"Now imagine this. You walk into our restaurant-it's a bright space filled with natural light, exposed wood beams overhead and potted succulents on the walls. You're seated immediately, and the rotating menu tonight offers a carefully curated selection of west coast comfort food prepared with the freshest organic ingredients and cooked by some of the best chefs in the country."
"What exactly is west coast comfort food?" Andre asks, his face skeptical.
"How about golden fried free range chicken with local sage blossom honey and chili, coated with chopped peanuts and served alongside crisp asparagus and flash-fried sweet-potato croquettes in lemon and dill sauce," I say breathlessly, the menu items I've dreamed of serving for so long spilling out of me in a dreamy rush.
Andre lets out a quiet ‘yum' across the table, and I know at least one of them is on board.
Tony leans forward, picking up where I left off. "Or maybe you opt for the slow-roasted red bell peppers stuffed with chili con carne cooked to perfection off a cinnamon base. Or the avocado and grapefruit salad with rosewater and herb dressing and pan-toasted almonds."
Then I cut in, "And for appetizers we have carnitas nachos with slivered pineapple, house-made kale chips with lemon tahini, and fresh baked rosemary focaccia or sourdough rolls for people to choose from. And these are just our preliminary ideas."
"I get it! California comfort food." Even Lou looks liable to drool now. "You're making me hungry, and I just ate," he says, and it doesn't sound like he's joking.
But despite the compliment, both of them are still looking us over critically, like they're not quite sure what to make of our pitch.
"So … ?" Tony says, glancing back and forth between them.
"Well," Andre says, "this is the part where we tell you we'll think it over."
Something sinks in me. I know what that means. I've been through this before.
The deal is off.
"Wait!" I say, quickly pulling out my phone and scrolling through notes. "I did do a few mental calculations, looking at some possible locations online, thinking about what our initial outlay might be for the first six months in terms of operating budget. It was just some back-of-the-envelope numbers but if you'd like to get a general sense of-"
"That's fine," Andre says, holding up his palm. "We've seen everything we need to see here."
I swallow and lower my phone, body almost shaking with nerves and the agony of our failure, not even hearing the small talk Tony makes with them as we say our goodbyes and make our way through the lobby, back out through the revolving doors before Tony explodes into gasps of released energy.
"Holy shit," he says, almost panting.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, Tony. I don't know what came over me. That was awful."
"What are you talking about?" Tony says, putting his arm around me.
"I don't know why I always go off like that when I'm talking about food, I just can't help myself when it comes to ingredients. I really apologize."
"Are you kidding?" Tony says, laughing. "That's why I brought you! That ‘foodie passion' thing you do? It was awesome! They loved it."
"I doubt it. That sounded like a ‘thanks but no thanks' to me. They didn't even let me tell them about the plan, price ranges, what kind of location we wanted. You think they would have just dismissed all that if they were seriously considering giving us a chance?"
The valet brings the car to a stop in front of us and hands Tony the keys.
"Oh honey," he says as he tips the valet and we get inside. "We can draw up budgets and business plans all day long once they're ready to talk logistics. For now we just needed to give them something to whet their appetites, something to believe in-and you are somebody to believe in."
I nod, completely unconvinced, as he starts driving.
///
"Well you are somebody who can make people believe anything-what was all that about me giving Cole a ‘few ideas'?"
"Just a little creative embellishment. These investors expect a bit of that."
I nod and grip the door handle as Tony speeds up and starts passing other cars.
"Oh. That makes sense. At first I thought you'd heard a rumor or something," I say.
Tony looks at me, deadpan, and I experience the extreme fear that is becoming familiar as his passenger.
"What do you mean?" he says, all curious now at the prospect of gossip. "You really did give him ideas? You've been there what, two weeks? Damn, girl. Workin' it."