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First the bistro boys want my shop. Then, some big-ass developer does too. How do I hold my own against these people? I only have myself and a little money in the bank. I don’t have investors or deep pockets, or any of that shit.
How will I stand up to these forces? I feel like a soldier with no army.
Then it occurs to me—have the bistro boys been informed about the developer? Would they have come calling like they did, if they had that information? Wouldn’t that be bigger fish for them to fry?
I may just have information they don’t.
Maybe we can help each other. As much as they are dicks, we do now have a common enemy.
If the developer wins, we’re all toast, their stupid expansion plans notwithstanding.
Jewel returns from a very long lunch, and I take the opportunity to run next door.
I’ll start by apologizing for handing out business cards at their party.
16
ENZO
“If this is true,why didn’t Bart say something at our party the other night?
Weston sits there, typing numbers into his iPad because adding and subtracting are clearly his happy place, and Owen stares into space, or rather at the tiny water stain on the ceiling from the last rain. These old buildings are charming, but there’s no end to the things that go wrong with them.
None of us really knows what to do after the bomb Livvy just laid on us, that some developer is frothing at the mouth over our little block. Except maybe cry. As a behind-the-scenes kitchen guy, I’m not the expert businessperson. Weston is. I don’t know what it really means when a huge corporation comes after you.
But I am pretty damn sure it’s not a good thing. Nor a slam-dunk, in spite of the fact that our investors are some of the best-connected people in the business. Just like how in the wild, the biggest creature wins, in the down-and-dirty world of business, the biggest pile of cash wins. Sure, EastSide is doing well, especially for a new-ish restaurant, but we’re definitely the David to any developer’s Goliath.
I’m not a worrier. I believe things work themselves out, maybe not always the way you want them to, but they do work out. So, I naturally gravitate toward the idea that the developer will just wake up one morning and decide he doesn’t want our choice little Upper East Side block, and that somewhere else in the city will be far more lucrative—and easier to acquire.
Yes, I’ve been called naïve before. Overly optimistic. Head-in-the-clouds. A dreamer.
Whatever.
Which is part of the reason the guys and I are such a good team. Our commitment to the restaurant business aside, we balance each other—I’m the positive one, Weston and his love for numbers make him the logical, levelheaded one, and Owen’s the we’ll-never-make-it realist.
On our own, each of us wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans. I learned that early on. But together, we’re formidable. If I do say so myself.
“There’s got to be some way for us to come out on top of this. I just need to think,” Weston says, rubbing his chin.
Owen rolls his eyes. “Dude, get your head out of the numbers. What if Livvy is trying to screw with us? Sure, we can confirm everything with Bart, but I find it very strange he didn’t say a word to us at the party. And what does she mean aboutpartneringwith us?”
Always the naysayer.
“She probably doesn’t have any specific ideas, just like we don’t. She’s absorbing it all, like we are. Give her the benefit of the doubt, Owe,” I say.
Owen’s shoes might have been peed on, Weston’s papers might have been mangled, and I might have picked up the world’s biggest pile of dog crap, but the whole freak show next door was still funny as hell. I like that Livvy. And I full-on respect her first inclination when we told her we wanted her store, to get pissed and kick us the hell out.
I wouldn’t have respected her if she had folded at the first negotiation. Hell, if you don’t believe in what you’re doing, you have no right to be running a business. Passion and dedication are the number one currency, cheesy as that sounds.
If I weren’t a thousand percent behind EastSide, as well as in love with kitchen work, there’s no way I’d survive the long hours and other hassles the job entails. I’d have bailed long ago.
“What I want to know,” Owen says, drumming his fingers on the table, “is how Bart knew about this before we got word. Shouldn’t the landlord have reached out, let us know he was entertaining other options? Something is up here.”
“I have a call in to the landlord right now,” Weston says. “But it doesn’t really matter how the information made its way to us. The important thing is that we put together a plan. And I think partnering with Pawsh Pets could be a very good move.”
Owen dabs at a drop of coffee spilled on his shirtsleeve. He’s surprisingly anal for someone in the food business. By the end of the day, I’m covered in everything I’ve cooked.
“Wes, you just want to partner with her because you like her. I saw you feeding her our mushroom dish at the party,” Owen says.
