Grand Opening

by T. F. Pruden

  Once again he congratulated himself on his choice of the fellow as partner. There was a quality of steadfast determination that seemed to emanate from the young man and it comforted Rene.

  Despite the short time working together he soon developed a deep trust for the sincerity of Wayne’s commitment.

  He believed Wayne would be loyal to both the new business and their partnership.

  Maurice sat in the uncomfortable space of the sports cars’ two seat cabin and wished again he hadn’t sold his car.

  It seemed scandalous to him that an automobile of such a ridiculous length should lack the space to allow a person to be comfortable when seated inside of it. He was a nervous passenger at the best of times and more so with the unpredictable Rene at the wheel.

  The man delighted in the speed of his many mechanical toys and was particularly fond of the enormous power of the meticulously restored sports car. That he now rode with him through darkened streets slick from the afternoon melt courtesy of the capricious spring sun was a trial for which he had little tolerance.

  His nerves, on edge since being forced to face his surprising professional limitations, threatened to topple him.

  Rene slid the low car through the streets with what Maurice viewed as wanton and reckless abandon.

  It took a supreme effort of his diminishing will to keep from crying out as his landlord tossed the car from corner to corner.

  Rene appeared unconcerned by the fishtailing of the rear end and the constant slipping of the wide tires on the wet streets.

  He also seemed ignorant of his passengers’ distress.

  The thought of the meal waiting and the discussion sure to follow did little to quell his roiling nerves. As much as he feared the many questions his partners would place before him the desire to no longer be prisoner in the crazily piloted sports car surpassed it.

  He would willingly be found out and disgraced if he could be free from the demon perched beside him.

  The fellow grinned maniacally from behind the steering wheel of the dangerous and out-of-control car. Maurice was convinced his fate hung perilous only scant inches above the swift passing cold of the ice-covered streets.

  If only he had been sensible enough to take the transit bus and meet them at the restaurant! He could have avoided the horrible travail which in his now tortured mind threatened to kill them both at any moment.

  The slowing vehicle and the sight of the restaurant parking lot through the steep raked windshield relieved the tall chef.

  He gritted his teeth and with a further effort forced himself to reveal nothing of his relief at reaching the end of the miserable journey.

  Wayne watched from the restaurant as Rene pulled the red Corvette to a smooth halt next to his black Camaro.

  Though near empty the parking lot was ice covered. Rene’s seeming telepathic connection to anything equipped with an engine again impressed Wayne. He also noted the detailed restoration of the classic ride.

  The gleaming chrome bumpers of the red Corvette though twenty two years older than the black Camaro next to it twinkled in the dim light of the street lamps. It looked as though it might have rolled off the assembly line behind the decade’s younger cousin.

  The two partners removed themselves from the low car with caution due to the slippery surface of the paved lot.

  Wayne smiled as he noted the relief on the face of the tall chef who had obviously not enjoyed the ride.

  The two men soon navigated the slick pavement and crossed the empty street to enter the restaurant. He waved to them, and when Rene informed the brunette hostess, she led them to the table.

  Maurice sat himself across from Wayne and against the window while Rene sat next to the thin chef. Rene swiveled his neck to appraise the young hostess as she departed.

  “Tabernac!” he said as he turned to again face Wayne, his voice now low and conspiratorial, “Dats’ a fine young filly mon frere!”

  Maurice said nothing in response to the comment, but nodded in silent agreement.

  Wayne chuckled, appreciating the older mans’ excellent taste.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” he said without the hint of a smile, “I was checking out the menu.”

  “I bet you were!” Rene snorted, rolling his eyes and grinning.

  “It’s late, so we’d best get an order in,” Wayne began, “it’s a very extensive though nicely laid out menu and the kitchen has a pretty good rep for a chain.”

  The two partners seated across from him picked up vinyl-bound menus waiting on the table in front of them.

  “Sorry we are late,” Rene said, “I was slow getting out of da’ office an’ traffic was ‘eavy on da’ number one.”

  “E’ managed to make up some time on da’ way from da’ ‘ouse though,” Maurice offered.

  “Our frien’ e’ don’ like da’ Vette,” Rene responded, with a wink to Wayne and a nod to the thin man at his side, “e’s ver’ tall an’ don’ fit in dat’ passenger seat so well.”

  Maurice again made no reply though a small grin creased his lips.

  “I’m thinkin’ it’s probably the crazy man at the wheel that caused him grief,” Wayne said, smiling across at Maurice, “probably felt like he wasn’t gonna survive the trip.”

  “Damned icy out dere’ for sure,” Maurice replied with relief in his voice, “an’ I’m too tall for a car built so low to da’ groun’!”

  Rene laughed, delighted by the fear betrayed with Maurice’s admission.

  “Dat ‘Vette she’s like an extension of me when I’m at da’ wheel,” he said with a grin, “you couldn’t be safer dan’ when you’re ma’ passenger in dere’ mon frere!”

  “Maybe so but I prefer somet’ing not so close to da’ groun’,” Maurice replied, smiling now and knowing all was well, “you’ll ‘ave to pardonnez moi, mon frere.”

  “C’est la vie!” Rene answered, “I bet you ‘ave a worse time wit’ Wayne in dat’ big Camaro on da’ way ‘ome.”

  “At least he’ll be higher off the ground,” Wayne said with a grin, “and I can drop you later if you’d like to find out for yourself Maurice.”

  “If dat’ works for you I’d appreciate not ‘aving to climb into dat’ ‘Vette again,” Maurice nodded to his young partner with gratitude, “not dat’ I don’ appreciate da’ lif’ Rene.”

  “Dats’ perfec’ ‘appiness,” Rene answered, “den’ I can go direct to Miss Jane’s ‘ouse from ‘ere an’ save ma’self some time, oui?”

  “No probs,” Wayne answered, “you can ride with me on the way back Maurice.”

  “T’ank you mon frere,” the tall chef answered, relief evident in his voice, “dat’ will save me a ride on da’ bus.”

  “What are you eating Wayne?” Rene asked, “an’ we should be sure to eat different items and mebbe do some sharing so we can check out dat’ menu, oui?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Wayne answered, “although I’m actually quite hungry and wanting the surf and turf I think.”

  “Ma’self I t’ink da’ pasta will be ma’ choice,” Maurice said, “per’aps a serving of da’ lasagna is a good idea, non?”

  “Good choices for you ma’ friens’,” Rene’s voice held a note of disappointment, “so I guess da sea food pour moi.”

  “That’ll allow us a good sampling of the entrees.” Wayne said, “What about a few appetizers?”

  “Stuff’ mushroom caps?” Maurice asked, not lifting his eyes from the menu in front of him, “an’ per’aps some of dese’ escargot?”

  “Good choices.” Wayne said, and then asked, “What about an order of the crab cakes?”

  “All good mon freres,” Rene also replied before asking, “but ‘ow about an order of dese’ potato skins too, non?”

  “If we’re planning to offer them, we should try them I suppose,” Wayne’s answer arrived with little enthusiasm.

  “Dat’ is one big menu,” Maurice spoke in a low voice, “prepping for somet’ing dis’ size would take a staff of four
, no less.”

  “You’re absolutely right there,” Wayne said, “we’re going to have to be a lot more focused if we’re going to keep our place manageable and that’s for sure.”

  “Should we not try a few of da’ soups mon freres?” Rene asked.

  “Probably a good idea,” Wayne replied.

  “I’ll try da beef barley in dat’ case,” Rene’s voice betrayed no displeasure at the choice.

  “Is dere’ a chowder on da’ menu?” Maurice asked, “I’ll try dat’ if so.”

  “Then if I order the vegetable, we can try them all,” Wayne said.

  “Good work mon feres,” Rene spoke with real joy in his voice, “let me tell you I’m going to enjoy working on dis’ menu, Tabernac!”

  “I’m hoping it doesn’t cost me some new pants,” Wayne said, “we’re doing some heavy eating over the next couple of weeks and with the renos’ I won’t see the gym for a while.”

  “You’re in great shape mon frere,” Maurice spoke gallantly, “an’ I doubt a few meals will make a difference.”

  “No shit Wayne,” Rene offered, “you’re not jus’ built but ripped too, I don’ t’ink a few weeks away from da’ gym will ‘urt you!”

  “Well thanks for the vote of confidence my friends,” Wayne answered with a note of pride leaking into his voice, “but I’ll be keeping an eye on my waist line all the same because we’ll eat a lot of rich foods over the next couple of weeks and that’s for sure!”

  The perky waitress who served Wayne earlier now reappeared to take their order. The three men made their selections, with Maurice and Rene also ordering mineral water. Wayne ordered a glass of red wine to go with his steak at Rene’s suggestion.

  Only after the waitress left did they continue their discussion.

  “What would you say to limiting our choice of entrees to three or four, at least to begin with, Maurice?” Wayne asked.

  “Dat’ would simplify prep for sure,” the tall chef replied.

  “But won’t that limit our potential customer base?” Rene asked, the accent again missing from his voice.

  “Not by too much if we also offer a daily special and rotate our selections regularly,” Wayne answered, “plus a soup du jour, a trio of appetizers and a small selection of quality deserts.”

  “Dat’ will keep our cos’ under control too, Rene,” Maurice offered, “an’ limit da’ requirement for h’extra hans’ in da’ kitchen for prep.”

  “Exactly.” Wayne spoke to support the thin chef, “We can grow our menu as we establish our clientele.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Rene replied, “but what about seafood?”

  “I prefer fresh lobster myself,” Wayne answered, “but most places in town, including this one I’m sure, serve frozen tails.”

  “Da’ great man serve only fresh,” Maurice observed, “e’ ‘as dem’ flown in twice weekly from da’ eas’ coas’ an’ offers dem’ only on dose’ day.”

  “While I appreciate the quality of going that way I thought we might install a tank and allow our customers to choose their own,” Rene’s reply arrived with the accent still missing, “it guarantees fresh quality and provides a unique atmosphere.”

  “It’s also a huge expense,” Wayne said, “a salt water tank will require outside help to keep it from killing the bugs and then there’s the cost of flying them in from one of the coasts.”

  “That’s true enough,” Rene’s voice was thoughtful, “but what about the quality?”

  “Mos’ people won’t be able to tell the difference mon frere,” Maurice answered before Wayne had a chance to, “an’ if we’re planning on serving a blue collar clientele I seriously doubt ‘dey will notice.”

  “I agree with Maurice on this,” Wayne said, pleased the tall chef was again supporting his position, “most people can’t tell the difference, especially if it’s well prepared.”

  “Tabernac!” Rene said, his accent returned to his voice and a smile on his lips, “it’s ‘ard to argue wit’ experienced professionals!”

  Neither man noticed the return of his accent.

  “If we limit the menu, we’ll have to offer well-prepared and presented dishes or we’ll be screwed though,” Wayne said, “our fate will rest in the hands of our chef and even a single off day in the kitchen will be devastating. If open for lunch and dinner a second chef will be required and you’ll need to ride him hard to ensure quality when you’re not there Maurice.”

  “Dats’ true too.” Maurice paused while he searched a moment for words, “We’ll ‘ave to ‘ire an institute grad ‘oo can ‘andle da’ pressure for dat’ job an’ I can tell you ‘dat won’ be cheap, tabernac!”

  “I think it’s probably a necessity though,” Wayne replied, “we can’t be working you day and night or our quality will suffer.”

  “Dats’ true again, mon frere,” Maurice nodded as he replied, “do’ I can work mos’ nights to t’row days on top of dem’ will wear out da’ palate for sure.”

  “So we hire an extra set of hands and you train him to do things the way we need them done Maurice,” Rene said, his accent again missing in action, “and we pay him what we have to so we’re sure your standard is maintained.”

  “I think that’s the only way to handle it.” Wayne said, “We can’t afford to have you break down and a new grad will be easier to manage I’m thinking, if perhaps a little less capable. What do you say Maurice?”

  “You have my agreement ‘dere mon freres,” the thin chef replied, “a new grad as da’ sous chef.”

  “I’ll get on the horn to the college early next week,” Wayne said, “and we can interview candidates to work under you right away.”

  “If you can schedule da’ interviews for da’ evening both Rene an’ ma’self can join you for ‘dem, eh Rene?” Maurice said.

  “Certainly.” Rene answered, “I’ll be interested in meeting your assistant.”

  “Good, I’ll work on an evening schedule for the interviews,” Wayne’s voice revealed his pleasure with the decision, “and I’m also planning to place an ad in both daily papers on Monday for service staff. Would the two of you like to attend those interviews as well?”

  “Only if ‘dey can be schedule’ for da’ evenings for ma’self,” Rene’s answer was playful, and delivered with his accent returned, “aldo’ I can’ speak for da’ chef.”

  “I don’ t’ink dats’ a necessity Wayne,” Maurice said, “your experience will guide us bes’ I’m sure mon frere.”

  “An’ your bes’ tase’ too,” Rene said, raising an eyebrow and nudging Maurice, “cuz’ we wan’ waitresses dat’ raise da’ appetites of our customers an’ give da’ partners somet’ing wort’ looking at too, non?”

  The three partners laughed together at the elder man’s joke.

  It hid serious intent as Rene expected the service staff at his restaurant to be female and attractive. Though he had not planned to hire waiters, it relieved Wayne to confirm the expectations of his partner.

  The knowledge would doubtless save trouble later.

  He could now begin the process of locating candidates and hiring for the positions needing to be filled. Wayne considered hiring the service and kitchen staff to be the most significant task on his agenda aside from the actual renovations.

  It pleased him to know Rene’s mind and would make tending to the difficult job easier.

  Their waitress, carrying a tray upon which rode the appetizers and soups, then reappeared. She balanced the tray on the edge of the table while placing the assortment of dishes in front of them.

  Only after assuring them she would soon return with their entrees did she wish them a ‘bon appetit’ and depart.

  “Dis’ looks ver’ nice,” Rene said, “an’ dats’ what I mean when I say use your bes’ tase’ when hiring our staff Wayne, ‘dat one she’s cute an’ good at ‘er job too!”

  “True enough,” Wayne answered with a grin, “on both counts!”

  The partners settled the
mselves. They arranged thick linen napkins on their laps and prepared to sample the appetizers in front of them. Now comfortable enough to relax in each other’s company they prepared to enjoy the meals while learning from them. Confident of their progress and with growing respect for one another, the soon-to-be-restaurateurs turned their attention to the careful evaluation of the waiting food.

  As the restaurant wound down the noise surrounding them diminished. The partners were oblivious to this, engrossed as they were in the meals.

  Only after they tried each dish would they speak, and even then in the hushed tones of lowered voices. They conspired not to be overheard by the restaurant staff surrounding them.

  The lone remaining waitress waited with silent patience.

  She wished again the three men would finish eating so they could close for the night.

  Part Three:

  Laying a Trap

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wayne sat at the dining room table across from his friend and landlord Ben Newberg.

  He waited for the thick-muscled fellow to finish placing tiles on the rotating Scrabble board between them.

  Ben sat with his back to the neat bungalows’ kitchen. A sliding patio door to the single level deck was three feet beyond the table to his right. The north wall of the small dining room was a couple of feet behind Wayne. The two men spent a rainy spring Sunday morning playing Ben’s favorite board game and chatting.

  Wayne’s new business venture was the primary topic.

  Newberg was a taciturn fellow with a quick mind. His obvious physical strength often fooled those unfamiliar into deciding he must be of less than average intelligence. This he delighted exposing as false to anyone foolish enough to jump to the conclusion. Well read, curious, and thoughtful were characteristics most accurate in defining his mentality. The choice of honesty, reliability, and fidelity meanwhile best described his character.

  Wayne valued Ben as both friend and colleague.