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It’s her dream to have Seattle’s first Michelin star restaurant. I feel honored and lucky to be at the opening. She’s going to make history.
We watch as she looks around the kitchen. Swoops through the cozy dining area to check that everything is perfect. She disappears into the back and returns to our table with a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon. “I thought we deserved to have a little toast with the expensive stuff. Zoey can’t drink anyway, so we won’t feel bad she’s not here yet.”
Shit. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Fee pours us each a glass. I decide, one tiny sip won’t hurt, and then I’ll tell my friends I can’t drink it. I mean, when will I ever get to taste this stuff again?
We clink our glasses together and each take a sip. Fiona hands us the menu. It’s been years since Jace and I were in Paris and had a meal like this. I can hardly believe my dear friend is going to feed us such an amazing feast.
“O.M.G.” Ronni licks her lips. “Crab with avocado, ginger lime and cucumber? No, wait. Foie gras seared with sunchoke, dates, and water chestnut? I’m going off my diet to eat this, Fee. It’s going to besoooooworth it!”
Fee beams. “I’m most proud of the duck dish. I’ve roasted it with ardive, which is like radicchio and Marcona almonds. I’ve braised it with foie gras and potato. I think the desserts are incredibly special too; I poached the sous pastry chef from Alinea. She’s created this amazing fondant of maple she’s braised in a bourbon barrel with milk for the past week. We’re serving it with shaved ice.”
“A lot of this is over my head, considering my skills are limited to heating up soup. I’m looking forward to such a well-thought-out feast, Fee. Bravo.” I raise my champagne glass again to toast her awesomeness, even though I’m not having a second sip. As we clink glasses, I’m about to confide about my fertility situation and possible pregnancy when we hear an enormous crash from inside The Mission.
In a flash, Fiona bolts to the back. We follow close behind through the kitchen to a closet-sized room off the dish pit. Her ear is pressed to what looks to be a long, skinny panel in the wall. “This is a secret door to the green room. We’re planning on using it for catering big shows.”
The three of join her at the weird little door and press our ears to it too. I notice a nearly invisible keyhole with a button. “Fuck.” Fiona angrily pounds on the door. “Zane has the master key. We haven’t gotten copies made yet.”
She pulls her phone out of her apron and calls, presumably, Zane. There’s no answer. She shoves it back in the pouch. “Can either one of you ladies call your man? I don’t want to make a big scene by going through the front door, but it’s kinda crucial for me to know what’s going on.”
I try Jace. Ronni tries Connor. No answer from either of them.
“Fuck.” She turns to leave when we hear Ty yelling. Well, not just yelling, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs. Followed by the excruciating sounds of a terrible and violent fight. Zane’s roaring down the place. There’s more fighting.
We’re all paralyzed in fear. Fee’s dishwashing staff stare at us with wide eyes.
“Gather everyone into the staff lounge. Stay there until I say otherwise,” she directs, surprisingly calm under what must be overwhelming pressure. Immediately, her employees do as she asks.
“What the fuck is happening?” Ronni shrieks when we hear Connor yelling.
We run through the restaurant out the front and to the entrance of The Mission. It’s also locked, and the box office staff are nowhere to be found. We can hear sirens in the distance. A bunch of them. Fear takes root at the base of my spine.
“Fuck!” Fiona yells and starts pacing and banging on the door. “I should have never given my fucking keys to Zane. I’m going up to the office, at least I have backups for this door. Thank Christ there’s not a line yet.”
As she runs back to the restaurant, my phone buzzes. I look down and see that I missed a call from Zoey. I shoot her a quick text:
Alex: “Hey, where are you?”
Zoey: “Fifteen minutes out.”
Alex: “Okay.”
Alex: “Hurry.”
Zoey: “What’s going on?”
Alex: “I’m not quite sure, but the band are all yelling at each other. The door is locked, Ronni and I can’t get in there.”
Zoey: “I’ll text Ty.”
As the sirens approach and five cop cars and a couple of ambulances peel into the side parking lot adjacent to the club, the voices get louder. And angrier. We can’t see the load-in dock from where we’re standing at the foyer, but we decide to stay put.
My phone buzzes again, this time I pick up.
“Dude? What’s going on?” Zoey sounds panicked.
I’m still out of breath from our sprint. “I’m trying to listen, but I can’t hear a thing other than yelling.”
“Wait, what? Have you talked to Jace?”
