by Kym Brunner
As I turn off my light, I realize I haven’t worked this hard in a long time. The next thing I know, Giovanni and I are at the Hard Rock Café on Ontario Street downtown. He smiles and points out some whipped cream on my upper lip, offering to lick it off for me. He leans toward me. I close my eyes, ready to kiss him, when Mom shakes me. “Sophie! It’s six o’clock. Time to get up, honey.”
Mom is the worst dream interrupter ever! As I open my eyes, my brain registers: Grand Re-Opening. I flip off the covers and leap out of bed. “Six o’clock already?” I nearly trip over Paczki, my newly renamed kitten. I figure the cat doesn’t have to know he’s named after a jelly donut. “Time for phase one!” I announce. “As soon as I’m dressed, I’m going outside to hand out free samples along with the coupons I printed.”
“Free samples worked for International Gourmet, so I hope it works for me—I mean us, too,” Mom says, smiling. “Thank you, Sophie.”
“Don’t thank me yet! Let’s see how today goes, first.” I race for the bathroom and take the world’s fastest shower. I dry my hair and whip on some makeup in record time. I’m downstairs in a flash with my hair in a ponytail, dressed in our new employee uniform: white capris and a red V-neck tee with the Ba-Ba-BOOSH! logo on the front and our new slogan on the back, “Get your tush over to Ba-Ba-Boosh!” I admit the outfit was my sneaky way of getting Mom out of her tramp attire. Even though she’s still busting out of her neckline, Mom bought me a push-up bra as a thank-you gift for helping out.
Truthfully, I think she was embarrassed for her little grandboobs, Boo and Bee.
After stopping off in the bakery to scoop three batches of giant chocolate chip cookies onto the cooling rack, I tie on my new black half-apron, also with the Ba-Ba-Boosh! logo and mascot on it. Busia attached long apron strings so you can wrap them around you and tie them in front, just like the professional ones. “Cute aprons, Boosh!” I give her a thumbs-up as she hurries past me with a pot of Highlander Hash.
Five minutes before we’re set to open, I make up a tray of samples next to a stack of dollar-off coupons. Grabbing the megaphone that I rented for the morning, I stride through our decked-out eatery. I convinced Mom to turn on the air conditioning, knowing at the end of the day, we’ll have a better idea of whether we’ll be moving up or out.
Mom hurries to unlock the door when she sees my hands are full, but instead of whisking it open, she stops me. “Wait! We need a family meeting!”
“Now?” I ask, panicking. “But it’s almost seven and—”
“Some things are more important than business,” Mom says quietly. The look on her face tells me she means it.
“Tak? Yes? Did you call me?” Busia hobbles over, looking adorable in her floral print dress and old-fashioned chef apron. Mom and I decided that as our company CSO—Chief Spiritual Officer—Busia needed to embody the full spirit of Ba-Ba-Boosh! and dress like…well, like Busia.
Mom puts a hand over her heart. “I want to say thank you to both of you for all of your hard work. Busia, can you say a prayer for good luck?”
Busia nods and holds out her hands. I set my tray on the table next to me, and we all link hands, forming a triangle. Busia closes her eyes and utters a few sentences in Polish, ending with, “We asking God and Mary and Saint Joseph and all the Polish spirits in heaven to bless us and make restaurant be success. Amen.”
“Amen!” Mom and I respond enthusiastically.
“Let’s knock ’em dead, girls!” I say, feeling like an equal partner in this business for the very first time. If we don’t do well, I’m going to accept at least one-third of the blame.
“Dead not good,” Busia says, a smirk on her face. “Let’s knock them full.”
I open the door and step into the glorious sunny day, my hope chest full to the brim.
The Grand Re-Opening has begun.
Chapter 21
AN HOUR LATER, I’m still standing out in front of the bakery with a newly-filled tray of goodies. I lift the megaphone. “Try a free sample of our Chocolate Mousse paczki. Best donut you ever had!” It’s true, too. I invented that flavor; Busia concocted it.
Several people come and take samples, exclaim how delicious the food is, and then keep on walking. I worry that they didn’t like the food and wonder if I should go get something different to hand out. I feel like shouting, “Freeloaders! Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s impolite to eat and run?”
Give it some time, I tell myself. How many free samples have I eaten in my lifetime without buying anything? Glancing inside the bakery, I notice there are only a few customers, but I refuse to give up hope. It’s still early in the day. Hell, I’d probably still be sleeping myself if the “wake up and save your family” alarm inside my head hadn’t gone off when it did. I decide to go get fresh samples and come back out with a new flavor. This time, though, I bring a very reluctant Busia outside with me.
I hand her the megaphone. “Say something in Polish, Boosh.”
She pushes the megaphone away. “No one want to hear me talk.”
“Sure they do. Why don’t you say, ‘I’m Busia and I’m the best cook around. Come try my delicious breakfast!’”
She shakes her head. “No. I not saying that. I go back inside now.” She turns to leave, and I grab her arm.
“One second, Boosh, please?” I point to a group of people getting out of their cars. “Look over there. Those are ten possible customers. Just hold down the white button and talk. Maybe they speak Polish and will want to come over to hear what you’re talking about.” I push the megaphone toward her again, and, this time, she takes it.
She lifts the megaphone to her mouth and lets out a good fifteen-second spiel in Polish. I watch the people’s heads turn to see what’s going on over here. They all laugh at whatever it is Busia said. I wave them over, and they nod, heading our way.
I pat Busia on the back. “Good job, Boosh! What did you tell them?” I figure I’ll try the same tactic, only in English.
She adjusts her apron. “I say that my granddaughter making me talk on this silly thing, but all I want to do is go inside and cook. And that is what I going to do.” She hands me the megaphone and waddles back inside.
Surprisingly, the customers that Busia lured over become the champagne cork of the morning, because business really starts to flow after that. More and more people pull in and park, most heading toward the other stores in our mall, which all open at nine. But my big mouth on the megaphone coaxes them over to our place. Looks like I’m not the only one who can’t refuse free samples.
Soon, so many people go inside to eat that I worry we might be understaffed. I’d hate to lose new customers because of slow service. Peeking through the window, only two people are in line placing an order. All the rest have been served. I should be ashamed of myself for doubting Busia’s and Mom’s abilities to handle large groups of hungry diners.
A family with four kids ranging from age five to fifteen passes by, and, within seconds, they clear out my entire tray of Tangerine Dream kolaczki samples. I hand a coupon to each person, even the kids, figuring they could beg Mom or Dad to come back. “These coupons are good until the end of this month,” I tell them. “You can eat here or take your food to go. Free wi-fi, too!”
The teenage boy nods. “Cool.”
And in a moment of genius, I add, “You might like Teen Tuesday, where teens eat lunch for half-price when they show their school ID.” It’ll be nice to see customers under the age of thirty for a change.
“Even cooler.” He tilts his head back and tosses my last sample into his mouth.
I’m about to head inside when two hands cover my eyes from behind. “Surprise!” a familiar voice says. “How’s the grand opening going?”
“Teegan!” We hug, her presence alone giving me a jolt of energy. “It’s almost too grand,” I confide quietly. “I’m going inside to help clear off tables to make room for customers.”
Teegan claps. “Awesome! Can I help?”
> I consider her offer. “Are you sure you want to? It’s kind of messy work.”
She puts her arm around my shoulder and herds me toward the door. “What are best friends for, silly!” We hurry inside, scooping up dirty dishes off the tables as we pass through the eating area. There’s a ton of happy chatter mixed with the music of the contemporary Polish radio station. In the back room, Teegan tosses on one of our shirts and aprons while I’m busy apologizing for not being able to pay her much right now.
“No worries,” she says. “Treat me to Starbucks next time, and we’re good.”
We hurry to cut up dozens of samples. I give her a stack of coupons and send her back outside with a hug and my megaphone. “You are a godsend!” I wonder if she really was sent by the Big Guy, along with the rest of our customers. I only hope that all of today’s success wasn’t a one-day special offer.
I race around cleaning tables, sweeping, talking to customers. A few hours pass, and, for once in my life, I’m thankful that we’re jam-packed. Teegan stays until noon, but I promise to get together with her tomorrow. A guy with headphones and a laptop sits in the far corner tapping at the keyboard. Murphy wanders in around one o’clock, declaring himself “hungrier than a stray mutt.”
“I’m so glad you came back!” Mom tells him. “Today, mutts eat for free.”
“Me like ’em dogs, too. Hello, Murpee.” Busia grins.
The smile on Murphy’s face tells it all. “Stella! The best chef this side of Texas.”
I’m taking it all in, when someone taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss.”
I spin around to see Giovanni and his uncle standing behind me. I’m so happy to see them, my heart practically bursts from my chest. “Ohmigod! What are you guys doing here?”
Even though I must look and smell like a wet donkey, Gio gives me a super nice hug. “Had to check out the new place.” He smiles. “And see you, of course.”
“Aw…that’s sweet.” If I had more time, my heart might have done some flip-flops, but I have one eye on Giovanni and the other on the three tables that need clearing.
Gio pats his uncle’s back. “Turns out Uncle Tony loves Polish food. We decided to help make your grand re-opening a success.” He looks around, smiling. “But it looks like we’re too late for that. The place is rocking, Sophie!”
“I know! Isn’t it great?” I glance down at my T-shirt and am amazed to see that it’s clean. “So…do you guys want to get in line so my mom can take your order?”
Uncle Tony taps his stomach. “Nothing beats cheese dumplings with sour cream.” He licks his lips, reading the menu. “Oooh. Polish sausage and kraut too. Bravissimo!”
“I agree. Busia makes the best food ever.” My internal panic radar goes off when I see another group leave, meaning another table that needs clearing. “Sorry, guys, but I gotta go now.” I turn to Giovanni. “But I promise you’ll have my complete attention tonight.”
He grins. “That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll see you at six then?”
“I can’t wait!” I squeeze his shoulder before gathering up some dirty dishes. That’s when I see Mom getting out that damn tube of hand cream. My ears ring from embarrassment. I’m about to tell her to put that away when I see her squirt a bit of lotion into Uncle Tony’s hand.
“Thank you very much, bella. Much better.” He smiles at my mother and rubs the lotion onto his neck and hands.
Mom grins back. “You go home and tell your wife to buy you some suntan lotion. That is why you have such bad sunburn.” Mom replaces the cap and sets it back under the counter.
“If I had a wife, I’d tell her,” he says, chuckling. “But since I don’t, I might need to come back here and use your lotion.” He grabs his plate of food but pauses, waiting for Mom’s reply.
She holds her hand to her mouth and giggles like a schoolgirl. “Whenever you buy lunch here, I will give you lotion anytime you need it.”
My mouth drops open, and Giovanni and I look at each other in shock. “My uncle and your mom?” he mouths, looking amused.
“Maybe.” I shrug, not upset by the idea at all. I motion Gio closer. We both lean toward each other, the dish cart between us. “But they’d better not even think about a double date.”
“Agreed.” He glances at me with those dreamy eyes of his, and I nearly melt. “See you tonight. I’ve got big plans to win you over.”
“By showing up today, you’ve already done that.” I lean over and kiss his cheek before running off to clean more tables.
The next thing I know, it’s three o’clock and time for us to close. If today is any indicator of our success, one thing is clear: we need to hire new employees, and fast. Too bad I ruined things with Eliza, because we could really use a hard worker like her. I make a mental vow to be nice to whomever we hire, because that’s essential in keeping employees happy, I’ve decided.
An hour later, I dash upstairs and take a long hot shower, letting the stress of the day wash away. I want to be relaxed for my date tonight, not uptight. The knock on the bathroom door brings Busia asking me to come into the living room for “one quick minoot.”
I so want to decline so I’ll have more time to get made up for Gio, but after the wonderful day we had, I figure I can spare a minute or two. When I walk into the living room, Mom and Busia each have a cup of coffee next to them. Paczki is in Busia’s lap, sound asleep. Stacked on the table are three white pastry boxes.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Busia strokes Punchky’s back. “I got a sign from Dola today when Gio was in bakery. When he drop his fork, it stick straight up in the floor. That never happen before.”
“Is that a good or bad sign?” Before she can answer, I hold up my hand. “You know what? Don’t answer that, because it doesn’t even matter. I really like Giovanni—a lot. I hope you’re not offended, but I’m going to trust my own heart on this one.”
Busia wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Fork is very good sign. He’s the one Dola want.”
My heart does a little jig inside my chest. Or maybe it’s the polka. Not that it matters what Dola wants because I’d already made up my mind. “Well, it looks like Dola’s deal worked out pretty well, after all. Not only did she get me a good guy, but she made me see that my life was already pretty sweet.” I kiss Busia’s cheek and then Mom’s.
Mom touches her cheek in the spot I kissed. “That was very nice. Maybe Busia needs to do another deal—one for me and Giovanni’s uncle.”
I laugh. “Whatever you want, Mom. I’ve got to go get ready now.”
Mom holds her hand up. “Wait! That’s why I asked Busia to bring you out here. Yesterday, when I saw how hard you were working, I called Andre. I said I’d pay him three boxes of pastries to come here to fix you up, but he said you already promised him that.”
“About that…” I say, biting my lip.
She waves off my concerns. “No worries. I told him I’ll give him extra leftovers from today’s Grand Opening, and he said yes. He’ll be here any minute. He said he’s going to make you as pretty as the first day you met Giovanni.”
My mother is randomly buying me beauty services? That’s a first. “Really? Thanks, Mom!” Those sewer fairies must have cast a spell on her wallet as well as her business.
She nods her approval. “You deserve it. Now don’t get your hopes up, but if things keep going as good as today, I will put money in the bank for you to go to university. This week, you proved to me that you are one smart cookie, not a Dumbelina. And I think you will make a very good commercial one day.”
I look around for cameras, because this kind of thing only happens in movies.
After a full hour of beauty treatments and hairstyling in my kitchen, Andre makes a complete circle around my chair. He studies me, nodding, as if I’m an artifact in some freakish mannequin museum. “I do believe I am finished.”
Not to be ungrateful, but I’m relieved. He made me sit like a statue—no eating or drinking, nor barely even speaking
, the whole time while I was being worked on. After a quick run to the washroom and a check in the mirror, I hurry back. “Whoa! I love my updo and my makeup! It’s not too fancy, not too casual. You’re the best, Andre.”
He sniffs. “I know. Sampson’s going to buy me my own salon someday. Speaking of my midnight cowboy, he said he’d love to meet you. So, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow around noon, you want to come to our Appeteaser Pleaser? That’s what the desserts and all this food is for. Although I can work miracles on humans, I shudder at the thought of being in a kitchen.” He looks over his shoulder before turning back to me. “But don’t bring your mom, okay? Girl, she talks more than I do!”
I laugh. “Thank God she went to take a nap.”
He pulls out a shiny pink gift bag from his massive makeup tackle box. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but your wardrobe is a fright! So I got you a little something-something for your date tonight.”
“You bought me a gift?” I’m about to open the bag when he puts his hands over mine.
“Not exactly. Your mama gave me twenty bucks yesterday and asked me to buy you something nice.” He scrunches up his face, wincing. “But twenty bucks? Does she think I’m a magician? Ain’t nothing out there that’s ‘nice’ for twenty bucks.” He purses his lips and shrugs. “So, I pitched in a little extra and got you this.” He lets go of my hands so I can open the bag.
As I’m peering inside, Andre says, “‘Wear black and blue to make your man stay true.’ I made that up because Sampson loves when I wear black and blue.” He leans in and touches my shoulder, before adding, “He loves when I wear nothing at all, too, but I couldn’t give you that.”
I laugh out loud. “You had me nervous for a second.” Inside the bag is a sleek black skirt and a baby blue Bebe shirt! “Ohmigod! This looks just like your T-shirt—the one I love!”
“It doesn’t just look like my shirt, honey, it is my T-shirt.” He flicks his blue-tinged bangs out of his eyes. “I paid for the skirt, but the T-shirt was my donation to a worthy cause.”
