“Why artists?”
“Smart and hungry.” He scrawled something on a blank sheet of paper with his fountain pen and presented it to Lee.
“‘Wanted. Artists of any kind to train for high end server positions at new local restaurant, Riversong. No previous experience necessary but must be detail oriented, personable, and display exceptional customer service. Interest in fine wine and food a plus. Please contact the Manager, (541) 555-5970 for details and interviews.’Don't put your name in the paper, just to be on the safe side.” He took his glasses off, folded the handles and put them in his shirt pocket. “Now, the other problem is publicity.”
Lee heard Mike's booming voice calling her from the kitchen and a second later he came through the swinging doors. She felt Linus pop to attention. Mike stopped and took off his hat. “Who's this now?”
“My friend from Seattle. He came to help me with the opening.”
“Wasn't aware you needed help.” Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and squinted at Linus. She saw the two men take each other in and suddenly she was seeing them as they might see each other. Mike, with his cowboy hat, ruddy sunburned skin, and a ridiculous large belt buckle the shape of Oregon; rough, unsophisticated, the type that might hate a gay man. And, Linus, with his linen suit, soft hands, his graceful way of moving and almost upper crust way of speaking; a pansy, a phony, someone you called a queer to your poker buddies.
“Linus manages Figs Bistro in Seattle. He knows the restaurant business inside and out. Mike's the owner of Riversong.”
“Lee's my partner here,” said Mike. “No offence to you, but she's done this whole thing herself. Not sure why she'd bring you in now.”
“I called him for advice. Figs is perfect. Because of Linus,” Lee said.
“We do things different here than in Seattle. Lee knows that ‘cause she's from here.”
Linus sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “No offence, but perhaps if you tried some of our big city techniques you might have some businesses that last more than a year.”
Mike looked at her, betrayal in his eyes. “You tell him that?”
“What? No, he-”
Linus interrupted her, directing his gaze at Mike. “In my experience, the most important thing in the restaurant business is good publicity before an opening. I can make a few calls, see if we can get some press from some of the Northwest foodie magazines, maybe the Oregonian.” Linus looked back and forth between them. “But we need a story to pitch.”
Mike, his face red, crossed his arms over his chest. “That some kind of big city bullshit? We don't need a story, just old fashioned good business.”
“I beg to differ. It's of the utmost importance we have a story that will prompt interest from the papers or foodie rags. Mostly for the tourist crowd. We want to create a buzz so people go out of their way to come here.”
“I'm just a blue collar guy myself but look around. This is gonna be a special place and you-”. He interrupted himself and looked at Lee. “Well, he hasn't even tasted Annie's grub yet.”
Lee looked at Linus and begged him with her eyes. Play nice, please. Linus, perspiration on his forehead, gave her a hard look and looked at his feet. Then, he looked up, face composed, and flashed Mike a coy smile. “Now, don't you play that blue collar stuff with me. I can see you know more about business than Lee and I put together.”
Mike smiled and uncrossed his arms. “Well, I'm old as dirt, been running the mill here for forty years.”
“Well, what you say is exactly right. But, still, the public has to know about us.”
Mike sat and angled his chair so his full attention was directed towards Linus. “What have you come up with so far?” He rested his hands on the table.
Linus stood and paced in front of the table, hands in the pockets of his pressed white linen pants. “I see two angles.” Linus stopped in front of them and moved his hands in the air for emphasis. “One, talented young female chef dreamt of opening her own restaurant but is the mother of a young son and chose a small town for his benefit. We talk about her vision around local ingredients; the seasonally based menu, talk about the serendipitous event of meeting two business people, unnamed of course, who were willing to back her idea.”
“But that's not what happened,” said Mike. “Lee came up with this idea, not Annie.”
Linus took off his glasses. “The papers love stories about the chefs. It's more compelling than the owners or managers.”
Mike looked at him and shook his head. “If you're right about this story thing it should be about Lee. She's one of our own. Moved to the big city and became a bigwig, and came home after the death of her husband to start fresh with people who love her. Who understand her. If that isn't a story I don't know a pine tree from a cedar.”
A picture of Von's tobacco stained teeth sent a shiver down Lee's spine. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Mike, I can't be featured in any of the publicity.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I have a good reason and I need to leave it at that. Can you trust me?”
Mike looked at her for a long moment. “Okay, darlin’whatever you say. I just wanted you to get the credit you deserve.”
“How about the credit you deserve?” She looked at Linus. “Mike's trying to save the town single handedly. That's the real story.”
Mike's face relaxed and he patted Lee's arm. “You're a good girl, but I'm not some Hollywood starlet looking to get in the paper.” He shifted in his chair, one eyebrow lifted as his fingers tapped on the table. “Linus, what's the other angle?”
“This one's more of a stretch, but could be integrated with Annie's story. I'm seeing the headlines like, ‘Best new restaurant you never heard of in the sweetest town in the West.’” He stared into space, visualizing. “Annie is just one of many young savvy talents moving in and transforming this town into a cultural oasis.”
Mike leaned forward. “That sounds real good.”
Lee rolled her eyes. “Our story has to be plausible.”
Linus raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Yes, it is a bit of spin. But, you've got the wineries here already.” Linus shrugged. “Plus, if it's written about in that way, perhaps it might start to happen.”
Mike jumped up from his chair and paced around the room. “Like it could attract other businesses like this one? High end? For tourists? That kind of thing?”
Linus plopped in a chair and wiped his brow with a cloth handkerchief from his pocket. “Precisely.”
Mike slapped his leg. “That's just a doggone great idea.” He glanced at his watch. “Shoot, I've got to go. Its payday and I like to pass out the checks myself.”
“I do the same,” said Linus.
“Shows respect.”
“Exactly right,” said Linus.
“Kids, I've got to go. I'm going to pay my respects to Deana. They're having a service at the Baptist Church. Her father used to work for me out at the mill long time ago. Such a waste, the way it ended for her.”
“Do they have any suspects?” said Lee.
“Not a one. They're pretty sure it was a fight over drugs. Couple of people testified she had a party that night but everyone swears she and the other guy were alive when they left. These drug people, they're so far in the muck, we'll probably never know what happened.” Mike gave Lee a slight smile. “But you don't need to worry about all that. You two are the wave of the future for this town. Darlin, good idea to bring this ol’boy down here. Real good idea.”
Linus crossed his legs and gave a prim smile. “This little town isn't going to know what hit them.”
Lee hid a smile behind her hand and pretended to write a note in her book.
Within two days, Lee had a dozen calls from interested candidates for the staff positions. Linus screened them first over the phone and selected five to come into the restaurant for interviews. The initial four yielded two solid hires. The first, Karen, was a woman in her mid-fifties, a local watercolorist and
recent empty nester whose husband had been injured in the woods and couldn't work. They were out of money, she'd said, and hoped they didn't think she was too old to learn new things because she'd raised four kids and nothing could be harder than that. The second was a former technical writer turned fiction writer working on his first novel. Frank was outgoing, articulate, and cultured. He'd moved from San Francisco six months earlier and loved River Valley because it was inexpensive and quiet, perfect for writing, but he was almost out of money. Linus thought he was trainable, especially after he confessed to love food and wine almost more than a good book.
The final interview was with a glass blower in his mid-thirties named John. He had clear blue eyes, bleached blond hair and wore a diamond stud earring in his left ear. Lee asked him to sit down at the table, noting his fuchsia silk shirt and read through his application, while she waited for Linus to begin asking questions. Several minutes slipped by in complete silence, with Linus staring at the candidate as if he'd forgotten where he was. Lee cleared her throat. “Linus is a consultant from Seattle helping me hire serving staff.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “He's going to ask you some standard questions.”
Linus squirmed in his chair, crossed and uncrossed his legs and knocked his stack of notes on the floor. “Yes, right.” He leaned over to pick up the papers and banged his head on the edge of the table. “Ouch. Sorry. Let's see here.” He massaged the side of his head and traced the candidates name with his index finger. “John.” He looked back at the candidate, smiled and flushed. “How are you John?”
“Fantastic.”
“Good, good.” Linus looked at the application. “So, you're an Aquarius?”
John brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “That's me. Independent. Kind of eccentric.”
“Really? How interesting.” Linus leaned forward. “I'm a Virgo.”
“My former partner was a Virgo.”
Lee pinched the area right between her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tell us, why are you interested in this job, John?”
He fluttered his fingers. “I loved your ad. I mean, who puts it out there like.” He made a frame with his hands. “Wanted, artists. That was just so fabulous.” He crossed his legs. “Plus, my glass doesn't sell enough to make a decent income.”
Linus grinned and dipped his head to the right. “The ad was my idea.”
Lee stared at him for a moment and then glanced down at the resume. “You have a theatre degree. How did you get into glass?”
“I spent ten years in Los Angeles. Had an agent, did stupid television commercials, the whole bit. I took a glass blowing class for fun and fell in love with it. Just happened to see an ad for a glass studio for sale up here and bought the whole darn thing from this crazy hippy lady.” He took a breath. “I love the drama of nature here. The mountains, the river, the vegetation are all mirrored in my glass.” He smiled and played with his earring. “Of course, the problem is money.”
Lee sipped from her glass of water. “So you must have worked in a restaurant before, being an actor?”
“It's been a long time but, yes.” His eyes drifted around the room. “I didn't think I'd ever do it again but this place is so beautiful I think I could bear it.” He looked back at Lee. “The windows are faboo.” He smiled and looked at Linus. “I had a theatre professor who used to say even a bad play could be hidden if the lighting was good.”
Linus twittered and smoothed his hair. “When can you start?”
The entire staff, including Cindi, Annie and Billy, sat scattered amongst the various tables scribbling notes onto their pads. Linus stood at the flipchart, going over the sequence again. “Within one minute you must greet your table, welcome them and take their drink orders.” He scanned the faces. “Who can tell me what's next?”
Karen raised her left hand. “Bring their drinks within three minutes.”
“Excellent. And what next?”
Karen started to answer but was interrupted by John. “Answer menu questions. Describe the Italian tradition of eating in three courses. Tell them the menu is prepared from fresh local ingredients.”
Billy leaned forward. “Then take their orders.”
This was the third and final day of restaurant boot camp and Linus had taught them everything from how to set the tables, timing of courses, wine 101, how to answer questions about the food and the nuances of customer service. This afternoon he would complete the training by teaching them how to open a bottle of wine at the table and give them their white aprons.
Lee left them with Linus and went outside. She squinted into the sun to watch the construction workers hang the royal blue awnings onto the top of the restaurant directly above the framed windows. The window panes and outside walls were all painted marinara sauce red except for a foot wide brown strip that ran along the bottom of the outside walls. The door was red too and had a large rectangular window, a shiny gold cylinder handle and matching foot shield. On the sidewalk were planter boxes which would soon be filled with seasonal flowers chosen and planted by Ellen. There were two wooden benches made by a local woodworker next to the flower boxes where patrons could wait for their tables, if by some miracle they were ever lucky enough to have more customers than tables.
She was about to go inside when Mike came around the corner of the building, wearing his cowboy hat and aviator style sunglasses. “Looking good,” he called out. Makes the rest of the town look like the ugly stepsister.” It was true, on the left, with an alley separating them, was an empty two story building with boarded up windows. On the other side, not attached to, but within feet of the restaurant, was a used clothing store.
She could see herself, misshapen, in his sunglasses. “Come by to see our progress?”
“No, I'm looking for Zac.”
Lee's stomach clenched. She knew it was only a matter of time before Mike realized Zac hadn't shown since the day he threatened her. “I told him I didn't need him for the last several days before the opening.”
“Lee, don't bullshit me.”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of food and beverage manager isn't here before the grand opening?”
Lee looked at the sidewalk. “I don't know what to say. I haven't seen him for awhile.”
“How long?”
“Since the day we announced the new plan.”
“Gosh darnit, Lee, this wasn't part of the deal.”
“I know, but he doesn't want to be here. What do you want me to do?”
“I'll take care of it.”
She sighed and wondered if that meant he might appear this afternoon? She couldn't have him here, disruptive and hostile, when she had so many things left to do. “Mike, I don't want him here.”
He stared at her. “You're telling me an extra body wouldn't help you open this place? He should be pulling down his share of the work.” Mike's face was red and he growled. “He's on the damn payroll.”
It was midnight, three days before the opening. The restaurant was dark except for the overhead lights above the bar where Linus sat sipping a syrah from Walla Walla. Lee, next to him, poured over the long list of things to do before the opening, feeling so fatigued that the edges of objects appeared gray and out of focus. “How are we ever going to be ready?”
“We will.” He took another swallow of wine. “This is excellent. Did you know the climate and soil in Walla Walla is almost identical to the Rhone region in France where they make syrah?”
“Do I care?”
“You should. You're a restaurateur now.” He caught a drip of wine from the side of the glass and wiped it into a paper cocktail napkin. “Isn't the Northwest just a fabulous part of the country?”
“You're chipper mood's starting to bug me.” Lee rubbed her eyes and yawned.
Linus laughed and then they were quiet except for the scratch of Lee's pen. After a few moments, Lee looked up and asked the question that was on her mind for over two weeks now. “How is it that you can be gone fro
m Figs for three weeks?”
He tipped his glass, swallowed the remainder of his wine and reached for the bottle. “I got fired.”
“What?”
Just then the sound of pots banging on the tile floor erupted from the kitchen. Lee's insides turned to hot liquid, thinking of Von. She grabbed Linus's hand and tried to talk but no sound came out.
His eyes were fixated in space, listening, body upright, muscles tense, his voice a whisper. “I thought you locked the door?”
“I did.”
Linus's eyes got big. He put his finger to his lips, picked up a wine opener from the table, pulling out the one-inch blade and holding it above his head. They tiptoed to the kitchen, catching the swinging door so it didn't make any noise. The door to Lee's office was open several inches. Linus grabbed one of Annie's chef knives, nudging her behind the cook's island. They knelt, peering through the opening in the office door.
It was Zac, with a freezer bag full of money grasped in his hand.
The desk was askew, pulled out about a half of a foot from the wall and she knew by his unsteady and exaggerated movements he was drunk. He dropped the bag several times and had to steady himself on the desk to keep from falling. He fumbled with the zipper of the bag for several more seconds before stuffing it into what appeared to be the space between the wall and the desk. He stumbled to his feet and pushed the desk back in place with both hands. Linus grabbed Lee and they ran on their toes through the swinging doors to the front of the restaurant. They perched on the barstools, tense, listening for Zac's next move. They heard the clattering of what Lee supposed was Zac colliding with the busboy cart and then the back door open and slam shut. The engine of his vintage Firebird roared and they turned to the window in time to see him zooming down the alley and onto the street, wheels squealing. They jumped from their stools and headed for the office. Linus yanked back the desk, revealing an opening in the wall the size of an apple box.
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