It never lasts.
I couldn’t tell you what brought me here now, but as I’m pulling into the parking lot of l’Iris for the very
first time in a car driven under my own power, I know where I’m going. For the first time in a long time, I know where I’m going.
I’m through the back door and standing outside Jim’s office before anyone sees me.
That’s going to work to my benefit.
I knock.
“Come in.”
I open the door.
“Dane,” Jim says. “You’re not on tonight, are you? I thought Cannon was running the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s running it through a wood chipper,” I tell him, “but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay,” he says and leans back in his chair. “Why are you here then?”
“Jim, I get that you’ve got to cut some spending, but you’ve kept me on this long. I know you don’t want to let me go.”
“Yeah, I told you that—”
“Just let me finish,” I say.
This is probably the most respectful I’ve ever been to my boss.
“Okay.”
“Jim, I don’t mean to sound like a clingy girlfriend or something, but I need to know where this is going. If you’re going to fire me, fire me now. I’m not just going to sit around and wait for it to happen. If you’re not going to fire me, well, I have a few ideas.”
He puts his hands together, interlocking his fingers.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“First,” I tell him, “we dump Cannon. I’m sorry Jim, but he’s just nowhere near good enough. Even when I am there pissing down his neck, he’s only ever half on, and you know that’s not anywhere near cutting it.”
“Dane, I don’t think firing Cannon is going to—”
“Next,” I interrupt, “we promote Wilks to executive chef and demote me—with pay decrease—to sous chef. He’s going to need me for guidance over the first couple of weeks, but he’s really one of the most talented guys I’ve ever worked with in this business. When he came in here, he didn’t know the difference between crème brûlée and a ramekin full of baked spunk, but within a week, he was up to speed. He doesn’t know everything we do just yet, but I know he can learn, and he’s got some fresh ideas that I think will really bring the customers in and get them talking.”
“I get that you’re trying to save your own job, but putting one of your underlings up as executive chef isn’t going to get me to let him go instead of—”
“You won’t want to let him go,” I tell Jim. “You hire him on as executive chef and cut the pay of the position by 20 percent. It’s still going to be about double what he’s making, so I really don’t see him complaining.”
“I can’t have a sous chef making more than my executive,” Jim says, “that’s a steaming vat of resentment I’d prefer to keep out of my restaurant.”
“I know, Jim,” I tell him. “That’s why you keep me below what you give to Wilks. With Cannon gone and your head and sous chefs cut back on pay, you’re going to be saving a lot of money, and I’m not out enough cash to screw things for me, either.”
“What’s the catch?” Jim asks, leaning forward. “You’ve never once said anything positive about Wilks. Why is he suddenly the golden boy? I don’t see what you get out of this.”
“I never told you about Wilks because, well, honestly, I didn’t want you to figure out that he’s better than I am and do exactly what I’m telling you to do now.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jim asks again.
“I want to keep my job,” I tell him. “I was getting a blowjob from this freak I’ve been nailing a few weeks in the parking lot of Yankee Stadium—”