Simmer Down

be a social work student interning as a stylist-in-training? She’s not going to care. Just let me come with you.”
    “Fine. I think this is ridiculous, but whatever you want. Just be prepared to stand there and hold hairpins for an hour. Dora likes weird updos with complicated twists.” Next, I called Josh back at Simmer.
    “Yeah?” he said into the phone, obviously swamped.
    “It’s me. Just returning your call. What’s up?” I asked. “It’s mayhem here. I’m going to be working all night. And get this. I found out Gavin is bribing that restaurant reviewer, Mishti Patil, to write a glowing preview review of the restaurant. Can you believe that? I don’t need some pity review. She’s coming tomorrow, and she’d see on her own how the food is. I’m bullshit about this,” he vented to me.
    “Oh, my God. I can’t believe Gavin did that. That is so insulting, Josh! And I can’t believe Mishti could be bribed. I thought she was a straight-and-narrow tough reviewer. That’s why she has so much clout, isn’t it?”
    “I guess she’ not so straight and narrow after all.”
    “How did you find out? I assume Gavin didn’t just tell you. Or did he?”
    “No, one of my dishwashers, Javier, heard it. Gavin probably thought he didn’t understand English, and he must’ve mouthed off about what he was doing when Javier was nearby.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Nothing. What can I do? Anyhow, that Isabelle girl is here. She seems like a good kid. She doesn’t know how to do anything, and she’s probably wondering what you got her into, but she’s working tomorrow just because I need the extra set of hands. Let’s hope we don’t scare her off.”
    I hesitated. “What are you going to have her do?” What had I done to poor Isabelle? She was going to be caught in a kitchen storm with Josh and Snacker yelling at everyone, screaming for orders to be put up, and generally behaving like psychotic chefs on an opening night. I hoped she would understand that would not be the norm at Simmer. Or I hoped it wouldn’t be the norm.
    “Oh, she’ll be busy doing whatever I need done. I’m going to show her how to prep some of the vegetables for me in the morning, and then at service, I’ll have her fill in wherever she can. And she’ll probably help keep the kitchen clean while we’re working. I’m going to give her a quick tour of the kitchen tomorrow morning, and then I’ll keep her with me to go run and grab anything I need. She’ll be okay. I’ll take care of her, so don’t worry,” he reassured me.
    “Okay. Just give her my number if she needs anything. I’ll let you go. I miss you already,” I confessed.
    “I know, babe. I miss you, too. I’ll call you in the morning, all right?”
    “Hang in there.”
    I clicked the phone off and sulked for a few minutes. Josh’s schedule was going to leave little time for love.

TWELVE

    WHY Dora needed her hair done at nine in the morning was beyond me. I hit the snooze button on the alarm clock and pulled the blanket over my head. It was still dark out. To my mind, no one should be forced out of bed to cater to the whims of the widowed rich. If I was this grumpy about waking up, Ade, morning person that she wasn’t, would be twice as cranky.
    I hit snooze two more times until I finally convinced myself that it was absolutely necessary to pry myself out from under the covers if I wanted to look relatively awake when Adrianna picked me up. It took me twenty minutes to pick out what I thought a hair stylist’s assistant should wear. I ended up settling on simple black pants and a white top: universal employee attire.
    I opened the fridge to check for something to eat and found nothing that interested me. I wasn’t a fan of most breakfast food, and unless I could arrange for fresh pastries and muffins to be delivered to me daily, my interest in breakfast wasn’t going to increase. I did love eggs Benedict and overstuffed omelettes, but the odds of my making hollandaise sauce or whipping up an omelette early in the morning were slim. Besides, my homemade omelettes were never as good as the ones I got eating out or the ones I used to get at my college cafeteria. As absolutely terrible as most of the food was in college, the omelettes were outstanding. Unfortunately, hot breakfast was served during the week only until eight thirty—eight thirty in the morning —and since I never scheduled a class before ten, I had to be desperate for food