A Half Dozen Fools Page 5

  Elyse said, "Looks like a fun house, or something. But it's kinda creepy, too."

  "I read about this place," Shar said. "The designer's some big cheese who had this brilliant concept. Although, it's hard to say just what that concept might have been."

  On their way to the bar, the two girls peered through an archway into the vast dining room. Several escalating tiers gave it a scalloped appearance that stretched all the way back to the farthest wall.

  Each tier was lined with booths and banquettes, with free-standing tables between. The seats were upholstered in a swirling print of red and dark blue velvet, with not one straight line on any piece of furniture. What would ordinarily have had an edge--say, that of a server station--was wavy or spiral, including chests of drawers and chairs throughout the restaurant.

  "Geez," Elyse remarked, "it's like Alice in Wonderland on acid."

  "A little of that goes a long way," Shar drawled. "Come on. Let's get a drink."

  While they seated themselves at the giant stump of a bar, a tall bartender with long dreadlocks sauntered over and introduced himself as Lucian. After the girls settled in, Lucian described a couple of new wines by the glass and launched into the chef's specials.

  "Chef Rick's s a super talented guy," he added. "The southwestern eggrolls are friggin' phenomenal!"

  "Mm, they do sound good," Elyse said glancing at the menu. "Give us a minute to read the rest of the chef's offerings, if you don't mind."

  * * * *

  At that very moment, in the kitchen directly below, the talented chef was having a meltdown. Luckily, the floors were thick and soundproof.

  "What happened now, goddamn it?" he was screaming. "Why can't you friggin' waiters get the orders right? This is good food we're wasting! Not to mention my time."

  Without waiting for an answer, he lifted the full plate returned by a server and hurled it across the kitchen. Chunks of china and untouched entree exploded in a blaze of color against the gray cement-block wall. Staff members, including the general manager, gawked at the mess. Undeterred by the silent shock his tantrum had induced, the chef went on to plate the next meal.

  The GM finally snapped to her senses.

  "Guillermo! Grab a towel and dust pan and let's clean that up, please. Pronto!" She clapped her hands together to mobilize servers frozen in fear. "And, people," she called, "let's be more careful about getting the orders right. Listen, people, listen to what they tell you! Repeat it back, to be sure."

  As servers got cracking again, the kitchen resumed a fairly normal rhythm and pace. The general manager fixed a smile on her fleshy face and shuffled over to the chef, now stirring a sauce.

  "Hey, Chef Rick? Need a little smoke break, maybe? If you want, José can hold down the fort while you go up and get some air. Only if you want, of course."

  The sous-chef continued working quietly and the GM waited on eggshells while the executive chef decided whether to scream again or take a break. Staring into a sauté pan, he decided the whole place was starting to work his last nerve. Nicotine would definitely help.

  "You know, Barbara," he said, "that sounds like a good idea." He turned to José. "Man the helm, amigo. Back in five."

  The sous-chef nodded and the general manager exhaled. Chef Rick tossed his towel onto the nearest countertop and bounded up the long set of stairs into the dining room.

  A stunning, slender blonde happened to catch his eye on her way from the bar to the ladies' room.

  "Mm," he mumbled to himself, "got to be a dancer."

  He watched her slink out of sight before he went inside the lounge. The moment Lucian saw him, he placed a large Evian water up on the bar.

  "There you go, chef."

  "Thanks, Lucian." He swigged a third of the bottle in one gulp.

  Lucian smiled. "How'd it go down there, tonight? We got a little crazy up here for a while."

  "It was a little, shall we say, challenging at times. Nothing too off the charts."

  Not entirely convinced, the affable Jamaican nodded and got back to multi-tasking to keep the bar under control.

  Before Chef Rick took another swig off his bottle of Evian, he spotted a beautiful brunette seated at the bar. Calling Lucian back over, he asked if she was alone or on a date. Once Lucian assured him that she was with a girlfriend, the chef told him to buy her a drink.

  "Make sure you tell her it's from Chef Rick Giordano."

  Lucian followed his orders like a pro, and the brunette glanced up at the chef. When he nodded, she raised her glass to him.

  The chef groaned quietly. Man, is she luscious, with the biggest goddamn blue eyes I've ever seen. An urge to touch her made him twitch with desire.

  Lucian came back and informed the chef, "The lady's name is Elyse. And she says, 'Thank you, Chef Giordano.'"

  "Maybe the lady will be around when I get off work, in an hour or so."

  "Want me to ask?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  By the time Lucian reached Elyse, the stunning blonde had taken a seat next to her.

  "God," she said, "there's, like, no heat in that bathroom! I was freezing my tits off in there. And they're small enough, as it is."

  The chef watched Lucian relay his offer to Elyse. Both she and the blonde checked him out before putting their heads together to confer. Without waiting for an answer, the chef sauntered around the bar to where they sat.

  "You must be a dancer," he said to the blonde.

  "However did you guess?" she said in mock surprise.

  He pointed to the side of his head and made a funny face. "When you got it, you got it!"

  She snuffed out a little laugh. "I see."

  "I'm Chef Rick Giordano." He looked straight at the blonde. "And you are?"

  She answered coolly. "Shar."

  Chef Rick nodded and shifted his gaze. "And you must be Elyse."

  Shar cut in before Elyse could answer. "My, you are just full of information."

  The chef glanced back at her. "And what are you full of?"

  Shar raised an eyebrow.

  * * * *

  Elyse knew that look meant Shar was gathering herself for a verbal assault. Quickly, she acted to avoid a sparring match between the two.

  "She is full of talent, Chef. This is my best friend, Sharmaine Shazmani. An amazing dancer! She's a soloist with the American Ballet Theatre. Does lots of work on Broadway, too."

  Shar flopped a fish-tail hand toward him without further comment. The chef shook it lightly.

  "Nice to meet you," he said. "I'm impressed." To Elyse he said, "Nice to meet you, too."

  Elyse felt Shar's icy vibes flow in his direction, so she aimed to keep things light.

  "Loved the fried wontons, chef," she said. "Delish. And thank you for the drink."

  Chef Rick thanked her back and offered to buy her a drink after work. But Elyse politely refused.

  "Some other time maybe?" He pulled a card from the pocket of his white chef coat and handed it to her. "I'm off Mondays."

  After he went down to the kitchen again, Shar turned to Elyse.

  "Okay, he's cute. But he's also a bit of an asshole, don't you think?"

  Elyse shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I never went out with a chef before. I hear they're very passionate."

  Shar pinched her lips together and narrowed her eyes in thought. A moment later, she said, "Can't hurt to give it a shot." As she paid the tab, she added, "If the chef keeps your mind off that married director, he can't be all bad, right?"

  "Right, I guess."

  "I've got a date with a lawyer tomorrow night. Twenty years older than me with a paunch out to here."

  "What's that about?"

  "Free legal advice on how to start a business."

  "What?"

  They thanked Lucian and bundled up on their way to the door.

  "I'm thinking about retiring, soon."

  Elyse gave her friend a look of incredulity. "Retiring? You're only thirty-two."

  "Yeah, but how ma
ny good years do I have left as a dancer, really?"

  "You can always do Broadway."

  Shar waved a hand as if to brush aside that idea. "I'm getting tired of dance tights. I'm thinking about my future now."

  Elyse nodded and slowly absorbed this information, since her friend's decision came as something of a shock. In fact, the notion of Shar giving up dance filled her with a sense of dread. Ever since grade school, dance had been the center core of Sharmaine Shazmani's entire life. And, all at once, Elyse realized that she actually defined her lifelong friend as a dancer, not a regular person.

  When they stepped outside, cold air bit Elyse's cheeks. While pondering Shar's intention to retire, a rush of wind swirled round her head, and she thought about her own future. How long could she go on with her mediocre career at the Make-Up Place? A twinge of fear hit her as she imagined her exciting life as a cute, single gal in the Big Apple dwindling down to that of a stooped old woman with feet gnarled from standing too long, living alone in some crummy flat, barely able to make ends meet.

  She forced away the anxiety this image produced and concentrated on flagging a cab amid the crazy winds blowing forcefully against her.

  DEVILED

  Chapter 4

  An obnoxious, repetitious sound interrupted Elyse's deep slumber. At first she tried to ignore it, figuring it would stop and let her melt back to sleep. When she finally realized it was her telephone ringing, she pulled a pillow over her head until the machine picked up. When it bleated past six rings, she remembered she hadn't turned it on before she went to bed.

  Sleepily, she reached over for the receiver. As she brought it to her ear, she glanced at her alarm clock. Its neon red numbers screamed quietly in the darkness: 2:31 A.M.

  "Hello," she mumbled.

  A man's voice said, "You said to call when I was available."

  "Huh? Who is this?"

  "Joel. You told me to call you when I was divorced. Well, Dominique and I are over. It's finished. She moved to Florida."

  Elyse shook her head and tried to fathom why in the world he was calling at such an hour.

  "Joel, it's two-thirty in the morning. Did you have to call me now? I have work in the morning."

  "Okay, so, I've had a few drinks. Sorry...I was just so excited."

  "It's all right. Can we talk about this later?"

  "Are you seeing anyone?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

  "Damn! Is it serious?"

  "I don't know, Joel."

  "How long have you been seeing him?"

  "A little over a month."

  "Who is he? Do I know him?"

  "I doubt it. An executive chef. Sicilian. Well, from Brooklyn."

  "A chef? Those guys are crazy, Elyse. I'm far more even-keeled."

  Much to her chagrin, Elyse was now awake. "So," she asked with a yawn, "you're divorced. Legally?"

  "Working on it."

  "Oh, for God's sake, Joel! You're not divorced?"

  "I've filed--"

  "Filing doesn't count. For crying out loud! I told you to call me when you got divorced. I meant legally."

  "But I need to know that you're there for me, Elyse. This isn't easy, you know."

  "I know, Joel, I know."

  "Have dinner with me--"

  "Once you're legally divorced, Joel."

  "Elyse, come on--"

  "When it's finalized. For real."

  With that, she hung up. She waited a couple of seconds and took the receiver back off the hook. With a huff, she pulled the pillow back over her head, hoping to reenter that delicious sleep from which she'd been so rudely plucked.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Rod Hoffenzimmer was in a bear of a mood. He lectured Elyse and the new makeup artist, named Nissa, on their job responsibilities.

  "I expect both of you to make twenty phone calls each. Get some holiday appointments booked. After all, 'tis the season, ladies, for parties and gift giving--all the reasons women need your services. I know you're new, Nissa, but you may as well get on board, right away. Book appointments--let's go. Let's make it happen--fill those studios, every hour on the hour!"

  He banged a hand down on the counter for emphasis, then turned and crossed the waiting area back to his office. Once inside, he shut the door abruptly.

  Elyse scratched her neck, glanced at her new coworker, and pointed toward an ancient Rolodex at the end of the counter.

  "We can divide it by section, if you want, or just share every other card." She went behind the counter and blew dust off the top of the file cards. "Let's give it the old college try."

  Nissa bit the side of a black-lacquered thumbnail and spit out the skin. "Rod can go fuck himself. He's a prick."

  "Maybe so, but he's on a roll, so we better get cracking."

  Carla finished tidying up the manicure station and joined them by the retail counter.

  "I heard him tell Judy the other day sales are worse than ever this year," she said quietly.

  Nissa snarled. "Well, why doesn't he make some phone calls himself? I'm a makeup artist. I didn't know cold-calling was part of the deal."

  Elyse set the Rolodex atop the counter in front of them. "I guess we can start at A and work our way back."

  "You probably gonna find out lotta those numbers have changed," Carla said. "They from a long time ago, I think."

  Elyse shrugged. "Well, we've got to start somewhere. Let's see what happens."

  Nissa couldn't have been less interested.

  "Hey," she exclaimed, "did you guys see the stuff I just added to my book?" She didn't wait for an answer as she headed for her studio. "Check it out!"

  She hurried back to the retail area with a black portfolio in hand. Unzipping it fast, she laid it across the counter. The spiral rings held dozens of glossy photographs inside plastic pages.

  Elyse and Carla flipped through, "ooing" and "aahing" at the models featured in fashion layouts and advertisements.

  "Beautiful," Elyse commented. "What amazing pictures. And you did all the makeup?"

  Nissa nodded and ran her fingers through her chin-length, bobbed hair.

  "Yours truly, sho' nuff," she said. "It's what I do best--not making cold calls to strangers. That's the owner's job, if you ask me. Let him get his lazy ass cracking and drum up some business."

  Elyse shot a desultory glance toward Rod's office. "I do wonder what he does all day long behind closed doors."

  "He don't do shit," Carla half-whispered. "Not for years! When they first buy this place, it used to be sooo busy! They don' have to do nothing to make money. Now they got troubles."

  Nissa blurted, "And he still doesn't do shit!"

  The girls all sniggered.

  Elyse glanced at Nissa's portfolio. "So, how'd you book these fashion shoots anyway?"

  "Networking. It's all who you know. Got to get out and about, talk to people. Never know you who you might meet. Just got to step up when the time is right!"

  Elyse heard echoes of a similar strain she'd only recently heard. She tried to recall who else had said something along these lines. But with her sleep interrupted by Joel's phone call at two-thirty in the morning, she was slightly fog-brained and fighting drowsiness.

  "I'm beat today," she said. "Anybody up for a cup of coffee? I'll run across the street."

  "I'd lo-o-ove one!" Nissa blurted.

  "None for me," Carla said. "I drank a pot at home already."

  Elyse looked at Nissa as she threw on her coat.

  "Just make it look like you're doing something, in case Rod comes out of the office. How do you take your coffee?"

  "Black is fine." She made a little face. "Fuck that old grouch! I'm out of here as soon as I get something big."

  "Okay, but let's try and keep the peace 'til then."

  * * * *

  After several fruitless phone calls to names listed in the card file, Elyse realized it would help to have something concrete to promote. Nissa had lost interest and was fli
pping through a magazine pointing out makeup tricks used on models and celebrities.

  "You know," Elyse announced, "I'm gonna go ask Rod what we can offer here to entice customers in. We need a hook to stoke their interest, not just a call reminding them we exist."

  Nissa cast her a doubtful look as she slapped the magazine shut and stuffed it in her handbag. Determined to state her case, Elyse crossed the sitting area toward Rod's office. She knocked lightly on the closed door.

  "Rod? May I ask you something?"

  Through the door, he called, "Yeah, what is it?"

  Elyse figured his "Yeah" meant, "Come in," so she opened the door. But she recoiled in surprise when she saw him sitting there with a best-selling mystery novel propped on the desk before him. He shut the book fast and looked at her in disgust.

  "Did I say to come in?"

  "Oh, sorry," Elyse answered, flustered. Learning what he'd actually been doing in there momentarily stumped her. "I, uh, I thought you meant to come in--I mean, I thought that's what you wanted, when you said, 'Yeah.'"

  He shoved the book down inside a drawer and folded his hands neatly on top of the desk. "What is it, Elyse?"

  "Oh! Well, I was wondering if we should be doing some kind of, like, promotion or something for Christmas. A gift-with-purchase maybe? Or, maybe, a red lipstick with a makeup session, for holiday parties? Or, something along those lines."

  From the way he stared, she guessed her suggestion was a terrible idea.

  She added quickly, "I mean, that's the kind of thing we did at Black's to rev up sales, you know?"

  "Well, this isn't Black's Fifth Avenue. I don't have the deep pockets those companies have. I can't be giving away the profits to promote sales. It makes no sense."

  "No, well, sure, I didn't mean that, of course--"

  "Although, we have done special events, in the past, around holiday time..."

  He drummed his fingers along the desk top and stared into space. Elyse waited for him to throw her a bone.

  "Lemme call Judy," he finally said. "I'll find out what we did last year. I'll get back to you on it."