Home » The Archives » Chapter 13 » Cold Front
| Re: Cold Front [message #783 is a reply to message #781] |
Wed, 25 July 2012 16:48   |
artisticrainey
Messages: 1228
Registered: July 2012
Location: Northern Ireland
Karma:
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Field Commander
Switzerland |
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Friday, November 2, 3:30 p.m., Tracy Island
He was short, fat, and dapper-looking in his waistcoat and jacket, though by the time they'd arrived at the Villa, he was looking rather red in the face. He was appreciative when Kyrano brought lemonade and iced tea to the lounge, but was rather non-plussed to see the retainer sit down beside Mrs. Tracy.
"Both Kyrano and my mother are in charge of the kitchen," Mr. Tracy said amiably. "I value both of them highly, and it is their opinion that will carry the most weight."
The would-be sous chef was suddenly seized by a feeling of foreboding. He had thought he would only be dealing with Mr. Tracy, who -- as a man -- would likely know little about the world of haute cuisine. Instead, he found himself faced with a set-in-her-ways old biddy who just happened to be his future employer's mother, and a servant who might easily be pushed aside.
"Kyrano here was head chef of the Hilton de la Défense in Paris before coming on staff here," Mr. Tracy was saying.
Now Mrs. Tracy appeared to hide something of the shark behind her gentle smile. And the Asian man's face became coolly inscrutable. He gulped, and fought to conceal his nervousness.
The interview proceeded, and his feeling of anxiety began to fade away. They discussed terms and he played up his experience as much as he dared. After all, this was a mere sous chef position, and he wouldn't have pursued it if he hadn't heard a rumor that the successful candidate would be working for the family, not the company.
He let them know the hours he was willing to work, and which days, and about his yearly excursion to Mardi Gras. They didn't discuss salary; he wanted the conversation to turn that way, but Mr. Tracy was not to be baited. The Asian man asked a few quiet questions, while Mrs. Tracy's were sharper and more to the point.
"Well," Mr. Tracy was saying, smiling. "Before we go any further, Kyrano and Mother would like you to see our facilities."
"Of course." He rose and shook the billionaire's hand.
"This way," the Asian man (what was his name?) guided him from the room. They went down a flight of stairs and to the right.
"This is the dining room," the Asian said, sweeping his arm to indicate the huge table and hefty sideboards. "The family eats here, and occasionally some of the other staff will join us." The Asian made eye contact, and said, his statement more like a question, "I hope you are well versed in vegetarian cuisine -- one of our nurses is vegan."
He smiled and bobbed his head, assuring the Asian he was fully conversant in vegetarian cooking. They passed through the swinging doors and stepped into the kitchen. There was the smell of fresh coffee, and a thirty-something man was pouring himself a cup. The man looked up, startled, a cookie stuck in his mouth.
"Scott!" Mrs. Tracy scolded, scowling at the young man. "What are doing with that cookie?"
The young man -- Scott -- pulled the cookie from his mouth, having taken a sizable bite from it. He chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of coffee. "I'm hungry, Grandma. You know we growing boys need a snack now and then." The young man grinned and winked at Mrs. Tracy.
"Growing boy, my foot!" She stuck a finger in the young man's face (despite the fact that he seemed to tower over her) and shook it. "The only way you're growing is around the belly!" She gave that belly -- what little of it there was -- a poke with her finger.
Scott put up a hand in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll take my coffee and the remains of my cookie elsewhere."
The Asian man stopped Scott long enough to introduce him properly. Scott said the usual pleasantries, and gave him a firm handshake, then retreated with his snack. Mrs. Tracy guided him over to a work island in the middle of the room. There were small bowls, large bowls and other tools of the trade laid out. The Asian pulled a half-dozen eggs from one of the huge, stainless steel refrigerators.
"Here is where we test your skill," he said as he set the bowls down. "Please, prepare an omelet."
He swallowed, nervous. He had heard of such tests before and how they had involved the most simple but elegant of entrées. And he was at a disadvantage here, too; he hated getting up in the morning, and so had insisted on the luncheon and dinner shifts wherever he had worked. But... it would not look good to refuse.
He began to mix and to stir, turning on the stove, and putting butter in the shallow omelet pan. He was keenly aware of the Asian's eyes on him, and of Mrs. Tracy's, watching his every move. He took every care in its preparation, adding cheese and ham and peppers. It browned a little too much, he thought, but he had no choice but to present it to his examiners.
The Asian tasted, looking pensive. Mrs. Tracy took a small portion, and sampled it, a thoughtful frown on her face. They exchanged a glance, then the Asian smiled.
"Please help yourself to a soft drink or coffee, and return to the dining room. Mrs. Tracy and I must confer."
There wasn't much he could do. He poured himself a cup of coffee, fixed it to his liking, and returned to the dining room. He pulled out the chair at the head of the table, imagining that it must be Mr. Tracy's special place to sit. He tried to imagine himself at the head of the table, with the gleaming china and the sparkling crystal.
An older silver-haired woman came in, breaking his reverie. She smiled at him and inclined her head as she passed by. Before she could enter the kitchen, he called out. "Um, madam?"
She stopped, hand poised to push open the door. "Yes?"
"They... they are in conference."
She smiled again. "I know." Then she pushed the door open and disappeared within.
He sipped his coffee and examined the quiet room from where he sat. The drapes were open, and he saw three children, a girl and two boys, head past, dressed for a swim. He wondered what it would be like to live there. Did they have raucous parties? Were his sons the riotous playboys that so many gossip magazines had declared they were? He would like that; he was always at his best when it came to parties... and partying.
The door opened behind him and he turned to see the Asian and Mrs. Tracy come out. They were followed by the silver-haired woman. The Asian stopped to introduce her, and she smiled, shook his hand, and went on her way.
"Let us return to the lounge."
He rose and followed Mrs. Tracy up the stairs again. He was surprised to see an elevator open, when they reached the top of the stairs, and a young, blond man step out. He wondered why they didn't use the lift; it was so much less stressful than climbing stairs!
The young man proceeded to give Mrs. Tracy a kiss on the cheek. "What's for dinner, Grandma?"
"Veal parmigiana, Alan. Just for you."
The young man glanced at him, a small look of concern on his face. Then he smiled. "I love it when you make my favorites, Grandma."
They entered through the room with the bookshelves, and the young man -- Alan -- opened the grillwork door for them. Mr. Tracy was behind his desk, and stood as they came in.
"Ah, good. You're here." He shot a glance at Alan. "Are you ready?"
Alan nodded. "Everything is fueled up and ready to go. Nikki's pulling the plane out of the hangar."
"Excellent." Mr. Tracy came out from behind his desk. "It was good to have you here, sir, and thank you for your interest in the position." He glanced at the Asian and Mrs. Tracy. "Of course, you're the first of several candidates, and we want to be thoroughly sure of whoever we are hiring." He gestured to the young man. "Alan here will fly you to Christchurch, where there is a hotel room waiting for you." He smiled a little. "No cost to you, of course."
"Of course," he murmured as he took Mr. Tracy's proffered hand. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"You're welcome."
"Thank you for coming," the Asian said, bowing. "We will be in touch."
"Yes, thank you," he said, bowing in return, though he wasn't sure quite why. Mrs. Tracy smiled, and shook his hand, then he found himself outside, escorted by Alan back down to the small cart.
"Hope you enjoyed your visit," Alan said, smiling.
He murmured some inane pleasantries, and stifled a sigh. He knew that when he next heard from the Tracys, it would be a polite rejection letter. No matter. He was being treated to an overnight visit in Christchurch, and he would make sure that Mr. Tracy footed as large a bill as he could manage.
  
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