Simmer Down

very, um, distinctive eyes.”
    “He’s really been quite helpful. And Josh seems very sweet, too.”
    Seeing Naomi so out of place made me feel more in place than I really was, and I felt determined to try hard to help her tonight. Her idea of art probably leaned toward objects made of gimp or woven on looms. But nutty as she often made me, I didn’t want to see her embarrass herself. For the first time, I saw Naomi as slightly vulnerable.
    “Here,” I offered. “I’ll do that.” I took a poster from her and began to hang a list of unacceptable workplace behaviors on the front of the table.
    I looked up to see Gavin Seymour, who made his way around the giant egg and headed toward me. I’d met Gavin a few times before and genuinely liked him. He usually dressed in fairly casual clothes, but tonight he was wearing a navy suit and gleaming black dress shoes. In his late thirties and extremely handsome, Gavin attracted women easily and enjoyed bachelorhood. He was a tough businessman, but it still amazed me that someone his age had amassed enough money not merely to lease the high-end property that would house Simmer, but to renovate it. Ordinarily composed, even restrained, Gavin was clearly fired up about Simmer’s first public appearance and practically skipped over to us.
    Josh looked up from the table where he was busy lining up ingredients to make more dressing for the beef medallions. “My man, Gavin!” he called to his approaching boss.
    “My man, Josh!” Gavin held a garment bag out to his new chef. “Look what I have for you.” He ceremoniously unzipped the bag to reveal a bright white chef’s coat for Josh. “All the coats arrived yesterday, and I just picked this one up from the dry cleaner. I know how you hate wearing new coats that haven’t been washed yet.” He removed the chef’s jacket from the hanger and passed it to Josh. “It’s your show now.” He grinned.
    “Hey, look at that stitching,” said Josh, admiring the deep red thread that spelled out his name under the restaurant’s. I left the harassment table to check out the jacket. “Feel the fabric, Chloe. That is one hundred percent Egyptian cotton. Absolute best. Don’t think this coat’ll stay white very long, so you better admire it now!”
    The fabric was thick and soft, and I could tell this was the kind of top-quality jacket that not every chef was lucky enough to wear. The buttons down the front and on the cuffs were covered in more white fabric, and the short collar had been pressed into place. Josh had been a little hesitant to ask Gavin for pure-cotton jackets, since not every boss was willing to spring for them, but Gavin had gone ahead and ordered these ultraexpensive ones for Josh. The cheaper coats were a cotton-poly blend—or, as Josh called them, “bullshit polyester pieces of crap”—that didn’t breathe and made chefs and line cooks sweat even more than necessary in already overheated kitchens.
    “Your Birkenstocks should be here tomorrow. Sorry I don’t have them for you now,” Gavin apologized.
    “Not a problem. I think I can make it through the night,” Josh assured him.
    The first time I’d heard that Josh wore Birkenstocks in the kitchen, I’d had visions of him whipping up culinary masterpieces clad in sandals identical to Naomi’s. Much to my relief, I learned that chefs often wore kitchen clogs rather than sandals suggestive of tofu and granola. Josh had explained that the long hours chefs were on their feet meant that they absolutely had to wear high-quality shoes or end up with terrible varicose veins, back problems, or other aches and pains. Chefs’ catalogues carried a variety of kitchen clogs, but trial and error had taught Josh that the London-style leather clog made by Birkenstock was the only way to go. He went through at least three pairs a year, and he’d gotten Gavin to spring for the high-priced footwear.
    Josh introduced Gavin to Eliot and Naomi.
    “We’re going to be neighbors, I see,” Eliot said, shaking Gavin’s hand.
    “You bet.” Gavin smiled. “I’ve always wanted a place on Newbury Street. This is where it’s all at. I had to outbid that Full Moon Group to get the location, but it was worth the money. They’re supposedly tough, and I never expected to outbid them, but I did. They’re a big-money group. They certainly have more than I do, but I got lucky.”
    Eliot laughed. “I’ve heard they’re tough. I know one of their restaurants has a