The third candidate she was to see rescheduled twice, which she thought was a bad sign and suggested to her that he was unreliable, although he was pleasant on the phone and his excuses sounded valid. He was sick once with the flu, which could happen to anyone, and the second time his dog had been badly bitten so he was rushing it to the pet hospital. Eileen was sympathetic and liked dogs, but work was work. And what if they had a wedding to do? The agency had warned her that he was an excellent chef with a strong personality, which many had. They said he was good-looking and had an eye for the female staff. “He’s a bit of a Don Juan,” the woman at the agency warned her, “but everyone loves him.” He had a strong Italian accent when Eileen talked to him, and he had worked in France, at two private châteaux and a five-star hotel. He had stayed in his jobs longer than any of the others, which was unusual for private chefs. They got bored and moved on, particularly if their employers didn’t entertain enough. They liked to use their skills and show them off, which you couldn’t do with a small family or an elderly couple. Eileen decided to see him anyway, even after he canceled for the dog. There was no one else she wanted to see at the moment.
He appeared ten minutes late for their appointment, and said he had gotten lost on his way to Greenwich and took the wrong turnoff. His last job was at a large private estate on Long Island. She knew the names of his employers, who were well-known socialites she had read about in magazines for many years. They also had a large and very stately home in Palm Beach. The husband had been a famous financier on Wall Street in his day. He had been with them for three years, but the wife had died suddenly, and the husband was now ninety-three and had Alzheimer’s. He said there was nothing left for him to do except prepare trays for his employer and his nurses. He wasn’t using his skills in the job. He felt very sorry for his employer and liked him, but it was time to move on. His employer’s late wife had been full of life and loved to entertain, even at ninety, which was rare, but she had fallen down a marble staircase in high heels, had a severe head injury, and died two days later. Once she was gone, the chef had nothing to do, so he had given notice and left, and was currently unemployed.
The applicant for the job had surprised Eileen when she saw him. He was unusually tall, looked very serious at first, but was actually very funny and made her laugh several times at his descriptions of parties, events, and jobs he had had. She could see why he was a success with women. He was very charming, with expressive eyes. He looked neat and clean and presentable in his suit and expensive brown suede shoes, and he had the stylishness of Italian men and was from Milan. His parents owned a hotel in Florence, and he had grown up around food. She didn’t ask the name of the hotel, but it sounded like a successful venture. But he wanted to work in the States. He had a green card, which was essential. His name was Massimiano Salvi, and he went by Max.
“I married a friend to get the green card,” he explained without embarrassment. “We’re divorced, and I’m legal to work here. It was the only way I could get it.” He volunteered that he was thirty-three years old, since she couldn’t ask him, and he seemed fit, energetic, and well spoken. His English was excellent and he was fluent in Italian, Spanish, and French.
“I hope you understand that this isn’t as glamorous as many of the jobs you’ve had.” He had worked for very wealthy people with enormous homes and big staffs, fancy restaurants, and the five-star hotel in Paris. “I’m starting a business. It isn’t even set up yet. I’d like to focus on the wedding market at first, and high-end dinner parties and events. I just finished a three-month course at Cordon Bleu, and I lean to simple high-end French food.” He nodded. It sounded fine to him and the kind of thing he liked to do, as well as “refined Italian cuisine,” as he called it. “If I get the wedding business, we’re going to have to coordinate a lot of suppliers, work hard, be ultra organized and able to keep a lot of balls in the air at once. I’m looking for an assistant to help me set up the business and juggle everything with me, and we’ll need a stable of sous-chefs to call on, while you supervise the food.” He nodded again, undaunted by what she was suggesting. She was offering a respectable but not enormous base salary, and a percentage of the fee of the events they catered, which she hoped would make it alluring, but was probably a lot less than he’d been earning. He thought the arrangement sounded fair.
She had really wanted to hire a woman, but she could see advantages to having a man assist her. It was going to be hard physical work, often carrying things when no one else would, and whipping things into shape in a crisis right before an event.
“We’ll have to be jacks-of-all-trades, not just chefs. I don’t just want to be a cook, I want to plan events.”
“That is why I was bored in the job I left. Madame loved to plan grand parties, a masked ball, we transformed the house into a Venetian palace, we did a wedding that looked like Versailles for her granddaughter. Black-tie dinners for a hundred for charitable events. My first year there was wonderful, then her husband began to fail and we were a little more discreet. Then she fell, and it all ended. So sad, I loved her, she was a wonderful woman.” He wiped a tear from his eye and Eileen was touched but wondered if he was too emotional. That could prove to be difficult too. “I think we can make a huge success of your business. I would like to help you.” She was tempted to try him, but she wanted to think about it. She had envisioned someone more low-key and subdued, a good foot soldier. She had the feeling that Max could be flamboyant, and have his own opinions, but at worst, if it didn’t work out, she could fire him, which he said too. He sounded excited about what she wanted to do, and she liked that. His references were flawless. Everyone he’d worked for had loved him. If the business was successful with the wealthy community in Greenwich, he could be the perfect assistant.
At the end of the interview, she had a good feeling about him, and decided to try him.
“How will you advertise the business when you’re ready?” he asked her.
“I was hoping to do it by word of mouth. If we get a few events, it could get us started.”
“Yes, excellent. But you must send emails to everyone you know. Clever ones, make it appealing, make it fun and elegant. People must talk about you, the newspapers must discover you, journalists must love you. People must beg you to do their parties and weddings and events.” He was right, she realized. There was theater to it too. And she already wanted his help.
“Max, I’d like to offer you the job.”
“I am very exciting to do it,” he said, making an innocent mistake, and she smiled as he realized it. “No, I am not exciting. I am excited,” he laughed at himself, and so did she.
“I have a feeling you’re exciting too!”
“I get upset sometimes, when things aren’t perfect. But only for five minutes. Then I make them perfect, and I’m happy again.”