La Fleur de Blanc

by Sean Platt

  “Exploit it!” Lily laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Don’t you want to beat her at her own game?”

  “Not if that’s the game I have to play, no.”

  “It’s just information. If you can find what she’s doing, you’re free to steal it for yourself.”

  “Where am I supposed to find information about nouveau house anyway?”

  “I don’t know. Figure it out.”

  Lily shook her head. This was getting stupid. She just wanted to eat her steak and let it all go. She’d reached the point where the price was no longer worth the reward. Lily thought she knew the cost of being in business, and when she’d first seen that empty shop, that price had appeared as numbers on a page. If they balanced, the business would work. She hadn’t anticipated industrial espionage.

  “Easy for you to say.” Lily stopped neglecting her salad. The vinaigrette was, like the rest of the meal, unique. She had no idea how he could make even a salad interesting.

  “I’m just saying that if you can find out how she’s operating, it’ll give you a way to try and do the same.”

  “We can let this go now.”

  “What’s wrong with learning?”

  “Flowers cost what they cost, Len. I can sell them for what I can sell them for, and my prices are already pretty high. Since I got the Bella daily order—”

  “The one from the guy who vanished, who might be mad at you, and that therefore seems less than secure?”

  Lily looked up.

  “Since I got the daily order,” she continued, choosing to ignore what had probably been a well-intentioned reminder of her precarious situation, “money hasn’t been the issue. The problem is that I have someone screwing with me.”

  “But what if your profits increased and hers decreased? Wouldn’t that change things?”

  “How am I supposed to increase my profits with fixed costs? I’m already selling candles. I’m not going to sell more of them, or anything else. I’m a flower shop.”

  “There must be ways to get your flowers cheaper. I’ll bet nouveau house is buying from somewhere far away and cheap, in whatever passes for bulk quantities in snooty furniture terms.” He chewed, then pointed at her with his fork. “You could find out how she’s doing it if —”

  “I’m supposed to buy flowers in bulk?”

  “I’m just saying that —”

  “And let’s just say I’m willing to go double-oh-seven on this situation. How exactly would you, in my shoes, get this information you think is so important?”

  “You’re upset. I’m sorry.”

  “I just want to know.”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  Lily picked at her salad. It really was delightful for something so simple. Lily had grown up feeling that every salad should have cheese, but so few of the nicer restaurants added it. Usually, that bothered her, but Len’s dressing almost made up for it. It had a familiar taste. Even in the absence of cheese it felt like home.

  She shoved a forkful in her mouth and, not caring how uncouth and ladylike it was, spoke around her greens. “In theory, I’m just curious how you see this little spy thriller unfolding.”

  “Well, someone does her books, right? Someone negotiated her lease, right?”

  “I negotiated my own lease.”

  “No offense, Lily, but that’s not the way bigger shops do it. They have someone do it for them.”

  “So now I just have to snoop around until I find the super-agent who … ”

  Lily paused. She actually did know who’d handled at least some of nouveau house’s affairs. It just hadn’t clicked until now.

  Kerry used to come over every once in a while when I was little, because she was one of my dad’s first clients.

  Lily almost dropped her fork, but it had nothing to do with following Len’s suggestion to find Kerry’s Achilles heel. No, this was another, entirely different disturbing revelation.

  “Lily?”

  Lily blinked.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  Len watched her for a second, then returned to his steak. He seemed relieved for the distraction and wasn’t going to say more unless forced. Lily looked up, then let the wave pass. Tomorrow would be bad enough, no point going out of her way to sour tonight.

  “This really is amazing,” she said, taking another bite. “How do you even come up with a dish like this?”

  “Years of cooking,” Seeming to feel the answer inadequate, Len added: “Instinct, maybe.”

  “So you just say, ‘Needs more salt.’ Then you add some the next time and see if it gets better.”

  “It’s a bit more complex than adding salt. But yes, I take inspiration then tweak.”

  “Where do you ‘take inspiration’ from?”

  “Other dishes I see.”

  “So, what, you see a steak somewhere and you say, ‘This is good. Maybe I should try to make something similar, but with a pinch more salt.”

  “You know what Picasso said: Good artists copy. Great artists steal.”

  “Mmm. So did you copy this vinaigrette, too?”

  “The trick to good vinaigrette,” Len said, “is that I boil the lemon for ten seconds before using it, to break down the cell walls and allow the juice to flow faster.”

  I microwave the lemon for ten seconds before using it.

  Lily set down her fork. She looked up at Len, realization dawning for the second time in two minutes.

  “I knew I’d seen him before.”

  Len, midchew, looked up. “Who?”

  “Your third man. The third guy cooking for you.”

  “I don’t have a third man. It’s just me and Paul.”

  “The guy with the tattoo.”

  “What guy with the tattoo?”

  Lily shook her head, a strange emotion swelling her chest, making her previously placated head start to swim. “I can describe him another way. He also happens to be Bella by the Sea’s prep man.”

  Len paused for a second, then set down his fork. He seemed to consider, then half-shrugged, pursing his lips.

  “Great artists steal.”

  “You’re taking their recipes.”

  “Just for inspiration. The baseline recipe is just raw materials for me to shape and remix.”

  “Raw materials their customers pay a premium for.” Lily pushed back. Suddenly, it was a struggle to swallow.

  “I don’t serve the same dish, Lily. Not at all. I sometimes take shortcuts to ideas, but ideas aren’t precious. Any good chef could have come up with something like this meal after a little thought and experimentation.”

  “But you didn’t do that, did you?” Lily looked down at the steak, potatoes, and salad that, up until a minute ago, had seemed so very appetizing. “This is a Bella dish, isn’t it?”

  “One I’ll change. This is just a starting point. What I create and serve will be fully my own.”

  “But it’s not your own.” Lily stood. “Because you started with their dish.”

  “And remade it!”

  Lily was still shaking her head.

  “How is this any different from you looking at a magazine, seeing an arrangement you like, and making something similar?”

  “Taking inspiration from a public source is different from stealing.”

  “It’s not stealing!”

  “Then what is Bella’s prep guy doing at your place before you serve your modified ‘cart versions’ of Bella dishes? Is he just a friend of yours? And of course, you don’t pay him for what he tells you, right?”

  “My dishes are totally different from what they serve!”

  “He knows, Len,” said Lily, still shaking her head, feeling like she might fall. “Oh my God, this is why Marcello hasn’t been coming in. It’s because of you. All along, it’s been your fault, and I didn’t know.”

  Now Len was standing, coming toward her. “Oh, come on. How the hell could that be the reason?”

  “I�
�d just come back in after getting lunch from your cart. ravioli di bello: two kinds of mushrooms, tomatoes, cheese and thyme, sauteed in a light champagne brown butter sauce.” Lily closed her eyes, feeling it all come together. “Oh God, Len, he looked right at it and stormed out. We thought he might just have a problem with cart food, but that wasn’t it at all, was it? He didn’t like being stolen from!”

  “And he’s punishing you? But still buying flowers?”

  “He’s honorable! He knew we were together. He didn’t want to punish me, but he couldn’t face me either!” Lily felt a hot creep climbing her neck. It wasn’t ordinary anger; it was anger tinged with betrayal. She’d come to Cielo del Mar closed, and Len had opened her up. She’d already taken his advice and taught herself to lean on his shoulder. He’d changed her, and now he’d turned out to be a thief. What did that say about New Lily, about the things she’d done and considered?

  “Look,” said Len. “This doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changes everything.”

  “I still love you.”

  “You don’t. You barely know me. And God knows I barely know you.”

  He reached out and took her hand, but Lily yanked it away.

  “I’ll stop if it bothers you,” he said. “But again, I’m not using their recipes. Think about it for a second, okay?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “It’s not the same food. I could modify anything; it’s just a lot simpler to—”

  “It’s simpler! It sure is, Len.” Lily fought to control her breath and heart. She felt a shocking ire, but maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d been raised with hard work as a primary virtue, and honesty right there beside it. Len was handsome and charming and kind. He was good to her, but he took shortcuts and lied. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. He didn’t even think he was being dishonest, which meant he was the person he’d lied to most.

  “I don’t see who’s being hurt here. Bella’s and my customer bases don’t overlap. Not even a tiny little bit. We could even be partners.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “I’ll stop using them for … for raw ideas. Okay?”

  “Not okay, Len.” Lily was at the door, her hand on the knob. She hadn’t brought a coat, and she’d already grabbed her purse.

  “I still want to help you, Lily. I still want to be with you. I don’t even understand why this bothers you so much.”

  Lily opened the door. Len’s face was still handsome, but he no longer looked strong, or confident, or cheery, or carefree. She felt her heart soften. He couldn’t help being who he was. But she couldn’t help being who she was, either.

  “No, you don’t understand.” She sighed. “And that’s exactly the problem.”

  Lily closed Len’s front door and walked to her car, feeling drunk. He didn’t shout after her or try to follow, but driving off she could see him in the window, one hand pressed against glass like the loser in a film’s final scene.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE THINGS KERRY TOLD HIM

  Lily was sitting in her own shoddy chair, beside her pedestrian coffeemaker, with one of her unsophisticated farm girl’s legs crossed over the other. La Fleur’s front door was open, but she had no idea why. There was a pink flimsy from a triplicate form on the counter near the register, weighted with a stapler, in plain sight for all to see. The top read, TENANT GRIEVANCE APPLICATION.

  Later today, someone official would come in and force Lily to pull the offending truck away from her back door — something that doubtless didn’t matter anyway, given that the person who’d procured and paid for it no longer worked at La Fleur de Blanc. That same official person might be able to confirm that the operational status of her possibly environmentally unfriendly cooler still had not been determined. Lily would have two options at that point: keep trying to sell only what she could move before it died (an even more difficult proposition given that she could no longer leave the shop unattended), or she could finally, blessedly, surrender.

  She hadn’t been raised to fight. One person had made her feel that she could and should, but that person had turned out to be a thief and a liar.

  Len had opened his cart; Lily had seen as much through her front window. But he hadn’t made a single attempt to come over or make nice, possibly because of the don’t mess with me face that Lily had recently been informed that she had. He was over there now, reeling in long lines of customers with his counterfeit dishes. Throughout the night, two voices in Lily’s mind had fought for dominance. Had Len created the dishes he served, as he’d argued? Or had he stolen them? She could make a case for either. Filet medallions were different than filet mignon, but both had a red wine reduction and roasted shallot butter. The only thing that would change white truffle potatoes into something else would be prep time. Not dignity or restraint. How new could a dish be when the strongest creative force shaping it was the ease of preparation within a shorter, more economical timeframe?

  Lily wasn’t a chef, but it seemed to her that aesthetics and taste — perhaps even whim and whimsy — should probably shape a dish more than mechanical restrictions. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe Len wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe she’d been cruel to storm out, because there was no question that nothing in his feelings for her had changed — and, insidiously, little in her feelings for him seemed to have changed, either. She still felt drawn to him. She still wanted to see him. She still wanted to lean on him, and confess her problems, knowing that he’d put a thief’s arm around her and tell her that everything was fine.

  “Hey,” said a voice.

  Lily raised her head. Then she stood, unable to fight down a wide smile.

  “Allison!”

  “Hi, Lily.”

  “How are you? I tried to call.” Lily was avoiding the key issue between them and pretending it didn’t exist. Maybe if she turned her head far enough, it wouldn’t. Maybe she could make the problem go away. Cameron hadn’t said it; she hadn’t learned it; Allison hadn’t experienced it. Shazam, and the world was as it should be.

  “Sorry.” Allison’s bubble had popped. She looked like a rag, all color gone from her cheeks.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I saw your calls. I just … ” She shook her head. “Yesterday was a weird day.”

  “It’s fine. I’m glad to see you.” Lily walked forward, waiting for Allison to raise her arms for a hug. But she didn’t seem able, just as Lily, even as she advanced, felt unable to do the same. They didn’t hug each day when they opened the store. Hugging was for reunions and tragedies. Hugging now would be admitting that this was one, or both.

  But when Lily came closer, Allison did raise her hands, and Lily, following rather than leading, raised hers. They embraced too tight for a casual hug, then Allison gripped her harder and sobbed into Lily’s shoulder.

  Lily pulled away. “What is it?”

  “My dad.”

  Well, no sense pretending she hadn’t heard. “Cameron told me.”

  “It’s more than what Cameron said.” Allison shook her head slowly, eyes wet, lips pressed together. Allison wasn’t just crushed, though she was. She was also furious.

  “What’s going on, Al?”

  Allison looked up, down, anywhere but into Lily’s eyes. “Kerry.”

  Something settled into Lily’s stomach like a brick. Oh yes, she’d forgotten about that. Len’s prodding had elicited one bombshell within Lily, but her epiphany about his theft from Bella by the Sea had eclipsed it. Now, watching Allison and hearing that one word, she remembered her inkling from the evening before.

  “Kerry talked to your dad,” said Lily, recalling the way it had felt to realize it at Len’s.

  Allison’s control was decaying by the second. It hurt Lily’s heart to see her so upset, but equally dominant was her own discomfort at seeing someone so strong reduced to rubble. Allison was the tough one. She wanted to go after Kerry before Lily did; Allison forced her way into Lily’s life; Allison had made
it her mission, on the day of the cooler, to solve La Fleur’s problem as if it were a personal insult. And now Lily, feeling beaten herself, had to be the rock. Her own rock was dissolving into tears, just as her other rock, last night, had dissolved into sand.

  Lily walked to the door, closed it, and turned the lock. Then she led Allison toward La Fleur’s rear where she sat her on one of the chairs by the coffee station. She held both of Allison’s hands with her own as another round of angry sobs wracked her.

  After she’d calmed and blown her nose, Allison said, “It’s not just that she talked to him. I’m twenty-one fucking years old. This isn’t like someone running and tattling.”

  “Tattling about what, though? I don’t even understand what the problem is. You told me he just wants you to have a job. To clock in and out, I mean,” she amended. “And you have that here. So why would he want you to quit?”

  “That was supposed to be the idea,” said Allison, nodding. “But the things Kerry told him … ” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, blinking, taking a moment. “It’s … she’s such a cunt, Lily! She’s such a—”

  “Allison.”

  Allison looked up. Her mascara was smeared — not from flowing tears, but from the rough, angry way she kept furiously rubbing her eyes. Somehow, the mess on her face managed to look not like helplessness, but like war paint. Allison was usually cute. But now she looked somehow tortured and beautiful.

  “Just tell me what happened, okay?”

  “Okay. Well, you know my dad.”

  “No.”

  “You know who he is, I mean. Because I told you. He grew his business from nothing, and he’s where I get all my business sense. I sort of absorbed all that stuff, but what just clicked for me is that he’s seen that I’ve absorbed it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” What did any of this have to do with La Fleur and Kerry?

  “Look, I used to run around a lot in high school. Spoiled rich girl; what would you expect? All I wanted to do was party and drink. And so I partied and I drank. A lot. And I … well, I fucked a lot of guys.”

  Lily decided it was probably the wrong time to point out that Allison still fucked a lot of guys.