Riversong (29 page)

Linus looked at her, serious. “You in love with this guy?”

She put up her hand. “I know, it's shameful. Dan's not even been gone six months.”

“Lee, I've been thinking a lot about things and I wonder if you were happy before, with Dan?”

She felt tears spring to her eyes and grabbed a cocktail napkin, swiping at her eyes. She didn't say anything for a moment, thinking about what he'd asked. Tommy had asked her the same thing. Happiness, what did it mean exactly? “Linus, towards the end I used to daydream about leaving him and being free to start over. He was so dark, so driven towards this idea he had for success. There was no room for me. It took me awhile of being here to realize he had come to feel like a burden, just as my mother had been. I was spinning on this wheel, thinking that once Dan reached the kind of success he wanted, he would be happy and I could be happy too. And not so lonely.” She ran her hand over the bar. “But I can't help but think it's my fault for what happened because I wished for a different life instead of being grateful for the one I had.

“Does this Tommy make you happy?”

“Yeah. Even though he's not my type at all. He's a sentimental, liberal, Jesus loving musician.” Her voice broke. “And he's got this way of seeing right into me. He's nice to me and bought a crib at an unfinished wood furniture store for the baby and he's painting it white. We have incredible chemistry. He thinks we're soul-mates.” She took a shaky breath and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I'll just leave it at that.”

Linus smiled, but his eyes were sad. “And, he doesn't know how much trouble you're in.”

“Right.”

He squeezed her hand. “We'll get this figured out so you can be with him. I'm here now.”

She managed a shaky smile. “Great. Now I'll have both you and Tommy bossing me around.”

“What more could you want?” Linus shuffled through her notes. “Anyway, I'm afraid I must agree with your assessment about Riversong.” He lowered his voice. “The main issue is finding staff.” He put his glasses back on and glanced at Annie's summer menu. “Your chef is quite capable and the young man, this Billy.” He interrupted himself and whispered. “Well, he seems trainable.” He flipped behind the menu and pulled out a spreadsheet, shaking his head, as if contemplating a problem of deep concern to humanity. “However, I'm worried about finding staff.” He glanced askance towards the window. “In this town.”

“The local druggies won't do?”

He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “Oh, no, no, no. That's just a shame.” He looked up at the ceiling, sighed, and spread his hands on the surface of the table. “We must find the starving artists. Surely you have some of those here?”

“Why artists?”

“Smart and hungry.” He scrawled something on a blank sheet of paper with his fountain pen and presented it to Lee.

“‘Wanted. Artists of any kind to train for high end server positions at new local restaurant, Riversong. No previous experience necessary but must be detail oriented, personable, and display exceptional customer service. Interest in fine wine and food a plus. Please contact the Manager, (541) 555-5970 for details and interviews.’Don't put your name in the paper, just to be on the safe side.” He took his glasses off, folded the handles and put them in his shirt pocket. “Now, the other problem is publicity.”

Lee heard Mike's booming voice calling her from the kitchen and a second later he came through the swinging doors. She felt Linus pop to attention. Mike stopped and took off his hat. “Who's this now?”

“My friend from Seattle. He came to help me with the opening.”

“Wasn't aware you needed help.” Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and squinted at Linus. She saw the two men take each other in and suddenly she was seeing them as they might see each other. Mike, with his cowboy hat, ruddy sunburned skin, and a ridiculous large belt buckle the shape of Oregon; rough, unsophisticated, the type that might hate a gay man. And, Linus, with his linen suit, soft hands, his graceful way of moving and almost upper crust way of speaking; a pansy, a phony, someone you called a queer to your poker buddies.

“Linus manages Figs Bistro in Seattle. He knows the restaurant business inside and out. Mike's the owner of Riversong.”

“Lee's my partner here,” said Mike. “No offence to you, but she's done this whole thing herself. Not sure why she'd bring you in now.”

“I called him for advice. Figs is perfect. Because of Linus,” Lee said.

“We do things different here than in Seattle. Lee knows that ‘cause she's from here.”

Linus sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “No offence, but perhaps if you tried some of our big city techniques you might have some businesses that last more than a year.”

Mike looked at her, betrayal in his eyes. “You tell him that?”

“What? No, he-”

Linus interrupted her, directing his gaze at Mike. “In my experience, the most important thing in the restaurant business is good publicity before an opening. I can make a few calls, see if we can get some press from some of the Northwest foodie magazines, maybe the Oregonian.” Linus looked back and forth between them. “But we need a story to pitch.”

Mike, his face red, crossed his arms over his chest. “That some kind of big city bullshit? We don't need a story, just old fashioned good business.”

“I beg to differ. It's of the utmost importance we have a story that will prompt interest from the papers or foodie rags. Mostly for the tourist crowd. We want to create a buzz so people go out of their way to come here.”

“I'm just a blue collar guy myself but look around. This is gonna be a special place and you-”. He interrupted himself and looked at Lee. “Well, he hasn't even tasted Annie's grub yet.”

Lee looked at Linus and begged him with her eyes.
Play nice, please
. Linus, perspiration on his forehead, gave her a hard look and looked at his feet. Then, he looked up, face composed, and flashed Mike a coy smile. “Now, don't you play that blue collar stuff with me. I can see you know more about business than Lee and I put together.”

Mike smiled and uncrossed his arms. “Well, I'm old as dirt, been running the mill here for forty years.”

“Well, what you say is exactly right. But, still, the public has to know about us.”

Mike sat and angled his chair so his full attention was directed towards Linus. “What have you come up with so far?” He rested his hands on the table.

Linus stood and paced in front of the table, hands in the pockets of his pressed white linen pants. “I see two angles.” Linus stopped in front of them and moved his hands in the air for emphasis. “One, talented young female chef dreamt of opening her own restaurant but is the mother of a young son and chose a small town for his benefit. We talk about her vision around local ingredients; the seasonally based menu, talk about the serendipitous event of meeting two business people, unnamed of course, who were willing to back her idea.”

“But that's not what happened,” said Mike. “Lee came up with this idea, not Annie.”

Linus took off his glasses. “The papers love stories about the chefs. It's more compelling than the owners or managers.”

Mike looked at him and shook his head. “If you're right about this story thing it should be about Lee. She's one of our own. Moved to the big city and became a bigwig, and came home after the death of her husband to start fresh with people who love her. Who understand her. If that isn't a story I don't know a pine tree from a cedar.”

A picture of Von's tobacco stained teeth sent a shiver down Lee's spine. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Mike, I can't be featured in any of the publicity.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I have a good reason and I need to leave it at that. Can you trust me?”

Mike looked at her for a long moment. “Okay, darlin’whatever you say. I just wanted you to get the credit you deserve.”

“How about the credit you deserve?” She looked at Linus. “Mike's trying to save the town single handedly. That's the real story.”

Mike's face relaxed and he patted Lee's arm. “You're a good girl, but I'm not some Hollywood starlet looking to get in the paper.” He shifted in his chair, one eyebrow lifted as his fingers tapped on the table. “Linus, what's the other angle?”

“This one's more of a stretch, but could be integrated with Annie's story. I'm seeing the headlines like, ‘Best new restaurant you never heard of in the sweetest town in the West.’” He stared into space, visualizing. “Annie is just one of many young savvy talents moving in and transforming this town into a cultural oasis.”

Mike leaned forward. “That sounds real good.”

Lee rolled her eyes. “Our story has to be plausible.”

Linus raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Yes, it is a bit of spin. But, you've got the wineries here already.” Linus shrugged. “Plus, if it's written about in that way, perhaps it might start to happen.”

Mike jumped up from his chair and paced around the room. “Like it could attract other businesses like this one? High end? For tourists? That kind of thing?”

Linus plopped in a chair and wiped his brow with a cloth handkerchief from his pocket. “Precisely.”

Mike slapped his leg. “That's just a doggone great idea.” He glanced at his watch. “Shoot, I've got to go. Its payday and I like to pass out the checks myself.”

“I do the same,” said Linus.

“Shows respect.”

“Exactly right,” said Linus.

“Kids, I've got to go. I'm going to pay my respects to Deana. They're having a service at the Baptist Church. Her father used to work for me out at the mill long time ago. Such a waste, the way it ended for her.”

“Do they have any suspects?” said Lee.

“Not a one. They're pretty sure it was a fight over drugs. Couple of people testified she had a party that night but everyone swears she and the other guy were alive when they left. These drug people, they're so far in the muck, we'll probably never know what happened.” Mike gave Lee a slight smile. “But you don't need to worry about all that. You two are the wave of the future for this town. Darlin, good idea to bring this ol’boy down here. Real good idea.”

Linus crossed his legs and gave a prim smile. “This little town isn't going to know what hit them.”

Lee hid a smile behind her hand and pretended to write a note in her book.

Within two days, Lee had a dozen calls from interested candidates for the staff positions. Linus screened them first over the phone and selected five to come into the restaurant for interviews. The initial four yielded two solid hires. The first, Karen, was a woman in her mid-fifties, a local watercolorist and recent empty nester whose husband had been injured in the woods and couldn't work. They were out of money, she'd said, and hoped they didn't think she was too old to learn new things because she'd raised four kids and nothing could be harder than that. The second was a former technical writer turned fiction writer working on his first novel. Frank was outgoing, articulate, and cultured. He'd moved from San Francisco six months earlier and loved River Valley because it was inexpensive and quiet, perfect for writing, but he was almost out of money. Linus thought he was trainable, especially after he confessed to love food and wine almost more than a good book.

The final interview was with a glass blower in his mid-thirties named John. He had clear blue eyes, bleached blond hair and wore a diamond stud earring in his left ear. Lee asked him to sit down at the table, noting his fuchsia silk shirt and read through his application, while she waited for Linus to begin asking questions. Several minutes slipped by in complete silence, with Linus staring at the candidate as if he'd forgotten where he was. Lee cleared her throat. “Linus is a consultant from Seattle helping me hire serving staff.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “He's going to ask you some standard questions.”

Linus squirmed in his chair, crossed and uncrossed his legs and knocked his stack of notes on the floor. “Yes, right.” He leaned over to pick up the papers and banged his head on the edge of the table. “Ouch. Sorry. Let's see here.” He massaged the side of his head and traced the candidates name with his index finger. “John.” He looked back at the candidate, smiled and flushed. “How are you John?”

“Fantastic.”

“Good, good.” Linus looked at the application. “So, you're an Aquarius?”

John brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “That's me. Independent. Kind of eccentric.”

“Really? How interesting.” Linus leaned forward. “I'm a Virgo.”

“My former partner was a Virgo.”

Lee pinched the area right between her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tell us, why are you interested in this job, John?”

He fluttered his fingers. “I loved your ad. I mean, who puts it out there like.” He made a frame with his hands. “Wanted, artists. That was just so fabulous.” He crossed his legs. “Plus, my glass doesn't sell enough to make a decent income.”

Linus grinned and dipped his head to the right. “The ad was my idea.”

Lee stared at him for a moment and then glanced down at the resume. “You have a theatre degree. How did you get into glass?”

“I spent ten years in Los Angeles. Had an agent, did stupid television commercials, the whole bit. I took a glass blowing class for fun and fell in love with it. Just happened to see an ad for a glass studio for sale up here and bought the whole darn thing from this crazy hippy lady.” He took a breath. “I love the drama of nature here. The mountains, the river, the vegetation are all mirrored in my glass.” He smiled and played with his earring. “Of course, the problem is money.”