What Happens to Goodbye(19)

My dad watched, his expression unreadable, as Leo ambled across the room and down the stairs. Once the door at the bottom banged shut, he said, “I can’t tell if this is a restaurant or a charity foundation. I mean, that guy can’t even work a spray bottle.”
“He does seem a little useless,” I agreed.
“It’s epidemic here.” He walked over to the windows again, looking out. “Unfortunately, I can’t fire everyone. At least not right away.”
I stood with him, watching the street below. It was a pretty spot, framed by tall trees on either side, bending toward us. “Opal seems nice.”
“I don’t need her to be nice,” he said. “I need her to take control of her staff and implement the changes I tell her to. Instead, she argues every single point, wasting endless amounts of tim
We were quiet for another moment. Then I said, “Did you know she’s worked here since she was in high school?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t exactly sound interested.
I nodded. “It was her first job. She really loves this place.”
“That’s nice,” he said. “But all the love in the world won’t save a sinking ship. You have to either bail or jump overboard.”
I thought of Opal, sitting on that milk crate, looking so tired. Maybe she was ready to find an island somewhere in need of a dancer or art historian, and my dad was doing her a favor by giving her a plank to walk. I wanted to believe that. It was part of the job, too.
“Look, I’m sorry for the outburst. I’m in a crap mood right now,” he said, sliding a hand over my shoulder. “Hey, want to come down for the staff meal? It’s the first run of the all-new menu. I could use someone there who actually likes me.”
“I’m your girl,” I said.
He smiled at me, and I followed him to the stairs. We were halfway down when he paused, looking back at me. “She called you Liz,” he said. It wasn’t a question, exactly. But I knew what he was asking.
“A misunderstanding,” I told him. “I’ll straighten it out.”
He nodded, and led me the rest of the way to the bar and main dining room. There, the employees were gathered around for the mandatory nightly meeting and staff meal he implemented at every restaurant. I looked for Opal, finding her at the end of the bar, taking in the plates lined up all down it, a different dish on each, with a wary look on her face.
“All right, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” my dad said.
The group grew quieter, then silent. I watched him square his shoulders and take a breath.
“Tonight,” he began, his voice loud and confident, “we start the first phase of the reincarnation of Luna Blu. Our menu is smaller, our dishes less complicated, our ingredients fresher and more local. You will recognize some items. Others are brand-new. Now if you could just pick up a menu and read along with me, let’s start at the top.”
Opal passed out the one-page, laminated menus stacked on a nearby bar stool. As the group looked them over, there were some grunts. Some groans. One boo, although I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It wasn’t going to be easy, this moment, or this night. But my dad had seen much worse. And as he continued, I slid into a booth just behind him, so he’d know I was there.
“Disaster.”

This was the one-word response I received the next morning when I found my dad already awake, scrambling eggs in the kitchen, and asked him how things had gone the night before. I’d tried to stay up and wait for him, but had fallen asleep around midnight when he still wasn’t home. Now I knew why.
“First new menu run is always tough,” I reminded him, pulling two plates out of the cabinet.
“This wasn’t tough,” he replied, stirring the eggs with a flick of his wrist. It was ridiculous. We were in the weeds in the first hour and never recovered, with only half the tables seated. I’ve never seen such rampant disorganization. And the attitude! It’s mind-boggling.”
I put the plates on our small kitchen table, then got some forks and napkins and sat down. “That stinks.”
“What stinks,” he said, still on a roll, “is that now I have to go back there and figure out how to fix it all before service tonight.”
I stayed quiet as he turned, sliding a generous portion of yellow, fluffy eggs onto the plate in front of me. But what I’d said was true: the first night of a new menu always went terribly, with staff members either imploding or exploding, the customers left unhappy or downright angry, and my dad deciding the whole effort was doomed. This sequence was almost required, part of the process. He never seemed to remember this from place to place, though, and reminding him was useless.
“The thing is,” he continued, dumping some eggs on the other plate before sitting down across from me, “a restaurant is only as strong as its chef. And this place has no chef.”
“What about Leo?”
“He’s the kitchen manager, although God only knows who thought he was qualified for that position. The chef quit about a week ago, after Chuckles starting asking questions about some hinky stuff his financial guys found in the books. Apparently, he did not feel like providing an explanation.”
“So you need to hire someone?”
“I would,” he said, “but no chef worth his salt would take the job with the state of the place right now. I need to implement the new menu, streamline operations, and clean house, both literally and figuratively, before I even think about bringing anyone else in.”
“That sounds easy,” I said.