Authors: Gayla Twist
“
You're crazy,” I tell her. “That's the menu you sent me.”
“
No, it's not!” she shouts, her eyes blazing. “Look right here, you see... Wait. This isn't...” She becomes more and more bewildered as she scans the page. “This isn't the menu I keyed into the computer.”
“Well, it's the menu you gave me,” I tell her. I’m not apologizing, and I’m not making any excuses. I made what I was told to make.
“But...” For just the briefest of moments, Kiki’s lower lip trembles, and her eyes start to swim. Then the moment passes, and she goes on the attack, “You did this! You... somehow... changed the order.”
“
I do not sink so, Keekee.”
Kiki and I both turn to regard my most unlikely of defenders—Antoine. I’m so surprised, I could be knocked over by a stiff breeze. “
You are zee only one who knows zee computer,” he goes on. “It cannot be zee fault of Suzanne. Or anyone here.” He waves a hand at the staff. “You trust no one with zee password.”
Well, as far as Kiki knows, she’s the only one that knows the password. According to my reliable source, it’s common knowledge.
Kiki visibly wilts, pressing one hand to her forehead in a very silent-movie-actress–type gesture. “This isn't happening.” Her voice quavers. “No...” She shakes her head back and forth very rapidly trying to make it all go away. “I don't want to go out there. I just... don't.”
“I’ll go with you,” I find myself volunteering before I can’t think better of it.
Kiki gives me a sharp look. “What?”
“I’ll go with you.” I say it again, this time with the full knowledge that I am committing to putting myself in the line of fire. “Maybe we can, you know, kind of coax her to one side and maybe just ease her into the news. I mean, the food isn’t what she ordered, but it’s still pretty damn good. Maybe we can convince her not to worry about it and just enjoy her reception anyway.”
Narrowing her eyes, Kiki says, “How do I know you won’t make it worse? I mean, this is all your fault, anyway.”
“Maybe me being there will make it worse, but if I go with you, at least there’ll be more than one target.”
I think it’s a sign of how truly scared Kiki is that she actually accepts my offer. We head to the dining room and try to corral Chandra to the ladies room. When she’s not having it, we at least try to flush her into a more remote corner of the room, but here again, she refuses to leave center stage. “Anything you have to say to me, Kiki, you can say right here, right now.”
The eyes of every guest are on her, and although she has squared her shoulders and she’s trying to be brave, I can tell Kiki is cringing on the inside. She steps forward to whisper in the bride’s ear, and Chandra flinches back as if she doesn’t want to be contaminated by whatever the plebeian has to say. Kiki tries again, this time not stepping so close, and Chandra leans her head forward while keeping her body away from being polluted.
As Kiki whispers, the fury is building behind Chandra’s eyes. I had hoped we could speak to the bride together, but it’s not playing out that way, and I have no idea what Bouche’s treacherous head hostess is telling the spoiled faux-debutant.
“
You ruined my life!” Chandra shrieks, giving Kiki a vicious shove that sends her teetering on her heels. “I trusted you!” The bride grabs a champagne glass out of a guest’s hand and whips it at Kiki. “I did you this giant favor, and you ruined everything!”
“I’m sorry,” Kiki whimpers, dodging the projectile. “I don’t know how it happened. Someone must have hacked the computer system and changed the order.”
“You were always jealous of me,” Chandra rages. If foam starts bubbling out of her mouth, I won’t be surprised.
“It’s not like that,” I interject, hoping to divert at least some of the bride’s anger tsunami.
“Shut the hell up!” She grabs another glass and cocks her arm. But I guess I’m not as desirable of a target because she swings back around to yell at Kiki again. “You think this is funny, Kiki? You think you could just pull one over on Chandra? Well, I'm going to ruin you! I'm going to ruin your life!” She lets fly with the second flute, but it goes wide, and a woman in a pale blue dress, gawking too close to the action, gets clipped on the forehead. She lets out a howl and drops her own glass. “Shut up, Martha!” the bride yells. “I didn’t hit you that hard.” Martha’s husband leads her away, hopefully to find an ice pack.
“I’m going to ruin you.
There is not going to be a site on the Internet that doesn't list in detail how much you suck at your job!” Chandra says, her voice sounding more like the feral growl of a wolf than a bride on her wedding day.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I try again. “The food is still good. It’s just not exactly what you picked as your menu.”
“Shut! Up!” Chandra screeches at me, snatching a fork off a table and winging it in my direction.
I make the decision that I’m not willing to take a fork in the eye to protect my enemy, so I cut through the crowd, leaving Kiki to fend for herself.
“I'm taking out ads in newspapers!” I hear Chandra threaten as I flee. “I'm going to write a book about how much you screwed me over!”
The groom makes a preliminary attempt to calm down his wife with, “Honey, why are you acting this way in front of all our guests?” in a very soothing voice.
But he’s shouted down by, “Don’t even start with me, Nigel, or you know what’s coming!”
I’ve never had a wedding, so I can’t speak from experience, but I do not understand most forms of bridal insanity. There are crab puffs at the beginning of the reception instead of cream puffs at the end. Is that really such a cataclysmic crisis? Is that worth having such a global meltdown that you completely ruin your own reception?
In part, I think society is to blame. A lot of women either consciously or subconsciously feel their wedding is the only chance they’ll have in their entire lives to be the center of attention. Unless some gal becomes a prima ballerina, of course, but that comes with a whole different set of issues. I also feel, for a large part, the wedding industrial complex is to blame. Their mantra is that your wedding has to be perfect for your perfect day, and if you go with whatever overpriced goods and services they are offering then it will be perfect, and you will be the princess. But here’s the thing, do you know what you remember from a perfect wedding? Nothing. A perfect wedding just kind of blends into the background scenery of your life. What people remember are the little hiccups that give character to the event. A flower girl crying and too afraid to go down the aisle. The father-of-the-bride’s inappropriately long speech that has absolutely nothing to do with the wedding. Stuff like that actually sticks in people’s memories. I’ll give Chandra Lake credit for one thing, though. It is unlikely any of her guests will ever forget her wedding reception.
As I flee from what is ramping up as Hurricane Chandra, I almost run into Donna, who is hovering on the edge of the gawkers but out of firing range. She’s snacking on a crab puff and wears a self-satisfied smirk. “Hey,” she says, extending her mostly full tray toward me. “Didn’t think all of these should go to waste.”
I shake off her offer. “How do you and the bride know each other?” I ask, glancing back at the bride.
“We went to high school together. Kiki, too.” She nods. “If you check out our yearbook you’d think we’d be best friends for life.”
This does strike me as a bit odd. “So, what happened?” I ask.
“Chandra’s dad became a porn king, and my dad retired from the post office. And Kiki… Well…” She picks up another crab puff. “Kiki’s always been a bitch.”
***Kiki***
My life is over. Not with a sputter, but with a bang. A big, cataclysmic, Chandra Lake bridal explosion. I cannot believe Sue did this. I can’t believe she would go so far as to ruin another woman’s wedding. And she pulled it off so flawlessly. She must have hired someone to hack into the Bouche system or something. And then she just stood there, acting so innocent, even offering to help me break the news to Chandra.
I totally misjudged Sue. She’s not some little prissy priss that is trying to grow a spine. She’s a sociopath. She obviously has a muffler on what are considered normal human feelings. There’s no way she could have done this unless that was the case. For a few weeks, I was feeling slightly impressed by her ruthlessness, but after this, I’m almost afraid of her. Who knows what else she’s capable of doing? I don’t want to disappear and have my dismembered body parts discovered in the freezer the next time Bouche does a full inventory.
Now, I have to go face Trent, and I so don’t want to. Once again, I have no proof that it was Sue who messed with the menu, and since I’m the only one besides Escoffier who knows the password to the catering, I’m going to have to take the blame. There is zero doubt in my mind that Trent is going to fire me. Unless, of course, there’s something I can do to talk him out of it.
Chapter 21
Chandra Lake is true to her word about smearing Bouche along with Kiki on the Internet. If all of her postings weren’t so charged with personal venom, I would assume she hired someone to smear the restaurant for her. She’s even gone so far as to smear us on sites that have nothing to do with food, weddings, or rating services. And she’s doing this in an incredibly short amount of time. You’d think she’d be off enjoying her honeymoon instead of glued to her laptop complaining about us. But who knows? Maybe she’s tweeting from the beach or something.
I’ve tried to resist wading too deeply into her posted outrage. And I’m trying not to take her attacks too personally. We did screw up the menu for her wedding reception, that’s true. But the way she’s acting, you’d think we committed cannibalism against someone in her family and served the dish as an appetizer.
The Bouche staff has taken the whole thing with macabre good humor, even incorporating some of Chandra’s choicest phrases into the language that is bandied about the restaurant. Typical banter goes something like:
“Those jerks at table eighteen only left me a four-dollar tip.”
“They probably found your appearance gross and unappetizing.”
Or something like:
“Table twenty-nine sends their compliments. They said the food is not fit to be served at a gas station.”
“That’s so nice of them. I’m glad I didn’t wash my hands after taking a leak.”
I don’t know how many wedding receptions we’ll book in the future, but for all the years I’ve been at Bouche, Chandra’s was only our third, so I’m not sure how much that’s a factor in the restaurant’s bottom line. And reservations have actually gone up since Miss Lake started her rampage. I think she’s gone so rabidly over the top that people want to judge for themselves how insane she actually is. The real boon to Bouche is that
The Real News
ran a story on Chandra’s meltdown at the wedding.
The Real News
is one of those weekly publications that make their money running unflattering photos of a celebrity’s thighs while at the beach or by claiming the Loch Ness Monster is actually living in the New York sewer system.
Well, either one of the professional wedding photographers decided to make a little money on the side or someone managed to slip in a camera despite the heavy security because less than a week after the epic catastrophe known as the Lake-McHale wedding occurred,
The Real News
ran the headline, "Crazed Bride Goes on a Rampage!"
The central image on the cover of the issue is of a giant Chandra Lake in her designer wedding gown throwing a flute of champagne at a cowering tiny groom in a tuxedo while wedding guests in the background flee. The man has obviously been photoshopped in because he looks nothing like the person Chandra actually married. The image has become a bit of a local meme here in Chicago with people doctoring the photo even more so Chandra is throwing barrels like in Donkey Kong or using Godzilla’s radioactive breath to take out the groom. There are quite a few of the images taped up around the employee locker room, which I should probably take down but instead I just ignore.
The Real News
article doesn’t ever mention Bouche by name but references us several times as “a swank Chicago restaurant” or “a Chicago hotspot where the fashionable go to dine,” so that’s been extra good for business because locals know it’s us.
Despite all Kiki’s efforts to blame the kitchen, and me in particular, for the reception fiasco, there’s no proof that anyone did anything wrong besides follow her instructions. There’s been a lot of speculation as to why Kiki wasn’t fired on the spot. Most people believe it had something to do with the two hours she spent in Trent’s office with the door closed. I prefer to believe that’s just something that’s portrayed in entertainment as happening and is not something Kiki would offer or that Trent would accept.
It’s early afternoon. Aziz and I are sitting at Bouche’s bar sipping wine and sampling food. I’m half tipsy, but that’s not unusual for me after a glass or two of wine. We’re talking about pairings and trying small bites of different food flavors to see what combinations really would enhance the wine and the meal. The suggestion was generated by Aziz as a new way to build a menu from the ground up. It’s not a bad idea, and we’ve been slowly expanding Bouche’s wine list as we book further and further out with reservations.
I’m sitting with a handsome and charming man; we’re sampling delicious food and expensive wine; he’s actually being nice to me. The scene would all be perfect if it weren’t for the fact that this particular man is “close” to my arch nemesis. I tell myself to just let it go and enjoy the moment, but for whatever reason, I can’t. “So how are things going with Kiki?” I find myself asking despite all my intentions not to say anything.
Aziz gives me a bit of a funny look. “
Fine. I guess...?”
“
She's still working here,” I bring up as casually as possible, “so that's good.” I wonder if Aziz has heard the rumors on how Kiki managed to salvage her job. I wonder if he has any idea that she and I are fighting because we both want to date Trent.
Instead of looking angry or upset, Aziz shoots me a coy look. “
Yeah, she's pretty lucky. I guess she and Trent worked something out.”
Weird. You’d think he’d find something like that upsetting, but he appears to be joking about it. I will never understand men.
“Listen,” Aziz says, his voice dropping a little in volume. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for quite a while now, and it’s not exactly work related.”
“Oh,” I’m surprised. “Okay.” Maybe he wants advice on the whole Kiki thing. But then, why turn to me. I’m the last person who should be advising anyone on relationships.
Just then, Donna, who has been skulking around the entire time we’ve been sampling, finally walks up to us and says, “Hey, Aziz, do you mind if I talk to Sue alone for a minute?”
“I guess.” Aziz doesn’t appear exactly happy with the interruption. He gets to his feet, vacating his chair for Donna. “
But, Sue.” He turns to me before walking away. “I really want to have this conversation. Can we talk later?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
Donna takes a seat and then just kind of looks at me. I really have no idea what she wants, and she’s making me a little uncomfortable. Once it becomes obvious that she’s unwilling to start things off, I try to get things rolling with, “So? What's going on?”
Donna takes a deep breath and says, “So, I guess Kiki’s still working here.”
“Apparently.” I shrug.
“Any idea how she pulled that off?” Donna inches her stool forward a little as if she’s expecting me to reveal some top secret information.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
Digesting this, Donna says, “She does have her ways.”
I really have no idea what’s going on, and I can feel the wine from my sampling with Aziz. I really need a tall glass of water. If Donna wants to tell me something, I wish she’d just cut to the chase. “Is there anything in particular you want to tell me?” I ask.
“
Kiki and I have known each other since the fourth grade,” she says.
“
Oh?” I knew they’d known each other for a long time..
“
Yeah, we've been friends for a really long time.”
“Really?” I can’t help but wonder.
Friends
doesn’t seem to be the right word to describe their relationship. It’s probably the wine talking, but I feel the need to add, “Because, no offense, but she treats you like crap.”
“True,” Donna admits, “but s
he's the one that got me my job here.”
“I guess that's pretty nice,” I say, but it doesn’t seem like much of a favor to hire someone and then treat her like your whipping boy.
“Not really,” Donna tells me. “In a way, she had to.” She breaks into a jackal’s grin. “She’s kind of afraid of me.”
Afraid of Donna? That really is weird. “You’re kidding,” I can’t help but exclaim.
“Why would she be afraid of you?”
Donna drops her voice and gives me a knowing look. “
She's afraid of what I know about her.”
Okay, all this hinting and sly speak is getting pretty weird, but I find myself asking, “
What do you know?” I mean, that’s why she’s here talking to me, right? She wants to tell me.
“
Well...” Donna looks down at the bar. “I really shouldn’t say.”
“Then don’t tell me.” I shrug. I’m not going to beg her for gossip, even if it’s something I can use to win my war with Kiki. I make like I’m getting up from my stool.
“Okay.” Donna puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “But you can’t tell anyone.”
I nod, still wondering what Donna is up to. If she doesn’t want anyone to know then she should just keep her mouth shut. Still, my curiosity is piqued and, although I’m sure what she’s about to tell me isn’t that scandalous, it would be good to have extra ammunition against Kiki in my arsenal.
Leaning forward, Donna cups her hand to her mouth and starts to whisper.
As I’m driving home for the evening and have the leisure to think things over, I am at a loss what to do with the information Donna has given me. It’s pretty darn bad. The idea of seeking council from Dahlia even makes me a little uncomfortable. I mean, the more people that know, the greater chance it has of spreading. It’s the gossip equivalent of a nuclear bomb. Is deploying something like that ever justified? I’m sure if word got out, Kiki would definitely leave Bouche and possibly even the planet. But am I the kind of person that does that to somebody else? It would be a pretty ruthless thing to do.