by T. F. Pruden
Jane paused for a moment to drink from the mug in front of her. She looked at Rene seated across the table. It pleased her to see him considering her words with apparent concern.
“So he’s plainly in possession of some reasonably valuable experience in an industry which is new for you,” she said after placing the mug on the table, “although given his recent failure one must at least be concerned with his ability if not his long-term fitness for the work involved.”
Jane cleared her throat before continuing.
“Given his position as a sweat-equity investor with no cash in the business most people would have more concerns about him than your chef,” she said, “as it’s always easier to walk away from effort than it is to leave behind what you love.”
Rene nodded yet again.
A look of genuine surprise registered on his face after her last remark.
Jane knew he could be carried away with excitement by new opportunities and lacked the maturity to look before he leaped. This weakness most often led to his infidelities. Though the knowledge made forgiving him easier it also made managing his business affairs more difficult.
Jane continued with the evaluation.
“However as you’ve known the young fellow for some years and have a history with his family as well I’m sure you considered all that before choosing him as your partner,” she spoke with a matter-of-fact tone in her voice, “making his selection the one I’d be less concerned about than your choice of chef. In fact, as he’s both industry experienced and a social drinker that’s a big positive to go along with the far less serious points of concern on his side of the ledger.”
Rene reached for the cigarette package and Zippo lighter waiting on the table in front of him and said nothing. He instead climbed from the tall chair and walked the few steps to the sliding balcony doors.
“Tabernac!” he spoke with his accent audible, “I’m damned lucky to ‘ave you for my attorney dats’ for sure!”
Jane said nothing in reply. She enjoyed the satisfaction of his trust and appreciated his acknowledgement of her value.
He opened the sliding door and stepped onto the balcony to smoke.
She had waited with patience for the opportunity to speak to him about the new venture. As far as she could tell the business was both ill-conceived and a potential danger to all parties involved in it.
Jane would have counseled against his getting involved in such a high-risk business.
That she had at least been able to give him some cause for concern regarding the partners relieved her. To allow him to throw himself off the cliff of the new enterprise without having provided a word of caution would represent a breach of her fiduciary duty. It would also be a failure as his life partner, and she was unwilling to countenance either possibility.
No matter what he made of her advice, he asked for it and it relieved her to give it to him.
What came because of it was beyond her control.
Rene stood on the balcony and drew on the cigarette as he watched rain fall onto the city street a dozen floors below him. He was grateful to have an advisor of such integrity to count on when he needed guidance. The points she raised were both valid and valuable. He must continue to be on his guard as he moved forward with the new venture.
Both for the sake of his young partners and to protect the not insignificant investment he had made.
Rene must now work to hide the fact he perhaps took less time than he might have in considering the ramifications of what he had undertaken. This had, suddenly, become more than apparent.
He resolved at once not to let it overwhelm him. The new partnership would require additional nurturing. The new business would also require him to invest more of himself into it than he first planned.
Rene could see that now.
In spite of the surprise caused by Jane’s evaluation of his new partners he was confident that on each count he would not come up short. The grand opening scheduled for only three weeks from now fast approached. The business of Lemieux Trucking slowed due to the spring breakup.
He would have plenty of time to apply himself to the care and development of the new restaurant and that of his young partners.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maurice stood with a razor-sharp paring knife in one hand and a potato in the other.
With expert dexterity he removed the skin from the damp spud. Despite the speed the knife worked with care and he was sure not to extract any more flesh than necessary. A large plastic garbage pail in front of him was already half full of the long and spiraled peelings. The stainless sinks behind it were three quarters filled with water and both occupied, the left with potatoes yet clothed and the right with their denuded brethren.
His skills with the knife he honed to a fine point after months in the kitchen of the great man. With distraction growing daily, Maurice yet thought little of the dangerous work in front of him.
Filled with a conflagration of apprehension and excitement, his mind alternated between tortured and ecstatic, fearful and encouraged.
His thoughts now grew ever more fearful of the tremendous opportunity waiting only short weeks in the future. Thoughts of the enormous responsibilities and endless tasks inherent in the critical role he must play in the new restaurant threatened to stop him in his tracks.
He was near as often carried away by happiness and hope as he considered the astounding good fortune.
Surely he could manage the thing.
He repeated the phrase to himself when the increasing pressure threatened a tenuous grip on his emotional faculties.
Maurice then reminded himself, over and over again; he was an experienced and capable cook who had spent years training for such an opportunity. Again and again he told himself he was ready to not only take on the position but to do so with the joie de vivre sufficient to his experience.
These thoughts juxtaposed with a near constant internal railing damning him for a fool and a fraud.
He was ignorant, and unprepared to handle the responsibilities of either a professional kitchen or a business of his own. The constant recurrence and rapid alternating pattern of these mental fluctuations had by now grown exhausting.
Maurice lost increasing amounts of sleep as the long days of mental torture continued unabated.
He watched with amazement as the maniacal chef employing him seemed without effort to arrive at a rotating list of daily specials. These complemented both the restaurants’ concept and the realities of his kitchens’ inventory with studied perfection.
His estimation of the great man further increased as he watched him enforce absolute adherence to the highest culinary standard. This while maintaining a level of dress and deportment among his large and diverse staff appropriate to a military unit. Though first inspired by the casual perfection the fat chef seemed to produce with ease, he now grew increasingly intimidated.
For the first time, he grew aware of being humbled by close exposure to the enormous commitment required to achieve greatness.
That he would soon be required to attain what the great man demonstrated daily was apparent to him now. The doubt that lived like a dormant fungus in his secret heart seized at once upon his fears like fresh water to grow unfettered.
They soon covered his hesitant courage in the moldy felt of indecision.
A devastating series of questions repeated in his aching mind.
Who was he to attempt confident mastery of the modern palate? Where was he to find the artistry required to create a menu given his lack of knowledge and technique? What skills could he show to inspire confidence among a staff to follow his lead? Where was he to discover the business acumen to provide a daily respite for his diners while saving the cost of wasted food in his kitchen? Why had he thrown himself onto the frightening opportunity in spite of his tremulous and intermittent courage and limited experience? When would his partners discover him only a sad and egotistical fraud of whom they were best shed?
The last of th
em caused him the most turmoil.
“Tabernac!” he swore in a low voice to himself.
He tossed a peeled potato into the sink at his right and reached to retrieve a fresh cousin from the one at his left.
“What ‘ave I gotten ma’self into?” he shook his head and implored the empty wall in front of him in a low voice.
He narrowed his focus to the dripping tuber in his hands. Maurice concentrated on the knife in his hands. He turned the potato out of its’ tough skin with alacrity, relieved for a moment of his fears. The tall chef worked the short and brutal knife with practiced ease. His position revealed itself to him in the steady turning of the potato skin that dropped forlorn into the garbage pail before him.
His lack of experience in the finer points of professional culinary excellence was now as obvious to him as the denuded surface of the fresh peeled spud.
With contempt he tossed the now unclothed potato into the icy water. It sank into pale anonymity beside its likewise exposed cousins. Maurice knew he must soon be cast into a similar pool.
He would be relegated to that place reserved for culinary professionals neither skilled nor talented enough to reach the top of their chosen field.
Maurice sighed as he reached for yet another potato.
He hated himself for misleading his partners in equal measure to the pity he felt at his lack of expertise. For the first time he appreciated he had been master of his fate in each case. The idea he must resign his position now rather than risk destroying the new business later occurred to him.
He stopped the incessant peeling as he considered the thought.
Perhaps there was no other way to deal with the unfortunate situation. If so he might salvage the respect of his partners and himself if he could be man enough to face it. He might yet act in an honorable and responsible fashion. This despite the wrong-headed and impetuous decision made to accept the partnership, and the responsibility of his role in it.
The thought lifted his spirits if only for a moment.
Maurice grinned as he tossed the fresh peeled potato into the sink to his right. He retrieved another from the sink filled with cold and dirty water and hoped he was being too harsh with himself. He turned the potato in his hands and watched the skin spiral down into the garbage pail. The dread accompanying the thought of imminent failure soon overtook him.
Again he resolved to give serious consideration to resigning the new-appointed and over-exciting position.
The morning sounds of the working kitchen pressed in upon him. In the ceaseless ring of the pots and pans and the moisture laden heat rising from the dishwashers he abandoned himself to the misery of his plight.
Another day of hard work and demanding performance rose to a routine crescendo. The men and women employed by the great chef focused intent on assigned tasks, knowing nothing less than perfection was demanded of them. From old to young, from dishwasher to sous chef, each member of the team dressed in identical kitchen whites as required by the harsh rules of the mad genius’ domain.
Each also understood and accepted the challenge facing them each day and committed to meet it.
They were ignorant of the misery endured by the sullen prep cook Maurice. It was not a surprise given their circumstance. Each of them devoted exclusive to the individual completion of an impressive list of tasks. All required according to a purpose-driven and demanding schedule.
With another sigh Maurice returned to his thoughts and continued to peel the damp potatoes. The task needed to finish according to the inflexible timeline composed by the maniacal genius of a chef. Meeting his relentless expectations was all that life required of him today.
The decisions he must soon make would wait until the end of the work day.
Meantime he could focus on the menial tasks for which he was, undeniably if unfortunately, best prepared.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wayne climbed down from the aluminum work deck suspended between the pair of five foot high steel scaffold frames.
He worked with a wide brush and a tray of grey latex paint. With it he created a border between the yellow concrete wall and the black insulated ceiling of the restaurant dining room. Earlier he painted both the lobby and hallway.
The balance of his Sunday he spent working until well after midnight. He finished the small lounge in six hours of tedious work during what had been a Monday afternoon filled with rain. The more elaborate work in the dining room remained. Due to the size of the room and the intricacy of the nooks and crannies surrounding booths and windows a couple of long days would yet be needed to finish it.
Wayne did not enjoy the work.
Though he was effective enough doing it the toll paid was high. His aching back warned him he might want to consider hiring out the labor required to complete the job. The decision to deny hiring a professional construction and painting crew haunted him now. He grinned as he surveyed the results of his cutting work so far.
It was of a high enough standard to deny Rene the opportunity to say he had told him so.
For Wayne that was good enough.
He wiped his hands on a rag lying on the aluminum work deck. He would return the paint remaining in the tray to the pail waiting beside the scaffold. The cleaning of the brush he used to create the neat border would follow.
The border would surround the dark line of insulation covering the upper eighteen inches of the dining room walls and the entire ceiling. When he returned to the work in the morning, he would use the same brush. He would change to a two inch model to paint a border around the windows and the booths. The he would use a wide synthetic roller to paint the open expanse of the concrete block walls themselves.
With an early start he might finish the cutting required for the dining room by the end of the next afternoon. He would use an extended handle to roll the two coats onto them the following day.
He planned to leave both the kitchen and restrooms as they were. In the recent past both walls were painted white. Few people would notice them and they were in good enough condition.
Soon the hateful task would be complete.
He could then return the rented scaffold without incurring additional charges beyond the single week he had booked the equipment. Wayne looked forward to finishing the work with a dogged satisfaction.
He was resolute in adhering to a work schedule. As he created the plan in this case his determination was further enhanced.
Wayne would work long hours before admitting he underestimated either the volume of work or the effort required to complete any task he planned.
He stooped to remove the lid from the twenty litre plastic pail waiting on the plastic sheet covering the floor beneath the scaffold frames. He retrieved the aluminum tray from atop the work deck and poured the remains of the grey paint into the bucket. The bucket remained half filled with the grey latex in spite of the extensive painting he completed.
As he replaced the top, he pushed it down tight. He didn’t want it spilling on the to-be-preserved carpeting.
With the empty tray in one hand he grabbed the brush and turned with his cargo to enter the restaurant kitchen. Wayne placed both items into the nearest of the stainless steel sinks and rinsed them. The water turned from clear to the rich light grey he had chosen for the walls of the restaurant. Though not rushing he soon completed the task. A few moments later he placed the tray and brush onto the work deck of the scaffold to dry.
Wayne raised his arms to clasp his hands behind his head. He bent from the waist while maintaining a slight flex in his knees and stretched his lower back. The tension eased as he reviewed his work in spite of the pain.
He turned at the sound of keys in the door of the distant entrance to the restaurant. His partners had arrived, and it excited him to show off his progress.
They would meet the owner of the Marlene Hotel this evening. It thrilled Wayne to be introduced to the locally renowned hotelier. He believed the fellow, at least in part, responsible for his current circumstan
ce.
Wayne felt a sincere if misplaced gratitude to him although they had yet to meet.
Rene removed the key from the lobby entrance to the restaurant foyer and gave a low whistle.
The new paint covering the walls was bright as he entered the space. He stepped into the room and held the door open for his partner Maurice.
The tall chef carried a pair of bulging plastic grocery bags in each hand. He entered the vestibule a step behind Rene and moved past him into the foyer. Rene closed the single glass door behind him and locked it. Despite the strong smell of paint the atmosphere of the small foyer improved noticeably by the choice of the lighter color.
Again the unerring accuracy of Wayne’s appreciation for the décor of the new establishment impressed Rene.
“Tabernac!” Maurice’s low curse arrived with appreciation from beside him, “dis’ guy knows what ees’ do’ang Rene an’ dats’ for sure!”
“Allez-allez!” Rene’s voice filled with pride, “Did I not tell you dat’ e’ was da’ man for dis’ job?”
Maurice made no reply but walked across the lobby and down the hallway to the entrance to the lounge. He peered inside to discover it also painted. What he saw impressed him enough to emit a low whistle of appreciation.
“E’ ‘as finished in ‘ere too!” he said over his shoulder to his landlord, “an’ a ver’ good job e’ as done!”
Rene walked through the lobby.
He noted the well-defined edge of paint circling the insulation line. He appreciated the effort that went into keeping them level and the color even with that covering the walls. As he entered the hallway, he noted another sharp cut at the edge of the closet. The arched doorway of the lounge and dining room entrances were also finished with professional skill, and again he felt a surge of pride for his choice of partners.
