Part 18 (1/2)
Stepping into the room, I corralled the arm of a pa.s.sing line cook. ”Hey, what's going on?”
The kid could not have been older than twenty-one. He had a beautiful head of black curls and flawless brown skin. I had the fleeting impression I had seen him on a commercial for a men's aftershave. ”Hey, Chef Garrett. Sorry about the breakup.”
I tried looking dignified, which, in this case, probably meant I looked like I'd sucked on a lemon. I tried repeating my question. ”Why is everyone freaking out?”
”Oh,” he said, his perfect smile fading into a studied seriousness. ”Killian McGuire is supposed to be dining during the first seating tonight.”
”Killian McGuire the restaurant critic?” I felt the tips of my fingers tingle at the thought.
”The very one,” he said. ”Well, we aren't positive, of course, since he made the reservation under a pseudonym. But Chef Michaels is pretty sure it's the same alias he used at Wu Tang and at Bonne Femme, so we're a.s.suming it's McGuire.”
I pushed through the crowd, eyes on Avery, who was issuing orders from the pa.s.s.
”McGuire?” I said before I'd come to a stop before him. ”Are you serious?”
While it was true that any good review from a restaurant critic could double, even triple, a restaurant's exposure, Killian McGuire-feisty, opinionated, and a man with two million followers on Twitter-held unparalleled influence. A good word from him could put a restaurant on a completely different map. In fact, some chefs considered a favorable review from him to be more coveted than a Michelin star. Most twenty-five-to-thirty-five-year-olds-a big chunk of the dining demographic-couldn't care a whit about the stuffy and ancient Michelin guide, but many of them kept track of where McGuire was eating and drinking. And those same people talked incessantly to their friends, furthering his reach. A McGuire endors.e.m.e.nt was gold served up on white china.
Avery took my elbow and walked with me toward my station. He lowered his voice. ”Vic said that Margot said that Tiffany Jacobs and Macintosh Rowe are good friends of McGuire and that they probably put in a good word.” Avery's eyebrows were darting toward his gelled hairline, a long-time habit that marked him as supremely stressed out.
”This is big,” I said, my own stress level climbing steadily upward to a jagged spike. We began a slow walk toward my station. ”I need to do inventory. I hope he orders the strawberry and sweet wine gelees with candied pistachios. I read somewhere that he has an obsession with strawberries, and the berries we've been getting from s.h.i.+sler Farms are perfectly-”
”Charlie.” Avery stopped just inside the pastry area. No sign of Tova.
I met his gaze.
”I'm sorry about yesterday. I know you really liked Kai.”
I swallowed, sorry to remember what I was trying so hard to forget. ”Thanks. It just wasn't meant to be.” Feeling in my pocket for my phone, I retrieved it as a recently perfected reflex. No message, no voicemail.
”He hasn't called?” Avery spoke quietly, even though the film crew was busy catching the chaos in the main kitchen.
I shook my head. ”Not yet. Probably never. I don't know. I guess we don't really know each other that well when it comes down to it.”
Avery nodded. ”Well, he's missing out. He should at least allow you to explain yourself, right? Nothing happened. Much to my chagrin.” His smile was lopsided, and I realized anew Avery was a lot like a lost puppy. A lost, very ambitious puppy.
I punched him playfully in the gut. I meant it to be playful, but I did see him grimace before he could hide it. ”Time to impress Killian McGuire. Personal lives are officially dead in the water until he's full, happy, and tweeting to his heart's content. You ready?”
”Born that way.” He turned and b.u.mped into Tova, who ducked past him like a lithe cat and approached me with open arms.
”Charlie,” she said, burying her face into my hair. ”I'm so, so sorry. I saw the whole thing on Sparkle Online.”
”Thanks,” I said awkwardly. My arms were pinned to my sides within her embrace.
”Go ahead and cry.” She petted my hair. ”Emote. Feel. Be present. This is a safe place.”
”Probably not,” I muttered, eyes on the distant cameras. ”Listen, Tova,” I said more loudly. ”We have a lot to do today. Did you hear Killian McGuire is coming to Thrill tonight?”
She pulled back. Her ginormous eyes looked soulful, maybe even thoughtful. Hard to tell with the mascara. ”I heard about some reviewer guy. Never heard of him. But Charlie ...” She gripped my hands. ”I want you to know I'm here for you whenever you need to talk. And I totally understand heartache. I've been dumped many, many times.”
I pursed my lips. ”It's a harsh word, dumped.”
She clapped her hands and reached for her ap.r.o.n. ”I know you, Charlie Garrett, and I know you are a worker bee. Work can be a great distraction against feeling like yesterday's trash, so let's get to it. What do I do first, Captain?” She threw off a mock salute.
Trying to focus on Tova and not the all-star pastry team I wished I had for a visit from McGuire, I pointed to a crate of strawberries. ”Wash those thoroughly. I'm pretty sure he'll order the gelee, and I want to be ready.”
We set to work and literally kept our heads down for the next six hours. Tova was not going to win any awards for her technique, but she did seem to genuinely want to please me and help me do well. Perhaps pity was driving her to work harder than I'd seen her work before. She did offer several times to ”hug it out” with me, a concept I found both frightening and inefficient. The third time she brought it up, I told her just that.
”Say what you want,” she said, unaffected by my blunt refusal. ”But I know that deep underneath that heart of ice, you do have feelings, and those feelings are hurt. When you are ready to face the hurt, Charlie, I'm here. You know,” she said as she returned to cutting b.u.t.ter into cubes, ”I've taught hot yoga for, like, three years. I know tension and pain when I see it.”
I snorted my cynicism and she shrugged. But by the time I'd prepped for two services, torn into a BLT during a hasty family dinner, and scrubbed down my station for the fifteenth time, I was certainly tense and certainly in pain. My fingers were kneading one particularly large lump in my neck when Avery flew around the corner.
”He's here.” A fine bead of sweat lay along the edge of his chef's cap.
Tova squealed. ”I'm so excited! Is he gorgeous?”
Avery glanced at her as if she was some sort of noise pollution he had just then noticed. He zeroed in on my face again, and I saw his eyebrows shake. ”We can do this. Right?”
I nodded. ”We can and we will. Tell me as soon as you can what he has ordered for first and second courses so I can be ready.”
The rest of the restaurant filled up quickly, and those people wanted food, too. I charged through the orders that Chet hollered from the main kitchen.
”Fire two creme brlees, one gelee!”
”Yes, Chef!”
”Fire one flourless chocolate, one gelee, and one nut tart!”
”Yes, Chef!”
Chet barked, we answered and cranked out dessert after dessert. I kept my eye on the gelees, pleased to see them selling so well but beginning to worry we would sell out before Killian McGuire had a chance to order.
”How many people are in McGuire's party?” I asked Tova, knowing she would not hesitate to gather intel. A few moments later, she returned from her errand.
”Mike the camera guy says Mr. McGuire is dining with three other people.” She became very serious and lowered her voice. ”I want you to know that Mike is trustworthy. I know this because I'm unofficially dating him. Today's our three-day anniversary. Don't tell Margot.”
My laugh was sharp. ”Your secret is safe with me. Believe me, you don't want Margot involved in your dating relations.h.i.+ps. Gets very crowded very fast.”
She turned toward the ice cream maker. ”I can't see us lasting anyway,” she said above the noise of the machine. ”He's already seeming like the jealous type. But he does look really cute in a headset.”
I joined her at the machine, making sure the speed of the paddles remained at what I'd recommended. I'd mixed the custard four hours prior, using my time-tested recipe with heavy cream, whole milk, sugar, vanilla beans, egg yolks, and just a pinch of kosher salt. Tova and I stood together, watching it come together in the chilled bowl. I looked at my watch.
”Should be done soon.”
”We have some of this in the freezer, you know.” Tova pointed to the walk-in. ”You made it yesterday, so isn't it still fresh?”
I tossed a sheet pan of pistachios with a drizzle of maple syrup, readying them to toast for the next round of gelees. ”It's fresh, yes, but I want freshest for tonight. Plus,” I reasoned, ”it won't matter anyway. He's not going to want the ice cream.”