But now something wonderful had happened. Her dream had come true. She was going to Harvard! It meant a lot to her father, since he had gone there as an undergraduate too, and started business school there.
Her school was bustling with news on Monday morning, and a few panicked faces of the students who hadn’t gotten in anywhere, or had applied to too few schools. She had cut it close with only seven. Some of her classmates had applied to fifteen, especially if their grades and board scores weren’t as good as hers. Her counselor had assured her that she had a strong shot at the Ivy Leagues, although they were unpredictable, like Duke and Dartmouth declining and Yale wait-listing her. But she was grateful Harvard hadn’t declined her and didn’t put her on a wait list, which extended the stress for several months. She was in! In five months she’d be a Harvard freshman! She couldn’t think of a better feeling in the world, and her mother kept reminding her that she had earned it and deserved it. Eileen wanted her daughter to be proud of herself, enjoy the victory fully, and celebrate it.
Pennie went out with her friends that Saturday night, those who had their answers and were happy with their options, and they had dinner together, then Eileen took all three of her children out to dinner on Sunday night. She thought of inviting Paul to join them, but decided not to. She hadn’t spoken to him since the day she got home, and his pathetic pleas to continue their marriage. She had signed the papers the next day, and by now, she was sure they had arrived at his attorney’s office, but she hadn’t heard a word from him and didn’t want to.
She’d had lunch with Jane when she got back and told her all the news, and Jane told her she looked ten years younger after Paris. Better than Botox!
* * *
—
Once the college acceptances were in, and Pennie had accepted Harvard, Eileen turned her mind to other things. She called an agency for restaurant personnel that she found online and listed the job for a caterer’s assistant. She wanted someone experienced, particularly with classic French cuisine. She expected it to take a while, but within two days the agency was calling her with applicants and emailing her their CVs. There were a dozen of them for her to sift through. Some of them sounded inappropriate immediately. Others went into a “maybe” pile for her to study more thoroughly late at night when she wasn’t busy.
After she did, three of them stood out. She wasn’t allowed to ask their ages, but she could guess in most cases from their list of previous jobs. All of them had worked in restaurants, one had been a caterer’s assistant for six months, but the circumstances surrounding the end of the position sounded mysterious and didn’t feel right to her. She told the agency she would meet all three applicants, and made appointments with them at a coffee shop in town. She didn’t want strangers coming to her home.
The first one was a young woman who had worked at two excellent French restaurants in Boston, and was a sous-chef. She was young, had good experience and good references, but she had piercings everywhere, eyebrows, nose, ears, lips, tongue, and “sleeves” of ominous-looking tattoos on both arms. Other than that she looked neat and clean, but Eileen couldn’t see her as an assistant at a high-end wedding. The second was an older man who had been a line chef in his youth, and a pastry chef at a five-star hotel for the past five years. He was very dour, but his references were excellent. He expounded for half an hour about his rigid ideas about how to manage staff. Eileen felt claustrophobic with him halfway through the interview. Their cooking experience mattered most, but their personalities factored into it too. She couldn’t see herself working with either of them, no matter how good their references were. And she knew she would be spending a lot of time with her assistant if the business took off and became a success, as she wanted it to. She needed someone who would inspire confidence in the clients, didn’t look scary, presented well, and could coordinate all the different kinds of staff and suppliers they’d be using, from tent rentals to dance floors, to tableware, florists, and their food wholesalers. She was looking for a person who understood fine cuisine, and could deal with guests at an event if Eileen was busy somewhere else. Eileen was hoping to garner a big portion of the wedding business in Greenwich, which would be very lucrative. People with large estates went all out when their daughters got married. The food was an important part of it, but there was a great deal more to handle. Eileen had been giving it a lot of thought since she had the idea. She’d been buying wedding books to study flowers, décor, and table settings, and had some creative ideas of her own.
The third candidate she was to see rescheduled twice, which she thought was a bad sign and suggested to her that he was unreliable, although he was pleasant on the phone and his excuses sounded valid. He was sick once with the flu, which could happen to anyone, and the second time his dog had been badly bitten so he was rushing it to the pet hospital. Eileen was sympathetic and liked dogs, but work was work. And what if they had a wedding to do? The agency had warned her that he was an excellent chef with a strong personality, which many had. They said he was good-looking and had an eye for the female staff. “He’s a bit of a Don Juan,” the woman at the agency warned her, “but everyone loves him.” He had a strong Italian accent when Eileen talked to him, and he had worked in France, at two private châteaux and a five-star hotel. He had stayed in his jobs longer than any of the others, which was unusual for private chefs. They got bored and moved on, particularly if their employers didn’t entertain enough. They liked to use their skills and show them off, which you couldn’t do with a small family or an elderly couple. Eileen decided to see him anyway, even after he canceled for the dog. There was no one else she wanted to see at the moment.
He appeared ten minutes late for their appointment, and said he had gotten lost on his way to Greenwich and took the wrong turnoff. His last job was at a large private estate on Long Island. She knew the names of his employers, who were well-known socialites she had read about in magazines for many years. They also had a large and very stately home in Palm Beach. The husband had been a famous financier on Wall Street in his day. He had been with them for three years, but the wife had died suddenly, and the husband was now ninety-three and had Alzheimer’s. He said there was nothing left for him to do except prepare trays for his employer and his nurses. He wasn’t using his skills in the job. He felt very sorry for his employer and liked him, but it was time to move on. His employer’s late wife had been full of life and loved to entertain, even at ninety, which was rare, but she had fallen down a marble staircase in high heels, had a severe head injury, and died two days later. Once she was gone, the chef had nothing to do, so he had given notice and left, and was currently unemployed.
The applicant for the job had surprised Eileen when she saw him. He was unusually tall, looked very serious at first, but was actually very funny and made her laugh several times at his descriptions of parties, events, and jobs he had had. She could see why he was a success with women. He was very charming, with expressive eyes. He looked neat and clean and presentable in his suit and expensive brown suede shoes, and he had the stylishness of Italian men and was from Milan. His parents owned a hotel in Florence, and he had grown up around food. She didn’t ask the name of the hotel, but it sounded like a successful venture. But he wanted to work in the States. He had a green card, which was essential. His name was Massimiano Salvi, and he went by Max.
“I married a friend to get the green card,” he explained without embarrassment. “We’re divorced, and I’m legal to work here. It was the only way I could get it.” He volunteered that he was thirty-three years old, since she couldn’t ask him, and he seemed fit, energetic, and well spoken. His English was excellent and he was fluent in Italian, Spanish, and French.
“I hope you understand that this isn’t as glamorous as many of the jobs you’ve had.” He had worked for very wealthy people with enormous homes and big staffs, fancy restaurants, and the five-star hotel in Paris. “I’m starting a busines
s. It isn’t even set up yet. I’d like to focus on the wedding market at first, and high-end dinner parties and events. I just finished a three-month course at Cordon Bleu, and I lean to simple high-end French food.” He nodded. It sounded fine to him and the kind of thing he liked to do, as well as “refined Italian cuisine,” as he called it. “If I get the wedding business, we’re going to have to coordinate a lot of suppliers, work hard, be ultra organized and able to keep a lot of balls in the air at once. I’m looking for an assistant to help me set up the business and juggle everything with me, and we’ll need a stable of sous-chefs to call on, while you supervise the food.” He nodded again, undaunted by what she was suggesting. She was offering a respectable but not enormous base salary, and a percentage of the fee of the events they catered, which she hoped would make it alluring, but was probably a lot less than he’d been earning. He thought the arrangement sounded fair.
She had really wanted to hire a woman, but she could see advantages to having a man assist her. It was going to be hard physical work, often carrying things when no one else would, and whipping things into shape in a crisis right before an event.
“We’ll have to be jacks-of-all-trades, not just chefs. I don’t just want to be a cook, I want to plan events.”
“That is why I was bored in the job I left. Madame loved to plan grand parties, a masked ball, we transformed the house into a Venetian palace, we did a wedding that looked like Versailles for her granddaughter. Black-tie dinners for a hundred for charitable events. My first year there was wonderful, then her husband began to fail and we were a little more discreet. Then she fell, and it all ended. So sad, I loved her, she was a wonderful woman.” He wiped a tear from his eye and Eileen was touched but wondered if he was too emotional. That could prove to be difficult too. “I think we can make a huge success of your business. I would like to help you.” She was tempted to try him, but she wanted to think about it. She had envisioned someone more low-key and subdued, a good foot soldier. She had the feeling that Max could be flamboyant, and have his own opinions, but at worst, if it didn’t work out, she could fire him, which he said too. He sounded excited about what she wanted to do, and she liked that. His references were flawless. Everyone he’d worked for had loved him. If the business was successful with the wealthy community in Greenwich, he could be the perfect assistant.
At the end of the interview, she had a good feeling about him, and decided to try him.
“How will you advertise the business when you’re ready?” he asked her.
“I was hoping to do it by word of mouth. If we get a few events, it could get us started.”
“Yes, excellent. But you must send emails to everyone you know. Clever ones, make it appealing, make it fun and elegant. People must talk about you, the newspapers must discover you, journalists must love you. People must beg you to do their parties and weddings and events.” He was right, she realized. There was theater to it too. And she already wanted his help.
“Max, I’d like to offer you the job.”
“I am very exciting to do it,” he said, making an innocent mistake, and she smiled as he realized it. “No, I am not exciting. I am excited,” he laughed at himself, and so did she.
“I have a feeling you’re exciting too!”
“I get upset sometimes, when things aren’t perfect. But only for five minutes. Then I make them perfect, and I’m happy again.”
“I don’t get upset, but I’m a perfectionist too.”
“We will work well together. I am sure of it.” They both stood up, and he shook her hand and beamed. He had a strong handshake. “When do we start?”
“Now. Next week, as soon as you can.”
“I could work with you every day, making lists of suppliers and planning our email campaign. I can answer the phones when they start to ring. And I can be with you full-time in two weeks. I’ve booked a few parties until then.” It was perfect, and just what she needed. He sounded flexible, willing, and creative.
“I hope the phones do ring.” She gave him her address, and he promised to be there the following day. He had a small studio apartment, he said, not far from her. They shook hands on it again, and as he drove away she noticed that he drove an old Fiat. And she had an idea on the way home.
When she got home, she called the agency and said she had hired him. And when Pennie came home from school, Eileen shared her idea with her. Pennie had been looking for a summer job that didn’t eat up all her time, for her last summer before college.
“I have a job for you,” her mother said cautiously. “How would you like to answer phones for me, for my catering business, before you leave for Boston? That’s if someone calls, of course.”
“That sounds like fun, Mom.” Pennie smiled at her.
“And you could help with small jobs if we get any events.” It reminded her that she needed to get a phone line dedicated to the business, an email address, and had to start working on their email blast, set up a website and eventually a brochure, and they needed a name.
“I’d love to do it.” Pennie was excited at the idea. And after that, Eileen went upstairs to her office to start making lists. She had an email from Max that afternoon, thanking her for the opportunity to work with her. She had told Jane about him, who wanted to know if he was cute, and Eileen laughed at her.
They were off and running. She had an assistant, and a receptionist to take calls. Now all they needed were clients, and some weddings and events. And a name. She played around with some words and names on a pad on her desk, and the simplest, most direct sounded best. Eileen Jackson Events. Simple and clear. She smiled as she stared at the name. It was happening. She had a dream. And it was coming true.
Chapter 14
Olivia spent three weeks in New York, tending to her business, getting organized to leave again, and she had dinner with her mother and grandmother and saw a few friends she hadn’t seen for a while. Having an affair with a married man had driven her underground for the past year, first so no one would discover it, and then with Paul, to seize whatever stolen moments they had. She was relieved to be out of the shadows now, and no longer waiting for him to have a free hour on his way to Greenwich so she could fall into bed with him. The relationship had degenerated severely once Eileen left for Paris and Paul moved back home. Now she was free again. She missed him at first, but she was glad she had ended it before the situation got any worse, or she got in any deeper. It had been a difficult year, even though it had been exciting in the beginning. The thrill of forbidden fruit, and an older man. Now she was ready for real life again.
She heard from Jean-Pierre every day, mostly to talk about her business, and he was careful not to make romantic overtures over the phone or by text. He wanted a real relationship, not a virtual one. Too many of his friends led their emotional lives by text with people they scarcely got to know. And he thought Olivia was a fascinating woman. She thought the same about him and at times she thought she had fantasized his interest in her, because he didn’t mention it on the phone.
She set the date for her return to Paris, three weeks after she’d left, and was planning to stay at the Ritz again. She wanted to spend three or four weeks there, although he explained to her that May was a difficult month to do business in France. There were four long weekends for national and religious holidays, and people tended to give up and take vacations then. But he said it was a perfect time for them to set up their office and get organized. And he had “stolen” one of his father’s young female employees at the gallery as their secretary/assistant, a young French girl who spoke good English, since her mother was American. Her name was Suzanne, and Olivia had already spoken to her several times on the phone. Jean-Pierre assured her that the girl was competent.
By mid-April, Olivia was ready to go back to Paris and she didn’t have to return to New York until late May for her grandmother’s show at the MoMA. She had promi
sed to be back for that, which gave her five weeks in Paris if she wanted to stay that long. She liked the idea of getting out of New York for a while. She wanted to get away from anything that reminded her of Paul. She hadn’t heard from him since they’d broken up. She knew that Eileen must have been back by then, and she wondered if they had gotten back together. She had a feeling they might, once she and Paul had broken up. She didn’t think he wanted to leave his children and house in Greenwich again, and she suspected that Eileen would probably take him back. Why wouldn’t she? They were her kids too. It made sense to Olivia. She didn’t miss him after a while. But she was lonely in her apartment at times.
* * *
—
Paul had received the copy of the divorce papers Eileen had filed by then. He still couldn’t believe she had rejected him and done it. He was angry at first, and then hurt, and upset with Olivia. It had been a terrible month. He missed the house in Greenwich and the children, and both women who had left him. He had played a double game for a year and lost both. It was a heavy blow. And he didn’t want to believe that it wouldn’t have worked with Olivia. She could have gotten used to the children and come to love them if she’d tried. Their first meeting had been unfortunate, but they would have come around. She had turned out to be flighty and young, in his opinion, and selfish. She couldn’t even stick it out long enough for Eileen to come home, even though they were almost there. And from his perspective, Eileen was punishing him for the affair.
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