The Art of Love (12 page)

I catch sight of her scowling at a table setting with the least attractive of the attractive waitresses, Donna, standing by her side. In my rage I have forgotten about my little trick with the blue jeans, but it’s nothing compared to hers. I fade back to the corner to see what happens next.

“What the hell is this?” Kiki demands, pointing at the tablecloth. Instead of its traditional crisp white covering, the table sports a blotchy blue and white hue like a poorly done tie-dye T-shirt.

“
They came from the laundry that way,” Donna explains, although I don’t know how Kiki possibly thinks it’s the server’s fault.

“
We can't have this.” Kiki takes a swipe at the linen. “It looks awful. Dinner starts in like ten minutes.”

Donna
shrugs. Here again, it’s not her fault and really not her problem, but she does suggest, “I guess we could put down white paper instead. I know they’ve got some in the stock room.”

Kiki rolls her eyes.
“Talk about tacky.” She curls her upper lip, showing her distaste. “How does white paper instead of linen table clothes say fine dining?”

“I don’t know,” Donna admits. “It was just a suggestion.”

“It’s a really stupid suggestion is what it is,” Kiki tells her. “I guess it's obvious you thought of it.”

Donna pinches her lips together, her face registering extreme anger, but she says nothing. Given free reign, Kiki’s proving to be as big of a tyrant as Escoffier.

A loud crash from the kitchen calls me back to the crisis at hand. Nailing Kiki to the wall will have to wait. I need to make sure that my staff is safe and that food is actually ready to go out after orders are put in. It’s not going to be easy with Kiki’s little knife stunt guaranteeing that we are short handed.

I have to send Pedro with Paolo and Aspic to the emergency room. Paolo is in too much pain to drive, and Aspic is too woozy. The fact that Aspic is in the same car with Paolo’s bloody hand isn’t ideal, but I can’t spare any extra staff member for a second car. We are already desperately in the weeds before the first patrons are even shown to their seats.

I want to strangle Kiki, but I’m also surprised by her ingenuity. I would think it actually takes someone who has worked in a kitchen to come up with her little ploy. Most people don’t realize how important sharp knives are to a restaurant. I equate trying to prepare a meal with a dull knife to trying to build a house with a tack hammer. You can eventually get the job done, but it’s going to be a lot more work. Kiki is cleverer than I anticipated. That’s something I definitely have to keep in mind.

There’s a fine line for how long people are willing to wait for food. In fast food, they want it almost immediately—order, pay, stuff it in their faces with little time passing in between. In a medium-priced restaurant, people expect to wait no longer than ten minutes between courses. Any longer and they complain or stiff the server. In fine dining, customers are willing to wait a little longer. After all, they’re there for the dining experience, and if you bring the food too quickly, it devalues it to some degree. But there’s only so long a person is willing to wait without becoming annoyed.

The secret to winning forgiveness for bad service at all levels in the restaurant industry is free food. A furious customer can frequently be placated with something as simple as a complimentary dessert.
That’s why, with all courses being delayed beyond reasonable expectations even by fine dining standards, I had to start slinging out the free appetizers and pasting a look of contrition on my face as I personally went to the different tables to do a little groveling.

The table I’m closing in on now has a middle-aged couple seated across from each other without much to say. The excitement of dining at a restaurant they’ve heard about for decades has worn off a long time ago and they are getting quite impatient. The man has a sizeable belly, and his wife has corralled him into a dated sports jacket. The woman has overly processed hair and a plunging neckline. In general, I bet they’re reasonably pleasant, but so far their trip to Bouche hasn’t quite been what they were expecting. I catch a bit of their conversation as I head in their direction.

The woman fingers the white sheet of paper that has been put on the table in lieu of the usual linen table clothes. “I thought you said you were taking me to a nice place.”

“
This is a nice place,” he tells her. “Aren’t you the one that always wanted to come here?”

“I thought it was supposed to be nice. But
paper tablecloths? What's next, paper napkins? Lobster bibs?”

The man shifts in his seat and takes a large belt of brown liquid from a highball glass. “
The food's supposed to be good.”

The woman sighs. “
If we ever get to eat any.”

“
I know.” The man casts an impatient glare around the room. “Where the hell are the appetizers?”

That’s my cue to come sailing in with two brimming plates. “Hello, I’m Chef Sue,” I tell them in case my jacket and hat don’t give it away that I work there. “
I'm so sorry there was a delay in you getting your food.” I set the plates on the table with a flourish. “Here are the short ribs that you ordered, and I've also brought a complimentary assortment of pâté as an apology for the delay.”

The woman’s eyes light up. “
Pâté...” she almost whispers. I could tell from looking at her that this would be a good choice. She would want something she considers elegant. I’m just lucky we happened to have some pâté prepped.

“
Complimentary...” The man is pleased. He wants to show his wife a nice evening out on the town, but he doesn’t want to have to pay that much for it.

The next morning I get a call from Trent’s assistant. “Hi, it’s Linda,” she tells me.

“Oh… hi?” I am in the middle of trying on the thirtieth outfit combination of the day, searching for a look that’s casual and picnic friendly, yet still sexy and late morning flirty.

“Trent asked me to call and tell you that he’s sorry, but he has to reschedule that meeting the two of you had planned.” She says it in such a way that I can hear the air quotes hanging around the word “meeting.”

“Okay…” I’m disappointed and fighting not to sound like I’m disappointed.

“But he does want to see you in his office as soon as you get here.”

So Trent had to cancel our picnic. That stinks, but at least he still wants to see me. Maybe his dad has shown up or something, but he already has the basket from Junipers. It could be that we end up having a quick picnic in his office instead of a leisurely one in the park.

As I’m stepping out of the service elevator, I see Kiki is in the hallway, slinking her way toward Trent’s office. This isn’t very promising, and I steel myself for something besides champagne and strawberries as Linda buzzes Trent to let him know we’re both here.

Trent is sitting behind his desk, hands folded, looking handsome as ever but also quite angry. Even Kiki isn’t so confident and cocky as she normally would be sashaying into his office. I guess my fantasy about a carpet picnic is just that, a fantasy.

“What the hell is going on at Bouche?” Trent demands after the door is closed but before either one of us has a chance to take a seat.

“
Uh...” is all I manage to get out.

“
What do you mean?” Kiki asks, an edge to her voice that I could never muster. She’s immediately on the defensive.

Trent is on his feet, waving his arms around in the air. “
I hear the dining room was a complete mess last night! The whole place looked like crap. What the hell happened?”

“
There was a little problem with the laundry,” Kiki explains, “but we handled it.”

He wheels around to buttonhole me. “
And what's with all the comped appetizers? I hear it was taking forever for people to get their food.”

I don’t like being yelled at. Especially when I’ve been working my butt off to make everything right. Plus, I’m hurt. This really isn’t the romantic morning I’ve been daydreaming about. “
There was kind of a crisis, okay?” I tell him. “Paolo and Aspic had to go to the emergency room and Pedro had to drive them. We were short handed, so some people had to wait.”

I guess this excuse isn’t good enough because Trent practically shouts, “
We're in this business to make money! Not give food away!”

I’m surprised by this borderline tantrum, and I can tell by Kiki’s raised eyebrows that she’s feeling the same. “
Calm down,” she tells him. “It was just one night.”

“
It's the restaurant business,” I add. “Sometimes things don't go smoothly, but weekday reservations are way up.”

“
I don't want to hear excuses!” Trent has really lost it, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to placate him. He points at me. “It's up to you to figure out how to use cheaper ingredients to make expensive dishes! And make them quickly so we can move people out and refill the seats.” He swings his accusing finger at Kiki. “And it's up to you to make the staff and the restaurant as attractive as possible. If one of our waitresses can’t double as a model then she's not good-looking enough to work here!”

Kiki and I both stare at Trent, slightly flabbergasted. He really doesn’t have any right to yell at us. We’ve both actually been doing an excellent job and working extra long hours for no additional pay. Trent must also realize he’s gone too far because suddenly his expression softens, and he lets his head hang for a moment. After a deep sigh, he says, “
I'm sorry, ladies. That was uncalled for. I'm just under a lot of pressure from my father. Go and keep doing what you're doing. I just... had a moment. Everything's fine.” He reseats himself and says, “You’re both doing a good job. I mean a great job.” He sighs and it’s one of those deep, soul-penetrating sighs. “I get it. Sometimes there’s just going to be an off night.”

I find it funny that even though Kiki and I are enemies, neither of us tattled on the other for acts of sabotage. I guess that would involve mutually ensured destruction. If she told about the table clothes, I would have told about the knives, and we would have both looked like middle grade girls pulling each other’s hair. Still, I think Kiki’s trick was much dirtier than mine. People got hurt.

***Kiki***

I wanted to narc on Sue. I’m sure she’s somehow behind the tablecloths getting screwed up, but here again, I lack proof. At least the busboys have magically stopped spilling on my staff. That’s a good thing. And the laundry was able to bleach the linen back to white. I’m sure it would take a giant gouge out of the Bouche budget to have to buy all new ones. I guess Sue wasn’t thinking of that when she screwed with the laundry. I know it was her. She may act all meek and accommodating, but I guess she can really bust out the claws when she wants to. I would have never expected it from her. It makes me a little sad in a way. I’ve never liked Sue, but I always thought she was at least a nice person. I guess this just goes to prove there are no genuinely nice people anymore.

******

As we’re leaving Trent’s office, Linda looks up from where she is typing away at her computer. “Everything okay in there?” she asks. “I heard some Winchelling.”

“None of your business,” Kiki snaps without missing a beat.

“Everything's fine,” I tell her, trying to be extra nice to counteract Kiki’s flash of bitchiness. “Trent's just having a bad day.”

We head for the door, but I do hear Linda saying to herself, “Try a bad streak of luck.” I do wonder what she means, but I also need to get to work and don’t really have time to chat.

As we’re waiting for the elevator, Kiki gives me the disdainful once-over. “Face it, Sue. A new haircut and slightly less repulsive clothes aren't enough. You don't stand a chance with Trent beyond being employee of the month.” Thirty seconds ago we were on the same team. It’s amazing how quickly the woman can change gears.

“
First of all, rude,” I tell her. “And secondly, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“
Don't even think for one moment...” Kiki begins, but then the elevator doors open.

We’re so busy shooting daggers at each other with our eyes that we don’t even notice Antoine in the elevator, and both of us almost bump into him. We do that awkward shuffle where he tries to exit while we try to enter. I finally get inside, and Kiki is about to climb aboard but then changes her mind and hangs back. I’ve got my finger on the “door open” button, but I really don’t want to stand there forever, especially waiting for her. “
Well? Are you coming?” I ask.

“Um…
No...,” Kiki says, shifting her eyes down the hall and acting evasive. “I... Uh... Forgot something. You go ahead.”

It’s pretty obvious that Kiki wants to speak to Antoine without me hanging around. That’s plenty suspicious, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I just punch the button for the first floor and leave them alone together.

Back in the kitchen, June comes over to me. “Carlos is out sick again,” she tells me.

“Consumption?” I ask.

“I think it’s more like the new girlfriend flu.”