The Bar and Grill Pt. 02

Nicole was prepared, though. In response to my question, she reached under the counter, pulled out a ragged notebook, flipped it open, and slid it across to me.

I looked down and read. She had written the complete recipe, a simple sketch of the presentation with notes, and a complete tally of the costs of all aspects of the dish--veggies, sauce, vinaigrette, skewers, and--zero cost noted because we just threw it away before or tossed it into broth where it added little or nothing--chicken skins. The four pages were covered in notes showing the progress of the dish, ideas crossed out and others with exclamation points. All told, she had been thorough and spent quite a bit of time on this.

"Will it sell?"

I saw a smile curling her lips. She knew I liked it and that she had been completely prepared. Now she gave me the simplest answer, the one she knew would prove her preparations thorough.

"We'll see when Lonnie Mackie shows up, won't we?"

I laughed, shaking my head at the same time. "Fuckin' chicken skins. Who'd a thought, huh?"

She shrugged, her smile turning into an all too rare full-fledged grin.

"So you like it?"

"No," I said. "I love it. It's better than anything else we currently have--for my tastes, at least--and you manage to fully justify charging four times the food cost. And I don't think anyone will squawk, either."

Then a thought hit me, and my joy turned serious.

"When have you been working on this, Nicole?"

"When I get home at night."

"But you've got a little boy to spend time with," I said. "Don't get me wrong. I really appreciate this, appreciate your hustle and all. Still, I feel a little guilty that you're doing this at home on your own time."

Her grin faded to a simple smile.

"He's with me when I'm doing it."

"That's not enough," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some cash. I took a hundred dollar bill and slid it across to her. "Take this. Please."

She looked from the bill in front of her, then back to me. "That's not why I did this, Tim."

I shook my head. "Then why did you do it?"

"To see if I could."

I nodded. "Well, it's official. You can. And now that you know that, you should get paid for it."

She shook her head, but I insisted.

"Listen," I reasoned. "I'm going to make money off of this. If my guess is right, this will be our most profitable appetizer, one we'll be running out of because I can't justify more chickens just to get the skins. And if you help me make money, especially if you do it on your free time, then that time shouldn't be free. You should be paid. If you had done it here, you'd have been paid."

She said nothing, just looking at me now with a face that had again become a mask.

"Besides," I said. "I want you to keep doing this. Preferably here at work when we can squeeze in the time. And if I pay you for it, you're more likely to keep doing it for me. Okay?"

She only nodded before picking up the money and thrusting it into her pocket.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

And without another word, she turned and started in on the few remaining chickens waiting to be cut up.

I watched for a minute, trying to fathom her thoughts and read her reaction.

But I was unsuccessful, as I'd been with Nicole from day one.

If she was a book, she was written in a language I'd never seen and could not fathom.

I soon learned, though, that others could read that language.

People like Jenny.