Grand Opening

by T. F. Pruden

  Five years the elder of his tenant, Ben had known of the younger man since soon after Wayne started work in the local hospitality industry more than a decade earlier. He was eventually introduced to the young entrepreneur by mutual friend and retired local professional boxer Ted Peters. Newberg was a self-employed professional stagehand and long-term member of the I.A.T.S.E. Local 63.

  He also took work as a seasonal hand on the UMACS scaffold crew when available.

  Ben first met Wayne after taking a part-time position as a doorman at his failed night club eighteen months earlier. He took the job as a favor to the since moved west Peters.

  The two men were surprised to discover they shared a variety of interests. The list included Scrabble, and they had since become fast friends.

  That it was Ben’s considered and conservative council Wayne relied on when his business turned had not gone unnoticed by the older man. He respected the hard earned experience and entrepreneurial courage of his young friend. Newberg made sure any advice offered was both thoughtful and given after being asked for it.

  “So what do you think of the concept?” Wayne asked as his friend placed the last of the six lettered tiles inside the raised plastic squares covering the board.

  “Thirteen twice for the double word score,” Ben said as he rotated the board to face Wayne.

  He reached for the pen waiting on the tabletop at his side to write the score onto the note pad there.

  “That makes twenty-six unless you’re challenging.”

  “I’m good with it,” Wayne replied with a note of disgust in his voice.

  He looked at the seven letter-painted tiles waiting in the angled wooden tray on the table in front of him.

  “Want a drink?” Ben asked as he pushed his chair away from the table and rose, “I’m gonna hava’ beer I think.”

  “No thanks.” Wayne answered, “I’m thinkin’ I’d like to get some painting done at the restaurant tonight and don’t wanna burn out.”

  “Suit yourself,” Ben replied.

  He turned to enter the kitchen. There he opened the refrigerator and removed a glass beer bottle from inside of it.

  “I’m gonna nap after this game ends unless you want a hand over there.”

  “I’m good for help thanks,” Wayne said, “but I appreciate the offer.”

  “You’re welcome,” the older man replied.

  Ben twisted the top from the beer bottle and raised it to his lips for a long guzzle.

  “Ahhhh dats’ good stuff!” Ben spoke as he lowered the bottle, and winked at Wayne watching him from the dining room, “Nectar of the gods!”

  “Indubitably!” Wayne agreed with a grin.

  The older man returned to the dining room and sat on the straight-backed chair next to the antique mahogany dining room table. He placed the bottle on the placemat waiting beside the scrabble board.

  With an elementary school aged daughter born out of wedlock who lived with her mother across town, Ben was a confirmed bachelor. He collected a growing assortment of heirloom quality furniture via estate sales held on bi-monthly Wednesdays at a local auction house.

  He was fastidious preserving them.

  “I think the concept is interesting,” Ben spoke with care, “though I’m not sure if you’ll find a large enough audience to support it long-term, no offense.”

  “You’re thinking blue collar folks won’t appreciate having a place to call their own?” Wayne asked.

  “I’m not sure blue collar folks are going to be willing to go midrange when it comes to eating out for special occasions,” Ben replied, “they may prefer to go to the top end as it’s not a regular thing.”

  “I hear you,” Wayne said, hiding his disappointment and feeling the first note of concern regarding the new business, “but we’re hoping the biker crowd will make it a regular stop.”

  “That’s a double-edged sword though,” Ben answered, “and you know I’m playing devil’s advocate here, right?”

  “Of course!” Wayne replied, “It’s what I’m lookin’ for!”

  “Good,” Ben said with relief apparent, “because I do think it’s an interesting idea if a bit different and you know I want it to be a big success.”

  “Again, of course!” his tenant answered, “but I’m looking for negatives and need you to be honest with me in case I’m too close to it to see what’s in front of me.”

  “I think you know how competitive that racket is,” Ben said, “and so anything that isn’t attached to a chain is gonna hava tough time getting established.”

  “Absolutely!” Wayne replied.

  “The trick is to have something that’s different enough to be interesting yet familiar enough to be comfortable,” the older man spoke with a sober voice, “and while this certainly has the former I’m not sure it’ll provide the latter.”

  “That sounds accurate,” Wayne answered.

  He placed five tiles into the formed plastic squares covering the board in front of him before continuing.

  “And that’s six times the double word score for an even dozen.”

  “Nice,” Ben responded.

  He looked at the board his tenant spun to face him.

  “I’d guess the younger crowd might appreciate the concept though I don’t know if you’re interested in them.”

  “We’re interested in anyone that’ll bring the money,” Wayne said with a grin, “blue collar, white collar, bikers, brokers, outlaws, in-laws, hospitality industry staffers, the night life crowd, old, young, you name it an’ we’ll take it cuz’ at the end of the day it’s all green, eh?”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” the landlord replied, “but you can count on my support and I’ll spread the word among the stagehands and the scaffolders.”

  “Your union brothers and the construction types are right in the sweet spot!” the tenant responded, “a fine meal at a good price in a stylish atmosphere is what we plan to deliver and I think they’ll appreciate it.”

  “Like I said I’ll be spreading the word,” Ben said, “and you know how the union boys like to hang together.”

  “Undeniably,” Wayne answered with a grin, “and I appreciate the support friend.”

  “No probs,” Ben spoke in a voice tinged with frustration, “but do you have to close the board with every single play you make?”

  “Like you’re Mr. Open?” Wayne replied incredulous, “I’m lucky I can get a letter in edgewise the way you close it off!”

  “You’re working your press contacts heavy?” Ben asked.

  “Totally!” Wayne replied, with excitement in his voice, “I’ve got ol’ Bill Saturday comin’ down to check the place out an’ he’s gonna start pumpin’ the grand opening in his column next week!”

  “Don’t forget the Free Press,” Ben said, “that’s a larger circulation if maybe not in your demographic sweet spot.”

  “We’ve got Rene workin’ the ‘Miss Lonely Hearts’ angle over there,” Wayne answered with a sardonic grin and a note of apprehension, “apparently there’s some history between ‘em so here’s hopin’ she’ll overlook it an’ support us anyway.”

  “Not much a guy can do about his transgressions after the fact alright,” Ben said with a grin, “and that Rene does like to get around!”

  Wayne laughed, knowing his partner held a deserved reputation as a lady killer earned from years of practical experience.

  “He claims he always leaves them with a smile,” he said to his landlord, “so I guess if she gives us a little ink we’ll know that’s true, eh?”

  Ben laughed before raising his beer for another long swig.

  “He’s a charmer for sure,” he said as he placed the bottle with care onto the placemat and grinned, “and I’d put money on you getting a write up from ‘Miss Lonely’.”

  “You think she’ll be hoping for a part deux?” Wayne asked with an eyebrow raised.

  “I think whatever it takes to make some ink happen Rene will make sure it
does,” Ben answered with a smile, “part deux, trois, or quatre!”

  Wayne laughed aloud; delighted by the idea Rene would do whatever it took to secure the publicity they needed.

  “I guess that’s another reason he’s such an excellent choice as a business partner,” he said, looking at his friend with a smile.

  “You could certainly have done worse.” Ben spoke with a serious voice, “Far worse. And it’d have been tough to do better I think.”

  “Agreed,” Wayne replied.

  He was pleased his friend and landlord favored his choice. He soon forgot the legitimate concerns Ben raised about the concept of the new restaurant.

  “Agreed and grateful for it too,” he said.

  “That’ll be seventeen,” Ben spoke with satisfaction as he finished placing the lettered tiles on the board between them, “tripled makes fifty one for the old guy.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Wayne exclaimed as he spun the board to face him, “how do you manage to get that damn Q every time?”

  “Clean livin’ young fella.” Ben’s answer was smug, “Clean livin’ and patience never goes out of style.”

  Wayne laughed again; appreciating the landlord was schooling him and used the Scrabble board as his medium.

  He was grateful for the benefit of his friends’ experience.

  Wayne planned to be as patient as he could force himself to be. In spite of the temptations that would soon surround him he promised himself he would adhere to a practice of clean living.

  He hoped it would help him survive and succeed in the cut throat world of the restaurant business.

  The spring rain fell gentle on the deck just beyond the patio doors.

  As he looked to the lettered tiles in the tray, he daydreamed about the painting planned for the restaurant.

  He would work alone and keep at it as long and as late as he wanted. The idea he could get a head start on the busy week approaching quelled a little of his impatience. His partners were sure to be surprised if they showed up on Monday evening to find both the lobby and hallway painting complete. With any luck, they might be impressed enough by his work to invest similar effort.

  Working hard was the best way to assure the success of the new venture.

  With only three weeks to go until the grand opening the partners needed to pull together if they were to make it happen.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rene pushed the tall chair away from the wrought iron dining room table.

  He stood, lifting the coffee mug waiting next to his plate and taking it with him to stand in front of the sliding doors next to the table. The sliding door led to a neat balcony. The balcony overlooked the Osborne Village to the north and the midtown bridge across the muddy Red River to the east.

  He woke late and had now finished an excellent brunch prepared by his longtime girlfriend Jane McIntyre. Rene was in a mood for chat and the cool April rain falling on the city outside further encouraged his desire. There were worse choices than remaining in the comforting warmth of Jane’s stylish two-bedroom high-rise condominium apartment.

  They spent a pleasant evening together watching a movie courtesy of her video cassette recorder. He arrived after the dinner engagement with his partners. Jane was a decade younger and youthful in both demeanor and appearance. After what would soon be ten years as a couple the comfort he took from her companionship was near complete.

  Yet it remained a regular habit for him to stray in search of satisfaction for his sexual appetites.

  The fidelity of his affection for Jane he had no cause to doubt. Nor did he doubt her attachment to him. He did his best to avoid having his grosser habits offend her. Rene believed Jane to be among his most trusted confidantes.

  Though unwilling to further alter his lifestyle to accommodate her needs, he felt a strong attachment to the woman.

  “So what do think of my new partners Miss Jane?” he asked with real interest, “would you say dat’ I’ve made good choices?”

  “Would you?”

  The petite and fit woman standing in the entrance to the kitchen answered him with a question of her own.

  Jane McIntyre met Rene Lemieux at the first twelve-step program meeting she attended over eleven years previous. Like sobriety he continued to be a feature of her life upon which she counted.

  Divorced and childless she came to view him and their relationship as the most important project of her lifetime.

  She decided after five years of life with him that in spite of his regular infidelity she was not only going to stay but would marry him one day. Rene was unaware of either her knowledge of his ill-concealed infidelities or her long-term plans for their future.

  This was credit to her good sense and commitments she long ago made, and kept, to herself.

  She understood he was a wounded man so wracked by guilt over his divorce that even the thought of remarrying would have ended the relationship.

  A successful real estate attorney with a partnership in a well-established local firm, she had taken over management of his extensive holdings two years earlier. A relentless taste for acquisition meant besides the large and valuable home along the river his holdings included a dozen rental properties. Rene also held a twenty-five per cent interest in a half-dozen strip malls spread around the city.

  While involved in growing his business and not unaware of his burgeoning wealth she avoided having it contribute to her affection for the man.

  That he must feel himself in control of everything that mattered in his world, including her, was something to which she had grown accustomed. Jane learned that with patience, common sense, and a little sugar, he could in most instances be bent to her will.

  Rene was often happy about it after the fact as she made a habit of having his best interests at heart.

  “I’m pretty ‘appy wit’ dem, yes,” Rene answered, his accent heavy and undisguised, “an’ dat’ Wayne ees’ an ‘ard worker for sure, Tabernac!”

  “So why ask me?” Jane replied.

  She stood with a white cotton tea towel hung over her shoulder. She wore only the blue shirt he arrived in the previous night.

  “If you’re already so sure of your choices?”

  Rene laughed aloud. He turned from the balcony door to look at the attractive woman staring with defiance across the parquet floor of the dining room. Her thick blonde hair was a mess, and she wore no makeup. The brilliant blue of her eyes was enhanced by his shirt that hung past her knees.

  “Because I value your opinion!” he said, his accent gone and a smile on his lips, “you sexy wench!”

  Jane laughed and spun on a heel to reenter the kitchen. He was ready for a refill, and she retrieved the carafe waiting on the counter. She soon returned and stood beside the table, motioning for him to bring his cup.

  He handed her the mug without speaking, waiting for her to fill it with the hot coffee before continuing.

  “So what do you t’ink of ‘dem?” he asked.

  His accent returned as he added cream and sugar to the steaming mug.

  “Well I don’t know either of them very well,” Jane began a considered response with concern in her voice, “so I’ve got little upon which to base an opinion.”

  Rene nodded and sat on the tall chair beside the small table. He waited for her to continue as he knew once started she could scarcely stop.

  “In fact knowing your chef Maurice only from hearing him speak at a couple of meetings and the few times I’ve run into him at your place I’m loath to say anything about him at all,” she said, “although being only a year sober I’d say that you’re taking a serious risk by placing him into such a stressful position if I was to say anything. But then I’d say that about anyone only a year sober.”

  Rene again nodded in response. He heard her warming to the topic. Her arguments whether in support or against his choices would be worth listening to, and with care. In her professional integrity his trust was absolute, and he made a habit of seeking her opinion.

/>   “So you’ve made a shaky choice there at best I’d say if I were asked,” Jane said.

  She paused while refilling her own mug with the hot coffee.

  “Though again I’d defer to your superior knowledge of the fellow as you’re an excellent judge of character,” she said, choosing her words judiciously, “and so if you believe him to be ready then it’s likely he is. And that he’ll stay sober regardless of what should happen with the business.”

  Rene nodded again. It did not surprise him when she at once hit upon the item that most concerned him regarding Maurice and his position. He said nothing to avoid interrupting her.

  “Knowing what is critical and what isn’t of course you’ll be keeping a close eye on your chef as the nature of the beast is insidious,” the petite woman continued.

  Jane paused and considered a moment before speaking again.

  “I know you’d never allow profit to come at the expense of anyone’s life,” she spoke with a grave voice, “and sobriety being life or death for any alcoholic your chef will require a lot of support.”

  She looked with tender care at Rene, not wanting to offend him but wanting to be sure he heard what she was telling him.

  “As a sober alcoholic and his partner you’re the one who’s going to need to make that investment,” she continued, “though of course you know that and I’m sure you’ll have considered it at some length prior to taking him as a partner in your new enterprise.”

  Rene again made no reply. He nodded in agreement and wondered how he convinced himself not to worry about either the length or quality of his tenants’ sobriety. Jane made it plain he ought to have thought about it before deciding upon him as partner in the new business.

  “Leaving the topic of your chef behind us for now then,” Jane said, and continued with her evaluation of the partners, “this young fellow Wayne Stevens is also someone I’ve never actually met.”

  She could see a nerve in Rene touched and wondered how long it would be before he revealed his concern.

  “Though I do remember going to his night club with you one evening last summer,” she said, “a club that failed only a couple of months ago if I’m not mistaken.”