The Story Of A Man, A Woman,
And The Restaurant They Loved
By Tom Fitzmorris
Back to Pages 1-15. Forward to Pages 31-45.
Book 1, Page 16.
Speechless.
Jerry rose from the chair, instinctively and immediately. He had to react in some way to the appearance of this extravagant redhead. She seemed to need more space than the average person. Her clothes were not holding her entirely in. People in the room moved subtly to the left and right, parting to make way for her. Her youth--if she were thirty, it was just barely--accentuated the effect, since most of those shoved aside by her force field (that's really what it looked like to Jerry) were well into the third or fourth quarters of their lives.
Since he was sitting in her chair, Jerry had a pretext to begin the conversation. "Here you go," he said. "I was just talking to Mr. Roquette here, and he said it was all right to sit here until you got back. You must be Mrs. Lancaster's daughter. I'm Dr. Wells, the vet. We spoke on the phone. I'm so sorry."
"Dr. Wells," she said, reaching out and gripping his hand, in that distinctive way women have of reaching out farther than a man would, with a stiff elbow, when they're trying to appear strong. "It's very nice of you to come. I'm sure my mother must have liked you if she'd bring her cat to you."
"Well. . . well, I wish there had been more I could do." Jerry realized he was talking about the death of a cat, when its owner was herself dead, right behind him. Awkward. "Yes. Here's your chair back. I was about to go over and pay my respects."
"Thank you again," said Mrs. Lancaster's daughter.
"Yes. . . my pleasure," Jerry said. My pleasure? That was the wrong thing to say here and now. Jerry moved with irregular, hesitating steps, looking back a couple of times as he did, over to the open coffin. He stood a few feet from it, waiting while a thin, sixtyish woman in a filmy red dress knelt before it. He looked into the coffin at the face of Mrs. Lancaster. They should have propped up the bottom of her head, he thought. The way they put her in there gave her a big double chin that he didn't remember from real life.
The lady in red crossed herself and rose from the kneeler. Jerry paused, then knelt. He looked more closely into the casket, and saw a photograph sticking up from the other side of Mrs. Lancaster's corpse. Jerry straightened himself out and leaned forward to inspect it more closely.
It was a family portrait, showing a very beautiful young woman with very red lipstick. A tall man who looked fifteen or twenty years older, dressed in one of those ridiculous suits with the wide lapels that people wore in the early 1970s, had his arm around her. Two little girls stood in front of them. Jerry couldn't see much more than their heads, but there was no doubt as to which one was the woman he'd just met. A big grin across her freckled face, she held an orange cat around her neck, tangled in red hair. The other girl, a towhead, looked two or three years older and much less happy to be there.
Jerry made the Sign of the Cross, although it did not end any prayer. He rose slowly, then turned again in the direction of Mr. Roquette and his niece, who now sat next to the old man. Of all the people in the world, these two were the ones Jerry wanted to speak with most. But he couldn't figure out how to bring up the subject that burned in his brain.
He walked out of the parlor into the hallway, to the men's room, then to the coffee room. He drew a cup of coffee from the silver urn, and sat down at one of the tables. Maybe they'd come in here, and it will be easier to talk, he hoped.
Soft chimes rang, like a doorbell. Jerry heard a man in the hallway saying, "The Mass for Mrs. Finis Lancaster will begin in five minutes. We ask that everyone please move to the chapel."
Jerry looked at his watch. He really needed to get back to his office, which was essentially shut down while he was gone. He drank the rest of the coffee, got up, and moved toward the chapel.
Book 1, Page 17.
Speech.
The priest who said the Mass for Lacey Lancaster's funeral was an old friend of the family. A little too old. He was retired and didn't say Mass much anymore. He kept losing his place as he read through the ancient formula that you'd think would be as firmly in his mind as his name. But he sounded as if he were reading it for the first time, and slowly, at that. His homily did not reveal that he knew or remembered much about Mrs. Lancaster.
Jerry was in the middle of the pew, regretting his decision to stay. He changed his mind when the Mass ended and the eulogies began.
The first speaker was the zaftig woman with the red hair. "For those who do not know me, I am Lacey Lancaster's daughter Winifred," she said, in a voice that seemed to Jerry too clear and strong at a time like this. As if sensing his thoughts, Winifred explained this. "My mother did what she wanted all the time, even if it was scary. She taught me and my brother and sister the live that way. I know I should be up here choking in sorrow about her passing, especially since it came so unexpectedly and at such a young age for someone who did all the things she did. I know we will have some difficult moments in the days ahead when we realize that our mother is gone. But if she suddenly opened her casket right now and heard me crying and babbling, she'd come up here, grab me and shake me, and tell me to pull myself together."
This brought quiet laughter and knowing nods from the assembled mourners. Jerry nodded himself, even though he'd only met Mrs. Lancaster a couple of times. Winifred kept on talking, but Jerry was paying less attention to her words than to Winifred herself. She riveted his attention, and he hi didn't know why. Was it the eyebrows? She way she knitted them made her look as if she were delivering news of the greatest importance. Yeah, that was it. Or maybe the set of her cheekbones, high and wide. Jerry mused that it was almost a masculine face, but that this was disguised by Winifred's feminine habit of continually pushing her hair back from her face.
"She would want us to live our lives to the full," Jerry heard Winifred declare, in her very sure voice. "Let's honor her life by doing something big and bold, today."
Winifred was moving a second after he last word. She sat down among her family, out of Jerry's sight. No other speaker stood up. The funeral director mounted the altar area and said that the burial would take place immediately, but that it was for family only. "Everyone else," he said, "should now carry on with the rest of your day."
So much for making a contact with these people about the old drugstore, Jerry thought--but wait. What did Winifred Lancaster just say? "Let's honor her life by doing something big and bold, today." On the way out, he saw Winifred helping Mr. Roquette out the door. Jerry rushed over to hold the door open wider, and was about to speak when Mr. Roquette turned, saw him, smiled, then said to Winifred, "Did you invite Doctor Wells here to the lunch at Christian's?" he said. "
Winifred looked distressed at this suggestion, to which there was no good answer. Jerry relieved her tension. "Oh, that's nice of you, but I have to get back to my office."
"Well, I understand that," said Mr. Roquette. He turned to Winifred again, and said, "But you call this man and invite him to lunch with me and you. He remembers all kinds of things about the old drugstore from a long time ago that I don't even remember. How about that?"
"Sure, Uncle Bobby," Winifred said. She looked up at Jerry. "I have your card. Thanks for coming." She opened the limousine door, and helped Mr. Roquette into the front seat. She closed the door, then looked at Jerry, again with those serious brows."Are you sure you want to have lunch with him? He can talk and talk."
"Sure, why not? Actually, I'd really enjoy that," Jerry said.
Winifred nodded, opened the door to the back seat of the limousine, closed the door, and smiled at him from behind the glass.
Something expanded in Jerry's chest.
Book 1, Page 18.
Permission Ungranted.
Jerry had to admit that his restaurant idea--serving the best dishes from famous restaurants around New Orleans--had a potential problem. What if the restaurants wouldn't let him do it? Or sued him if he went ahead with the plan?
He thought he'd check it out with the restaurant owner he knew best: Ralph Brennan.
"The second Friday in Lent isn't as bad as the first Friday, but it's still pretty bad," Ralph Brennan told Jerry and Julie, standing next to their table at Ralph's on the Park. "But we expect that. A lot of people start loosening their Lenten diets next week, the week after at the latest. Anyway, they can always eat seafood!"
To Jerry's eye, there seemed to be little to complain about. The restaurant was nearly full. "I'll remember that," Jerry said. "I'll need to, because I'm opening a restaurant."
Ralph edged back slightly, as if Jerry had just said he had a bad cold. "Why would you want to do that?" he said. "Don't you have enough to do as a vet?"
"Don't worry, I won't compete with you. Some afternoon I'll come in and explain the whole story. I want to do that anyway, because, A, I want to pick your brain about how to buy equipment and hire people and things like that. And, two, I'd like to serve one of your dishes in my restaurant."
"One of our dishes? Which one?"
"I'm not sure yet. The whole idea of the restaurant is to serve the best dishes of the best restaurants in town," Jerry said. "One from each. Yours is one of the best restaurants in town, so I hope you'll let me serve. . . well, what would you suggest?"
"I'm not sure about that," Ralph said. "Are you going to put our name on the menu?"
"I was hoping to."
"I'm flattered. But I need to think about that before I say yes. There might be some legal issues with trademarks if I let you use the name."
"Oh, sure," Jerry said. That made sense. But it wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.
During the conversation, and during Jerry's monologue after Ralph left the table, Julie tuned in and out. Jerry was babbling about which part of the design of this restaurant he thought would work in the old Roquette's Pharmacy building.
Then Jerry's focus shifted to the funeral. Specifically, Winifred Lancaster's eulogy. That caught Julie's full attention.
"Something about what she said, or maybe the way she said it. I don't know," Jerry said. "You should have been there. She could have been a TV anchorwoman. Her voice, her face--you couldn't take your eyes off her. She's not all that good-looking. Kind of overweight, actually. But something."
"I'm paying a lot of attention just hearing you tell about it," said Julie. "She must really have been amazing."
"Yeah. Amazing. Anyway, I also talked to Mr. Roquette, who looked a million years old. But I still recognized him, and he remembered me. I was just about to bring up the restaurant when the services started. So that was a waste of time. At least as regards the restaurant."
"I don't think you can look at a funeral in terms of what you get out of it," Julie chided. "It's about comfort, Jerry."
"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, she said she'd call."
"Who?" asked Julie. "Winifred? Call about what?"
"Mr. Roquette wants to have lunch with me. He's her uncle. I hope they do call, because if they don't, I'll have to call them."
"Them? Or her?"
"I have to call her, because Mr. Roquette doesn't get around very well, and needs her to drive, I guess. You can join us, if you're jealous."
"Jealous?" Julie said, stiffening up. "Not likely."
She flagged down a waiter. "I think I'd like another Tanqueray martini," she said.
Book 1, Page 19.
Weekend Gatekeeper.
Saturdays at Jerry's office were so busy that, one week, Jerry asked Julie to come in to help out with the paperwork. Once bidden, she never left, even though she never much cared for the veterinary practice.
In fact, the whole thing grossed her out. She badgered Jerry to take a shower as soon as he came home every evening. She no longer had to do that--a shower was now automatic--but she always asked him anyway, just to ease her mind.
Julie refused to touch the sick dogs and cats herself. She had enough on her hands going through Jerry's records, updating them, paying bills, mailing invoices, ordering supplies, and generally ordering the chaos. After a few years, even though she worked there only two or three hours a week--often using breaks in the action to deal with her real estate business--she felt she was a part of the veterinary clinic's management.
Jerry viewed her role differently. He relied on her help, but her suggestions to him about how to manage the office better was one of the few consistent irritations in their marriage. Jerry accepted this as inevitable, and much less troublesome than trying to talk Julie out of it.
The office closed at one in the afternoon. This Saturday, Jerry still had a couple of dogs to check and kennel. Julie was about to leave when the phone rang.
"This is Winifred Lancaster. May I speak with Dr. Wells?" said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Oh, hello, Winifred. This is Dr. Wells's wife Julie. Jerry told me about the services for your mother. He said he found your eulogy inspiring."
"He did?" Winifred said. "He didn't mention that to me. I'll have to tell him thanks. Is he there?"
"He's here, but he's busy with a patient, and then he has to come home, shower, and head out again on some errands," Julie said. "Can I give him a message?"
"Yes and no. My uncle took a liking to him at the funeral, and all he could talk about after we left was that he wanted to invite him to lunch."
"What for?" asked Julie. She knew she was being nosy, but she didn't care.
"Well, it won't be about anything having to do with animals, that's for sure. He doesn't have any pets. I think your husband and Uncle Bob got to talking about the old drugstore."
"What's going to happen to that old store, anyway?" asked Julie.
"We're not sure. Somebody wants to open a restaurant there, or that's what the real estate people said. But a bank wants to buy our property and the property next door to tear it all down and put in a branch."
"Wow," faked Julie. "Which are you going to do?"
"I don't have any say in the matter, but I hope Uncle Bobby lets the restaurant guy have it. I might be able to get a job that way."
Over my dead body, thought Julie. "Well, that would be nice. I'll have Dr. Wells call you as soon as he can."
"His name is Jerry, right?"
"Yes, Dr. Jerry Wells?" Julie said.
"That's a coincidence. The real estate people told me that the name of the person who wants to put in the restaurant is also Jerry. Well, thanks for taking my call."
Book 1, Page 20.
She Doesn't Have His Number.
As Julie pressed the phone's off button, it hit her that she'd not asked Winifred for her number so Jerry could return the call. She looked at the keypad and tried to remember what sequence of buttons brought up the caller ID information. That was a feature she never used, so rigorous was she about keeping track of calls. Had this one rattled her that much? She put the phone back in the charger, but kept thinking about this.
Wait a minute, she thought, looking for a way to redirect the blame for this small negligence. Why hadn't Winifred offered her number, if she wanted Jerry to call her?
Julie thought about that for a moment. Then she walked to Jerry's office. She rarely did this. She had no stomach for veterinary procedures, and didn't like Jerry to even talk about what he'd done in a day. But she had to know more about this Winifred and this luncheon date.
She found Jerry lifting a limp Yorkie into one of the upper berths, as he called them. The dog was shaved and bandaged around its midriff.
"Hey, Jule!" he said. "I'm almost done. Just gotta write down a few things about Minnie here and I'm ready to go. Hungry for lunch?"
"Maybe," she said. "After you take a shower, of course. Mrs. Lancaster's daughter just called. She wants to invite you to lunch with Mr. Roquette. She says you made a good impression on him."
Jerry turned around and looked at her with much too wide a grin. "That's the best news I've heard this week!" he said. "Now I can finally talk to these people about their building! When do they want to do it?"
"They?" asked Julie. "Do what?"
"I assume Winifred is coming, too, if she's the one who called. She's a chef, you know. But they don't know I want to open a restaurant in there. This could be a very productive meeting! But when is it?"
"She didn't say," Julie said. "She wants you to call her back."
"Wonderful!," he said, again with a bit too much pleasure in his face and voice for Julie's liking. "I'll call her right now!"
So he has her number, thought Julie.
"Look, I have a few things to do," she said. "I'll see you at home."
She returned to the front desk, straightened out what she'd been doing when the fateful call came in, and sat there until the office's Saturday closing time. At exactly noon, she closed the blinds on the front door, let herself out, and turned the key in the lock.
Julie fumed all the way home. Her rational side kept the smoke from turning to flames, but no thought could get around the image of this Winifred. But, really--how much sense did her concern make? Jerry thought Winifred gave a good eulogy. Big deal. A younger woman who caught Jerry's eye. Nothing new there. Julie often pointed out good-looking young women to Jerry, because she knew he was already looking, she knew it was harmless, and her saying she noticed the target too defused the tension. The idea that Jerry would stray was ludicrous.
But still. Something about this woman bothered her.
Jerry left the office at a quarter after twelve. He stopped for gas and to pick up a prescription. He arrived home almost an hour after Julie did. He didn't see her in the kitchen or the living room. He had to climb the stairs to the second floor to find her sitting in front of the computer ordering fabric.
"What? More fabric? Where will you put it?"
The question used to rile Julie, especially with all the crap Jerry collected. Two thousand LP records that he never played, for example. It had been months since they indulged in that argument. But today she let him have it. "I was thinking of putting it in one-tenth of the space your old speakers take up in the attic," she said.
Jerry laughed. "Okay, okay. I won't go there. So. Did you get Winifred Lancaster's number? All I have is her mother's number, and nobody answers."
"Oh, I'm sorry--I didn't get it. I thought you had it," Julie said. So that whole scenario that bugged her was based on nothing. "It's on the caller ID back at the office, I guess. Want me to go back and get it?"
"No," said Jerry. "There's no big hurry, I suppose. Or. . ." He paused. Julie stared into his eyes, her face frozen. "Let's go get some fried oysters and gumbo at Bozo's, and we can stop at the office on the way back."
Book 1, Page 21.
Mysterious Gumbo.
Chris Vodonovich was on the range at Bozo's, as always, frying fish and catfish to his usual perfection. Jerry went back into the kitchen to say hello. One of Jerry's early veterinary partners had worked on some of Chris's racehorses in the past, and once you were a friend of Chris's, you were a friend permanently.
"Hey, where you been?" Chris asked. "Ain't seen you in a long time. How's all those dogs and cats?"
"Sick and dying, mostly," Jerry said.
"Remind me not to bring my dog to you!"
"Yeah, well. Did I tell you I'm opening a restaurant?"
"Now I know you've lost your mind," Chris said. "You ever done any of this before? Maybe you ought to come work here for a day and see if you still want to do it. Let me tell you--it's not for everybody!"
"Chris, I'd actually like to do that. Maybe you can teach me a few things. I'd like to have your gumbo on my menu."
"That will never happen. My sister makes it, and she and I are the only ones who know how. Can't help you with that one." Chris laughed. "So where are you doing this?
"Corner of Carrollton and Claiborne. I'm going to call it The Best Of Restaurant. I want to have all the great dishes from all the great restaurants."
"Well, best of luck. If you want to eat some catfish, they're looking really good today. Nobody gets catfish like this." Chris showed Jerry some small fillets. "These little wild fish, can't beat 'em."
"What do you cook those in?" asked Jerry.
"That I'll tell you," Chris said. "Cornmeal, and I fry it in vegetable oil. That's it. But first you got to find catfish this good!"
Jerry and Julie sat down and ate the gumbo, trying to figure out what was in it. They soon gave up. The light broth, containing not just chicken but shrimp, both okra and file, was so distinctive that it probably was a true secret. So they moved on to the catfish.
They left with a pleasant taste in their mouths and with a wave to Chris. But Jerry's enthusiasm was damp. Here was the second restaurateur to refuse him a recipe for a dish Jerry thought his new restaurant ought to have. And both of these were friends. How would it go with the chefs he didn't know?
They finished the errand by stopping at Jerry's office to retrieve Winifred Lancaster's telephone number from the caller ID. Jerry called her then and there.
"Hello, Miss Lancaster? This is Dr. Wells. My wife said you called earlier. Sorry it took so long. We had a lot of animals in here today."
Her voice sounded smoky and a little husky to Jerry. "Oh, good, thanks. My Uncle Bobby's been calling me every day because he wants to go out to lunch with you. He feels bad about not inviting you to lunch after the funeral. You must really have told him something that caught his attention."
"Must be the old drugstore," Jerry said. "I used to go in there all the time when I was a kid. He didn't remember me at first, but then he did. I recognized him right away. He looks pretty good for his age!"
"He has trouble getting around, but he's sharp. Anyway, he wants to know if you can have lunch with him at Christian's this Thursday."
"Thursday would be fine," said Jerry. He'd juggle all the other items on his schedule for this.
"Great!" Winifred replied "And is it okay if I come, too? I'm his driver. He needs one, and I'm unemployed at the moment."
Jerry wondered if he should let on just how much this entire setup pleased him, and figured it couldn't hurt. "That would be perfect," he said. "Because, to tell you the truth, I have been trying to figure out a way to talk to him, and you too. I couldn't bring myself to do it at the funeral."
"Oh? What about?"
"It's going to sound strange, but I want to do something with the old drugstore."
"No kidding!" said Winifred. "Seems like all of a sudden everybody wants it. There's even a guy who wants to open a restaurant there. I'd like to meet him, because I'm a chef and I need a job."
Jerry felt his throat tighten. "Then it's even better," he said. "I'm the restaurant guy."
Book 1, Page 22.
Restaurant Or Relationship?
"What? No!" asked Winifred, amazed, when Jerry told her that he was the person who wanted to open a restaurant in her uncle's old drugstore. She switched the telephone to her right ear, as if hearing it there would confirm what she'd just heard. "You and I really do need to talk. That's something I've wanted to do for years, but my uncle won't work with me on it, and I don't have the money to do it on my own. This could be great. I'm thinking Asian-Creole. But wait. You're a veterinarian. What do you know about restaurants?"
"I know how to cut meat," Jerry said, for the seventeenth time. He regretted saying it as the words came out of his mouth, but there was no need--Winifred was laughing on the other end of the line. Jerry smiled with gratification that finally someone thought the line was as clever as he did.
"Other than that," he continued, "I don't know a lot about restaurants other than eating in them. But I'm learning fast. My wife and I go out to eat almost every night. We don't have children and we hate television. We're real restaurant freaks. I've been talking to everybody I know who owns a restaurant, and they all tell me the same simple thing."
"What--don't do it?" Winifred said.
"Bingo."
"That's what everybody in the biz says. But nobody ever gets out of it once they're in it. I'll tell you what else they always say. Too many new restaurants opening. Too much competition. I've even heard one say--more than one, come to think of it--that they wish a really bad hurricane would come through and close a bunch of places down."
"Yeah, I know how they feel," Jerry said. "But I don't think what I have in mind would compete with anybody. There aren't any restaurants in that neighborhood anyway."
"You wouldn't be able to put many people into that building anyway. Because of the parking."
"The parking's bad?" This was something that had never crossed Jerry's mind, but, come to think of it, the drugstore didn't have a parking lot at all.
"It's bad if you want to have more than six people in the place at one time," Winifred said. "Uncle Bobby always wanted to renovate and expand, but he couldn't because he only has those two spaces in back and four along the street, if he was lucky. He was always fighting with that old goofball next door who said the drugstore customers were parking illegally."
"Really!" was all Jerry could say. Then, after a pause in which Winifred came back with nothing, "Well, look. We can talk about all this when we have lunch. Thursday, noon straight up, Christian's. See you there."
"Right," Winifred said, and hung up.
Jerry put the phone down. He became conscious of Julie, who'd been sitting there on the kitchen stool all along.
"So?" she said. "Am I invited?"
"I forgot to ask," Jerry said. "I'm sure it will be okay."
"I don't know," said Julie. "You and this Winifred sure sound like you're clicking with one another. Won't I be in the way?"
Jerry looked at Julie. At first he thought she was joshing him, but the longer he looked at her the more she looked uncomfortable and maybe even hurt. He got up from his stool at the kitchen counter and stood next to hers. She did not stand up, so the hug he meant to be warm and reassuring came across as awkward and disconnected. He backed away from her a step.
"Look, Jule," Unless you don't want to be, you're going to be part of this restaurant with me. I can't imagine doing this if it would get in the way of us. Please tell me if you don't think it's something I ought to do."
"I don't know, Jerry. I have all kinds of thoughts about it. I wonder whether we can make a go of it. You know what they say about most new restaurants going broke. Look what happened to the Lee Circle, as good as it was. I just see our nice life been upset."
"But what about the excitement of the challenge?" Jerry said, his eyes opening wide. "The risk is going to force the best out of us to make sure it works. It'll make us new people. I gotta tell you, Julie, I like being a vet okay, but I feel like at forty-five there are other things I can do, and this just seems like it. Come here."
He pulled her off the stool and into his arms. She returned the warmth and said, "Oh, Jerry. I know you want to be a new person, but I like the person you are right now. We need to think some more about this." Their bodies moved apart. She looked at him and said, "Can we talk with Genie Marks about it? She and Mario went through all that when they opened the toy store. In fact, I definitely want to take them out to dinner to talk with them."
"Aren't they separated?" said Jerry.
"They got back together," Julie answered. "I think they can tell us a few things about husbands and wives starting new careers."
"All right," Jerry said. "Let's do it." His mind wandered off, scouting the neighborhoods of New Orleans for the restaurant where he could both have this discussion with the broken couple and find out more information on how to run a restaurant. Finally, he said, "How about Chateaubriand? We can ask the same questions to Gerard and Eveline Crozier!"
Book 1, Page 23.
Togetherness.
Genie Marks was surprised to hear from Julie. They were the best of friends at Mount Carmel High School, but the inevitable drifting came when they went to different out-of-state colleges. Most of the contact between the two since then came when Julie shopped at the Pile of Fun, which Genie and her husband Mario started years ago. Julie loved going there, as much to support a local business against the big national stores as anything.
"I'd love to get together with you guys for dinner!" Genie told Julie. "I guess you heard that Mario and me were separated for awhile, but we're back together, trying to make a go. The best thing for us seems to be working different days here. So he's not here. Give me your number."
"That's just what I want to talk with you about," said Julie. "Jerry wants to open a restaurant. Don't ask why--it sounds too nutty for me to tell it, he has to be the one."
"Why would he want to open a restaurant?" Genie asked. "I thought he loved animals."
"I don't know," Julie said. "I can't decide whether this is something real or his mid-life crisis. We'll tell you all about it. Have you been to Chateaubriand?"
"Yes!" said Genie, suddenly excited. "We love it! That does it. I'll just tell Mario we have to go. What time?"
Genie and Mario were waiting in the bar when Jerry and Julie arrived. As they moved into the dining room, Eveline Crozier greeted Jerry with a quick continental kiss. "You're just the person I've been wanting to talk to!" Jerry said to her. If he were going to ask anybody what it's like for a married couple to work together in a restaurant, the Croziers would be the ones.
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Jerry wants to open a restaurant," said Julie. "He wants me to work in it with him. Is that possible, without killing each other?"
"I'll tell you what, we do just fine," said Eveline. "But if you ask Gerard, I don't know what he would say. I never know what he's going to say." She smiled in her pleasant ear-to-ear way, and somehow vanished into thin air. Jerry always wondered how she did that.
Genie turned to Jerry and launched the conversation. "Julie tells me you want to open a restaurant. Tell me about that."
"You sound like an analyst," he said. "So I'm going to sound like a patient. It came to me in a dream. It was all I could think about for days. I've calmed down since then, but it's still an obsession. Especially since I found the place, which wound up being exactly the spot I envisioned in my dream!"
Genie and Mario looked at each other, then at Julie, then at Jerry. "O-kay," said Mario. "Where is that?"
"The old drugstore on the corner of Carrollton and Claiborne," Jerry said. "I love the place. Long story. But if I don't open a restaurant there, I know I will regret it the rest of my life."
"Wait a minute," said Genie, taking charge again. "What does a veterinarian know about--"
"Stop! Stop!" said Julie. "Jerry, don't answer. Trust me, people, you don't want to hear it."
Mario looked puzzled, then his face lit up as the answer came to him. He laughed. "I think I get the idea."
They became aware of Gerard Crozier's slim frame standing tableside. "Who is the crazy man thinking about opening a restaurant?" he asked in his French-accented speech. Jerry raised his hand.
"Sacre bleu! I'll do you a favor and just kill you now."
Book 1, Page 24.
The Big Beef.
The middle of Lent, and the table was covered with steak. But how could one resist it at Chateaubriand? Genie and Mario Marks split the namesake double filet. Jerry and Julie carved a porterhouse.
"It's one of the miracles of our marriage," Jerry said. "She likes sirloin. I like filet. We get a porterhouse and we're both happy. Even the dog gets a bone in the deal."
"I thought you veterinarians said that it was bad to feed people food to dogs," Genie asked, always happy to challenge an authority.
"I think it's a bad idea, but Julie makes me do it," Jerry said. "After all, what the hell do I know about dogs?"
"Steak bones are about the only people food we give them," said Julie, frowning. "We eat at home so seldom that we don't have many leftovers, and big hunks of meat are about the only doggie bags we take from restaurants."
"Is that true?" said Genie, seeing another opening. "If you two are going to open a restaurant, how can you do it if you never cook? Isn't that, like, a primary qualification?"
"I know what's good," Jerry said. "I can hire a chef to do the actual execution. In fact, I think I already have one. If things work out, I think she could become a major star. She's a big red-headed fireball with a mouth on her!"
"Wow!" said Mario. "Show me the pictures of her naked!"
Genie meant to give him a fake slap, but her aim was off and she knocked his glasses off. "Whoa! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that!" she said. "However, you did deserve it."
Jerry laughed. "I wonder what Freud would say about all this," he said. "Anyway, I don't think you're kinky enough to want that picture. She's a little on the fat side. I'm having lunch with her and her old uncle, who owned the drugstore."
As he said all this, Julie studied Jerry. The male-to-male vibe transmitting between him and Mario was exactly what made her uncomfortable about Winifred.
"Well, anyway, that's not what we came to talk to you two about," she interrupted. "My problem is that I'm not so sure it's a good idea for us to work together on this restaurant. In fact, I'm not sure the restaurant is a good idea, period!"
"What? Since when?" said Jerry.
Although Julie had thought this all along, she hadn't said it to Jerry. What a funny time for it to come out. With friends, in public.
"Working together is no big deal," Genie said. "The problem is deciding who's going to be the boss of what. That's what started the big argument last year. And I gotta tell you, it isn't over yet. Mario and I just had to let it be if we were going to live together. We give each other a wide berth at the store. But, to tell you the truth, I think it's hurt business."
"How?" asked Julie.
"Well, like, we had the chance to take over another toy store. It would have been perfect as a way to expand. At the same time we had a chance to expand our store when the shop next door closed. I'm not going to tell you who wanted what and why, but every time we talked about either thing all we could do was argue. We couldn't make a decision. So we not only let somebody else buy the other toy store and somebody else take over the space next door, but we wound up splitting up for a year. Lose, lose, lose, all because we can't agree on who decides what."
"Very delicately put, dear," said Mario. "But very accurate."
"Well, that wouldn't be a problem with us," offered Julie.
"You say so now," said Genie. "But you're into real estate, Julie. What do you think about this building?"
"Frankly, I'm not nuts about it."
"See what I mean? And what if the redhead chef really is a hot babe and starts getting a lot of attention? You comfortable with that?"
"I wouldn't let a hot redhead babe work in the kitchen with Gerard," said Eveline Crozier, who had once again materialized from nothing right next to the table.
Book 1, Page 25.
Empty Heads Are Better Than One.
There wasn't much for Jerry and Julie to say on their way home from dinner with Julie and Mario Marks. They hadn't learned much about how to bring a business into their family from either the Markses or the Croziers.
About halfway home, Jerry broke the silence. "I know you don't feel good about this restaurant idea of mine," he said. "It is something I really, really want to do. It's going to be hard and expensive. I really think it will be a great thing for us in a few years. But if it's something you think will be bad for us, and you really don't want to go through with it, I'll quit right now."
Julie didn't answer. Jerry's statement didn't take her by surprise; she knew he'd say something just like that sometime soon. But she didn't know what to say. So she said nothing much, just to keep the conversation alive, to make sure he didn't think she was mad. You had to do this in a relationship.
"To me, this isn't a matter of choosing not what I wanted most," she said, "but what I dislike least. I just want to wait to see if some better choice comes along. I'm sorry. I'm no help at all."
Another few blocks of silence. "Okay," Jerry said. "I think I need you to be an insider. I was hoping you would come to the lunch tomorrow with Mr. Roquette and his niece. I think you would add some balance to the table. Because, to tell you the truth, I'm thinking that all three of us will want to dive into this right away, and we need a rational person there to keep us from going nuts."
"I can do rational," said Julie. "Okay."
Good, she thought. She could finally check out this Winifred up close.
Now, what to wear?
Book 1, Page 26.
An Entrance.
Jerry and Julie arrived at Christian's a little before noon. It had been a long time since they last dined there.
"Last time I came here it was for a Save Our Cemeteries lunch a few months ago," said Julie. "I had the stuffed fish. It doesn't look like a fish. It looks like a burrito."
"That's strange. Was it any good?"
"Really good! I don't know why, I just never think of coming here."
Jerry made a short hum of agreement, and made a mental note that one of the things he had to do to make his new restaurant a success was to make sure people thought about it. It was the first real marketing thought he'd had about the place. He went back to looking over the menu for signature dishes to add to his own menu, and found it: the smoked soft-shell crab.
The waiter approached. Jerry asked him, "Who's the boss around here these days?"
"Mr. Henry Bergeron," said the waiter. "Would you like to speak with him?"
"Sure, if he has a minute. No hurry."
Bergeron was there within a minute. The two men introduced themselves to each other and to Julie, and exchanged comments about the weather. "I drive in front of your clinic on the way home every night," said Bergeron, making the small talk that all good restaurateurs must.
"I'm working on something new," said Jerry. "We're opening the old drugstore on the corner of Carrollton and Claiborne as a restaurant. It's going to serve the best dishes from the best restaurants in town. I was thinking about serving smoked soft shell crab."
"You wouldn't be the first one to copy that," said Bergeron. "Although I have to wonder why anybody would open a new restaurant these days, the competition being what it is."
"A lot of people tell me that," Jerry said.
"They keep opening them anyway." Bergeron's eyes darted to the front door. "Excuse me," he said. "I'll be back."
Jerry's eyes followed Bergeron as he walked over to the entrance. What had caught Bergeron's attention now grabbed his. An old man was moving through the door, which was held open by a woman whose red hair was catching the bright sunlight outside and refracting it enough to illuminate the foyer.
It was Jerry's luncheon guests.
Were not for her assisting the embarrassingly slow movements of the aged Bobby Roquette, all eyes would have been on Winifred Lancaster as she moved under the cathedral ceiling of Christian's expansive dining room. Her startling figure--red hair bursting from the top of an oversize, flagrantly female body clad in an assortment of garments from filmy to stretchy, all in some shade of blue-purple--insisted on one's gaze.
Julie registered Winifred as a cross between Bette Midler and Julia Child, both of whom she'd met, both of whom gave the same impression of expanding well beyond the space that a normal human being is allotted. And the red hair thing, too.
Julie turned her attention to Jerry. She saw the look his face had when he was held spellbound by something. These were the people who could make his restaurant a reality, and so that was a legitimate explanation for his raptness. Or was it? Julie put it out of her mind.
Jerry stood up and moved quickly over to Mr. Roquette's side. He pulled out the chair to his right and Roquette sat down. That left Winifred to sit next to Julie, and right across from Jerry. Was this right? thought Julie. She decided it was perfect.
"This is fine," said Roquette, who was smiling broadly, amply illustrating the expression "long in the tooth." Winifred was in Julie's face as soon as she sat down.
"I'm Winifred Lancaster," she said to Julie, extending her hand. "We've spoken on the phone. I wasn't expecting you to join us today, but I'm glad you did!"
However that was intended, that comment made Julie feel like an outsider. Winifred went on, "My uncle Bobby says that you can't have too many women at a table for him." Roquette showed even more and longer teeth.
"I know I told you this at the funeral of your sister, but you look almost exactly like I remember you back in the Sixties," Jerry said to Roquette. I can see you now, back there in your white shirt and tie, filling prescriptions."
"Well, in the Sixties I was in my fifties, and now in the. . . what do we call these years, anyway? Well, don't tell me I don't look older, because I know better."
The waiter came over for a cocktail order. "Old Fashioned for me," said Roquette. "What will you young folks be drinking?"
Book 1, Page 27.
Grill's Closing.
Jerry and Mr. Roquette picked up the conversation right where they’d left it off at Mrs. Lancaster’s funeral two weeks before, but with more glee on Jerry’s part.
"I've been tried to remember the ladies who used to work behind the soda fountain," Jerry said. "I know it’s almost forty years ago. But, still. I feel bad that I can see their faces in my mind, but I can’t recall their names."
"Which ones?" asked Roquette. "There was Betty, and Eleanor, and the one everybody thought was my wife just because she was about my age."
"Miss Betty, that’s it!" Jerry said. “She was my favorite. She had kind of a Southern accent. She always gave me lots of fries and never forgot and burned them. There was that older lady who kept forgetting, and she’d just give you the old dried out fries like that was okay."
Roquette laughed. "I was so happy to get rid of that fryer and the hamburgers and all that garbage," he said. "It always made the whole store smell and put grease all over everything. It was so much easier after we stopped serving hot food."
"When did you do that?" Jerry asked.
"Same time K&B shut down its grills. I figured Sidney Besthoff knew what he was doing. So I posted a sign on the door saying that after--I think it was May 1, 1970--there would be no more food, just coffee and ready-made food." Roquette paused, shook his head, and cracked that big smile with the long yellow teeth. "Well, everybody got so upset about that you would think that we were doing business like Burger King, which of course we weren’t. That was another thing. When that Burger King across the street opened, a lot of our cuystomers started going over there. Especially the school kids."
"I never stopped coming," said Jerry, with a bruised tone of defensiveness in his voice..
"Yes you did," said Roquette. "Otherwise I would have recognized you right away instead of having to rack my brain." He uncurled a finger at Jerry and waved it slowly. "You quit eating my hamburgers and French fries just like all the rest of them! But that’s okay. After everybody begged me not to close the grill, I kept it open. But them we sold even less than before, so after another couple of months, with summer coming on, I said to hell with it and shut down the grill like I meant to in the first place. And you know what happened?"
"What?" asked Jerry.
"We did a lot less business at the grill, since all we had was coffee and Cokes and ice cream. But I wound up making a whole lot more money! One third the work, three times the profits! Drinks! It’s drinks where the money is, young fella, even if it’s just Cokes and coffee! Don’t you forget that if you want to have a restaurant!"
Roquette stopped again, the big smile still on his face, fading slowly. It wasn't until it was almost gone that he spoke again. "I’m sorry, tell me your name again?”
"Jerry. Dr. Jerry Wells.”
"That’s right. Doctor Wells. I don’t think I ever filled any of your prescriptions, did I? Probably weren't a doctor back then."
"And you probably didn't have hairball dissolvers or heartworm pills."
"Ha! No. That’s right, you’re the vet who put Lacey’s dead cat in a box."
"All right, all right," said Winifred. “You two old-timers can walk down memory lane later. But now it’s time to talk about Roquette’s Café and Grill!"
"Where's that?" Jerry asked.
"I'm sorry, but she'll have to tell you after I tell you the lunch specials," said the waiter, who’d been hovering and waiting for a chance to break in. "The fish is speckled trout or sea bream for the meuniere amandine. We do have smoked soft-shell crabs as an appetizer or an entree. The soup of the day is sorrel and oyster. And Chef Michel made tripe mode de Caen if you like tripe."
"Tripe! My God!" exclaimed Mr. Roquette, his tusks springing back into view. "Nobody has let me have tripe in thirty years. That’s for me!"
Book 1, Page 28.
Tripe And Crab.
The food started coming. Jerry had baked oysters Roland, which made the whole table smell good. Julie and Mr. Roquette had a salad. Winifred asked for and received a small portion of the tripe stew special for a starter.
"You know, I'm a chef, but I never ate tripe before, let alone cooked it," she said. "First time for everything!" She lifted a soft morsel from the orange-red sauce and put it into her mouth.
"You'll love it, I tell you," said Roquette.
"I've never had it either," Jerry said. He'd followed Roquette's lead and ordered the tripe entree, thinking this would further ingratiate the old man toward him. He was more correct about that than he thought. Roquette was satisfied with Jerry's good taste, but he shifted his attention to Julie, who said there was no way she would ever touch a cow's stomach for any reason.
"If you folks are going to run a restaurant, you need to try everything," Roquette said.
"Oh, I don't know," Julie said. "The kind of restaurant Jerry wants to open will have a menu of all the most popular dishes at other restaurants. I'm sure no restaurant makes a killing with tripe!"
"There's the chef," Roquette said, smiling with rightness and waving his hand toward a surprisingly old man in whites. "I'll show you how many people love tripe!"
Chef Roland Huet, the original chef here at Christian's, was officially retired. But he couldn't stop cooking, and today he was on the line. He saw what was on the table and stepped over, smiling broadly. "Here is the table that ordered three tripe stews!" he said, in French-accented words. "I'm proud of you!"
"Tell these girls how popular tripe stew is when it's made right," Roquette said. "You make it perfectly!"
The chef laughed. "It is a lot of work! I really only make it for me!" he said. "And a few other people. I call them when I cook the tripe. Nobody else wants to try it!"
Roquette's tusky smile faded at this news to a look of genuine disappointment. Julie brightened at the same rate. "See, I told you," she said. "People want shrimp and steak and fish and French fries, not cow stomach."
Chef Roland shook his head. "Quel domage, it's true. But the people who eat it love it enough to make up for everybody else!"
"Well, put me on your list!" said Winifred. She stuck out her hand at the end of a stiff arm. "I'm Chef Winifred Lancaster," she said. "I used to be at. . . well, a lot of places. But we're talking about opening a new restaurant, and we want that smoked soft-shell crab recipe!"
"It is easy," said the chef. "You smoke the crabs in a cold smoker at about a hundred degrees for about fifteen minutes. Use small crabs. Then you clean them, dust them with flour, and sautee in butter meuniere style."
"And that's it?"
"That's is all. It took me a year to get it right, but that's it!"
Winifred turned to Jerry. "I think we have our first menu item," she said.
We? thought Jerry. He hadn't even worked out the deal on Roquette's building, and already Winifred considered herself hired?
Book 1, Page 29.
The Uh-Oh.
"She's a doggone good chef, you know," said Bobby Roquette, gesturing toward Winifred with the pointy end of a piece of French bread. "You take her as your chef, and you'll be very happy." He tore off a piece of the bread, put the loaf down, picked up a butter knife, and gestured with it. "I would like that, too!"
Just like that, Roquette said the words Jerry most wanted to hear: that the old man was kindly disposed to Jerry's turning Roquette's Pharmacy into a restaurant. Still, Jerry felt he had to go ahead with his planned speech.
"You obviously seem to know that I'm the one who talked with your real estate people about taking over the place, Mr. Roquette," Jerry said. "But I feel like I'd better tell you what I plan to do, and we'd better talk about money. Especially the option to buy."
Roquette paused to finish spreading butter over the cone-shaped piece of bread, which he then waved up and down at Jerry. "Ah, let's not ruin our lunch, young fella," he said. "Let's talk about your memories of my drugstore some more. I'm getting really old. I have all the money I need. I want to get rid of all the things I've dragged around all my life. You take the drugstore, that's something else I don't have to carry."
Jerry nodded. This was sounding very good.
"How does a half million sound to you?" said Winifred.
This took the others aback. Roquette, who was adding still more butter to the bread, froze. "Five hundred thousand?" Julie blurted.
Jerry now had to react to two surprising utterances. He turned to Julie first, trying to assess what she meant by that. As usual, he failed.
"Well, that is a lot of money," Jerry said.
"Yes, it is," said Julie. "That's going to put a lot of pressure on us."
"You see what I mean," said Roquette. "Now the nice conversation we were having is over." He turned to Winifred and said, "That's the last time I'll let you be my real estate agent."
"A half million," said Jerry. "Well. But. . . I can't imagine it would be any less than that. Think of the location!"
"It is a good location, except for one thing," Roquette said. "Parking. We don't have any. That's what made me close the place. Nobody walks anywhere anymore. I'll bet you that's really why you stopped coming, for example."
Jerry hadn't thought of that, but it made sense. And then he felt a hand on his mid-thigh. He looked down to see Julie's hand curled into a fist, out of sight of everyone but himself. Her thumb was pointing up.
Jerry looked up at Julie and saw that certain faint smile that she gave when he was doing things right. It was his favorite look from her, and the rarest. Total approval. It was seductive. Jerry computed what it meant now, and came up with this: Julie had put on her real estate speculator hat and saw the purchase of the old Roquette's Pharmacy as a fine opportunity. If not for the restaurant, then at least for the real estate.
This was almost too easy. Without having to persuade, Jerry had the approval of the two most critical people for his restaurant project. He didn't realize that he was grinning about it until he saw another of those long-tooth smiles from Roquette.
"There's another catch," Roquette said.
"Uh-oh," said Jerry, still smiling.
"Yes," said Roquette. "My niece here wants to do the same thing you folks do. She has been bothering me about turning the drugstore into a restaurant for years. I'm her parran, you know, and she still thinks that I need to deliver the way I used to when she was a little girl." He paused to let a reminiscence form. "I came by every Christmas Eve with the biggest pile of toys and games you ever saw. All my kids were grown by then, but I still wanted to buy toys for kids. And my favorite kid was this mess of red hair with the big blue eyes."
"Stop it, Uncle Bobby!" Winifred said.
"No, I won't stop. I'm going to tell them about the other thing, too."
"Why do they need to know that?" Winifred protested, her eyebrows rising.
"If they're going to work with you, this is something they need to know," Roquette said. He turned and looked Jerry in the eye. "Dr. Wells, this girl needs responsibility. I love her, but she has a bad habit of living below her abilities. When she's cooking, she's a wonder. But at other times. . . well. . . "
Winifred broke in. "Let me cut to the chase. For a year and a half I worked in what they jokingly call a gentleman's club."
Book 1, Page 30.
The Partner.
Winifred's words brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. They weren't the kind that you could just brush past on your way to the main point of the meeting.
"Really! What did you do at the gentleman's club?" Jerry said, knowing as he did what a stupid question he'd asked.
"Look at me," Winifred said, shaking her dense, springy red hair and spreading her palms to display her chest. "What do you think I did? I was a dancer!"
"Oh," said Julie. Mr. Roquette just sat there, four or five of his tusks showing through his smile.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Winifred offered. "You might find it hard to believe, but even after doing that for sixteen months, I don't feel I became trash. To tell you the truth, the main reason I quit was that I didn't like the other girls. The tattoos and all that. Besides, I made so much money I could afford to leave and just goof off for awhile."
"No kidding," Jerry said, fascinated. Julie winced, but kept looking at Winifred, avoiding her eyes, smiling politely.
"Anyway," Winifred went on. "All that is behind me. I took the chef training and now a chef is what I am. Period."
Roquette was chuckling. "That wasn't the best idea you ever had, Winnie-girl. I was sad when I heard about it. Good thing you have a lot of self-confidence." He turned to Jerry. "And that's another reason I would like to make you a good deal on the drugstore. I'm hoping that as part of our deal Winifred can be a part of the business."
Roquette hardly had to explain the details. Jerry knew what it meant. Roquette would sell his old drugstore, maybe even at a sweetheart price, but only if the new business would adopt his beloved godchild.
And, as much as Jerry wanted to make the deal, something about that bugged Jerry, even though he too was interested in Winifred as his chef. But here was somebody attempting to make a decision for him, and Jerry chafed. He'd been his own boss for most of his adult life, and liked it that way.
Julie had her own reaction. "Now, hold on a minute," she said, sounding a touch more testy than she'd meant to. "I haven't even decided whether I'm working at this place, let alone anybody else. Can we leave the hiring out of the real estate deal?"
Roquette raised his palm and smiled. "I'm not talking about hiring," he said. "I'm talking about a partnership. I think Winifred wants to be a part of the business in some way, right, Winnie?"
"Maybe we need to get back to the gentleman's club matter," said Julie.
Forward to Pages 31-45.
© 2006 Tom Fitzmorris. All rights reserved. news@nomenu.com