The late lunch rush had departed, and as the skies over New Orleans dimmed into evening, the early dinner crowd began to wander into The Sweet Note Bistro. Jazzmyn stood by the podium parked at the entrance to the restaurant, welcoming the early diners. Most of the patrons beginning to fill the tables were regulars. Occasionally, an odd tourist or two would be waiting to find a table after having heard about the restaurant from their hotel concierge or doorman. But for many New Orleans eateries, tourists were not lucrative. Restaurants in New Orleans thrived because of loyal, local customers and great food. Unlike other cities in America where mediocre restaurants could do well, in New Orleans there were no mediocre restaurants. In a city where food was a religious experience and every diner was a harsh food critic, you had to cook your heart out seven days a week in order to survive.
As Jazzmyn seated a party of seven at a large table, she smiled at the other customers. It was going to be a busy night and she needed to make sure all of her staff were on their best behavior. One of the things her father had taught her was that a big smile and a warm welcome could go far in this town. People may have been able to forgive an off night for the chef, but in New Orleans a cool reception was never tolerated.
“How you doin’, Ms. Mae?” Jazzmyn asked a short, round woman with gray hair and thick glasses as she gleaned the menu on the table before her.
The woman turned her dark eyes to Jazzmyn. “Jazzy, honey, you got any more of those grilled oysters tonight? I don’t see them on the menu anymore.”
Jazzmyn gave the woman a big smile. “For you, Ms. Mae, absolutely.” She nodded to the menu. “We just changed the menu for the spring crawfish season, but I’ll go in the back and tell Kyle to fix them up special for you.”
Ms. Mae squirmed with delight in her chair. “I told Harold you could not be out of them oysters already.” She patted the arm of a tall, lanky, bald man sitting next to her.
“And I told her,” the man beside her spoke up in a rather authoritative manner, “that she better not eat any more of them damned things. They give her indigestion, and then she’s up all night complainin’.”
Jazzmyn frowned at Harold’s long face. “Judge Serpas, you know I could never disappoint your wife. She’s one of my best customers.”
Judge Harold Serpas drew his dark gray eyebrows together. “I know that, Jazzmyn. She must have made you a fortune over the years with all the food she has put away in this restaurant.”
“Yes sir, and I am absolutely thankful,” Jazzmyn remarked with a playful grin. “You know I always do what I can to keep Ms. Mae happy, for both our sakes.”
Ms. Mae lightly tittered and clapped her hands together with glee. “You see there, Harold? Jazzy knows who wears the pants in our family.”
Judge Serpas nodded to wife. “Don’t call the girl Jazzy, honey. Her name is Jazzmyn.”
“I like Jazzy. I think it’s cute.” Ms. Mae swerved her big brown eyes to Jazzmyn. “Why did your parents name you Jazzmyn? It’s such an unusual name.”
Jazzmyn shrugged as she tried to recall how her father had explained the selection of her name to her. “Before Dad got into the restaurant business he was a jazz musician. He wanted to name me after a great jazz singer. They went through Louisa after Louis Armstrong, Ella after Ella Fitzgerald, Nina after Nina Simone…oh, the list went on and on, until my mother found Jazzmyn in a baby name book. So, I became Jazzmyn Simone.”
Judge Serpas grunted and picked up his glass of scotch and soda. “You look more like a Simone than a Jazzmyn to me.”
Ms. Mae waved off her husband’s comment. “Jazzy, when you go back in the kitchen, tell Kyle to send us out one of his side orders of cheese bread, too. I’m starvin’.”
“You’re always starvin’,” Judge Serpas admonished. “You’ve been starvin’ since 1972.”
Ms. Mae gawked at her husband, but Jazzmyn quickly cut in. “I’ll go right away and get some cheese bread started for you, Ms. Mae.” She nodded to Judge Serpas. “I’ll tell your waitress, Lally, to get you another one of those, Judge.” She pointed to the drink in his hand.
Judge Serpas smiled. “Good girl,” he added, right before he brought the rim of the glass to his lips and took a hearty sip, downing half the contents in one gulp.
Jazzmyn left the judge and his wife and smiled happily at the other diners as she maneuvered her way through the tables. When she reached the bar, she waved down a short man with graying blond hair and small, hazel eyes who was mixing drinks for the customers.
“Yeah, Jazz?” the man asked as he came up to her, shaking a tumbler in his hands.
“Scott, send Judge Serpas another scotch and soda. He’ll probably need about three more before the food arrives. Remind Lally not to bill him for the drinks.”
Scott nodded to a young woman with a long braid of brown hair down her back, walking away from the bar. “Already sent Lally to the table with one when I saw you talking to him.” Scott shook his head as he poured the drink he had been shaking into a tall glass on the bar in front of him. “You’re losing money on that one, Jazz. The man drinks like a fish.”
“Just keep him happy. Judge Serpas has bailed more than one worker in this place out of trouble with the police. That’s why he always drinks for free here. That man has saved me a fortune in legal fees.”
Scott placed the tall glass on a black serving tray. “Just because they work for you, Jazz, doesn’t mean you have to go down to the courthouse and bail them out when they get busted for drugs or driving drunk.”
Jazzmyn leaned in closer to the bar and picked up a maraschino cherry from the fruit container. “Dad always said, ‘treat your workers like family and they will treat your customers like gold.’” She tilted her head back and dropped the cherry in her mouth.
“Yeah, that was before he found out he hired half of the occupants of the Orleans Parish Prison to work for him.” Scott took a glass from the rack behind him. “You need to watch your back around these characters, Jazz. You know practically all your kitchen help has arrest records.” He picked up several maraschino cherries and put them in the glass.
“I already know that, Scott. But anyone who works in this business in this city has an arrest record. Look at Kyle.”
Scott handed her the glass of maraschino cherries. “Kyle is an alcoholic, not a criminal. If you ask me, that DUI was bullshit, anyway. How do you bust a guy for DUI parked outside of his house?”
Jazzmyn took the glass from him. “Kyle is not an alcoholic.”
“Jazz, no one else in the city would touch Kyle after the mess he made over at Commander’s Palace. But he comes here to apply for a job and you hire him.” Scott began wiping the bar in front of him. “Even Jack thought you had lost it then,” he added.
Jazzmyn picked one of the cherries out of her glass. “But I was right about him. He’s a talented chef. Look at what he has done for this place. I tripled the business coming in the door after I hired him.” She popped the cherry in her mouth.
Scott shrugged his wide shoulders. “As long as you keep him sober, he’s great.”
“You’re no help. What kind of bartender are you if you can’t give me a little encouragement every now and then?”
Scott stopped wiping the bar. “I’m your friend, not your bartender, and I’m just telling you to run things around here more with your head and less with your heart.”
“I don’t see why I can’t use both, Scott.”
Just then a loud bang came from the direction of the kitchen.
Jazzmyn turned to the kitchen door. “How many has he had tonight?”
“Just one. But it’s not the booze making him mad tonight.”
“Then what is it?” She put her glass of maraschino cherries on the bar.
Scott shook his head and then nodded to the kitchen. “Perhaps you’d better ask him that.”
Jazzmyn made her way to the kitchen, and waited a moment before she went through the doorway, counting to ten. She performed this ritual every nig
ht right before confronting her chef. It was her ten-second rule for staying calm when having to deal with whatever catastrophe was occurring in the kitchen. She just hoped that tonight Kyle would be able to finish out the evening without incident.
When Jazzmyn stepped into the kitchen the aromatic spices of cayenne and red pepper instantly tickled her nose, while the heady aroma of garlic hung in the air. All around the sounds of plates clanking, oil sizzling in hot pans, knifes chopping on cutting boards, and the hum of people hustling about filled the room. She immediately began searching the large kitchen for Kyle.
The part of the kitchen closest to the dining room door had a long stainless prep table with heating lamps positioned over plates of the various Cajun delicacies served at The Sweet Note. The left side of the station was for salads, the middle portion for hot food, and the right side was for desserts. On the back wall, a six-burner stove was brimming with pans of sautéing chicken, shrimp, vegetables, and scallops. Next to the stove, four stainless convection ovens were loaded with large trays of black bean lasagna, roasting potatoes, biscuits, breaded pork chops, and crawfish pies. In the cooler, along the right side of the back wall, ready-made desserts of various fruit pies, bread pudding, and individual chocolate fudge cakes were waiting to be served. A dishwashing station was at the far right of the room, with a small desk and phone set up next to it for takeout orders. On the slick concrete floor, rubber mats were scattered to protect the kitchen workers from slipping on spilt food and liquids. Staff were darting from station to station, preparing plates for service and cooking the variety of dishes on the menu.
In the center of the action was Kyle. His white T-shirt and white apron were already drenched in sweat, and the red bandana on his head—his answer to the health code required hair net—was soaked through. He was looking down at a plate of scallops in his hand.
“Goddamn it, Leon,” Kyle shouted at the short cook with thick arms and a very muscular body. “The scallops are supposed to be seared, not raw,” he berated.
“Sorry, Kyle,” the young dark-skinned man apologized as he took the plate from Kyle. “I’ll do them again.”
“Kyle,” Jazzmyn called to him.
Her chef’s blue eyes turned to her. When he saw her standing in front of the prep table, she could see the change in his expression.
He nodded to a gangly young man next to him, pouring a small bit of cream sauce over a plate of shrimp and pasta.
“Carl, take over,” Kyle instructed to the lanky youth.
He grabbed a towel on the station in front of him and came around the prep area to Jazzmyn’s side.
“Are you all right?” she questioned, and ushered him off to the side of the kitchen. “I heard something hitting the floor back here and I was wondering—”
“What? If I was loaded again?” Kyle curtly replied.
Jazzmyn placed her hand on his forearm. “No, I was wondering if you were worried about something. You haven’t been yourself today. It’s like you’ve been preoccupied. What’s going on?”
Kyle took a breath and waved at the prep area. “I’m not preoccupied. It’s Leon. He burned something, again. I swear, Jazz, I don’t know what possessed you to hire that kid as a cook. He’s worthless in the kitchen.”
“He’s cheap, and he asked to work with you. Your former boss over at Commander’s Palace sent him here.”
“Harry Ellis sent him here to screw us over, not to help us, Jazz.” He wiped the towel across his sweaty face. “When are you going to learn that everyone is out to hurt you in this business, not help you?”
“Does that include my chef? Because shouting at my staff and tossing things around in the kitchen so all the customers out front can hear is not helping me either, Kyle.”
Kyle placed the towel around the back of his neck and cast his eyes to the floor. “Sorry, boss. Won’t happen again.”
Jazzmyn sighed with frustration. “Kyle, that’s not what I—”
An attractive, brown-haired woman dressed in the server’s uniform of black pants and a long-sleeved, white shirt pushed through the kitchen door to the right of Jazzmyn.
“Hey, Jazz, your wino friend is here.”
Jazzmyn nodded to the waitress, trying to hide her displeasure. “Thank you, Lally. Now, get back to your tables.”
When Jazzmyn’s gaze returned to Kyle, she could see the anger already simmering beneath his blue eyes.
“We’ll talk about this later,” she asserted, noting how all the faces in the kitchen were observing their every move. “And fire up more of those grilled oysters for table six, along with some cheese bread. Ms. Mae’s hungry tonight.”
Kyle pulled the towel from behind his neck. “Sure, Jazz.” He motioned to the dining room with his head. “You’d better not keep him waiting,” Kyle grumbled, before heading back to the prep area.
Jazzmyn glimpsed the black door that led to the dining area, but instead of walking through it, she turned around and hurried down the narrow hallway to her left. She made her way past the walk-in refrigerator and the door that led to the deep storage room until she came to the last doorway at the end of the hall before the rear entrance. She turned the knob and glanced back once more to the kitchen. She listened to the banging of pots as Kyle began raising his voice and barking orders at his kitchen crew. Jazzmyn shook her head and slipped inside.
The room was a little bigger than a broom closet, with a desk, two chairs, a small file cabinet, and a bulletin board hanging on the far wall with an assortment of suppliers’ business cards tacked to it. Along the rest of the wall were shelves containing extra pots, storage containers, plates, silverware, tablecloths, candles, napkins, and glasses. Jazzmyn went to the desk, pulled the keys out of the front pocket of her slacks, and opened the locked bottom drawer. She retrieved her brown leather purse from the desk and began hunting for her lipstick.
After she had retouched her makeup and checked her reflection in a compact mirror, Jazzmyn felt ready to go back to the dining room and face him.
“Julian,” she whispered, as she thought back to the first night that he had entered her establishment three weeks before.
“He’s back again, huh?”
Jazzmyn jumped in her chair and turned to see Ms. Helen standing in the door.
“Jesus, Ms. Helen, you scared the crap out of me,” Jazzmyn declared, grabbing at her chest.
“I’m sorry, child. I just came by to get some of Kyle’s crab and shrimp etoufee for me and Reggie.” She nodded back down the hallway. “You gussyin’ up for him?”
Jazzmyn dropped her compact back in her purse. “No, I was just taking a break.” She replaced the brown leather purse in the desk drawer and locked it. “It’s been pretty busy tonight.”
Ms. Helen crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Jazzmyn. “You can’t lie to me, child. I’ve known you since you first came here with your daddy when you were ten years old. I used to babysit you after your momma ran off with that Hollywood actor. I know how you think, Jazzmyn, and you’re thinkin’ ‘bout that man sittin’ out by the bar, aren’t you?”
Jazzmyn placed her keys in her pocket. “Ms. Helen, it’s not what you think.”
Ms. Helen shook her head. “Never is. Usually, it’s a lot worse.” She stepped inside the office doorway. “Look, child, I know you’re sweet on this man, but I’m askin’ you to be careful. He’s too dark to be any good for you.”
“Oh, God, Ms. Helen, please don’t start that again. He’s not a demon, or a witch, or an evil spirit possessing someone.”
Ms. Helen pointed her finger at Jazzmyn. “Don’t you be talkin’ bad ‘bout the magic, girl. My magic’s been keepin’ this place goin’ all these years, and you’d better take—”
“Ms. Helen,” Jazzmyn pleaded, interrupting the older woman’s lecture. “I know you claim to be a powerful voodoo priestess, and whatever you have done to keep Daddy’s restaurant going, I’m grateful, really I am. But please stop running off every man that isn’t Kyle.”
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“I’m just tryin’ to show you that Kyle is the man you gonna end up with, ‘cause I’ve seen it in my visions.”
“I know you have told me about your visions in the past.” Jazzmyn clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “And I appreciate them, but please let me find my own man and stop trying to push me and Kyle together. It can’t happen between us. He’s my chef and I’m his boss. Then there is….” Jazzmyn let the words she was thinking die on her lips.
“He drinks ‘cause he can’t have you. Boy’s so blinded by you he can’t see straight. One day you’ll see I’m right ‘bout Kyle. One day soon you gonna see that I’m right ‘bout that dark man out there, too. He’ll be the one you end up runnin’ from. He’s gonna change everythin’ for you, mark my words.”
Jazzmyn walked up to the older woman. “But I need to find that out for myself, Ms. Helen.”
Ms. Helen patted her hand gently against Jazzmyn’s round cheek. “You know, I always thought of you as my little girl. Reggie and me didn’t have kids, and when your daddy brought you here…well, I took to you just like a mother hen takes to a lost chick. You were so lost after your momma up and left. I want to make sure you’re always safe, child.” She let her hand fall from Jazzmyn’s cheek. “That’s all I’m tryin’ to do…protect you from harm.”
Jazzmyn wrapped her arms about Ms. Helen’s thick waist and gently rested her head against her shoulder. “You’ve always been like a mother to me, Ms. Helen.” She pulled away and gazed up into the woman’s warm brown eyes. “But I’m all grown-up now, and you can’t always be there to protect me. I have to fall down flat on my face once in a while.”
Ms. Helen kissed Jazzmyn tenderly on the forehead. “I’m here when you need me, baby. I’ll always be here for you.”
“You best be getting Mr. Reggie’s dinner back to him,” Jazzmyn insisted with a grin. “You know how cranky he gets when it’s late.”
Ms. Helen rolled her eyes. “Lord, have mercy, don’t I know it.” She exited the office and started down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen.
The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) Page 2
