Chapter Two - Danny
I consult my notes carefully as I fill out the food orders for the week, making adjustments and calculations. We can halve the turkey order since it’s not in any of the specials for the upcoming week, but it looks like we’re going to need more than three times our standard potato order for the soups I have lined up. I reread every recipe for every special and promotion this week, wanting to make sure everything is in perfect order. I hate having to make midweek orders, and running out of a dish halfway through a dinner rush once was more than enough to teach me I never want to do it again.
I push the ledger aside on my desk, reaching for my laptop instead. I normally write things out longhand, sketching out recipe and menu ideas in ink and filling notebook after notebook. Planning for the Naval Christmas Ball feels too big, too important for that, though. So instead, I’ve got twenty-five different tabs open, trying to sort it all out. I never thought I’d have an opportunity like this. I could never have dreamed, almost five years ago now, when my closest friend, Hank, suggested we go in together on a restaurant that we’d end up so successful we’d be hosting events like this.
I know it makes sense that we’d get this kind of attention, though. We’ve won the City Paper’s Best in Town award two years running, the Gazette’s Toast of the Bay award, the Restaurant Association’s Standout Newcomer award, and numerous other local accolades. We were recently featured on the news in Washington, D.C. as a Meal Worth A Road Trip, and we have one of the most beautifully restored spaces in downtown, with a huge, open dining room and views of the harbor. Plus, since I’m the executive chef and co-owner, we’re a Naval-veteran-owned business. We’re a logical choice for the event in a lot of ways, but still, it blows me away when I think about it.
The event is going to get the most press and national coverage we’ve ever had, so I need it to be perfect. I’ve been planning and replanning my menus ever since we were awarded the event. Normally, the Ball serves traditional holiday foods, comforting classics. I don’t want to totally do away with that, but I want to find a way to put my own spin on things, too. I just haven’t figured out what that spin is yet.
“This ready to go out?” Hank says, walking over to the corner of the kitchen that serves as my office, even if it’s just a desk pushed against a wall and a wooden shelf I’d refinished myself holding my notebooks and old menus. He picks up the food order ledger, scanning it quickly. Generally, Hank leaves food to me, and I leave operations to him.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding and turning my eyes back to the Naval Ball planning.
“Have you given more thought to us announcing a second location at the Navy event?” Hank asks. I frown, looking up at him.
“I’m still not on board with that idea,” I say. Lately, Hank has been pushing us to open a second location in a nearby major city. I don’t hate the idea, but I’m concerned pursuing it now is entirely the wrong time. In addition to all the extra time preparing for the Naval Ball requires, we’ve been having some financial issues – some numbers not adding up in a way I can’t help but worry means someone might be changing them.
“But think of all the press,” Hank says, pressing on. Hank has always been prone to big ideas and idealistic thinking. It’s normally a good thing—the restaurant probably wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.
“No, we need to figure out our money leak before we start looking into anything,” I say. Hank shakes his head.
“It’s nothing, Danny, probably just a mistake,” Hank says. “I probably just wrote something down wrong, or someone might have miscounted cash at the bar one night, or had to destroy some wasted food and not marked it down.”
“It’s a lot of money to just be spoiled lettuce,” I say. I hate to contradict Hank about business. I have to remind myself that if not for him, I’d probably be living in the same sort of rundown house I grew up in, living paycheck to paycheck, quitting jobs or getting fired from them after a few months, unhealthy and unhappy, a drink and a cigarette in hand at all times. I’d have grown up to be a man like my own father. Hank’s friendship turned my life around, and I’ll always feel a bit like I owe him, even if we’ve long been equal partners.
“Depends on how much lettuce it was,” Hank says, frowning even though he’s making a joke.
“I just think we should investigate it before we make any other plans,” I say. Something is wrong here, and it’s more than Hank is making it out to be. I’m certain of it. Money doesn’t just disappear, and we’ve recently let an employee go: my former assistant chef, Anthony, who had been incredibly angry about how everything went down. I don’t know if it’s connected, but it’s certainly possible, and so that’s enough to make me uneasy.
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” Hank says, “but I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I know, but let’s not make any decisions until we have our answer,” I say.
“Okay,” Hank says, somewhat reluctantly. He turns, but then pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “Don’t mention it to Charlotte when she gets in, all right? She’s been worried enough about me as it is.”
“I won’t,” I agree, nodding. I hadn’t even thought of mentioning it to Charlotte. I haven’t really thought much about her coming back into town at all, to be honest. Last time I saw Hank’s daughter, she was a skinny kid with glasses and braces, bent over homework. We’d never had much reason to interact, and I don’t really think of her when Hank isn’t telling me about her apartment in the city or her nursing job. Still, I do think having her around will do Hank some good. His wife, Lana, and I had never really gotten along, and their marriage hadn’t been happy in all the years I’d known Hank. I know how much he loves his daughter and her being closer seems like a positive thing.