Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) Read Free Page A

smirk.
                  “And here I thought it was because you’re always floating in alcohol,” she quipped.
                  Our boisterous laughter echoed through the empty restaurant, not because we both found the joke uproarious, but because our nerves had taken control. This was our new boss, sitting with us. Who knew how he’d really decide our fate? Though I held no illusions I’d still be employed here much longer. The sooner I got out of here, the better for my sanity.
                  “Okay, ladies,” our subject of concern announced as he took the stool beside mine. “Let’s focus, shall we? What can you tell me about this place?”
              Maxie’s lips tightened into an indefinable line. Loyalty ran rampant at the G & O.
                  “Shouldn’t you have this discussion with Chef Sidney?” I asked.
                  “I already have. He said I should talk to you. With most of his time spent in the kitchen, he can’t tell me everything I want to know. You two are in the front of the house on the busiest nights. You see things, hear things the rest of the staff probably doesn’t. So…” He leaned toward me, that indulgent smile on his face again—like we were girlfriends at a slumber party. “Tell me. What do you hear?”
                  No matter how much charm he oozed, I refused to play confidante with him. “When exactly do you plan to institute any changes?”
                  “Depends on how much work I have to do. I’m already revamping the menu. I’d like to hear what you’d change if you could.”
                  With a careless shrug, I replied, “Where should we start?”
                  “Whatever you think needs the most attention. Don’t worry about cost. That’s my problem. Tell me about any issues with appliances, plumbing or electrical, the ambiance, the furniture. Anything and everything. I want to revamp this place and make it more welcoming. Your advice and help will go a long way to making the Gull and Oar’s grand reopening the talk of the season on Long Island’s East End.”
                  Maxie and I exchanged dubious looks.
                  “More diners translates to more money in your pockets, too,” he advised.
                  My mama would say, “This is how Eve got in trouble with the serpent.”
    Serpent, shmerpent. I had bills to pay. “The pads in the booths are thin and worn out,” I said in some bizarre cloak-and-dagger whisper.
                  “Especially for some of the skinny Manhattanites we get in here,” Maxie added.
                  I probably should have warned her that Colin’s mother was one of those skinny Manhattanites, but the last hour or so had stacked up the surprises against me.
                  As if to emphasize her point, Maxie twirled and patted her ample fanny, which she’d poured into slacks that were probably two sizes too small. “No meat on their rumps.”
                  To Colin’s credit, he didn’t react to Maxie’s eighteen-wheeler art of flirtation. Instead, he pulled a spiral memo pad and pen from his chef jacket pocket and flipped to a blank page. “Okay.” He jotted down notes. “New upholstery. What else?”
                  “Lighting.” Maxie gestured with a wide arm sweep. “It’s too dark in here. Dark wood, stained glass lamps, shutters instead of blinds on the windows.  We’ve added battery-operated candles on each table, but it’s still tough to read the menus.”
                  “Lighting. Got it. What else?” He looked up from his memo pad. “Lucie? What are the slowest moving dishes? Start with appetizers and rattle off the list.”
                  Yeah, right. Because I was totally prepared for today’s ambush. I barely kept my