Grace for Drowning(73)

My interview was set for three o'clock — right between the lunch and dinner rushes — but, despite the hour, more than half the tables were occupied when I arrived. I imagined that during peak times the place absolutely packed out. As I was led out back to meet the chef, I found my mind already analyzing everything I saw, dissecting dishes, studying the wait staff, trying to get a picture of how the place was run. Restaurants come in many flavors: cheap and hurried, lavish and exorbitant, dim and quiet and romantic. The Apollo had a good vibe, relaxed and competent. Smiling staff, simple plating, generous serving sizes — it was exactly the sort of place I enjoyed.

The maître d stopped outside the door. "He's expecting you."

"Thanks," I replied.

As I passed the threshold to the kitchen, I felt a flutter of nerves. Logan was right, I was ready for this, and God knows I wanted it, but that didn't make me immune to a little old-fashioned apprehension. Job interviews are intense at the best of times, and I still wasn't sure how I'd handle the pressure. There was also the small matter of my ungracious exit from my last position. I had no idea how much my new potential boss knew, but the last year of my life wasn't exactly employee of the month material.

The chef was standing in the middle of the kitchen armed with an iPad and a frown. Checking stock, most likely. People don't understand how difficult it is to run a commercial kitchen. There's so much more to it than just cooking. Every day requires precise planning. Buy too little of an ingredient and you run out halfway through the night, but buy too much and it can wind up spoiling, taking a huge chunk out of your profits. You need to get the balance just right. Multiply that calculation by the number of dishes on the menu, and you have a ridiculous number of balls in the air.

"I'll be with you in just a sec," said the chef, not even glancing up. He was a portly man of about fifty, with graying curls and olive skin.

After thirty seconds, he let out a long sigh then set the tablet down. "Grace, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

He let out a wry laugh. "No need for that. Name's Milo." He extended a hand.

I shook it, feeling some of the tension bleed from my muscles. It was a friendlier welcome than I'd been expecting. Chefs are notorious for being surly, basically around the clock. It comes with the territory.

"Good to meet you," I replied.

He nodded toward a door at the back of the room. "I need to get off my feet for a few minutes. Let's sit."

I followed him into a cramped little office. "Now," he continued, "Charlie tells me you're looking for work."

"Yep."

"Okay, so why don't you tell me a little about yourself."

And so I passed over my resume and then gave him the CliffsNotes on my training and experience. He sat and listened, occasionally glancing down at my qualifications, not giving away anything.

"I know Le Pelican" he said, when I finished telling him about my last job in Vegas. "Is Jason still in the kitchen there?"

"As far as I know," I said cautiously. Jason was the sous chef during my time there. He was also the guy that fired me.

"So why did you leave?"

I felt a surge of panic. If he knew people from Le Pelican, any story I made up would be pointless. All Milo had to do was pick up the phone and the truth would come out. Jason had seemed sorry about firing me, and I doubt he held a vendetta, but that didn't mean he'd lie for me, either. I had no choice but to put my cards on the table.

"Honestly, I was let go. I lost my fiancé shortly before it happened and I wasn't dealing with it very well. I don't blame them; I wasn't fit to work at the time."

His expression turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

"And I appreciate your honesty."

I nodded, waiting for the "but" that seemed sure to follow.

He licked his lips. "What about now? Do you think you're fit to work?"

"I do. I'm in a much better place. I've been working at Charlie's for a few months, just getting back on my feet. It's been great, but I'm ready to jump back into doing what I really love." I neglected to mention that I had been moments away from losing that job, too. I assumed Charlie wouldn't ask around on my behalf only to go telling everyone about my drinking, but I couldn't know for sure.

Milo studied me for several seconds. He had shrewd eyes. I didn't know if that was good or bad for me.

Eventually he clapped his hands. "Well, Le Pelican wouldn't have hired you unless you knew your way around a kitchen, which makes me inclined to give you a chance. I'll put you on a one week trial. Can you start tomorrow?"

I found myself grinning like an idiot. "I'm not sure. I'll have to check with Charlie."