CHAPTER EIGHT; part two

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     Saturdays we close at three and once the last customer leaves, we get to work arranging the tables and setting up for Weston's After Hours. Rumi stays an extra two hours to help and Tasha comes in to work overtime. I have waiters coming in at five p.m. who will have to be walked through expectations for the evening. People will be seated for three courses, the first being served at seven-thirty. I'll be working with two other sous-chefs, who I interviewed and chose for this event.

     It's not a strict black-tie event but we're still working to take the easy day-time look of Weston's and elevate it. Each table is set for the three courses with grey terra-cotta dinnerware and bronze flatware. Tasha calls the style Industrial Chic. I like that it isn't flashy. To match it, each table has a bronzed geometric votive with a tea light in it.

     Charles and Dolores had the day off but are coming this evening as guests, unusual for them but I insisted. I have a table set aside for them and Amelia, as well as Jack and Jasmine and Ashley and her husband, Ibrahim.

     "Okay," Tasha says clapping her hands. "I've got everything handled out here. You should start cooking." She turns and gives me a toothy grin before adding, "Good looking."

     I shake my head.

     "Come on," she exclaims. "It's a dad joke. Should be right up your alley."

     Rumi eyes me wearily, tugging at the lapels of her trench coat. "How are you going to cook with one hand?"

     I glance down at my hand, wrapped strategically and protected in a latex glove. "It's fine. Nothings slowing me down."

     She makes a disbelieving face but shrugs her shoulders. "If you say so. Alright, well I'm heading home to get ready. I hope you don't mind but I'm using tonight as a date. Vanessa is going to be so impressed by me. Everyone at school was complaining they couldn't get tickets because they weren't over twenty-one." She all but tosses her hair over her shoulder.

     Tasha squints at Rumi. "I thought you were dating a Romeo?"

     I balk. "His name was Romeo?"

     "Yes, and he was not nearly as eloquent as his Shakespearean counterpart. Vanessa, however, writes poetry."

     "Well if she writes poetry," I say.

     Tasha laughs. "What about you, boss? Is your boo thing coming?"

     "I don't have a boo thing," I respond coolly.

     Tasha and Rumi both eye me like their in on some secret I don't know. "Okay, I really have to go and get ready," Rumi says before Tasha can speak, heading towards the door. Tasha is still looking at me, unconvinced.

     "What? I don't," I insist.

     She purses her lips, humming. "Mmhm."

     I ignore the insinuation in her tone. "So you're going to walk the waiters through everything right? They should be here soon."

     Tasha nods. "Yep. Go hole up in the kitchen. I'll only bother you if the roof is on fire. But only after I've topped it off with lighter fluid."

     Tasha thinks she's a lot funnier than she actually is. I'm feeling generous so I laugh as I head back towards the kitchen. She calls after me, "I know that laugh was fake but I'll take it!"

     Most of the prep work has been done for the evening. I had to get another oven with more burners on it and a skillet side, which sits across the room. I've been looking forward to breaking it in all week.

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