The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  “Just because you want to sleep with him doesn’t mean you like him,” Jackie pointed out, stealing a fry and nibbling at it.

  “What do I care?” Cheryl said, morose. “He was setting me up. I know it. That whole thing where he was asking if I was gonna sue Stan? Does he think I was born yesterday?”

  Cheryl grimaced. There was something stuck in her teeth. This was why she never ordered burgers; she inevitably ended up with some piece of gristle lodged somewhere. Grabbing for Doris’s purse, she rooted around until she found a circle of Oral-B.

  “Do it in the bathroom,” Doris scolded.

  Cheryl stood up, lingering. “I think I liked him,” she admitted. “I don’t know if it’s because he didn’t seem to like me or what . . . but it was just the first time in years I’ve really even felt anything for a guy.”

  “Give him the benefit of the doubt,” Jackie said, swiping at the whipped cream on Cheryl’s milkshake. “Maybe he didn’t kiss you because it was the first date.”

  Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Doubt it.”

  “Maybe he had a cold sore on his lip,” Doris considered. “Did you check?”

  The two friends turned to her, aghast.

  “What?” Doris said, blinking. “It’s a fair question.”

  “Well, it is a practical question,” Jackie laughed, going in for more whipped cream. “Doris, you never fail to surprise me.”

  When Cheryl got back from the restroom, she waved away further questions about Andy and turned the conversation back to The Whole Package. “All right. We’ve decided on our musky little waiters,” she said, pulling out a notebook where they had made a list of the men they wanted to hire. “So, what are we going to do about the managers?” She had envisioned two men running the show, the best looking of the bunch. Although the guys they had decided on today were gorgeous, there wasn’t anyone who was quite hot enough for the position she had in mind.

  “They were all good-looking,” Doris said, crumpling over the table like she’d run a marathon. “How are we going to decide this? What are we looking for, exactly?”

  Cheryl wanted someone who looked like he didn’t belong in Schaumburg. “You know, like that dancer you were all over at the strip club. Somebody that will make women come back again and again.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Doris hedged. “Let me see the list. Do you have the pictures? This could take some time to figure out.”

  “We are opening in less than a month,” Cheryl barked. “We have to make some decisions tonight!”

  “Travis was perfect,” Jackie said. Cheryl rifled through the comp cards and pulled out his picture. Travis had a face like a soap opera star and the body of a beach volleyball player.

  “He’ll leave us for L.A. within a year,” Cheryl promised. “Remember when we talked about hopes and dreams?”

  Jackie nodded glumly. Travis did want to be a soap opera star. Or a beach volleyball player.

  “Maybe another round of auditions,” Doris suggested. When everyone groaned, she said, “Fine then. Let’s just hire the strippers.” Cheryl and Jackie turned to her, surprised. “We’d have to pay them a lot, but my blonde really was cute.”

  “And our waiter,” Jackie said, snapping her fingers. “The one who licked Cheryl.”

  “The waiter had an accent.” Doris sighed, folding her napkin. “That’s always good.”

  Jackie and Cheryl once again stared at her in surprise.

  “For heaven’s sake, I was drunk.” Doris threw up her hands. “I wasn’t blind or deaf.”

  “Hire the strippers,” Cheryl said, begrudgingly. “It’s so obvious. Why didn’t I think of it?”

  “Nice work, Doris,” Jackie said.

  Cheryl nodded. “You might be good for this business after all.” “Well, we’ll see,” Doris said. She ducked her head and took a long drink of water. Behind the rim of the glass, Cheryl could tell she was smiling.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ON THE SAME DAY THAT THE PAPERWORK FOR MILLSTINES WAS processed and Betsy delivered the keys, the girls held the interviews for their managers. Since it was their first time setting foot in the restaurant, Doris ran around the room with a spray bottle and dust cloth, wiping the place down. The Millstines had left everything in great condition, but there was still a lot of work to be done and Doris was eager to get started.

  “We are hiring cleaners,” Jackie told the stripper with the accent, “in spite of what it looks like.”

  Jackie, Cheryl, and the stripper sat in the office, watching Doris. She was on her hands and knees, ample bottom pointing at them. Were she wearing a polka-dotted skirt, she easily could have been mistaken for one of those lawn ornaments designed to titillate passersby.

  Jackie whispered, “She likes playing Cinderella.”

  The sexy stripper laughed. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “Good for her. Listen, I think this is a gorgeous space. A gorgeous space. Perfect location for a restaurant.”

  Cheryl looked up from her clipboard in surprise. “Anthony, where’s your accent?”

  Jackie regarded him with interest. Had he been faking it?

  Anthony shrugged and stretched. As he did, the tight black T-shirt he was wearing crept up and exposed his perfect abs. “I’m from New York,” he admitted. “I’m an actor. Was. Women like accents. So some nights, I have one.”

  There was a sardonic tone to Anthony’s voice, a slight lisp. “Darling man, are you gay?” Jackie asked.

  “Don’t answer that,” Cheryl hissed, glaring at Jackie and smiling too big at Anthony. “We’re sorry, Anthony. She’s been living abroad and forgets that asking questions like that in an interview is illegal.”

  Fluffing her hair, Jackie pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. She was just making conversation. Half of her friends from the art world were gay, and she’d lost touch with so many of them. Anthony even looked a little like Mathieu, one of the gorgeous men she used to hang out with. He had driven Robert batty with jealousy.

  Just like Anthony, Mathieu had black hair shaved close to his head, a strong jawline, and dark eyes. He was a tortured artist who read poetry, smoked cigarettes by candlelight, and danced with her on his roof. Robert hated that Jackie would let another man hold her close but she just laughed, saying, “Give me a break. He’s really not getting anything out of it.”

  At the question, Anthony smiled. “Nice call,” he told Jackie, winking. “You nailed it.”

  Jackie beamed, pulling a pack of pink bubblegum out of her purse. After offering some to Cheryl (who declined), then Anthony (who accepted), Jackie unwrapped a piece and popped it in her mouth, chewing softly. She was already starting to like this man.

  Deliberately, Cheryl cleared her throat. When Jackie looked at her, Cheryl raised her eyebrows and made a chewing motion. It was clear Cheryl thought that gum chewing should be saved for non-interview times. Jackie waved her off and popped a tiny bubble.

  Turning her attention back to Anthony, Cheryl said, “You are Latino, though.” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Are you even foreign?”

  “No. I’m just from New York,” Anthony said. He ran his hands up and down the tops of his thighs. “I’m a dancer by trade but I won’t do what they do onstage. Could choreograph it for you, though. I’m a choreographer. Studied it for years. The strip club’s packed. Every night. Every night it’s packed,” he said. “But if you want to do a restaurant you’d have to do sexy. Not raunchy. Women don’t want to see that when they’re eating.”

  “Hmm . . .” Jackie considered. She hadn’t really thought of that, but now that Anthony mentioned it, he might be right.

  Doris had sneaked in and was leaning on the office door, face red and perspiring from her cleaning duties. “That’s what I’ve been telling them.”

  “We don’t want raunchy,” Jackie explained. “We just want sexy.”

  “But there are still many things that haven’t been decided yet,” Cheryl said, voice extra brisk and professional. “Tell us,�
�� Cheryl said, leaning forward like she was conducting a television interview. “Why did you agree to meet with us in the first place? I imagine the money’s good where you’re at now.”

  Jackie popped another tiny bubble and Doris leaned forward. They were all dying to know. Why would someone want a managerial position with long, thankless hours, if he was already making so much money where he was?

  “Why do you think?” Anthony said, sadness flashing in his dark eyes. “I didn’t imagine this for my life. I didn’t imagine it. Being a manager is better than being a waiter. If you pay me enough, I’m yours.”

  Jackie clapped her hands. Cheryl shot her a look, shaking her head. Jackie widened her blue eyes as though to demand What?

  “So . . .” Anthony said, throwing Jackie a perfect smile. “What’s it going to be?”

  “We’ll call you,” Cheryl said sharply, closing her notebook.

  Anthony looked surprised. He nodded abruptly and jumped up. He shook their hands quickly, moving with the grace of a dancer. After the pleasantries, he bolted through the office door like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Waiting, Jackie listened for the front door. It practically slammed shut behind him.

  “Cheryl, you were incredibly rude,” Jackie scolded. “He was your waiter. I thought you liked him.”

  “When he was licking me at a club and I was intoxicated,” Cheryl said, reaching for a piece of gum.

  “You guys, I hate gum-chewing noises,” Doris said, fiddling with her dust cloth. When they ignored her, she added, “And Cheryl, you were kinda mean to him.”

  “Was I?” Cheryl sighed, running her hands through her hair. “Well, maybe that’s because I don’t like the sound of gum chewing either, especially in the middle of an interview.” Jackie popped another bubble. “And why on earth were you cleaning, Doris? You guys, if we want to be taken seriously, we have to . . .”

  “Why didn’t you like him?” Doris demanded.

  Cheryl’s throat tightened. “It’s just . . . He’s too slick, he’s too fast.”

  “Non, non,” Jackie marveled, eyes bright. “He’s great. Tres mysterious. The women will love him.”

  “Will you knock it off with the French?!” Cheryl exploded. “We don’t understand half the shit you’re saying.”

  Jackie pursed her lips and looked at Doris. After a moment’s hesitation, Doris grabbed for Jackie’s pack of gum. “I loved Anthony,” she said, shoving two pieces into her mouth. Gingerly, she started to chew.

  “But he’s not going to take direction,” Cheryl argued. “He . . .”

  “Je ne crois pas,” Jackie emphasized. “Which means I don’t think so, for those of us who do not know French.” She hated to torture Cheryl, but sometimes it was necessary.

  Doris giggled. Looking over her shoulder at the notebook in Jackie’s lap, Doris gasped. Rather than taking notes during the interview, Jackie had made a sketch of Anthony. “Jackie, that’s really good,” she said, leaning in closer.

  “Look,” Jackie said, ignoring the compliment. “Anthony is sexy, direct, and he knows what he wants. He’d be a great manager.”

  “I wonder what he’s doing in Illinois?” Doris said.

  “Definitely running from something,” Jackie guessed, quickly moving her pen across her drawing. She wanted to capture the pain that was hiding just behind Anthony’s dark eyes.

  “A broken heart.” Doris nodded.

  Cheryl groaned. “He’s . . .”

  “Perfect,” Doris and Jackie chimed together.

  Cheryl shut her notebook in defeat. “You’re right,” she finally said. “Anthony can do the job. He’s competent, confident . . .”

  “Then why don’t you like him?” Doris demanded.

  Cheryl was silent for a long moment. “He’s too confident. And I’ve really had it with cocky men.”

  Jackie nodded. That was easy enough to understand.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THAT EVENING, JACKIE SWEPT INTO GEORGE’S OFFICE WITH HER typical bustle, carrying a tray of coffees and a waxy white doggie bag. He looked up from his computer, then mock-slumped over in relief.

  “You are a lifesaver,” he said, getting up from behind the desk. After kissing her cheek, George took the doggie bag from her hands and peered into it with excitement. “What did you bring me?”

  “The best food you’ll ever taste,” Jackie said.

  After their interview with Anthony, the girls had worked all day, making plans and setting appointments. They’d coordinated a cleaning crew, a painting crew, graphic designers, and menu printers. The day had ended with a decadent sampling of dishes cooked by their new chef.

  Greg had been referred to them by their Realtor. Apparently, he had been the lunch chef at Millstines and was desperate to move up. When Greg learned that Millstines was up for sale, he’d begged Betsy to pass his name on to whoever bought the space. True to her word, she had. Cheryl was skeptical at first, but Greg drew up an entire menu plan that not only fit in their budget but incorporated the type of food women might like, instead of just the typical burgers and fries fare usually associated with a theme restaurant. Intrigued, the girls scheduled a tasting.

  Greg started them with delicate shitake mushroom puffs, the pungent mushrooms ensconced in delicate phyllo with melt-in-your-mouth cream centers. He served them a spinach salad, salty yet sweet with its gorgonzola cheese, fresh cut pears, and pecan shards. Then there were fresh scallops, grilled to a perfect consistency and topped with a light vanilla bean and champagne glacée. They were served alongside blackened asparagus and grilled vegetables. The skirt steak with the cheese sauce was sampled along with braised lamb chops and a chicken cooked in lemon sauce. At the very end of the meal, Greg finished them off with a hard-shelled chocolate mousse: cold, light, and perfectly creamy.

  “Good find,” Jackie whispered to Cheryl, nibbling delicately at a braised lamb chop.

  As they wrapped up the huge dinner, Jackie called George to brief him on their progress. She was shocked to discover he was still at the office and hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Immediately, she packed up a box of leftovers for him and headed over to his office.

  “This is fresh from The Whole Package,” Jackie sang, sliding out of her mink and handing over the bag of food.

  “You underestimate the cringe-worthiness of that phrase,” George said.

  Jackie swatted at him, peering over his shoulder at the food. She had brought grilled vegetables, slices of skirt steak, and some of the chicken. A container of gorgonzola cheese sauce was neatly packaged to the side.

  “You would have gotten chocolate mousse but Doris got there first,” Jackie said, grinning.

  “You’re an angel,” George said. Those dark eyes seemed to drink her in. “I would have starved without you.”

  “Aren’t you precious,” Jackie said, quickly moving away. Darting behind the desk, Jackie peered at his computer screen. There were windows and windows of material on the screen that Jackie didn’t even want to understand and she flicked the monitor with her rose-tinted nails. “I’ve always been so curious what it is you do, exactly. I know you’re a lawyer but how do you justify staying at the office until ten in the evening?”

  “Lots to do, not enough time to do it,” he said.

  “Well,” Jackie said, “I have to say, looking over the designs for my penis restaurant seems a lot more fun. That’s what we did all day. I have some copies of the mock-ups . . . I think that’s what Cheryl called them . . . in my purse.”

  Grabbing some sparkling water from the bar, George headed over to the couch, saying, “Then let’s have a look.” They positioned themselves at the table by the sofa, George diving into his dinner as Jackie spread out pages of designs and drawings. They seemed tacky and out of place in George’s serious office.

  “This one’s the cover for the menu,” Jackie giggled, pointing. An erotically posed man had a kitschy bubble over his head reading, “Hungry?” George shook his head, peering over hi
s glasses, clearly uncertain whether to praise or scold. Methodically, he went through the various mock-ups with their loud colors, bright lettering, and random pictures of sexy men in aprons. The men were serving apple pie, suggestively opening bottles of champagne, and even straddling the letters that read, “Big Appetite?”

  “I hope Schaumburg’s ready for this,” George finally said. “Darling, did you draw any of these? I feel like your work could . . .”

  “We hired a graphic designer,” she said brightly. When George tried to say more, she cut in with, “Tell me what you worked on today.”

  “The case that will never end,” George groaned, neatly biting into a piece of asparagus. “I’d tell you all about it, but I don’t want you to run screaming. It’s late at night and you’re in my office—we don’t want people in the building to get the wrong idea.” Jackie laughed and George wiped his hands on a napkin, saying, “The food’s quite good but tell your chef he needs to marinate the vegetables more.”

  “Oh, he’ll love that,” Jackie said, rolling her eyes. “Advice from a lawyer on how to cook. He’d throw a tantrum and storm out.”

  Even though the girls were in love with Greg’s food, Jackie had to admit she was a little worried about Greg’s ego. When Greg was in the kitchen, he threw around pots and pans like some contestant on a reality cooking show. At one point, Doris suggested Greg put a lid on the noise and he threatened to sauté her. Doris had run from the kitchen, squealing and carrying on like he had come after her with a knife.

  George chuckled at the picture of Doris and her near escape. “I have something for you,” he said. “I keep forgetting to give it to you but . . .” His voice had taken on an unreadable tone and Jackie looked at him in surprise.

  “If it’s a summons for debtor’s prison, I don’t want it,” she said.

  Without answering, George bustled over to a closet. Pulling open the paneled doors, he reached in and took out a wooden box, measuring about a foot long and a foot wide. The wood was dark and rich, perfectly complementing the mahogany of the room.