Worth the Risk (3 page)

Lexi followed Amber through the double-wide doors into Black Jack's on Saturday. Amber had been so excited about lunch that she'd changed outfits at least six times. Brad had persuaded Lexi that a visit to his restaurant and a tour of the kitchen during the hectic noon rush would show Amber that working in a restaurant wasn't glamorous. But what if he was wrong? Suppose the chaos and hair-trigger tempers Brad had so vividly described actually energized Amber?

“Wow! This is awesome!” Amber made no attempt to hide her enthusiasm.

The place had a Caribbean style to it with dark wood floors and plantation shutters that filtered the light. High above their heads, ceiling fans shaped like palm fronds circulated the air above the wicker and bamboo furniture.

Lexi hadn't dated a lot, but she had been out enough to know there were ritzier restaurants in Houston. Amber had only eaten at fast-food places, so this had to seem highly sophisticated to her.

“You must be the Morrisons,” said a perky blonde hostess when they walked up to her.

“Yep. That's us,” Amber responded with a beaming smile.

Lexi hoped they were suitably dressed. She'd worn a tan pair of slacks and a coral blouse with a thin tan stripe running through it. A conservative outfit but one that looked nice, she thought. Amber couldn't be talked out of a very short raspberry-pink skirt and a matching tank top that revealed her midriff whenever she raised her arms.

The hostess picked up menus the size of wall posters and led them to a corner table. “Brad will be right out.”

“Look at this menu! A-mazing!” Amber exclaimed after they'd been seated. “Ribs, steaks, chicken and zillions of yummy desserts.”

“Interesting salads and chicken dishes,” Lexi said. If she came out and told Amber to make a healthy choice, her sister would balk.

Amber didn't reply as she intently read the menu word for word. Great, Lexi thought. Amber would study a recipe or cookbook or menu as if it was a treasure map, but she could barely find the time to scan her schoolbooks. But now was not the time for that discussion, Lexi reminded herself.

“I don't see our red wave lettuce on the menu,” Amber whispered, even though no one nearby was paying any attention to them.

“The waiter usually tells customers what the specials of the day are,” Lexi said. “That way they don't have to reprint menus all the time. It would be too expensive.”

Amber gazed at her with something akin to respect—a first. “How do you know? Do your dates bring you to places like this?”

Lexi had been receiving more and more questions from Amber about boys and dating. Aunt Callie hadn't allowed Lexi to date until she was sixteen. Lexi thought that was a good rule, but Amber insisted all the girls she knew were already dating. Soon some boy would ask Amber out and Lexi would be forced to make a decision. “I've been to nice places like this a few times, but young guys mostly take you to fast-food places.”

“Oh, yuck!”

“Think about it,” Lexi said. “It costs a lot to have dinner and go to a movie. Most guys can't afford anything fancy.”

“Matt could.”

Matthew Hastens. Lexi's former boyfriend. She'd broken up with him because he'd gotten too serious. At the time she'd been barely nineteen and Aunt Callie had still been alive. “It's easier to marry money than make it,” Aunt Callie kept telling her.

Lexi intended to marry for love—not money. And she hadn't loved Matt.

“When we went to nice places like this—“ Lexi looked around “—Matt didn't pay. His parents did.”

Amber shrugged. “Whatever. Hey!” She waved frantically. “There's Brad.”

Lexi had to admit the man was attractive, but for some reason he disturbed her. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps because she knew he was too worldly and sophisticated to be interested in her.

“Hey, glad you could make it.” He came up to the table and pulled out a chair.

“Great place,” Amber said before Lexi could utter a word. “Where did you get the idea for the decorations?”

Brad shot them an engaging smile that seemed to be second nature to him. “I liked the tropical feel they have in Key West restaurants. I told the decorator that's the look I wanted.”

“I read you have other restaurants,” Lexi said.

Brad turned toward her. “True. I have two more. One is done like a Paris bistro—”

“What's that?” Amber wanted to know.

“A small café about a quarter the size of this with lots of wood paneling, soft lights and white tablecloths.”

“That's what it's like in Paris?” she asked.

Paris sounded so exotic, Lexi thought. A must-see place—a world away from Houston. She intended to visit one day—after she'd completed her education, landed a good-paying job and sent Amber through school. Maybe then she'd have enough money to travel.

“You've been to Paris?” she heard herself ask. Dummy! Of course Brad Westcott had traveled extensively.

“Yep. Courtesy of Uncle Sam. In the army I was stationed in Germany. On leave a bunch of us went to Paris. The food was awesome. Paris bistros are like our coffee shops. They're everywhere. But unlike some of our coffee shops, it's hard to get a bad meal. Owners take great pride in what they serve.”

A cute redhead sashayed up to their table with a flirty smile for Brad. “I'm Tiffany. I'll be your waitress. What can I get y'all to drink?”

They decided on tropical ice tea and their waitress swished away to fill their order. Out of the corner of her eye, Lexi watched Amber. For once she didn't seem to know what to say.

“What's the theme of your other restaurant?” Lexi asked.

Brad settled back in his chair. “Jo' Mama's is a backwoods-style rib joint. Southern barbecue. Picnic tables, checkered tablecloths, mugs for beer.”

“Sounds like a winner,” Amber said. “Everyone loves barbecue.”

Another food that Amber loved but needed to limit, Lexi thought.

Brad must have detected the concern on her face. “We offer plenty of healthy choices at all my restaurants.” He pointed to the oversize menus in front of them. “The hearts in front of a selection mean it has less fat and sugar.”

“You'd be surprised how much sugar is hidden in food,” Amber said.

This insight was a direct result of the nutrition classes she had taken after she'd been diagnosed with diabetes. Sugar was in an amazing number of foods—especially prepared foods in the grocery store.

“You two into healthy eating?” Brad asked.

Lexi waited for Amber to answer. Sometimes she felt uncomfortable discussing her diabetes.

“I
always
watch what I eat. I have diabetes.”

“Interesting.” He grunted the word, obviously not knowing how to respond. Lexi waited for his captivating smile, but it didn't come.

“
Interesting
is a word people use when they don't have a clue what to say,” Amber responded.

As usual, Amber's thoughts moved directly from her brain to her mouth. But to give her sister credit, Lexi thought, she accepted her diabetes even though she sometimes ignored the food restrictions.

Uncertainty shadowed Brad's eyes. “Actually, I was thinking that's a lot to have to deal with at such a young age.”

“You learn to handle it. That's why I'm going to win your contest. I want to create a dessert even diabetics can eat.”

“I know the feeling,” Brad said, his expression intent. “When I was your age, I was overweight. Obese, probably, but we didn't say that back then.”

Lexi couldn't believe this buff guy had ever been overweight, but the earnestness in his voice said he was telling the truth.

“Did the kids tease you?” Lexi asked.

“All the time,” he admitted.

“I get teased about having to take insulin,” Amber said in a sharp tone. “I just ignore them.”

“That's what I did. I developed my own interests.”

“Cooking?” Lexi asked.

Brad shook his head. “No. Like I told the class when I did the demo, I didn't get interested in cooking until I was put on mess duty in the service. I was interested in stamp collecting. My grandfather had left me a dozen boxes of loose stamps that he'd purchased but had never sorted and put into collector's books.”

“Fascinating,” Lexi said, and she meant it.

Brad focused his blue eyes on her with a penetrating gaze. “After I went into the service, discovered my interest in cooking and lost the flab, I sold the stamp collection to finance my first restaurant.”

Wow, Lexi thought. Brad had a depth to him that she hadn't suspected. It gave her new respect for him and his accomplishments. The information also made him seem more accessible somehow. He wasn't as perfect as she'd imagined.

“Let's order,” said Brad. “While we're waiting for our meals, I'll show you around the kitchen.” He signaled to the waitress and she approached with a practiced smile to tell them the specials.

“We're featuring an awesome red wave lettuce salad. That's a really unusual but yummy Asian lettuce that's in limited supply. We serve it with grilled chicken on top.”

The server rattled off a few more specials. Lexi and Amber went for the special, but Brad ordered a grilled-vegetable salad.

“What?” cried Amber. “You're not having the red wave salad you created?”

Brad winked at her. “Nope. Coming up with a new dish means lots of combinations, lots of tasting. I've had more than my share of the special. Let's see what you two think.”

“What if we don't like it?” Amber asked.

Brad shrugged. “Be honest. Let me know. I haven't been serving it that long. I'm still evaluating it.”

“It's a deal,” Amber said.

Brad rose. “Let's tour the kitchen while they're preparing our lunch.”

“We're in the beverage center,” Brad informed them as they walked into an alcove where built-in stainless-steel coffee urns were marked Decaf and Regular. A wall-mounted unit dispensed soft drinks, and pitchers marked Tropical Iced Tea were nearby. A huge ice machine dominated the corner. Off to one side was a computer terminal.

“The server inputs the drinks ordered and the table number,” Brad explained, pointing to the computer, “then serves the beverages except for alcohol. That has to come out of the bar.”

They moved through swinging doors into what Brad called the lion's den. It was a fitting description for the hurricane of activity in the huge commercial kitchen. Everyone seemed to be moving at once without—miraculously—bumping into each other. Most of them were shouting at someone else.

A mist of steam from the simmering pots and smoke from the nearby grill filled the air. A thousand different, delicious smells swirled around Lexi. She couldn't help wondering if there was some order in this chaos.

If any of the crew noticed Brad, none of them showed an interest. Everyone seemed to have a job to do, and by all appearances, they were behind schedule and frantically attempting to catch up.

The three of them stood there a moment, watching in amazement. Lexi caught Brad's eye and he smiled, lifting his chin just slightly to indicate Amber. The girl was gazing awestruck at the scene before her. Like Lexi, Amber had naturally curly hair. A few minutes in this kitchen and she would look like Frankenstein's bride, but Amber didn't seem to notice. She stood, silent and trancelike.

And loving every second, Lexi would bet.

“Looks pretty high-tech,” Lexi said to Brad. “Aren't those minicomputer terminals above each station?”

“That's right,” he said. “The server enters the selection at a terminal just outside the kitchen and it appears in front of the chef. That way we don't have any extra people in the cooking area, creating a traffic jam. The completed dishes are put on the ledge for the server to pick up.”

“Doesn't the heat and steam make the computers short out or something?” Lexi asked.

“Nah. These are special computers.”

“It's a miracle a meal comes out of here,” Lexi said.

“Everyone has a job,” Brad assured her, “and they're doing it. As long as food's not backed up, the kitchen is running smoothly. Right now, things couldn't be better.”

“What's the woman in the corner doing?” Amber asked, speaking for the first time.

Lexi immediately saw who Amber meant. A woman with a white gauze bandanna wrapped around her head like a turban stood in one corner. A crate of pomegranates was on the counter beside her. A large stainless bowl full of water was in front of her. Was she washing them one by one? Lexi wondered.

“Come on,” Brad told them. “Let's take a closer look.”

They wriggled their way between the workers and came up behind the woman laboring over the stainless bowl. Nearby a mound of glistening pomegranate seeds stood on a platter.

“Emily is prepping pomegranate seeds to be used as garnish,” Brad said. “She's doing
mise en place
—that's prep work for the chef.”

Emily looked over her shoulder with a toothy grin. A bristle of bangs like a whisk broom stuck out from under her bandanna, a casualty of the steamy kitchen.

“Removing pomegranate seeds is easily done underwater,” Brad said. “The membranes float to the top while the seeds sink. You skim off the membranes, then drain the water through a strainer to save the seeds.”

“Awesome!' cried Amber. “I hate taking out pomegranate seeds.” She twirled around to face Brad. “I never read this in my cookbooks.”

Brad laughed. “Some things aren't in books.” Then he looked pointedly at Lexi. “Learning doesn't just take place in the classroom either.”

Amber turned to Lexi. “That's why I want to win and be an apprentice to the pastry chef. I'm gonna find out inside tricks.”

Just my luck,
Lexi thought. Amber didn't view the kitchen as a trip through hell. No. She was intrigued and wanted to learn more.

“Where is the pastry chef?” asked Amber.

“In the next room.” Brad pointed to a door that opened off the side of the kitchen. They walked into a cool passageway with racks of fruit and cheese lining the walls.

“This is a semicool room,” Brad said, “like they use in Europe. Cheese and fruit is best when it's close to room temperature. Americans tend to whisk everything straight from the refrigerator to the table. The food's too cold to really appreciate the flavor.”

They entered another kitchen where a soft buzz of conversation filled the air. Unlike the pandemonium of the main kitchen, this smaller area had fewer people and was more orderly.

“Charmayne, got a minute?”

“Sure,” the petite blonde said with a smile.

Lexi realized most of the female staff had a thing for Brad. He possessed an easy kind of charm and the good looks women appreciated. She wondered what kind of boss he was. Brad introduced them and told Charmayne that Amber was entering the baking contest and hoped to serve as her intern for the summer.

“Great,” said the pastry chef with genuine enthusiasm. “I was just about your age when I decided I wanted to become a pastry chef. Mother made me go to college first.”

Lexi silently blessed Charmayne's mother. Amber's smile faltered, but the woman kept talking.

“I worked part-time in pastry shops. You have to get up at three in the morning to bake and be ready for the morning coffee crowd, but it pays really well and leaves plenty of time for classes.”

Had Brad coaxed the pastry chef into mentioning her education? Lexi wondered. He was working hard to relate to Amber, and Lexi appreciated the effort. What she thought made little difference to her sister, but Amber looked up to these professionals.

“Didn't college just eat up time you could have spent learning your trade?” Amber wanted to know.

Charmayne shook her head. “No. I studied hotel and restaurant management. The world is a really technical place these days. You need to know how to run your own kitchen. That takes as much business know-how as it does cooking skill.”

“Really?” Amber sounded doubtful.

“You'd be surprised.” Charmayne pointed to something creamy she'd been whipping. “How much cream should you order for a weekend? How long does it keep? Is there anything else you can do with it if no one orders a certain dessert and you're stuck with too much?”

“Making one recipe of anything is easy,” Brad said. “Multiples take time and planning.”

“Right.” Charmayne turned to a set of double-wide coolers. “Some desserts can be prepared in advance. You can estimate how many to make by checking your computer and seeing what was consumed previously. Other desserts have to be put together when the order hits the kitchen.”

“We better let you get back to work,” Brad told Charmayne.

“Thanks,” Amber said. “Look for me this summer.”

After they left the pastry kitchen they passed another bank of computers where a young man was working. “This is the check station,” Brad said. “The final bill showing all you've ordered is printed out here. The cash and credit cards are processed here by one person—Jake.”

“That would be me,” the young man said with a bow.

“Why one person?” Lexi asked.

“There's a lot of credit card fraud these days,” Brad told them. “When you allow all the waiters to use the machines, one bad apple could be using a swiper to record the card numbers. This way just one trusted person is responsible.”

They arrived at their table just as Tiffany and a helper brought their lunches. They were silent for a few minutes while they began to eat. Lexi waited for Amber to give her opinion first.

“This red wave lettuce salad is scrumptious.” She munched enthusiastically. “It's bound to be a hit. Watch your computer and see.”

“What do you think?” Brad asked Lexi, catching her off guard.

“I agree. The blend of flavors really works.”

“Honest?” He kept aiming his blue eyes at her, making her even more uncomfortable.

“Absolutely,” she assured him as a warm flush crept up her neck.

“How did you come up with it?” asked Amber, oblivious to the intimate moment between them. “I know we suggested the lettuce and the baby squash, but I think you made your own dressing and marinated the chicken in lime and something, right?”

“Correct. I had to experiment a lot because this is my first Asian-fusion salad. I wanted a simple dressing that wouldn't taste like some kid's chemistry experiment.”

Amber giggled. “This salad dressing is great. I taste…balsamic vinegar.”

Brad nodded. “Balsamic vinegar from Spain infused with ginger. I use the KISS method. Keep It Simple Stupid. Balsamic vinegar, ginger, Vietnamese herbs and—”

“Sesame oil not olive oil.”

“You've got a knack for taste,” Brad said with an approving smile. “Sesame oil is best in this salad. It allows the unique Asian flavor to come through.”

“You marinated the chicken before it was grilled.” Amber speared a sliver as she spoke.

“Again. Keeping it simple is the secret of most chefs' success. I marinated the chicken in lime juice for an hour before draining it and patting it dry. Too many people use enough marinade to pickle a bull and leave it on too long. An hour, two, tops, for chicken, or it gets mushy and all you taste is the marinade.”

“I'll remember that.”

“What did you think of my kitchen?” Brad asked Amber.

“Hectic. Much more frantic than I imagined.” She played with her fork for a moment. “But it was really exciting. Not boring like some jobs.”

I told you so,
Lexi silently said to Brad.

“Most people in a kitchen work for minimum wage,” Brad added. “It's stressful and pays poorly.”

“Not the sous-chef or executive chef or pastry chef.”

“True,” Brad conceded, “but that's a few people out of—what?—two dozen.”

“I want to be one of the few,” Amber assured him. “You know, the few, the proud, the brave. Like the Marines.”

Lexi didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead she nearly choked when she looked up and saw Rick Fullerton, executive chef from Marché, heading toward their table.

“Out slumming, Fullerton?” Brad greeted his competitor.

“Hello, Lexi,” Rick said to her.

“Hi,” she managed to reply in what could pass for a level voice. Rick was her biggest customer. He personally picked out produce from her garden twice a week. She'd never had enough money to eat at his restaurant. How could she explain being here?

“Actually,” Rick said with a barely perceptible smile, “I came to try your special salad. I'm hearing great things about it.”

“It's fabulous,” Amber said. “Lexi gave Brad the idea.”

Lexi had the urge to dive under the table.

“Interesting.”

She didn't like the sound of Rick's voice. She hoped she hadn't lost her best customer over a lunch that had done absolutely nothing to change her sister's mind about pursuing a career as a chef.