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Mouthing off was precisely what she had not done, Lissa almost said, but it was too late for the truth.
“Never mind. It’s all water under the bridge. Just answer the question. Can you do everyday stuff? Forget the edible flowers, the sprigs of rosemary, the goat cheese tarts.”
“I have never done a goat cheese tart in my—”
“Lissa. Answer the question. Can you do roasts? Stew? Stuff like that.”
Recipes danced through Lissa’s head. Poulet rôti aux herbes. Pot-au-feu.
“You still there?”
“Yes,” Lissa said quickly, “of course I can.” She cleared her throat. She could feel hope rising within her, but she wasn’t going let it get to her until she knew more. “What are we talking about here? An American-style restaurant?”
“American food. Exactly.”
“Upscale, right? Because, you know—”
“Because you attended Le Cordon Bleu. Trust me. I know. The thing is, this place needs a cook who can do things with locally-produced ingredients.”
Oh God! Lissa felt her pulse beat quicken. Alice Waters. Wolfgang Puck. Tom Colicchio.
“Can you do that? Cook natural?”
“Absolutely!”
“OK. Fine. I’ll tell them you’ll take the job.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like what? They need a cook. You need a job. Put ’em both together—”
“No tryout? No interview?”
“They need a cook, fast. You need a job, fast. You wanna waste time with nonsense?”
Like most good agents, Marcia knew how to get to the point. It was just that this was so far from Lissa’s past experiences…
In the exalted world of haute cuisine, meaning meals that cost what some people paid in rent, you met the restaurant’s owner or his rep, you sat for an interview, talked food, talked finances and recipes and customer tastes and management expectations. Then you cooked a meal for the owners, perhaps for a small, exclusive group of steady patrons.
“I need an answer. Yes? No? What’s it gonna be?”
Lissa rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“What about money? Contract terms?”
“Month-to-month contract.”
“Month-to-month? That’s not standard. I don’t usually—” She didn’t usually go jobless, either, Lissa reminded herself. “OK. I guess they want to be sure they’re hiring the right person. See, that’s why an interview would be—”
“I’m waiting. You in or out?”
A long breath. “What are they paying?”
Marcia snapped out a number. It was a decent on
e.
“Lissa? I’m still waiting.”
