CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After splitting a club sandwich in the office, Rhonda and I decided to make a visit to Jean-Luc. We wanted to see for ourselves how bad his injuries were.
“I’ll drive,” said Rhonda.
We got into her car, a vintage Cadillac convertible Rhonda loved, and took off for a neighborhood north of Sabal.
Though the houses were older and smaller than the massive ones in the developments on either side of it, these sat right next to the beach in a sheltered cove.
A prime location that outdid its neighbors.
I called Lindsay on the way to alert her to our arrival.
“He’ll be glad to see you,” she said. “He’s very irritated that he can’t be at the hotel.”
“How bad is the injury?” I asked.
“Not as bad as a complete break. If he has his way he’ll be back in the kitchen in a day or two. We’ll see.”
I ended the call and turned to Rhonda. “We’ll have to be diplomatic talking to Jean-Luc. We want him to know we can handle his absence for now, but we can’t give him the impression he’s not missed. You know how sensitive, he is.”
“You’re right. If he comes back to work too soon and then has to stay out longer to recover, that will really hurt us,” Rhonda said as we pulled into the driveway of Jean-Luc’s house.
I got out of the car and stood a moment to gaze at the two-story stucco structure with a red tile roof. It was charming in a way that some of the larger houses were not.
Rhonda and I walked up to the front door, rang the bell, and waited for Lindsay to greet us.
The door opened and a boy of about four grinned at us. “Here’s Mommy.”
Lindsay stood behind him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Merci, Jacques. Welcome Ann and Rhonda. Please come in. The patient is in the den.”
We walked inside and followed Lindsay to a room that held one wall of bookshelves.
Lying on the couch, facing a large television screen, Jean-Luc looked up at us and grimaced. “I’m sorry. Such a stupid thing to do.”
“What happened?” I asked. “We didn’t get the details.”
“I was climbing a ladder to put in a new lightbulb, and it tipped over. I fell on my right ankle.”
“You could’ve been hurt much worse,” said Rhonda. “Don’t worry. We’ve got the kitchen covered.”
“But we want you back as soon as you’re ready,” I said, seeing the flash of alarm cross Jean-Luc’s face.
“Who’s handling things? Ricardo?” he asked.
“Ricardo and Chet are teaming up together. Tonight, and tomorrow, we’re offering a special prix fixe Italian dinner. Ricardo didn’t want to mess with a few specials of yours.”
“Thanks for that,” said Jean-Luc. “The doctor doesn’t want me on my feet until the swelling goes down. Then he’ll see about a cast or surgery.”
“Jean-Luc’s willing to do anything, even lie on the couch with ice packs, to move things along,” said Lindsay. “You know how hard that is for him to do.” She stroked the back of Jean-Luc’s neck and his expression softened with love.
A child cried in another room. “Excuse me,” said Lindsay. “I have to go get Damon.”
“We can’t stay,” I said. “But we had to make sure Jean-Luc is all right. He’s an important part of our hotel family.”
Lindsay’s lips curved. “Yes, I know. No one, not even Jonny Arno can compare to him.”
Jean-Luc chuckled. “Wait until Jonny sees you’re putting on an Italian dinner. When is his restaurant due to open?”
“In a couple of days,” said Rhonda. “Guess who hasn’t received an invitation to the grand opening?”
“Bah! We don’t need to be there,” Jean-Luc said, curling his lips. “We know it will be a … how do you call it? … a shit show.”
“Probably.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Get well soon. We miss you.”
Rhonda came over to him and squeezed his hand. “It’s not the same without you.”
###
We left the house, and instead of driving back to the hotel, Rhonda headed north.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I want to get a look at Osteria Arno. I’ve purposely stayed away, but now might be time to take a gander at our so-called competition,” said Rhonda.
“I don’t want to be seen spying there,” I said, wishing we weren’t in Rhonda’s flamboyant car.
“I do. I want Jonny’s team to know we’re not afraid to be seen,” said Rhonda. “Remember, I grew up in a neighborhood where some of the guys were similar to Jonny. Big, loud bullies.”
A few miles down the road we turned away from the beach and drove through a stone entryway for Osteria Arno. We cruised up to the front of a building still undergoing finishing touches.
“Wow, Annie! Would you look at that?” Rhonda gaped at it and turned to me wide-eyed.
I shook my head, unable to believe that something so garish was our so-called competition. The white wooden structure had a white stone front with four fake wooden columns, two on each side of wide double doors painted bright pink with gold trim and accents.
From the side of the building, Brock Goodwin saw us and came meandering over, wearing a self-satisfied smile. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“We were curious,” I said.
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” said Brock.
“Aw, we’re not afraid of you,” said Rhonda, settling her gaze on the restaurant. “And it looks as if we needn’t be afraid of any competition from Jonny.”
“Jonny hired an architect who’s done some work in South Beach,” Brock said proudly. “The pink doors reflect the famous Gulf Coast sunsets. And the columns represent the importance of the people behind the operation.”
I gave Rhonda a warning look. God knew what she would say to all that. “What’s the theme inside?”
“Pretty much the same,” said Brock. “The decorator is a friend of the architects.”
Jonny pulled into the parking lot and drove right past us.
“See ya later,” said Rhonda. “We’ve got a meeting.”
We made it as far as the road before we burst out laughing.
###
By the time we made it back to the hotel, we’d gone from laughter to worry.
“If the appearance of the restaurant is an indication of the quality of food inside, I don’t see how Jonny is going to make it,” I said.
Rhonda made a face. “I know. And he’s going to want to blame us for his failing.”
I checked my watch. “Terri Thomas should be at the hotel soon. We shouldn’t say anything to her about seeing Jonny’s restaurant. We have to simply promote our new prix fixe menu.”
“Right. I don’t think I could mention it without wanting to laugh or cry,” said Rhonda, and I suddenly realized we might be in more trouble than I’d thought.
###
We’d maintained a cordial relationship with Terri Thomas at Sabal Daily News through the years by making sure she felt special at the hotel.
That feeling included warm cinnamon rolls, cookies, or some other treats.
Today, we were going to offer her a sample of a few canapés we were showcasing at the bar.
An older woman who’d worked for the paper for years, she missed nothing.
When Terri arrived, we greeted her warmly and suggested we go into the dining room to meet. The restaurant wouldn’t open for another hour, and we’d have privacy to talk.
At a prearranged signal, a member of the kitchen staff brought a small plate to Terri.
“We thought you might enjoy some canapés while we talk,” I said. “What can we get you to drink with that?”
“I’d love a glass of white wine. You women are always so welcoming, thank you,” Terri said, beaming at us.
“We like to think we’re welcoming to each of our guests,” said Rhonda. “But we want to talk business with you, too.”
“Yes,” I said. “Your article about Osteria Arno was something that gave us cause to worry. We’re not in any special competition with that restaurant. We welcome any chef to the area, very confident that we don’t have to prove ourselves. Not with Jean-Luc’s sterling reputation.”
“He’s an excellent teacher as well,” said Rhonda.
“And generous,” I added. “His new chef, Chet Waring, is presenting a prix fixe meal tonight and tomorrow. A special dinner offering while Jean-Luc recovers from a broken ankle.”
Rhonda leaned forward. “We’d really appreciate your support on this, Terri. We figure that after highlighting Osteria Arno, you’d be willing to help us spread the word.”
“Besides, we always like to give you a heads-up on some of the things going on at the hotel,” I said. “Sometimes even special interviews with celebrities.” I’d arranged a few for her with guests who wanted the publicity.
Terri lifted a small piece of toasted bread ladened with smoked salmon and a dab of sour cream, topped with a couple of capers and slid it into her mouth. “Mmm,” she uttered, taking a sip of wine. “What a delight for late afternoon.”
“We’re changing up our bar tasting menu with a few more canapé choices that might attract a younger set of foodies to it,” said Rhonda. “You know how much we love our food.”
“Indeed, I do,” said Terri, reaching for a cracker topped with paté.
“So, will you help us?” I asked. “We have a printed menu to give you. We’d appreciate a positive recommendation. If you’d like, you can invite a guest for dinner tomorrow night to sample it.”
Terri swallowed her second cracker. “Okay. But first, I need to ask you—have you talked to Jonny Arno? Are you invited to the soft opening in two days? The official opening to the public will be next Saturday.”
“The answer to both questions is no,” said Rhonda.
Terri leaned back and gazed at us. “I thought so. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to play fair.”
“That’s why we need your help,” I said.
Terri took a look at the menu I handed her. “Why an Italian menu? Isn’t that a slap in the face for Jonny?”
“Chet has a ready menu of Italian food. We needed to come up with something quick because of Jean-Luc’s accident. That doesn’t mean he can’t cook anything else,” said Rhonda.
“We hope to have prix fixe meals every once in a while,” I said. “Not all of them with an Italian flare.”
Terri let out a sigh and picked up her wine glass. “Okay, I’ll do it. But only because Jonny didn’t invite me to his private, soft opening party. I’m always invited to them.”
“Thanks,” said Rhonda. “We’ve been supporting one another for years. It seems only right that we continue that relationship regardless of what other restaurants are in the area.”
“We don’t wish harm to anyone else,” I said. “We just want to be able to carry on with our own business.”
“As you should be able to do and without interference.” Terri stood. “I’ll bring a guest with me tomorrow night. Thanks for the delicious refreshments and the glass of wine. As always, you women know how to woo me.”
Grinning, Rhonda and I walked her through the lobby to the front door.
###
Rhonda and I went to check on progress for dinner. Monday nights in the dining room were usually slower than the rest of the week, but our hotel was full, which meant we’d be busy.
In the kitchen, everything was surprisingly in order. Chet and Ricardo seemed very calm as staff members worked at their stations. Philippa had changed into jeans and a T-shirt like the rest of the crew and was wearing a long, white apron over them.
I went to her. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. I like doing work like this. It reminds me of being in my nonna’s kitchen preparing the family Sunday dinner,” she answered, giving me a bright smile.
“We appreciate your help. We’ll settle the paperwork later,” I said, wondering how Philippa’s parents would feel about their daughter consulting in our kitchen. Maybe, after this crisis, we could place her in the hospitality group.
Chet came over to us. “It looks like it’ll be a busy night in the dining room. We posted the prix fixe menu outside the dining room and the reservations are coming in. But no worries. Ricardo and I have everything ready for the entire menu.”
“Thanks,” said Rhonda. “How does it feel to be in charge?”
“It feels nice,” said Chet. “Tell Jean-Luc he’s trained his staff well.”
“He runs a disciplined kitchen,” I said, delighted to see how well Chet was handling the situation.
“One more stop,” said Rhonda, “and then I’m going home.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Vaughn is cooking dinner tonight.”
When we walked into the lobby lounge to speak to Harper, we saw her behind the bar talking to a young man with dark curly hair, broad shoulders, and a muscular body.
We called out to Harper, and he turned to face us.
I couldn’t help staring at one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. Even from a few steps away, I was drawn to his bright blue, almost green, eyes fringed by thick eyelashes. They stood in contrast to his chiseled features.
Harper came from behind the bar and walked over to us. “Hi.” She turned to the young man. “Ann Sanders and Rhonda Grayson are the owners of the hotel.” She beamed at us. “Ann and Rhonda, meet Luciano Bolino. He’s here to surprise Philippa.”
Luciano’s white smile widened as he shook our hands. “Actually, Philippa’s father, Enrico Ferrara, suggested I pay his daughter a visit. A family situation.”