Her Lifelong Dream

by Judy Kouzel

  Judy Kouzel

  Leedy Collins pulled her old, dark green Jeep Wrangler into the closest parking space she could find. She glanced briefly at the white stucco building for a second before she flung open the car door and headed for the entrance. It was a beautiful early fall day in Madison, Wisconsin, but Leedy barely noticed. Her thoughts were a million miles away.

  Please approve the loan, please approve the loan, she prayed to herself as she opened the gleaming glass doors and walked into the lobby. But of course they would approve the loan-at long last. Why else would she have received the phone call yesterday?

  "Hello, Ms. Collins," the friendly voice on the other end of the line had said. "My name is Greta Spencer and I'm with Bernard & Simmons Savings and Loan. Terry Foster, the loan officer in charge of your case, would like to meet with you to discuss your loan application. Would it be possible to set up a meeting?"

  "Absolutely," Leedy had said. She would have driven to the bank right then and there but instead she had to settle for a meeting early the next morning. She could hardly sleep that night. Could all of her hard work finally be paying off?

  The enormity of the day weighed heavily on her as she made her way to Suite 10-B, so much so that her knees were shaking and her stomach was churning all the way up to the tenth floor of the office building. She walked down the hallway, her thoughts on the San Francisco culinary institute she had attended and the many years of working for restaurants large and small. From busgirl to hostess to server to chef's assistant, Leedy had done it all. Her resume was a testimony to her qualifications as a capable restaurateur. No doubt about it-she knew the food business inside and out.

  "Yes, my restaurant will be a welcome addition in Madison," she whispered, imagining the faceless loan officer who handed her the check. "Yes, I'm an experienced chef and an excellent manager. I'm also a master of organization and ..."

  "May I help you?" a woman from behind a big mahogany desk asked. The nameplate on her desk said the woman's name was `Greta Spencer, Administrative Supervisor.'

  "Um ... yes. I'm here to see Ms. Terry Foster."

  "Mr. Foster is taking a telephone call at the moment, Miss ... ?"

  "Oh ... sorry. I'm Leedy ... um ... I'm Carolee Collins. I have a nine o'clock appointment."

  "Oh yes," the woman said. "Mr. Foster will be right with you, Ms. Collins. Please have a seat." Leedy sat on a small sofa near an oversized potted plant. She wished the butter flies would stop fluttering in her increasingly agitated stomach. She picked a piece of lint from her skirt and wondered, once again, if the navy blue suit she had chosen made her look professional enough.

  "Mr. Foster will see you now," Ms. Spencer said after what seemed like forever. Leedy glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it had only been eight minutes.

  "Thank you," she said, flashing Ms. Spencer a confident smile. She took a deep breath and bravely walked into Terry Foster's office.

  Of course, just as she stepped into the room, she heard the telephone on his desk begin to ring. "Terry Foster," the man in the charcoal gray suit said, picking up the receiver. He waved her in, giving her a quick smile. "I'll be with you in just a moment," he said, covering the mouthpiece on the telephone.

  Leedy looked around the office. It was what she had imagined a banker's office should look like. Formal and dignified with the requisite large wooden desk and leatherupholstered chairs. Mighty nice digs these bankers have, she thought to herself.

  "Yes, sir," Terry Foster was saying into the telephone. "We can handle that transaction for you ... Absolutely. I don't see any problem on our end of the deal ... I'll have the paperwork ready for you by the close of business today ..."

  She watched him as he spoke. He was younger than what she expected a banker would be. Probably about the same age as she was. He was attractive too. And his voice was nice-deep and smooth as velvet with a slight Southern twang to it. He had the kind of voice Leedy could almost imagine whispering in her ear late at night. Sexy and strong.

  She blushed as if Terry Foster could read her thoughts. She didn't ordinarily allow her imagination to run away from her. But the physical attractiveness and youth of the loan officer was something she had not bargained for and she was momentarily caught off-guard. The last thing she needed today was to appear to be distracted. This was, after all, a business meeting.

  "Perhaps you should come to my office tomorrow morning to talk about it," Terry Foster was saying to the caller. "I'm certain we can hammer out all the details ... Good. I'll see you at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.... Absolutely. I'm looking forward to it. Say hello to Barbara and the girls for me. See you then ... Goodbye." He hung up the phone and turned his attention to Leedy. "Is it warm in here?" he asked.

  "No," she said. "I don't think so."

  "You look a little flushed," he said. "May I offer you something to drink-coffee or a soft drink or maybe a glass of cold water?"

  "No," she said, feeling her face redden even further. "I'm fine. Thank you."

  "I'm sorry about the phone call. It rings off the hook this time of day," he said, extending his hand. "You must be Ms. Collins. As you may have already concluded, I'm Terry Foster, and I'm the loan officer assigned to your application."

  "Mr. Foster," she said, meeting his handshake.

  The instant his hand touched hers, Leedy felt a tremble go through her body all the way to her toes. His grip was self-assured and strong, but, at the same time, exciting. "Please call me Terry," he said, pumping her hand.

  "Very well ... Terry," she said, trying to ignore the electricity of his touch. But he was a hard man to ignore. He was tall, at least six foot two, with a mop of brown hair that had a boyish curl to it and a warm smile that flashed perfect white teeth. She instinctively knew he was a runner, despite the business suit. An avid runner herself, she could always recognize another runner's physique.

  But what she noticed most about Terry Foster were his eyes. They were the most extraordinary shade of deep blue she had ever seen. The blue eyes, along with the brown curls and the dazzling smile made it difficult for her to remember why she was standing in his office.

  Leedy pulled herself together. What was she thinking? She was not there to look for a ... a ... boyfriend. For Pete's sake, that was the last thing in the world she wanted in her life. A man would only sidetrack her from her ultimate goal. She was there to see about getting a bank loan so she could open her restaurant. And nothing more.

  "It's nice to meet you," she said, returning his strong grip with one of her own. "I'm Leedy Collins."

  He smiled again, still shaking her hand. It was turning into the longest handshake she had ever known, but she didn't mind. The banker squeezed her hand one last time before he slowly and reluctantly released it. "Please have a seat," he said, pointing to a pair of identical black leather chairs across from his desk.

  "Thank you," she said, sitting down. She already missed the feel of his hand touching hers.

  "Leedy ... that's an unusual name," he began. "Your application said your name is Carolee."

  "It is," she said. "My mother's name is Edith. My father called me Lil' Edie when I was a child. It eventually evolved into Leedy. You know-Carolee, Lil' Edie ... Leedy. Somehow it stuck."

  "It is a pretty name-and unique. I like it." His eyes met hers for a moment and she felt her heart jump.

  "Thank you," she said, her cheeks beginning to blush once more. She tore her eyes away from his and concentrated on the folder that sat on the desk in front of him. "I ... um ... I hope all of my paperwork was in order?"

  "Yes," he said, with another radiant smile. "You didn't miss a single detail in your documentation. You're also well-informed on the specific requirements necessary when opening a new restaura
nt. I can see you know your business, Leedy. I also see that you're an organized thinker."

  "Thank you," she said again. She noticed he had called her by her first name. She liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. Like something warm and delicious was tickling his tongue. She watched as his mouth moved, but she was no longer listening to the words he said. His voice was low and sensual and soothing. She was finding it hard to concentrate. "I wonder what it would feel like if he were to kiss me," she thought to herself, and the idea made her feel strangely warm. "Stop!" she ordered herself, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

  "I asked you here today so we could discuss your loan application," Terry Foster was saying, pulling her thoughts back to the business at hand. "Can you tell me why it is you wish to open a restaurant?"

  "Of course," Leedy said, ignoring the soft stirring that had begun deep inside of her. "It has been my lifelong dream to open a restaurant of my own, Mr. Foster."

  "Terry."

  "Terry. I've wanted to run my own restaurant ever since I was a child. When I was a little girl, I used to make my parents sit at the dinner table while I took their orders. The first job I ever had was in a fast-food place. As a matter of fact, I've never worked for any other kind of business. My entire career has been with food services. I've been a bus- girl, dishwasher, hostess, server, cook ..."

  "Yes," Terry Foster said. His deep blue eyes scanned her loan application. "I see you attended the Cornwell Institute."

  "Yes. It's in California."

  "I'm familiar with Cornwell," he said. "It's a highly respected cooking institute. Very impressive."

  "Thank you again."

  "But you're not currently working as a chef," he noted.

  "That's right."

  "I see you're the manager of Mr. Hobo's?"

  "Yes," Leedy said. Her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding. "I'm sure it looks odd on my resume, Mr. Foster, but I took the job at Mr. Hobo's as a calculated career move. I wanted to learn the workings of the restaurant business from all perspectives-not just the kitchen and dining room. I wanted more insight into the management side of things."

  "I see," he said. "Please, call me Terry."

  "Terry ... The head chef at Mr. Hobo's is wonderful. His name is Paul Marcus. I fill in for him from time to time ... when he's out sick or away on vacation. I love to cook, obviously. But I wanted to work more on the front lines."

  "I can't argue with your logic, Leedy. And you've been employed with Mr. Hobo's for how long?"

  "It's been six months now," she said. "But I'm a quick study."

  "I'm certain of that," Terry Foster said, giving her another one of his winning smiles. "I hear Mr. Hobo's is the place to go in town these days."

  "Yes, it is," she said, nodding. "The food is good, and it isn't as pricey as some of the other places in town. It's especially popular with the college students."

  "So I've heard." He flipped through the papers on his desk again. "I haven't been there yet, but I plan on going soon."

  "You should. Everyone likes it there."

  He looked up from the application and smiled. "And I can tell that Mr. Hobo's is a good place for you to learn the ropes of running a restaurant. But ..."

  "But?"

  "But six months is not a lot of time to gain much onthe-job experience, is it?"

  "No," she said. "But I've been working in restaurants in one capacity or another since I was fourteen years old, Mr. Foster."

  "Terry."

  "Terry," she said. "I know the business inside and out."

  He was looking at her paperwork and nodding, but Leedy had the sudden sinking feeling that maybe she was not there to learn that her loan was approved after all. "I think it is important that you understand the concept of the restaurant I have in mind," she blurted. She was almost too nervous to speak, but the words came bubbling up out of her. "I want you to get a clear picture of exactly the kind of restaurant I wish to open. It will not be in competition with Mr. Hobo's, if that's what you're worried about."

  He looked up at her and studied her carefully. "No. I don't see that as a problem. But I'm listening. Tell me about the restaurant you have in mind."

  "Don't get me wrong," she said, looking him in the eye. "I like my job ... very much so. Mr. Hobo's is a wonderful place. It's well run and the food is delicious. But it isn't the type of restaurant I want to open."

  "Oh?"

  "No. Not at all. The restaurant I want to open is nothing like Mr. Hobo's."

  Terry looked up again from the folder and fixed his dazzling eyes on her. "Well then, by all means, Leedy. Tell me all about your plans."

  "The restaurant I'm proposing will be distinctive," she said. "It will be the kind of place that people from all over Wisconsin will come to."

  "Is that so? Tell me more."

  "Okay. Picture a New England inn, only more upscale and fashionable. My restaurant will be decorated in soft, muted colors with exquisite furnishings. The menu will be small, but the food will be state-of-the-art gourmet cooking from recipes I developed myself. It will have an extensive wine cellar. A restaurant like the one I have in mind would be more than just a place to eat, Mr. Foster. My restaurant will be anything but run-of-the-mill. My restaurant will be the finest eatery in town and an asset to the entire Madison community."

  He raised his eyebrows again and Leedy detected a trace of amusement in the expression on his handsome face. "Call me Terry," he said gently.

  "Terry," she said, taking a deep breath.

  "I confess," the banker said after a long pause. "I had formulated a picture in my mind of your restaurant as I reviewed your loan application, Leedy, and by the description you just gave me, I realize I was not far off the mark. I think I have a clear idea of the place you have in mind."

  Leedy nodded and smiled. Finally, someone with vision!

  He continued. "And obviously, you have a great deal of ... passion for your work. And, personally, I would love to see a restaurant like the one you describe open up in town. As a matter of fact, I would probably be the first person in line on opening day. But ..."

  "But?" she echoed, her heart sinking.

  "But you have a few problems that need addressing."

  "Problems?"

  "Yes," he said. "First of all, you want to open an upscale restaurant ..."

  "What's wrong with opening an upscale restaurant?"

  "There is nothing wrong with opening an upscale restaurant, per se. Except this is a college town and the average student is more interested in burgers than gourmet. And there are several upscale restaurants already, some of which are struggling."

  "I've been to those restaurants," Leedy said. "I know where their problems lie and I can assure you, Mr. Foster ... er ... Terry, I will not make the same mistakes they've made."

  "There are also some concerns about the human resources information you provided," he added.

  "What sort of concerns?"

  "You counted yourself as both the manager and the head chef. How can you do both of those jobs at the same time?"

  "As I said before, I know my way around the dining room as well as the kitchen," she said. "Besides, there will be an assistant chef, a hostess, servers, dishwashers and..."

  "You would still have to work a twenty-hour day to keep up with that pace," he said.

  "I could do that," Leedy said.

  "I believe you could," he said. "For a time anyway. But ..."

  "But?" The conversation had turned, and things were not going as well as she hoped they would.

  "Your financial figures were vague in some areas," the banker said.

  "I wanted to keep my budget flexible," she explained. "In case something unexpected came up."

  "Something unexpected usually does. But the bank needs specific information, Leedy. For instance, your wine cellar. That's a rather expensive addition, don't you think?"

  "Yes," she agreed. "But a well-stocked wine list is essential for a good restaur
ant."

  "I agree. But the figure you have allocated isn't nearly enough to pay for the type of wine cellar you have in mind. Why, one bottle alone could cost more than ..."

  "I plan to start with a modest list and purchase more as the cash flow takes hold." She saw the skeptical expression on his face and grimaced. "Look," she said her voice dropping. "I'm a hard worker and I've been working toward this for my entire adult life. I know I can make it work!"

  Terry Foster frowned and put the folder back onto the top of the stack. "I'm sorry, Ms. Collins," he said, looking genuinely apologetic. "Leedy ... The bank's approval committee couldn't possibly endorse your application for a loan at this time. Perhaps you could try again after ..."

  Leedy's heart sank. "Does this mean that I didn't get the loan?" she asked.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I would be happy to suggest a possible course of action for you to take to better prepare yourself for the future. In fact, I have some ideas that you may wish to consider. . ."

  "Ideas?" Leedy was dumbstruck. "What kind of ideas?"

  "Well, I would be happy to make a few recommendations for you to follow. I have an eighteen-month plan of action I would like to present, if you have the time ..."

  "Are you saying you asked me to come here to your office so that you could tell me my loan application was declined?"

  "I know you're disappointed," Terry Foster said. "But this is no reflection on ..."

  A tear spilled down Leedy's cheek and she brushed it away, angry with herself for letting such a thing happen. "But you're the fifth bank I've been to," she said, fighting back the tears. "You were my last hope."

  "Please, sit down," he said. "I'd like to talk more about your application." It was a request that caught Leedy offguard because she did not know she had gotten to her feet, her purse slung over her shoulder and her car keys in her hand.

  "Okay," she said simply, and sat back down. Maybe he would now tell her it had all been a terrible mistake-a mix-up with files perhaps-and her loan was approved after all. But the expression of concern on the banker's handsome face told her all she needed to know. This was no mistake.