Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

Episode XV - Calm Of The Storm

Location: Eze, France…

Living near the coast was both a blessing and a curse. The rich tapestry of sunsets and full moons that coloured roadways were enough to leave many a heart in joyous song. Yet like a jealous lover, life on the coast could become an unpleasant thing; this was what Gigi now experienced - trapped indoors while a storm raged outside. The winds hurled insults against the closed shutters, drowning the classical music coming from her minute radio as she finished rinsing the remainder of the serving glasses before holding them up to the light for meticulous inspection.

The fist banging on the door had her heart leaping in anticipation, leaving the glass upside down on her drying cloth until her return.

“Dearest husband! What took you so - !?” Her mind scrambled for words as her greeting died at the back of her throat.

It was not her beloved Salim that stood with the lightning flashing at his back. This stranger was dressed in a stained white shirt, tattered jeans and slippers.

As she took in his appearance, Gigi calculated the distance to her phone as well as her knife rack. He was built on the leaner side, probably only outweighing her by ten pounds – good fighting odds for a vulnerable woman.

“Travail!” he shouted over the storm’s onslaught, spreading his hands in the universal unarmed stance.

What would possess someone to apply for work at a time like that? Gigi asked herself before throwing caution to the unrelenting wind, she waved the stranger inside lest her feet become even more soaked.

The welcome intruder gave a series of short bows as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen before his legs buckled and the lights faded from his eyes.

Gigi gasped as she turned to see her guest face down on the sterile floor, the handle of a knife protruding from his back.

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“Du bœuf!” came the barking request.

“Trois minutes Chef!” Abigail replied from where she stood under the supervision of head chef and business owner Gigi Saunders. Edgar, the gruff sous chef, gave no reply; a small victory in Abigail’s quest for culinary respect. Adding another touch of red wine, she looked over her shoulder, puzzled by her head chef’s sudden quiet and that faraway look in her eyes. Following her gaze, Abigail also found herself staring at the kitchen’s dishwasher, Moggo.

 At that instant he reached over his shoulder to slowly rub a spot high up on his back.

“That’s enough, Andrei does not want his beef filet cooked all the way through,” Gigi advised.

“Oui Madame. Service!” she called out, depositing the finished order of beef filet, olives, shallots and red wine sauce and vegetables where the burly sous chef waited.

“I shall carry this one out myself,” Gigi stated, balancing the plate expertly, wisps of steam rising off.

 Gigi’s face lit up as she cleared the second set of doors leading out to the dining area, the sounds of glasses clinking and chattering guests warming her to the core.

Andrei’s group sat in the centre of the dining space, around the only circular slab designed especially for instances such as these.

To one of the low lit areas, Gigi spied Marriel speaking with her guest; the tense manner she held herself obvious to Gigi even from across the room.

“Gigi, darling!” Andrei greeted, rising from his chair.

“Mon frère,” she greeted just as warmly, setting down his plate before leaning into an embrace.

“Still wasting away in these baggy chef clothes?” he whispered near her ear.

“Still coming to see me?” she retorted just as quietly, the two childhood friends sharing a laugh. “Bonne nuit everyone, I trust everything is to your liking?”

“We have never seen Andrei this excited to see someone before,” teased a woman that looked to be in her late twenties, her thick, black curls combed out.

“It’s the food,” Gigi offered with a smile, eyes falling on the slender woman that sat next to the speaker with almond shaped eyes, a touch of bronze on her elegant cheekbones.

“A gorgeous group you have this year my friend,” she commented.

“Evangeline,” Andrei gestured to the one with the gorgeous eyes, “Her manager, Mona,” the woman with the big curls stuck her tongue out at the photographer before giving Gigi a small wave. “Karolina, Amelia, Lino and Angie,” he indicated, rounding out the group of models, “and of course you remember my staff.”

“Oui, a pleasure to meet you all, both old and new. Sit, sit,” she ordered, “We’ll chat some more when dinner is over.”

 On her journey back to the kitchen, Gigi paused at each dinner guest’s table, sharing a kind word and a smile, sometimes a laugh as her maitre’d Madame Maxine would have done. Igniting the lanterns that bejeweled the outside patio - the view one of the main reasons she had relentlessly chased the purchase of the location, Gigi paused for a moment to admire the pink sky as the sun bade this part of the world farewell for the day.

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Try as she might, Gigi just could not shake the nostalgic mood she found herself in. First, Moggo and her meeting, followed by the day she had first taken a tour of the property her business stood on.

She had then, only recently returned to Eze; culinary study and internships having taken her away from her hometown. Finally, with experience and the potential to do great things - a proclamation made during her exit interview, she had found herself one of the best building suitors.

The wonder of the building still held true, she thought, her wrist busy with whisking three eggs. It was almost like a tunnel - the stone faced the street granting access to the uniquely assembled dining room. Past the dining room however, Le Sanctuaire boasted what none of the other buildings could. Though dwarfing her in height, none of the buildings had a garden like hers - their high walls becoming nothing more but highways for vines.

“Madame,” Marriel called, causing Gigi to look up from where she now added the other ingredients to her mixing bowl. Gigi’s smile faded as she saw the expression on the other woman’s face.

 “What is it?” she asked, leaving her meal preparations for more pressing issues.

“Mr. Brock wishes to have a word,” Marriel explained through a tense jaw, the grey eyes that stared out of the creamy complexion flashing in anger.

“Chef -”

“Did he touch you?” Gigi asked, not bothering to shield the conversation - they were all a family.

“Chef -”

“No Madame,” Marriel replied.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?” Gigi asked sweetly, calm flooding her veins like honey.

“Chef!” Moggo called a third time from his station.

“Oui?”

“Shall I remove the filth from our restaurant?” He sneered, bullring askew on flared nostrils.

“No, there is no need. There is no need for violence,” Gigi ordered before turning to the petite woman with blood red hair, “Relax in my office love, I shall tend to our guest.”

“What will you do?”

“Why, kill him with kindness of course,” Gigi replied in that pleasant tone of hers.

TO BE CONTINUED…