♫You know I can't smile without you♫
♫I can't smile without you♫
♫I can't laugh♫
♫and I can't sing♫
♫I'm findin' it hard to do anything♫
♫You see, I feel sad when you're sad♫
♫I feel glad when you're glad♫
♫If You only knew what I'm going through♫
♫I just can't smile without you♫
♫You came along just like a song♫
♫and brightened my day♫

High Stakes
Chapter 14

    I made a couple of calls on my way back to the office. First I left a message with Morgan reminding her to come by and give me a report on her application for a wait staff position at Miss Steak, and, of course, to stop in the kitchen to grab a steak or two to go on her way.

    Next I dialed the restaurant myself and asked to speak to the owner.

    “Who may I tell her is calling?” asked the voice on the other end, which I suspected belonged to Sadie, the hostess.

    I cleared my throat and replied haughtily, “I am Jacques Pate. Famous French chef. Perhaps you have heard of me.”

    “No, actually I haven’t,” she answered without a trace of remorse. “I’ll connect you.”

    I waited, humming along to a peppy Barry Manilow tune. Suddenly a silky smooth voice sidled across the line, wrapping itself around me like a feather boa: “This is Seva. How may I help you?”

    I couldn’t speak. I was instantly smitten. I had to impress her.

    “Hello? Is anyone there?”

    Finally I found my voice. Focus on the mission, I told myself. “Yes, yes. Bad connection. I am calling from France. My name is Jacques. Jacques Pate. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am a famous chef.” For authenticity, I added, “Oui, vive la France.”

    There was a pause and then Seva said, “Monsieur Pate, qu’une surprise!”

    I nearly dropped my phone. Seva knew French. I, unfortunately, did not. Why oh why had I let Morgan talk me out of being Italian? I searched my brain for appropriate French phrases. “Bon appetite!” I declared at last. Before she could respond, I forged ahead. “I wish to visit your fine establishment. Perhaps I could spend a day in the kitchen with your chef.”

    “Il s’appelle Bullet,” was her cryptic response. Bullet, I knew, was the chef, but the rest of it was a complete mystery.

    “Oui! Joi de vivre!” I enthused, hoping my positive attitude would distract her. Clearly this was the time for yes or no questions. “May I come tomorrow?”

    “Oui,” she began, and I quickly interrupted with my next question.

    “Noon? Would that be good?”

    “Oui, c’est bien.”

    I quickly ended the conversation with “Adios.” I was excited about the prospect of a day in the kitchen at Miss Steak. But even more enticing was the possibility of meeting Seva face to face. I could tell she would love me.