by T. F. Pruden
To be involved in a project without his interest at heart for Rene was a rare event. He thus seldom suffered from lack of commitment when making a sale.
“Allo’ ma frien’, allo’!” he shouted into Wayne’s face as he opened the glass door, “Come in and make yourself at ‘ome!”
He closed and locked the door before turning to embrace the younger man with practiced charm.
“Hello Rene and good to see you!” Wayne’s greeting though less enthusiastic than that provided by the older man arrived with apparent sincerity.
“What’s with the paper covering the windows of this place?” Wayne asked with a grin, “Have you invited me to a private party or a wake, eh?”
Rene laughed aloud, one hand gripping his still hard belly as he placed the other on his young friends’ shoulder. He guided Wayne away from the entrance and into the dining room of the closed restaurant.
“Tabernac!” he exclaimed as they entered the dining room, “wrong on both counts ma’ frien’, wrong on both counts! I’ve got something better than that to share with you tonight and that’s for sure!”
“Why am I not surprised?” Wayne responded before asking, “And what might you have up your sleeve tonight, eh?”
“Opportunity she knocks ma’ young frien’, opportunity she knocks for you!” came Rene’s enthusiastic reply.
“Opportunity?” Wayne asked, a single eyebrow raised and his voice at once assuming a sarcastic tone, “And what kind of opportunity might be found at the Marlene Hotel?”
Rene again laughed aloud. Cynicism dripped from the voice of the young man. Despite the bitter words the pain of his recent loss lingered. He ignored the sarcasm lurking behind Wayne’s question.
“Da’ opportunity of a lifetime my young frien’!” he answered in a voice lower and warmed by sincerity, “I would not ‘ave searched you out for anyt’ing else, I swear on ma’ children!”
The answer surprised Wayne, and he noted they now stood at the front of the large dining room of the restaurant. The place was clean, empty save for the furnishings, and they were alone.
“This old place doesn’t look as bad as I thought it might,” Wayne said.
He noted the high ceilings treated with spray on black insulation eliminated most of the echo from the large room.
“So what’s the opportunity you’re swearing about, eh?” he spoke with a hint of impatience rising in his voice, “And don’t tell me it’s got anything to do with this place or I’m gonna saddle up an’ ride on outa here pronto!”
Rene laughed again, unforced and genuine. He now had secured the young man’s interest. He would set the hook and reel him in before the simple lad knew he had been caught.
“What if I tol’ you dat’ you could own dis’ place tonight?” Rene said, his voice low and imitating the remembered sincerity of a priest in the confessional, “would you still saddle up and ride away or would you stick aroun’ to fin’ out what I was talking about?”
Wayne looked at the older man with an eyebrow raised, intrigued and no longer interested in leaving. He hated himself for being a desperate fool. He had to know more. No matter what unconsidered disaster might ensue.
Despite his recent failure he remained slave to a reliable and dangerous financial curiosity.
“Don’t be fuckin’ with me,” he said in a voice hoarse and betraying both interest and desperation, “I’m not in a position to be acquiring.”
A knock at the front door of the closed restaurant caused Rene to turn away before he could answer.
“Ave’ a look aroun’,” Rene flashed his most disarming smile and spoke as he turned away, “we’ll talk more when I get back.”
Wayne watched as Rene walked the short hallway to the front entrance of the restaurant. It was an unexpected turn of events and as yet he thought without clarity. He gave a shake of his head and turned to review his surroundings.
The restaurants’ neat foyer was thirty-five feet from the entrance to the dining room where he stood. A large palladium window and the street entrance dominated the miniature foyer. The doorway to a pair of washrooms occupied the east wall of the vestibule. A closed and locked single door on the wall south of it led to the lobby of the hotel proper.
An arch formed the darkened entrance to the restaurants’ lounge on the east side of the hallway. There a rope covered in burgundy velvet hung, equipped with a ‘Closed’ sign to prevent entry. A small counter equipped with a cash register stood across from it in front of a large closet equipped with two levels of numbered coat hangers.
Faded yellow paint draped the concrete block walls while heavy Berber carpet covered the floors. The carpet was a shade of burgundy that did not match the velvet rope.
Wayne looked it over for only a moment before turning to inspect the pre-fabricated glory of the dining room before him.
To his left four of the palladium windows overlooked the lights of Marion Street and the sidewalk.
Four booths upholstered in burgundy vinyl occupied the wall in front of them. Metal blinds of a similar shade as the booths horizontally covered the lower portion of the large windows. They matched, approximately at best, the carpet covering the floors. Individual lamps hung from the ceiling lit wood tables at the center of the booths in a failed attempt to create a sense of dining intimacy.
Wayne noted the upholstery of the booths and the window coverings appeared in good condition.
He turned to inspect the balance of the dining room.
More of the shaded lamps hung from the high and spray-foam insulated ceiling of the closed restaurant. Placed at regular intervals throughout the large room they waited above more tables. A warm glow lit the gleaming sets of silver and glass salt and pepper shakers and the matching sugar bowls placed at their center.
Eight of the worn wood and metal tables occupied the center of the room in two lines of four. Four chairs, with matching upholstery and equipped with wheels, surrounded them. A further eight booths with seating for four reinforced the complement of seating.
The upholstery in the booths copied the carpet and intended to match the chairs. Though worn they featured the same tables and occupied the north and south walls of the large rectangular space.
While unable to see it experience told Wayne the occupancy permit hanging next to the kitchen entrance in the corner of the room allowed legal seating for eighty persons.
The remaining three windowless concrete block walls of the room wore the same putrid yellow as the hallway. The heavy Berber carpet covering the floor meanwhile; near cigarette burn-free and recently steam cleaned if the scent of soap hanging in the air could be trusted, was a near match for the upholstery.
In the northeast corner of the dining room and behind the end booth an emergency exit with a locked and alarmed door was visible. Centered above each of the booths hung the same lamps that lit the tables. An assortment of modern art prints whose glass and metal frames were more valuable than their contents lined the walls.
The mix of garish furnishings and cheap art left the room looking not quite respectable, like a low-rent escort hired to attend a family wedding by a ne’er-do-well cousin.
The sound of Rene’s enthusiastic greeting of whoever had knocked on the door and their entrance interrupted Wayne’s review of his surroundings.
“Ma’ frien’ Maurice Deschampes,” Rene’s voice was sing-song as he re-entered the dining room, “meet ma’ good frien’ Wayne Stevens.”
His hand rested on the shoulder of a tall fellow at his side who wore a look of bewilderment approximate to that worn by Wayne.
“Allo mon frere,” Maurice spoke in a low voice as he extended his hand, unable to hide his confusion, “ver’ please’ to meet you.”
“My pleasure monsieur,” Wayne replied as he reached to shake the hand, “and very pleased to meet you I’m sure.”
“Tabernac!” Rene exclaimed with obvious delight, “let’s go an’ sit down now, eh mon freres? Eet’ ees’ tam’ to discuss a liddle’ b
usiness now for sure!”
Placing a hand on the shoulders of the young men on either side of him, Rene directed them to the table at the end of the room. Wayne sat with his back to the wall so he might continue to examine the dining room while Maurice sat across from him.
“Sit and relax ma friens’,” Rene spoke with enthusiasm, “I’ve made coffee for us.”
With that he departed for the kitchen only a few feet from the table where they sat. He returned with a tray holding a carafe and three cups before the younger men had opportunity to speak. He placed the cups on the table and poured them each a cup of hot coffee from the black plastic jug. Then he seated himself next to the still confused Maurice.
The three men busied themselves with adding sugar and in Rene’s case cream into their respective coffee cups. Wayne and Maurice waited, impatient for their host to enlighten them about the circumstance of their meeting.
“For more ‘dan a decade I ‘ave ‘ad a dream,” he spoke with accent heavy and a voice solemn in tone, like a priest launching a sermon, “a dream ‘dat I ‘ave kep’ to ma’self while I ‘ave waited for da’ opportunity to make it real.”
He paused and took a sip of his coffee; a look of grave sincerity occupying his face.
“Finally da’ time ‘as come to make ‘dat dream real,” he spoke again, his accent more pronounced as his voice rose, “finally da’ long wait she is over.”
He paused again to fix his guests with a stare, smiling at each of them with paternal care before continuing, his voice and habit deliberate.
“I ‘ave purchased ‘dis place,” Rene began again only after taking a loud slurp from his coffee cup, “lock, stock, an’ barrel, including da’ lease, for twen’y t’ousan’ dollars in cash.”
He had in fact paid ten thousand dollars for the contents of the restaurant and the remaining months of the lease. Though the asking price had been twenty thousand, there was little likelihood his young friends could discover the truth behind his fib. Rene knew twenty thousand would make a better impression upon them than ten.
Seated across from one another neither Wayne nor Maurice said a word but looked on with raised eyebrows.
“Eet’ ‘as bin’ ma’ pleasure to know two young men of talent an’ potential,” Rene continued, with emotion thickening his words, “‘oo ‘ave fallen on ‘ard times in ‘dare life an’ business. For dis’ reason too I ‘ave now made dis’ inves’men’, for I see an opportunity to ‘elp ma’ young friens’ while also making an excellen’ profit for ma’self.”
“Twen’y tousan’ ‘dats no chump change, but a small price to pay for da’ opportunity of a lifetime, an’ for ma’ young friens’ I feel dat’ dis’ restaurant can be dat’ opportunity,” he spoke in a grave voice, his accent now thicker than a moment before, “an’ so eet’ ees’ dat’ you fin’ yourselves ‘ere tonight, for I am in need of your ‘elp if dis’ inves’ment ees’ to prove wort’while.”
Wayne and Maurice exchanged another look, this one filled with astonishment.
“What you don’ know about each odder’ is dat’ mon frere Maurice sitting ‘ere is an amazing chef,” Rene continued, his accent remaining heavy and his voice a mix of respect and affection, “while ma’ young frien’ Wayne is da’ bes’ night club manager to be foun’ in dis’ part of da worl’.”
He let the words sink into his audience, knowing flattery works best when given opportunity to stand unchallenged.
“Maself’ I ‘ave none of dese’ skills, an’ so for me alone dis’ restaurant she’s a rock aroun’ my neck dat’ treatens’ to drown me wit’out da’ ‘elp of skilled men dat’ I can trus’ wit’ ma’ life,” he continued, his accent heavy and voice sincere.
His prospective colleagues sat dumb, entranced by the performance.
“An’ so I ‘ave brought you ‘ere tonight,” his voice rose as he built to the climax of his pitch, “to offer you equal shares in a new venture, weet’ ma’ money being provided in exchange for your expertise in building an’ operating da’ bes’ restaurant in St. Boniface.”
He stopped again to allow the words to work on his audience. Now the hook set and with his prey still bewildered the time had arrived to reel them into the net.
“As eet’ ees’ ma’ money funding da’ venture eet’ seem’ fair dat’ I should hold da’ majority of da’ stock in our new partnership,” he began, using the joint term of ownership to further ensnare his quarry, “owever’ because da’ two of you will be doing da’ work of operating an’ managing da’ business eet’ seem’ fair dat’ you should share ‘eavily in da’ results of our success.”
Wayne looked across the table at Rene with a squint of concentration betraying his interest but said nothing. Maurice meanwhile stared at Wayne with new respect and felt his heart lift as his landlord spoke again.
“I will retain fifty-one percent ownership of our new partnership and control all decisions relating to the operation of the business,” Rene continued.
An edge entered his voice and the accent so apparent only a moment before was now absent.
“Each of you will hold twenty-four and one-half percent of our company stock. However when it comes to profits, we shall split them equally,” his voice was hard with no trace of the warm humor evident a minute ago, “one third apiece, to reflect the value of your hard work and expertise and the support of my silent investment.”
Maurice could contain himself no longer.
“Count me in Rene.” he spoke with urgency, “I would be proud to be in business wit’ you mon frere!”
Wayne said nothing. He looked at the tall chef and considered the terms presented by his elder brothers’ old friend Rene.
“What about you Wayne?” Rene asked, the edge in his voice a little more prominent than before, “What do you say about it, eh? Tabernac!”
“I say location, location, location,” Wayne’s reply arrived in a soft voice, “this place has a piss poor location.”
“Location ma’ arse!” Rene spit his response, the accent returned to his voice, “You’re looking at eet’ da’ wrong way if you t’ink dis’ location is no good!”
“There’ve been four ownership and concept changes here in the last six years,” Wayne spoke in a calm voice, undisturbed by the older fellow’s bluster, “most people place the blame for that on the location, not bad management or poor quality.”
“But none of dose’ restaurants ‘ad you running dem’,” Rene answered with an arrogant smile, his accent thick in a tone condescending with poor feigned sincerity, “none of dose’ restaurants ‘ad Maurice cooking in ‘dem either, nor ma’ night life connection’ to ‘elp you fill da’ seats in ‘ere!”
“No person alive has enough friends to keep a business profitable,” Wayne replied with the patience of an elementary school teacher, “counting on your friends to support your business is a shortcut to the poor house and you know that.”
“I certainly know dat’ ma’ frien’,” Rene answered while a grin playing across his ample lips, “but what if I tol’ you ‘dat da’ lease ‘as only twelve months remaining an’ after ‘dat we could move our business to a better location? Would da’ idea of starting our restaurant ‘ere an’ growing it for a move later change your min’ about da’ location?”
That twenty-four months remained on the lease was a detail of which Rene would inform the young men at a later and more convenient moment. By that time it would be too late for the news to impede forming their partnership. He smiled with a smooth and rapid growing confidence, knowing his young friends had taken the bait. They were now ready to be reeled into the boat.
Wayne emitted a low whistle, surprised at Rene’s long view and the excitement of new opportunity taking hold inside of him.
“Yes it would,” he said, “yes it most certainly would.”
“Does da’ idea of a one tird’ share in da’ profits an’ a one quarter share in da’ ownership of your own place wit’out a dime leaving your pocket change your min’ about di
s’ location?” Rene continued, allowing the faux sound of his injured feelings to enter his voice, “Tabernac!”
“That it does, Rene,” Wayne answered with a voice that betrayed him, “that it most certainly does.”
“So am I ‘aving da’ contracts redrawn for anudder’ partner or ‘ave I got da’ bes’ partners dat’ I could ‘ave?” Rene asked, his heavily accented voice dripping sincerity once again, “share an’ share alike mon freres, what do you say, eh? Tabernac!”
Both Maurice and Wayne laughed aloud and a rising tension ran from the little table.
“Alright, alright,” Wayne said with a smile as he extended his hand across the table to Rene, “I’m in and all the way too, location be damned!”
“Tabernac!” Rene exclaimed with satisfaction as he shook Wayne’s hand, “let’s get da’ party started for sure!”
Maurice first accepted the handshake of Wayne. When he took the hand of his landlord, the elation threatened to overwhelm him. His own place! Without spending a single dollar of his own money!
It was a blessing, and he thanked God for it as he sat there in stunned disbelief.
“Are you ready to show Wayne what you can do in da’ kitchen Maurice?” Rene’s boisterous voice interrupted his momentary reverie.
“For sure, for sure!” he replied, “What ‘ave you got in dere’ dat’ I can prepare for ma’ new partners eh, Tabernac?!”
“Dere’s’ tree’ New York strip’ in da fridge an’ da’ res’ you’ll ‘ave to rustle up on your own Monsieur Chef!” Rene replied with satisfaction in his voice, “An’ don’ you disappoint your partners wit’ your firs’ meal cooked in your new restaurant eeder’, Tabernac!”
Maurice was already on his way to the kitchen, the smile he wore beaming and his heart so light he near skipped from the table.
“Don’ worry mon freres,” he called over his shoulder, “soon you’ll be eating da’ bes’ steak dat’ you ave’ ever ‘ad!”
