Jimmy let out a huge guffaw. "Not unless I wanted to end up on my back on the pavement, no sir."
Jillian. Is there a chance in hell?
I looked more closely at her most recent job. Nine months ago. Not quite long enough to be desperate, necessarily, but at least long enough to consider an offer from me.
That was, if she remembered me at all.
CHAPTER THREE
Hors D'oeuvre#p#分页标题#e#
The hors d'oeuvre should never be an afterthought. First impressions, after all, are lasting. Consider your appetizers an opportunity to impress, not simply something to fill the guest's stomach while you prepare their "real" food.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Jill
***
The chirping of my phone woke me up, bright and early the next morning. I squinted at the screen uncomprehendingly for a while. Heidi was curled up, still snoring at my feet.
Making a valiant effort to clear my throat, I hit the "talk" button.
"Hello?" My voice still sounded incredibly raspy, but at least it was working.
"Jillian Brown?" It was a man's voice, deep and commanding. I didn't think I recognized it, but my heart clenched anyway.
"Yes," I said. "Can I help you?"
"Is this a bad time?"
I must have sounded as bad as I felt. "No, it's fine. What do you need?"
"I was hoping to discuss an employment opportunity with you."
"Oh." God damn, if there was a worse time to get a callback...oh well, I had to make the best of it. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, and tried to focus. "Where did you say you were calling from?"
"I didn't," he replied. "Would you be able to come into the city for an interview later this afternoon?"
"Where?"
He started rattling off an address. Was I losing my mind, or had he still not said the name of the place?
"Hang on, just -" I hauled myself off the sofa and stumbled over to the junk pile that might have once been my dining room table, searching for a pen. "I need something to write with."
"Sorry," he replied, not sounding particularly sorry.
I finally found a half-dead ballpoint under a pile of "URGENT NOTICES" from the cable company. "Who are you with?"
"Dylan's Trattoria," he said.
My heart stopped for a moment.
"Chef Dylan?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes?" His tone suggested that there was absolutely nothing unusual about him cold-calling prospective employees.
My voice wouldn't cooperate with my desire to respond to him, even though I had no idea what I was going to say. Do you know who you're calling? Do you remember me? Why the hell would you ever want me to work for you?
And more importantly, why would you ever think I would want to work for you?
"Are you ready?" he said, impatiently, after a few moments of silence. I realized he was still waiting to give me the address again. I wanted to hang up the phone, but for some incomprehensible reason, I didn't.
"Yes," I said, numbly.
Dutifully, I scrawled down what he told me on the back of an envelope from the electric company, which I hadn't yet dared to open.
After we hung up, I went around my morning routine like a zombie - shower, clean clothes, brushing some of the nastiness out of my mouth - and didn't even let myself think about the interview until I'd dragged Heidi outside. She loved being there, but getting her going in the morning was like starting an old lawn mower.
While she sniffed the same sign post for twenty minutes, I considered my predicament. At this point, I basically had to at least attend the interview. Word got around in the culinary industry. Turning down a job with Maxwell Dylan was one thing, and an understandable decision, but a no-show to an interview? That could get me blacklisted from every decent restaurant in the city.#p#分页标题#e#
So, I'd have to sit through the stupid thing. That was okay. If nothing else, it would make for a good story.
***
After I'd been sitting in the lobby of Dylan's Trattoria for twenty minutes, without a sign of life, I was starting to reconsider my decision.
What a joke. What a waste of a train ticket. I'd been hopeful when I found the door unlocked, despite the fact that the restaurant still wasn't due to open for another few weeks. Someone must be here. But I'd already circled the dining room, just in case he might be hiding under a table or something, and even poked my head into the back. There was no one here.
I was starting to think this was some kind of elaborate practical joke. Maybe it was a hidden camera prank for Chef Dylan's latest reality show. No way was I signing that release form. Not in a thousand years.