"Oh, honey," Tony says, with a convincing sense of pity, "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting you're from Idaho. See, you don't get second chances here-and you sure as shit don't get to prove yourself over the long run. The opening night is box office time. That's when you make your money, and your reputation."
"You're thinking of the movies."
"This is L.A. Everything is the movies."
A truck pulling up and honking its horn outside signals the end of our break. I hop off the table while Tony glances at his phone again.
"Can you handle this?" he says. "I've got to go file that form for the Department of Public Health."
"Sure. I'll catch you later."
When I go outside, two men have already descended from the truck, one of them slamming open the rear door and unloading boxes while the other plucks a pen from behind his ear and starts studying a folded bunch of papers in his hand. He's a short guy in his forties, skin leathery from working in the truck, his eyes small and dark. He barely looks up as I approach.
"One box sea bream, one box red snapper, one squid, one mussels, one crab," he says.
"These should have come earlier this morning," I say, confused. "I was told before nine-thirty-the latest."
The guy looks up at me for the first time. He checks his watch.
"What is it? Ten twenty … eight? Less than an hour out. I'm sorry."
I frown at him but he's already turned his attention back to his order list.
"An hour late is an hour late," I say. "You ever wait an hour to eat at a restaurant?"
He looks up again, and upon seeing that I won't let it go he softens a little, smiling.
"I'm sorry. Fishing season's full swing right now, you know? We had a hell of a lot of deliveries to make, and a little trouble with the boxing. I figured since," he waves his pencil at the covered glass behind me, "you guys weren't even open yet that you could take the hit. Won't happen again, I promise."
"You know, the next couple of deliveries I have from you guys are the ones we need for the opening. If those are even five minutes after nine-thirty then it's going to-"
"Relax," the guy says, chuckling with a fatherly ease. "I understand. What do you think I'm gonna do? Screw over a relationship with a new customer? If I did that I wouldn't be in business as long as I have been."
I relax a little, realizing that my shoulders have been hunched with tension all this time.
"Ok," I say, making it sound like a sigh. "I'm just making sure everything goes right."
"Trust me. This is my job," the guy says, still smiling. He looks back at the restaurant behind me again. "Place looks good, and this location is great. You guys are gonna make a killing."
I smile, the offhand compliment in his comment somehow feeling way more meaningful than it should.
"That's the idea," I say.
"Where do you want these?" the guy unloading says, kicking up the hand cart.
"Oh, just put them in the kitchen. I'll sort them out." I hold the door open for him and then turn back to the other guy. "Hey, actually, I wanted to ask something."
"Hm?"
"Since it's our opening, and we're expecting some pretty important people, do you think you could, you know, just make doubly sure that we get good, fresh stuff? Especially the squid-we cook it in this marinade, see, and when it … anyway, we just need really, really excellent stuff-we'd be willing to pay a premium, even."
"Uh-huh," the guy says, looking at me as if deep in thought.
"Say … ten percent?"
He thinks about it a little longer, then smiles easily.
"Say no more. I'll get you the freshest seafood we have. Sign here," he says, handing me the paper. "You know, usually we charge twenty percent for that kind of … offer. But for an attractive lady like you I'm willing to make an exception."
I hand the paper back and smile, pretending to be flattered. There aren't many things that would suppress the feminist in me, but line-caught salmon that can take a yuzu and chive marinade well is one of them.
"Thanks a lot," I say quickly, spinning on my heels to get back into the restaurant.
I start working through the boxes, refrigerating and freezing some of the seafood for the chef training and run-throughs, then begin to prep the rest for the start of training tomorrow, scaling, gutting, fileting, and marinating to have good examples ready to show.
It feels good, being in a kitchen again, working with my hands. Even if the kitchen is empty, and this food isn't for a customer. For a month now I've been a nonstop negotiating, interior designing, event planning machine-but I haven't actually been able to cook much, beyond trying out some stuff for the menu. Even the slippery, smelly, cold texture of fish feels great in my hands now, like coming home.