“Oh, Lumi,” he gasped. “You’re still here! I’m glad.”
He pulled her into a quick hug. Lumi allowed him to hug her but shrunk back a bit.
“Yup,” she answered, eyeing him quizzically.
Richard understood her meaning immediately. “I heard about yesterday’s apple situation. Boss man must like ya. He has fired people for much less.”
Lumi pursed her lips. It seemed odd. Gloria had told her that she had been working for Julien for thirteen years, and she thought that Ruben had said eight and Richard had said seven. So far it had appeared to her that he kept his employees on for a long time.
“Really?” she asked as Ruben entered the kitchen bearing a plate of marinated meats. He stopped to consider Lumi’s question, holding one edge of the tray with his hands and resting the other edge on his rounded belly.
“Shit—much less,” he said, chuckling heartily.
The door swung open and closed and a hush fell over the kitchen. Julien stood in the doorway, surveying his terrain. He brushed several locks of red hair back from his forehead and cast his clear brown eyes around. Richard nodded in his direction and escaped into the wine closet, and Ruben set to work on the tray of meats at his station, poking each cut with a toothpick to check for tenderness.
Julien did not acknowledge Lumi as he strode into the kitchen.
“Richard,” he called in an even voice in the direction of the wine closet, “I will need a bottle of burgundy, 2009 or earlier, please.”
He continued to the spice cabinet, casting a sideways glance at Lumi, who was laser-focused on dicing her celery. He grabbed the crystal door handle and pulled open the heavy oak door. He’d had the door specially installed to keep the spices fresh and to avoid having noxious metal odors interfere with their delicate flavors. “Dried bacon, dried bacon . . .” he muttered to himself as he riffled through the various pots, bags, and canisters.
He fell silent as he found the glass canister of dried bacon, sitting in the back corner of the condiments rack without a cap. He cleared his throat and the sound echoed through the kitchen, which had fallen silent as every soul present watched and waited. Then he pulled out the canister and slammed it down on the countertop with such force that Lumi was surprised that the glass didn’t shatter.
Richard came out of the wine closet, bottle of 2009 burgundy in hand. He and Ruben exchanged glances. Julien looked from Richard to Ruben, his gaze coasting right over Lumi.
“Who . . . did . . . this?” he asked.
His jaw was hard, and Lumi could see a little muscle twitching in its square corner. She had a feeling that they both knew.
In walked Gloria, bearing a basket full of leafy Swiss chard, round juicy-looking beets, and oranges.
“Hello, Gloria,” Julien greeted her calmly.
She smiled back, eyeing him with suspicion.
“Gloria,” he asked, “would you happen to know who left my dried bacon open, lying in the back of the spice closet like garbage?” He leveled his gaze on her, and Gloria twisted her mouth.
“It was Heather,” she confided, lowering her eyes conspiratorially.
Julien nodded slowly, leaning back against the marble counter. “Hmm,” he said to himself.
When Heather walked through the kitchen door, she found Julien waiting and the entire staff looked away.
“Hello, Heather,” he said.
Heather shifted from one foot to the other nervously. “What did I do?” she asked.
Julien regarded her. “Do you see this dried bacon?”
“Yes.”
“This, Heather, is aged dried bacon that I brought back from Provence in the summer of 2013. This bacon is cured and produced from the pigs of Caille, who are raised eating only organic grass and organic lavender.”
Heather stared at him blankly.
“This is not acceptable, Heather. Why would you leave this canister open?”
Heather glanced down at her feet. “Whatever, it’s already dried anyway.” She shrugged.
Julien cocked his head at her. All the other employees in the kitchen studiously focused on their stations, except Lumi, who watched intently. Julien’s nostrils flared as he picked up his bacon jar once more.
“Yes, it is dried, but now it’s dry. We’re done here.” He flung the jar into the trash can. “What a waste,” he said, clucking his tongue and shaking his head.
Heather shrugged again and went to get her apron from her locker as Julien looked on in surprise.
“I don’t think we are understanding each other. When I say we’re done here, I mean you’re done here. Ruben, please escort Heather out.”
Heather gaped at him, not moving from where she stood.
“Esme will mail you your last check. I will be back, everyone . . . some pedestrian, mill-fed bacon from Citarella will just have to do.” He sighed in dismay, and off he went to grab his coat.
Once he had left, Heather shuffled out the door. Richard and Ruben both nodded at Lumi.
“See?” they said, shaking their heads in unison.
Lumi let out a deep exhale and returned her focus to her station. She thought back to when Julien was chastising Heather. His steely gaze, his placid voice and how it contrasted with his angry words. She wanted to feel bad for Heather but didn’t. The waitress had given her more than one eye roll since she’d walked into DAX. Still, she wasn’t happy to see her lose her job.
She remembered what Richard had said. Putting apple in the ratatouille would seem to have been a worse trespass than leaving the bacon to dry. Although . . . that bacon probably cost Julien hundreds of dollars. She sighed to herself and decided not to think at all. The beef had not even been browned yet; there was no time to get lost in her own mind. She made a note to herself to analyze this inconsistency later, once she had made it through the night at DAX unscathed. She couldn’t go on autopilot here as she did at Caraluna—that was now clear to her.
Gloria came up behind her. “Tea?” she asked. She held a steaming mug of hibiscus tea in her hand that she had boiled while the dismissal was going on.
Lumi smiled at her, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you,” she said. She took the mug in both hands and sipped lightly. The smooth, slightly tangy flavor of the hibiscus washed over her tongue. At the same time, the tense crackling in her chest ebbed and faded away. She could sense the intention that Gloria had had to calm herself as she brewed the tea. Gloria beamed back at her, and they both returned to their stations.
“What fresh white hell is this?” Lumi said as she swept her gaze over Broadway.
She drew her arms around herself and hugged. It wasn’t supposed to be snowing in March, right when she’d been looking forward to the first blooms. The crisp, clear crystals swirling through the air and coasting past the windows made spring flowers seem further away than ever. It had been a month since the ratatouille incident. Lumi had kept her head down, cooked what was on the menu, and kept her ideas to herself.
Julien cracked an amused grin. “Not a fan of the snow?”
“Lord, no.”
“Why not? It’s perfect for skiing, ice skating, hockey.”
Lumi shivered. “I still haven’t been able to understand why people would do any of those things of their own volition.”
“They’re fun. I, for one, quite enjoy the snow. My only concern today is that it could sabotage our pastry delivery. We’re running low on cream and flour.”