“So, guys, here are the facts. We’ve got some followers and potential partners coming our way. D’you remember we got in touch with the bloggers?”
A unanimous chorus of “yes” followed.
“Well, we have at least twenty of them interested in collaborating. How are we going to play this one?”
Ritchie was the first to speak “Let’s assume we’re picky and we agree to work only with the best, let’s say five or six. Each one of them has thousands of followers. We have to balance it right.”
“You’re right,” interjected Jacob. “Get too many and we wouldn’t be able to cope. That would be a huge dissatisfaction to our clients and could turn them against us.”
“And these people are trendsetters, good at spotting what’s new and cool, but we need to ensure that our customers come first. We don’t want our customers wearing something that doesn’t suit them, or doesn’t make them happy, just because it’s trendy. This has been the core business of this firm; we aren’t going to alienate it,” I said, in a very … business-like tone. Oh GiGi: don’t transform yourself into a corporate monster, I thought; you know you hate that sort of thing.
Osheena was the first to build on the idea. “Business units,” she said, without even looking up from the block notes she was scribbling on.
We looked at each other as if she was speaking a different language. She smiled, took her time in savouring the moment, as all of our tongues were hanging out waiting for her next words. Finally she said, “Business units. We can have many of them; each consultant has their own, and each one has its own style. Contemporary, high fashion and so on.”
“Maybe it’s because it’s Monday and I’ve had a rough weekend,” said Jacob, “but I don’t get it!”
“Think about it,” continued Osheena, who by then was on a roll. “We get one of these bloggers – take this Trendygirl, for example.” She turned her laptop so we could take a good look at her blog. “She’s for trendy casual, so every customer who would fit in that category would go to her. And it’s scalable; if she has too many customers, all of us can give her a hand or, in the future, we could hire people to work in her department; people that are in sync with her style. And so on with all the others.”
“Sounds like a franchise,” said Ritchie, mulling the matter over. Good: I wasn’t the only one taking that suggestion seriously.
“Each blogger has their own division,” I repeated, “It’s just brilliant. They wouldn’t have to give up their ideas or their talent; they’d have a platform to put it into practice and earn. Am I the only one thinking that this could really be the next big thing in town?”
They were looking at each other, nodding and smiling; it was evident we agreed on what was the best direction we should all follow. The next discussion expanded on Osheena’s idea; we evaluated the pros and the cons, but we couldn’t really find any reason why it shouldn’t work. It was easy; everybody could make money and nobody would lose independence or limit their own creativity. This was exactly why Osheena had been so frustrated in her previous job. It was brilliant.
The meeting was over, but Ritchie stayed behind. When the door was closed he said, “We’re lucky to have them.”
I agreed with him wholeheartedly. “We’re getting better and better.”
“I was thinking: they really are putting their heart and soul into this for us,” he continued, almost embarrassed. They were doing a great job, there was no question – so what was this all about?
“OK, spit it out. What d’you have in mind?”
“I was thinking that, maybe, they should become partners in our firm. Look at what Osheena did with the online part. And Jacob: well, customers just love him. He’s bringing in new customers all the time; he seems to know half of London.”
As usual, Ritchie was ahead of me. I was thinking in terms of bonuses, while he was already thinking about partnerships. These two exceptional people would have the right motivation if they were fighting for their own business: not that they hadn’t already shown their worth – far from it. They were putting in as many hours as Ritchie and me, and eventually they could run out of steam if they were just employees.
As I went quiet, pondering the idea and loving it at the same time, Ritchie interpreted my silence as disagreement.
“Look, GiGi, they don’t have to be equal partners, but they deserve something. We are making pots of money and …”
“Hold on; you don’t have to convince me. OK, they become partners. You figure out the details, and I’m sure you’ll do it fairly.”
“Thank you, GiGi. You won’t regret it …”
I interrupted him. “And you’ll also have to tell them. It’s your idea, after all.” I grinned like a Cheshire cat when saying that. I knew him far too well and that he’d love being the one to tell them. It was his idea after all; he should get the credit.
What a journey we’d had so far. From the very beginning, scraping by, then a potential disaster, to my almost losing Ritchie as a friend in the process, and then to have bounced back to where we were now…
“OK, now go and visit your clients, I have a packed morning with bloggers and customers.”
He picked up his laptop and ran towards Jacob, who was already waiting impatiently by the door.
CHAPTER 36
During the following couple of weeks we interviewed all the bloggers. We devised a simple mechanism; Osheena would do the first pass and write down her own notes, then I did the same. At the end of the day, we would meet and put on a write-and-wipe board our preferences, what struck us most about each candidate, whether we thought they’d fit with the team and so on. Some of them were keen on keeping their own independence, and I actually loved that idea, while others just wanted a job. We needed some entrepreneurial initiative in our firm, and therefore we discarded the latter group. We also had a good list of candidates for the “regular” jobs as consultants: it’s all well and good having people with ideas, but if you don’t have enough of a workforce to take care of the customers, you go out of business.
Things were taking shape, and with Osheena’s input we were working like a well-oiled machine. We also fitted in time for all the Advanced customers who wrote to us – hundreds of them. A few were disappointed about the long waiting list, but most just accepted it as part of the experience of having a fashion consultant on their side. We already had a couple of people ready to come in and give us a hand and they were completing their training during that time. When I say “training” I have to clarify: you can’t really train someone in our job. We had to spot the right person, who had to demonstrate personality, clear ideas on fashion and a love for what we were doing. The training was to ensure they understood our mentality; how we operated with our clients and what made us special. Failure to adhere to our strict rules would mean customer dissatisfaction – not that this had happened previously, but I was keen to explain it upfront.
So, on the one side I had a thriving business, and on the other side my love life had started, yet again, to look more and more like a disaster zone. Raffaele was brilliant with me; that very weekend we had the restaurant opening and during this whole period he had demonstrated to me, on many occasions, how supportive he was. However, we’d started arguing more often, sometimes over something silly like what we were watching on TV, or what I wanted for dinner. That had happened the previous morning; I was late for work and he had asked me what I would prefer in the evening: salmon en croute or quails. For me, everything he was cooking was delicious, so I said it didn’t really matter.
Well, never tell a chef that it doesn’t matter what he cooks; he’ll take it personally. He went on a rampage about leaving everything up to him, from cooking to sorting out the house, to the fact that in the evening I was always tired (he actually used the zombie word) and that we had little time for ourselves. It almost sounded as though we weren’t a couple any more.
I found that extremely annoying, and I let him know in clear terms. We were buildin
g our own spaces in the world, him with the restaurant and me … well, things had never been better. I was young and I needed to fulfil my dream, to see this business going through and become an established one. We would have time to relax later, in the future.
Unfortunately, he didn’t receive that speech very well, which fuelled another discussion. We left each other bitterly that morning, and the following evening we barely spoke.
I looked at the balance sheet on the computer and it looked very good. We were wealthy; the cash flow was brilliant and we could even have afforded a few rainy days (actually a whole monsoon period) without bringing us to our knees. I left the office at four and drove to the restaurant, where I hoped things would have settled down with Raffaele.
Guests were due to arrive at half past six, to have a few drinks, listen to the speech and dinner would start at half past seven. For those not willing to drive back, there were rooms above the restaurant. I’d actually had Ritchie looking into that, so that every room would look amazing. That had caused additional friction between Raffaele and me, but, he eventually accepted Ritchie’s ideas.
Raffaele was at full steam ahead in the kitchen, so I just said “hello” through the door. Tom and Lillian arrived a few minutes later, followed by Timothy, his wife and a friend and, by a quarter to seven, the whole restaurant was already packed.
The waiters were friendly; people snatched at the nibbles in a matter of seconds and seemed to be enjoying the jovial atmosphere in the restaurant: it was a perfect evening. Eventually Natalie arrived, just a few minutes after seven, with her friend from the Mail.
“Hello.” I kissed her and shook hands with the journalist, Caroline Porter. “I’m really glad you could make it.”
“Oh darling, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything in the world!”
“Nice place you guys have here. Very friendly,” said Caroline.
“Maybe I should introduce you to the chef?” I asked her. I saw Raffaele had just finished his speech and that it would be the perfect occasion to show there was nothing to be worried about.
“No need, my dear. I prefer that it’s the food speaking to me.”
Oh shit – maybe Raffaele had been right after all.
A waiter approached us and brought our two guests to their table. I’d have time to catch up with Natalie later, after the dessert. The place was really buzzing and people were enjoying themselves. It was a happy place and I really hoped that Caroline Porter wasn’t about to kill my boyfriend’s dream on that very first opening night.
I sat at a small table in the bar area and had a little plate of carpaccio and a beer while everybody else was busy, the customers eating and the staff serving. I’d received plenty of emails and while Raffaele was busy, I tried to catch up with work.
Suddenly a familiar voice echoed through the bar, not too far away from where I was sitting. “We’ve waited a full ten minutes for our drinks. Where’s our champagne?”
I looked in disbelief at Jasper relieving his frustration against the poor waiter, who promptly answered, “I’ll see what I can do, sir, I’ll look into the matter myself.”
“That’s not good enough, boy,” he continued, “You should have thought about that when there was time. What kind of circus are you running here? Don’t you care about paying customers?”
He was looking around, trying to catch signs of approval from nearby guests, when our eyes locked. If people were watching, they’d be hard put to decide which of us was looking at the other with more hatred. He let go of the waiter and approached my table.
“Well, well, GiGi Griswald. Apparently they’re letting everybody into these premises.”
“Sure they are, if you’re here,” I retorted. How in hell he’d managed to get onto the guest list was a mystery I hadn’t solved yet. I certainly hadn’t seen his name anywhere; was he perhaps crashing the party, just for the sake of it? “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I’ve been invited, of course. A rich developer from London had the invitation and he thought of extending it to me. I bet that little business of yours has finally failed. Are you working here now?”
He was a nasty little man, although not in the literal sense (he was quite tall as it happened); how in hell had I got involved with him in the first place? “No, I’m not working here; I happen to know the guy who owns the place.”
“Not for long, if he keeps treating his customers like this. The service is appalling.”
“No, it isn’t. They’re probably used to dealing with much more civilised people rather than bullies.”
His face turned red and he raised his voice. “How dare you call me a bully? I’m a paying customer, and I deserve to be properly hosted.” A few people from the main dining area started turning their heads. After a few seconds, Lady PlumInHerMouth also came to join her former husband. Clearly, we were interrupting some business matter.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but where is our champagne?” Oh dear, she was repeating Jasper’s words; makes you wonder why they divorced in the first place. I was almost ready to give up and go back to my little table – after all, I was a guest the same as everybody else – when Raffaele came out of the kitchen.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, seeing the three of us, plus the waiter, standing in front of the bar.
“The problem is, young man,” Jasper said, “that you don’t know the basic principles of running a restaurant. Have you ever heard of the sentence ‘Customers come first’?”
Now, that was a cheap shot. This had nothing to do with Raffaele and his restaurant; Jasper was just being mean.
“I ask again: what’s the problem?” This time Raffaele’s tone of voice was firm and upset.
“We’ve been waiting for ages for our champagne. Did you send someone to France to get it or something?”
Raffaele turned towards the waiter as if to ask for an explanation, and the guy said, “The beverages are at the table, sir. It’s that one in the corner. The waiter asked the other guest, as he was alone, if he wanted it served, but the guest said to come back in a few minutes once his two visitors had returned to the table.”
“You little liar! How dare you? We left the table for just a few minutes.”
“Please wait here.” Raffaele went into the main dining room and chatted for a few minutes with the guest in question, who was still sitting at his table. They seemed to be friendly, as if they had known each other for ages. Raffaele returned and, with a grin on his face, said, “You are not welcome in my restaurant. I’d like you to leave.”
“That is unacceptable …” Lady Whilsham started, but Raffaele stopped her mid-sentence.
“You can either leave or I can have you thrown out. Your choice.” His tone of voice left no room for negotiation and a couple of waiters came around, bringing the couple’s coats.
“That is outrageous,” said Jasper. “I’ve never been treated like this before in my entire life. I will ruin you – I know influential people … And you …” – pointing his finger right in my face – “I’ll see you in court!”
Raffaele went back to the kitchen without saying a word as soon as they left, while some of the waiters and guests started giggling to themselves at the scene. I went back to my table to try to catch up with my work. What an idiot that Jasper is.
Time flies when you’re busy and I hadn’t noticed when the first guests started leaving. It was only when Timothy and his wife approached me that I realised it was almost ten in the evening.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your dinner,” I said
“Everything was fabulous, my dear. This boyfriend of yours deserves a Michelin star, straight away.”
“I’ve been in many restaurants,” added the banker’s guest, whose name I didn’t catch, “but this surpassed them all. I will definitely be bringing my own clients here for a treat.” We spent a few more minutes exchanging pleasantries, then Timothy and company left the building. That was a relief, I knew Raffaele was a great chef, bu
t my opinion was biased, wasn’t it?
Natalie was still around. They had both decided to stay for the night and Caroline Porter had already left for her room. Natalie explained that she was in her late sixties, full of energy when it was a matter of food, but easily tired after an evening out.
“So, what do you think? Did she like it?”
“Well, I loved it, but Caroline isn’t letting the cat out of the bag. She’s always been like that, and I know better than to ask, especially if I’ve been invited to a friend’s restaurant. I guess we’ll find out next week, in her column.”
Bummer: a secretive critic, exactly what I needed. Now I had to wait almost a full week before even knowing if she liked the opening or not. That was unnerving, especially with the tension already existing between Raffaele and me.
We shared a beer at the bar; I told her about how the business was growing and she responded by talking about her new boyfriend. She was happy, but I was not.
CHAPTER 37
I went to bed at around eleven that night and Raffaele reached me much later, at around one if I remember correctly. I heard him tossing and turning, but hardly a word passed between us. I could only imagine how stressful the evening had been, being the opening night and all, but, Raffaele said nothing to me. At some point he turned towards me and at least gave me a cuddle, which at that time was as much as I needed, as I was still frantic about what review Caroline Porter might write about the restaurant. I’d been doing my own share of tossing and turning before Raffaele had come to bed – about the business, the restaurant, our relationship and so on. I fell into a fitful sleep and the last thing I remember was hoping, against all hope, that she didn’t trash the food, the atmosphere, the service, or anything else for that matter.
Blue and Green Should Never be Seen! (Or so Mother says) Page 18
