had more energy, I’d have insisted on helping. But I woke up at six and hadn’t stopped since. In another hour, we’d open for dinner. I needed a break.
“So how’s everybody else?” he asked. “Support group still going strong?”
“Oh, yes. Everybody’s good. Nan will get her sling off just in time for the ball. She was a little annoyed to be immobilized for the spring gardening season, but Malcolm rototilled the vegetable patch and helped harvest the asparagus. Crisis averted.
“We met at Grace’s condo last week, first time ever. You wouldn’t believe what she’s done with the place—and for practically nothing. Well . . . five hundred dollars. It’s still pretty impressive.
“But, you probably don’t want to hear about that,” I said, remembering what Grace had told me about Luke showing up with flowers on the day she’d been fired, how she’d shut down his not-so-subtle hint about getting together again. “I’m sorry about the whole matchmaker thing. I just thought you two might hit it off. You might have if the circumstances had been different. But in retrospect it was kind of a dumb idea.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I really am too pushy,” I said, my mind flitting to Dr. Dreamboat, who I would probably never hear from again. “I’ve really got to work on that. Hey, were you able to find a partner for your dance class?”
He shook his head. “Maybe someday. They run new sessions every couple of months. I’m busy, so it’s probably just as well. But tell me about Grace’s place,” he said, shifting his weight forward and putting one elbow on the table. “Why’d she suddenly decide to dive into redecorating?”
I told him all about what had happened after he’d called to give me the heads-up about Grace needing a friend on the day she’d been fired. I told him about the cannoli and our very frank conversation. I told him about what a wreck her place had been before my visit and the complete transformation Grace had wrought in just a few days and that it seemed to extend to Grace herself.
“See?” Luke said. “Sometimes it’s good to be pushy. Sometimes that’s what friends do.”
“Well, if that’s true, then I’m the best friend on the planet. But I really think it’s helping her deal with her grief. That and the quilt—the one she’s making from Jamie’s old clothes.”
“Grace makes quilts?”
“Among other things. Grace is super crafty. Remember that dress she was wearing when you met her?”
“The one with those crazy flamingos?” Luke asked, smiling curiously.
“Made it herself,” I informed him. “Once upon a time, Grace sewed all her own clothes. But wait, I haven’t even told you the best part yet. She dug out her old machine and some fabric that she brought from Minnesota—I bet she has sixty or seventy yards, when it comes to fabric she’s practically a hoarder—and made a brand-new dress for a homeless girl who lives in the neighborhood.”
“You’re kidding. That was really nice of her. Probably good for her, too, therapeutic. But you said she only had two months of severance, right? Has she started looking for a job yet?”
“Yup, as of this morning, she has two.”
“Two?”
I was about to launch into the story when the door to the kitchen swung open and Ben stuck his head out.
“Chef, what do you want me to do with that salmon?”
“What do you think I want you to do with it?” I spat, rolling my eyes. “Take it to the movies? Filet it!”
“Hey!” Ben barked. “I’m not a mind reader, you know. Last week you wanted to roast it whole, two days ago you chunked it up for risotto.” Ben glowered at me. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a real witch lately. If you want to fire me, then go ahead and do it. Because I do not need this crap.”
“Okay, okay.” I sighed and held up both hands. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Just filet the fish, please. We’re going to keep it simple tonight—grilled with a balsamic glaze.”
“Fine,” Ben said, though his tone of voice said otherwise. “We open in less than an hour.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I said, trying and failing to keep the edge from creeping back into my voice. I didn’t need Ben reminding me of the time.
Ben disappeared behind the door. I could hear him yelling, taking out his frustration on the rest of the staff.
“You should go,” Luke said.
He was right and I knew it. But I also knew that it was Friday, that the reservation book was full, and that for the next five and a half hours, I’d be on my feet, so busy I wouldn’t even have time for a bathroom break. It was going to be a long night. Before I was ready to face it, I just needed to rest a few more minutes. Besides, I was the boss here, not Ben, and the story of Grace’s two jobs—not to mention my role in helping her secure them—was too good not to share.
“In a sec. Anyway, Grace phoned me this morning, before the alarm went off. If she hadn’t been so excited, I probably would have slugged her,” I said, then went on and told him the rest of the story, or tried to. Luke interrupted me more than once with questions.
Just as I finished, Nan came breezing through the door, accompanied by Blixen and Nelson. I got up and gave her a hug, asked her if she wanted something to eat.
“No, no,” she said. “We’re on our way to the park. I just thought I’d pop in and say hello, see how the ticket sales are coming.”
“Sixty so far,” I reported proudly.
“Sixty!” she exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! Bob’s flyers are really doing the trick. When you see him, be sure to tell him I said thanks.”
“Will do. Have you met Luke Pascal yet? I told you about him,” I said, not mentioning the Grace connection but seeing a flicker of recognition in her eyes, “he built all our new tables. Luke, this is Nan Wilja.”
“I was about to say how beautiful everything looked,” Nan replied, reaching out to shake Luke’s hand.
As Nan and Luke exchanged pleasantries, Ben stuck his head out of the kitchen and growled, “Chef. Thirty minutes.”
“My master’s voice,” I said, faking a laugh to cover my irritation.
I knew what time it was. If it hadn’t been so close to opening, and if Nan and Luke hadn’t been standing there, I’d have had it out with Ben then and there.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” I asked, looking at Nan and Luke in turn. “We’ve got eggplant parmesan on special today. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Can’t. I’m meeting Malcolm for dinner at six.” Nan reached into her pocket for her car keys. Both dogs got up from the floor, tails wagging. “See you Monday,” she said, then gave me a hug and said goodbye.
“I should go too,” Luke said, his head turning as Nan walked out the door.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Let me wrap something up for you to take with you. It’s the least I can do after all your hard work.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to run,” he said.
“Twenty-eight minutes!” Ben’s voice bellowed.
“All right, already!” I bellowed back, yelling toward the kitchen door. “When I need the time, I’ll ask for it!”
I turned around, ready to apologize to Luke for my outburst, but he was already gone.