Jo Ann was hanging around by the open serving window, watching from the kitchen end of the dining room. Two other women were standing with Jo Ann. They were both in street clothes. Bill did not know who they were.
“So,” the chef said when Jimmy and Bill went back inside the small, open kitchen, “this is my fault. I should have introduced you. Caesar, this is Bill Wynn, your new broiler cook. Bill, this is Mikhail Caesar, the maître d’.”
Bill didn’t do anything, say anything. Neither did Caesar. Bill saw Jo Ann and the other two women watching, not even trying to look busy.
“I understand you two got off on the wrong foot,” the chef said.
“You work for me,” Caesar said. “Remember that and we’ll be fine.”
Bill didn’t say anything. He looked toward the chef. When the chef didn’t say anything, Bill looked around, first at Jimmy, then toward Kalista. Kalista was standing just outside the entry to the kitchen. Apparently she’d just come out to see what was going to happen. She was standing behind Jimmy. Last, Bill looked over toward Jo Ann and the two women he did not know.
“I work for the chef,” Bill said. He looked Caesar dead in the eyes as he said it. “Remember that and we’ll be fine.”
As he said this he thought a slight, barely perceptible little smile crossed the chef’s lips.
“You see,” Caesar said. “This will never work. I demand he be fired.”
“You demand?” the chef said.
“Yes. I demand it,” Caesar said.
The chef lifted his tall chef’s hat and scratched the back of his head. When he’d set his hat back in place, he rubbed his chin between his thumb and the side of his pointer finger several times.
“He’s a union man just like you,” the chef said. “He hasn’t done anything wrong that I can report to the union, at least that I can see. I don’t think the union would be too happy with me firing someone on account of another union member not liking him.”
The chef smiled at Caesar now. He took a moment to look all around. “What do you think, Caesar? Why don’t we see if he can cook first.”
“Well,” Caesar said, “perhaps that might be prudent.”
“Good idea Caesar,” the chef said. “Why don’t you come by my office in about a half-hour.”
“Why certainly, chef.”
“Good. And you,” the chef said to Bill, “you come with me now.”
The standstill for everyone ended right then. Jo Ann and the two other women stepped away from where they stood. Kalista went out through the double doors. The chef stepped past Caesar who was now standing by the kitchen entry. Bill heard him tell Caesar “I’m going to have a little talk with my new cook.”
“Thank you,” Bill heard Caesar say.
Bill followed the chef. They went out through the double doors and the chef led him back to his office.
For Bill it was a long walk that felt much longer than it really was. He tried to memorize the way, tried to remember how to get back to the Falstaff Room so that he could find his way back on his own.
He noted that the kitchen had picked up the pace. The other Jimmy, his partner’s cousin, was now directing a crew of cooks on the main kitchen floor.
“We have a little party going on tonight,” the chef said. “That’s what you’re seeing. That’s the banquet chef and a few of his cooks. Just a couple since the party’s relatively small, only about four hundred people. Things work out for you, you’ll be helping us with these kinds of things, and if you want it, there’ll be plenty of overtime.”
Bill didn’t say anything. He just followed quietly.
