I popped open my own bottle of Gewürz and dusted off a glass. I'd managed to get the majority of my stemware here without breaking it, though God knows why I didn't just buy a new set. I wasn't planning on staying longer than a year or so, just long enough to get the restaurant on its feet - but I might as well keep the place. It would be nice to stay somewhere that wasn't a hotel when I came to check up on things. My filming schedule never seemed to bring me back to the northeast often enough. I'd have to do something about that.#p#分页标题#e#
My phone was buzzing insistently in my pocket. I plucked it out, frowning at the screen.
"Lydia," I said. "Was just about to phone you."
"I got your text," she said, sounding flummoxed. It wasn't an uncommon mood for her. "Are you...sure? Is that a typo?"
"No, I'm sure. And you can tell the payroll people I said so."
"All right." My assistant was clearly chewing on the end of her pen, something that I'd told her a thousand times not to do. It was a losing battle. In her defense, if chewing pens was the worst habit she picked up while working for me, that was pretty impressive.
"We can't let this one slip through our fingers," I said.
"Is that the royal 'we?' Because I have a feeling I'm not going to be the one to scare her away."
Normally I would have jabbed right back, but I wasn't in the mood. "I'm a right bastard, Lydia - you know that?"
"Well aware," she said, dryly. "But what'd you do this time? You haven't sounded this regretful in years."
"The interview went okay," I said. "She was a little taken aback by my style, but they always are - you know? It was afterwards. We ran into each other at a wine shop. I shot my mouth off. The usual. I upset her. Over something incredibly stupid."
"Let me guess - her taste in wine."
"Moscato, Lydia!" I almost shouted. I could almost hear her wince. "I just - I couldn't take it. I had to say something."
"You chose to say something," Lydia retorted, gently. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"
"She needs guidance, Lydia. She's like a lost puppy. And yes, I realize how awful that sounds."
"I don't know if you do." The pen-chewing had paused, momentarily. "What's your investment in this? Also, I like Moscato - should I be offended?"
"No," I said. "You've got your life sorted, haven't you? Jillian needs my help. And that includes wine guidance. Once she's my head chef, she can drink whatever she wants."
Dead silence on the line. I pulled my mobile away from my ear to check that we hadn't been disconnected.
"Did you just say what I think you said?" Lydia was chewing on the pen again. "Max, she's never even been a head chef before. Let alone at a place with expectations this high. No offense to the girl, I'm sure she's more than capable, but aren't you throwing her in over her head?"
"I'll promote her gradually. Obviously," I said, irritated. "Everybody has to start somewhere."
"I..." She clicked her tongue. "Well, I suppose that's true." It was her this isn't worth arguing about tone of voice. I knew it well.
That's the thing about people - everybody thinks they know best, all the time. The difference with me is that I'm honest about it.
"Is that all?" I asked, feeling caged by the conversation.
"Sure," said Lydia, not sounding sure at all. "I think so. I'll let you know if there's anything else."
I hung up without saying goodbye.
***
Growing up in a family like mine, you learn to own what's yours.
Every family has a pecking order. Sometimes it's based on age or gender, and sometimes it's based on personality. Other times it's based on nothing at all. But every group of people needs a designated scapegoat, and families are no different.
You have to own what's yours. And that includes your mistakes. Otherwise, people use them as weapons against you. If you're "the one who can't do anything right," it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. But who can criticize you when you say "yes, that's right, I made a mistake. I fucked up, I learned from it, and I'm moving on?"#p#分页标题#e#
That's entirely different.
I learned to chase after my instincts like a bull terrier, and never let go. People looked askance - as I worked my way through a prestigious culinary academy washing dishes, hitchhiked my way through France until I found a restaurant that would hire me under the table, finally got my work visa, and just kept on climbing up - from dishwasher to waiter to line cook to chef, until I was suddenly the one barking orders at wide-eyed, sweating teenagers.