Let Them Eat Cake Page 10

  “I always have time for you, Alexandra,” he said, smiling as he walked back into the bakery. I felt like butter on hot bread.

  I focused on the pastries, hoping my face wouldn’t give me away. Patricia made the most wonderful mocha mousses, but the tops looked a little plain. I took each one out of the case and shaved some dark chocolate over it before placing one small coffee bean in the center. I put them back into the case.

  “How old is Luc?” I asked Sophie, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “I think he’s twenty-eight,” she said. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  She looked at me a little too long before turning away.

  We got through the lunch rush, and Sophie cleaned up the café. I cleaned up the sandwich station and made a small salad for her out of the leftover greens, lettuce, and onions, with a vinaigrette of lemon juice and oil. I salted it and handed it to her.

  “Go sit down for a sec,” I said, breaking off a piece of baguette. “You look really tired.”

  “I am,” she said. “I was out all weekend, and I’m still not caught up, even with the day off yesterday. Things don’t look good for me and Roger. What did you do this weekend?”

  “Hung out at home,” I said. “Met a friend for lunch. Went to church.”

  “That’s why you wanted Sunday mornings to be your late day.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must be serious.”

  I shrugged and said, “I’m trying.”

  She took the salad, thanked me for it, and paged through the Living section of the Seattle Times. When she was done, she ran her dishes to the kitchen and then came up front.

  “Did you eat lunch?”

  When I said no, she took half a leftover sandwich from the prep case and handed it to me. “I’ll write it on the inventory list,” she said. “You eat.”

  As I sat down, I thought, It’s so much nicer being at peace with Sophie

  After we restocked the inventory, she pulled a business card out of her wallet. “Have you ever heard of this church?”

  I looked at the card. Barb’s House of Miracles? Uh-oh.

  I shook my head. “But I don’t know every church, of course.”

  “Someone told me that the minister started on TV,” Sophie said, putting the card away. “I just wondered.”

  In her wallet I saw a picture of two younger teens, one who looked like Sophie in a cheerleading uniform.

  “Your sister?” I asked.

  “Nope, me.”

  My eyes widened. “You used to be a cheerleader?”

  She looked at the picture again, pain in her eyes. “I keep this because its the only photo I have of my friend Kim and me. She died a couple years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Me too.”

  The silence stretched.

  “You know, Sophie,” I said, “you could come to church with me sometime.” I waited, ready for her to shoot me down. She did.

  “I work Sunday mornings, remember.”

  “We could go to the meeting during the week,” I said. “At night. The twenty-three-to thirty-year-olds meet then.” I decided not to mention anything about it being called the Impact Group or Nonna’s idea of ripe fruit.

  Sophie tilted her head and thought about it. “I’d like that. It might be nice to mix a little Christianity onto my palette with the Buddhism and Hinduism, you know? Jesus must have been a very nice man.”

  Luc strode into the room. “Hey, is this a sorority party?”

  Sophie winked at me and turned to clean the coffee machine.

  “Alexandra, you wanted to talk with me?” Luc asked.

  I nodded and wiped my hands on my apron.

  “Bon,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you, too.”

  I took a deep breath and chose the table farthest into the corner of the café. Luc came over with a cup of coffee. “Would you like one?” he asked.

  I declined. I had enough jitters.

  “Alors,” he said. “We begin.”

  I folded my hands on the table to keep them from shaking. “First, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I messed up the Davis, Wilson, and Marks order,” I said. “It must have been during a rush time, but I know how important they are to L’Esperance.”

  Luc kept his eyes on me. “They are a high-end client, Alexandra, and they order expensive trays. Their word of mouth is very important.”

  I had expected that, but it still deflated me. “Have they ordered again this week? Or last?” Luc asked.

  “If they have, I haven’t taken their order.”

  “Ah,” Luc said. “Too bad.” He drained his cup of coffee. “From what I hear, you have a Gallic temper.”

  So he’d heard about that. “Oh no, not really,” I said. “I think everything was fine. Really, I’m not like that at all.”

  Luc’s eyes twinkled. “I know, Alexandra, I’ve been watching you. I know what you’re like. Was there anything else?”

  Well, yes, actually I’d like that assistant manager’s job.

  “Yes. I don’t know if you know the church around the corner,” I said, “but my grandmother goes there, and they have a soup kitchen each Saturday night. They needed bread, and, well, I paid for our leftover bread last Saturday night and took it over. I was wondering, if it was okay with you, could I buy it at a discount and do that each week?”

  Luc looked at me, and I held his gaze. I felt like a jelly doughnut for so many reasons. Okay, jelly doughnuts aren’t French, but still I am American, afterall.

  “Is that your church?” he asked.

  “No, it’s my grandmother’s church.”

  “Alexandra, you may take, free of charge, whatever we have leftover on Saturday night. And if there are day-old pastries, you may take those at the end of each night, too, and give them to those who need them. How much did you pay for the bread last Saturday night?”

  “I think about ten dollars,” I said. “We had ten baguettes leftover.” Saturdays were big baking days, because people often bought bread to serve over the weekend. But it also meant we often had leftovers.

  “Reimburse yourself from the till,” Luc said. “Je t’admire, Alexandra,” he said, using the familiar form of “you” to tell me he admired me. To go from a formal relationship to a familiar one makes quite a statement in French. A boundary had been crossed. Land had been taken!

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’d better get back to work.”

  “One more thing.” Luc motioned for me to sit down. “I’d like to talk with you about your job.”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes.

  “Sure.” I folded my hands again, thankful I hadn’t had any coffee.

  “Things are slowing down up front, and I probably should have hired a part-time person when I hired you instead of a full-time one. But Patricia is busy in the back. Too busy to keep up. I wondered if you’d like to be half in the front of the house, during the rushes to help Sophie, and half in the back, to help Patricia. It might be the best for everyone.”

  I stood up and then sat down again. “What would I be doing? Could I bake?” My hands shook with a completely different emotion.

  “Ah, non. Probably not. You’d do whatever Patricia wanted you to do. Dishes, errands, but maybe more, too, par la suite. I’ve noticed you have a way with the food, and maybe you like working with the food more than the customers.”

  My cheeks flushed, remembering the special order. Did he really feel I’d be good with the food, or was he telling me I wasn’t good with customers?

  “Is it okay with Sophie?” I asked. “She doesn’t want to work in the bakery too?”

  “Sophie has no interest in the food, as you know,” he said. “Le vegan.”

  “Is Patricia okay with me helping her?”

  “I don’t know,” Luc admitted. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  “Me? Ask Patricia?”

  “Only La Patricia will decide who she works with and if she needs h
elp, even though you and I can both see she does. Can you handle that, Alexandra?”

  Patricia hadn’t said an unnecessary, kind, or conversational word to me since I’d left the walk-in door open. Since I’d started at L’Esperance, actually. Was this a challenge? A test? The more I learned about running the café, the bakery, and everything around them, the more valuable—and managerial—I’d be. They could hardly open more stores until the current ones were safely managed by others, and I knew that was Luc’s goal.

  And if Luc weren’t here every day, it might be easier to get to know one another personally too. Without that fraternization issue getting in the way.

  “Mais oui!” I responded. “I’d like that.”

  “Voilà! Talk with Patricia soon, at the end of her shift. Find an agreeable moment, if you can. I’m sure she’ll let me know what she thinks about the matter.” He laughed.

  He could afford to find her funny. He wasn’t the one about to risk his life asking if she needed help.

  Luc went back to his office and shut the door.

  “What do you think?” Sophie asked after I told her the plan. “Are you willing to work with La Patricia?”

  “I need the hours,” I said. If anyone’s hours were going to be cut, Sophie had seniority. I was glad she had no interest in the food or special projects.

  She wiped down the counter. “I understand. Did Luc say anything about that special order? I heard one of the croissant rollers telling him about the ‘let them eat cake’ comment. Auguste, I think. His mustache was waggling.”

  “Auguste! The snitch. I wondered how Luc found out. Luc was a little disappointed, I think, that there have been no more special orders from them.”

  “Sorry,” Sophie said. “When do you start with Patricia?”

  “As soon as I ask her for the job,” I said.

  “You have to ask her?”

  I grimaced. “If she refuses to work with me, there’s not much Luc can do about it.”

  “Ooh la la,” Sophie said, shaking her head.

  “I thought you didn’t speak French?”

  “Lexi, ‘ooh la la’ isn’t exactly college-level French.”

  I blushed. “I’m sorry; you’re right. That was stupid.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I haven’t always been cool to you. Are you going to ask her in French or English?”

  “French,” I said. “She’s been bullying me too long.”

  “Good luck,” Sophie said.

  “Bon courage is more like it,” I said.

  I peeked into the pastry room just in time to see Patricia scream at one of the delivery drivers. The Trois Amis ducked out of her way. I’ll ask her tomorrow, I thought.

  “Be at peace with everyone,” I heard.

  Yes, Lord, thank you. I talked with Luc and Sophie, and it worked out great, didn’t it?

  “Be at peace with everyone,” I sensed again.

  Oh yeah, no worries, Patricia will see things Luc’s way. She’s way behind. I can deal with her bluster. I have no choice. I need the hours; she needs the help.

  “Be at peace with everyone.”

  Like Samuel, three times hearing the voice caught my attention. As I walked past the catering area, I noticed the silver tray had not been returned.

  I need to apologize, don’t I? And get the tray back. I don’t even know who he is, God. What am I supposed to do, call up the firm and ask for the cute young accountant who wears suspenders? I’d apologize if I could, and if he ever comes back in, I will. But otherwise, I have no way to reach him.

  I washed my hands of the matter. I had enough to worry about.

  I walked to the front of the café and wiped down the counter, thinking about where I could place the produits de la France rack. Maybe if Luc liked the idea, he’d put one in La Couronne too. It’d be my personal touch.

  As I worked my way down the counter, I moved the fishbowl that held business cards for the weekly free-lunch drawing. I wondered if Sophie had drawn one this week. Maybe I’d ask if I could do it. Delivering good news would be fun.

  I poked around in the cards, and one caught my eye.

  As I stared at the card in my hand, I remembered seeing him flip it into the fish bowl while waiting for his order.

  Not an accountant. Another lawyer!

  Nul bien sans peine.

  No pain, no gain.

  Oh great. Now I had to call him. The problem was I didn’t want anyone listening to what I had to say.

  I snapped my fingers. Voilà. I’d call from the walk-in.

  “I’ll be back in just a sec,” I told Sophie, who was brushing the crumbs out of the pastry case.

  I walked into the cooler, the only private place in the entire café, and shut the door. Luc had installed a handle on the inside so no one would get locked in.

  I dialed the number on the business card and a woman’s voice answered. “Davis, Wilson, and Marks. How may I help you?”

  She sounded like someone whose pedicure polish matched her manicure. I resisted the urge to tug on a hangnail. “Hello. May I speak with Dan Larson, please?”

  “Let me check if he’s in…”

  Blue veins started to rise to the surface of my skin and I shivered. The walk-in must be chillier than normal.

  Within seconds, a man’s voice came on. “This is Dan.”

  “Hello, my name is Alexandra Stuart,” I began. In the silence between us, I felt the vibe of someone expecting a telemarketer. I shuddered through a flashback from my marketing job. “I work at L’Esperance,” I continued. “The French bakery that did your special order?”

  “Oh yes, yes,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “Well, two things. One, I was the person who messed up your order. I wanted to apologize for that.”

  “Thank you, Alexandra. The cake platter you designed worked out really well.”

  My chilled knees were practically knocking. I could hear Auguste and the other Trois Amis clattering about in the pastry room outside of the walk-in. Please don’t open the door, I willed them.

  “I also wanted to apologize for losing my temper,” I continued. “It was my fault and nothing you did. I was having a stress-fill day, and I took it out on you. I hope you won’t hold it against L’Esperance.”

  I heard him exhale in the silence. “No need to worry—but thank you, Alexandra. Did we ever return your silver platter?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think so. If you bring it back,” I infused my voice with cheerfulness, “we can fill it with another order!”

  “I’ll bring it back,” he said in a softer voice. “And ask for you personally. I’ve got a client waiting, but I’ll see you soon. Thanks for calling.” He hung up.

  All right, God. I did it. Im at peace with everyone.

  As I fled into the warmth of the café, I couldn’t help thinking that Dan Larson had a nice voice.

  I dressed with care the next morning, planning to talk with Patricia that day. Lord, if it’s okay with you, it would be so cool to work with the pastries and the front of the house. To be prepared to know the entire restaurant operation.

  I wanted to make Luc proud of me too.

  Sophie and I handled the rush, and the morning went well.

  “I guess I’d better go talk with Patricia,” I said. She’d only been there a few minutes, as she spent most mornings at La Couronne. Luc switched places with her during the day, but I thought they already had an assistant manager over there.

  “Bon courage,” Sophie whispered to me.

  I tightened my apron and walked past the Trois Amis. Auguste crossed himself, as if I were heading into an oncoming train. Luc smiled and winked. “Bonne chance, Alexandra. Don’t let me down.”

  I wouldn’t. It was time I started going after what I really wanted.

  “Je m’excuse,” I said, standing in the door of the pastry room.

  Patricia grunted. “Yes?” she responded in English.

  “Do you have a moment to talk?” I
persisted in French.

  “No, but I suppose you’ll talk anyway. Go ahead, Alexandra.”

  I stepped into the room. “I really admire the work you’ve done with the pastries; they look beautiful and sell well. I’ve always liked to bake.”

  “This is not the Betty Crocker home kitchen, Alexandra,” she said, arranging flash-frozen apple slices in a tart shell. “These are not Easy-Bake Oven sets.”

  For a Frenchwoman, she was remarkably up-to-date on American toys.

  “I know you need help,” I said. “I’ve seen it, and Luc confirmed it. I could work half the days in the front, during the rushes, and half back here, helping you.”

  Patricia seemed unmoved, silently doing up one tart after another.

  Summoning the courage Sophie had wished me, I made sure my voice was respectfully modulated but clear and strong. “If I were back here helping, there’d be candied lemon slices on the lemon tarts, as there should be.”

  She stopped shuffling the apples and pastry and looked me in the eye. She was only a couple of years older than me but seemed like she’d suffered one oven burn too many. She patted her hair net.

  “Bon, Alexandra,” she finally said. “You can start with me tomorrow. I’ll leave a list of minor tasks and add to it during the day.”

  With extreme self-control, I stopped an ear-to-ear grin. Instead, I allowed a petite smile. “Thank you, Patricia. I will strive to be of great help to you.”

  “Make sure that you do.”

  Patricia would only be here until summer, Luc had said, and then she was heading back to France and her sister would come here to learn the family business in her place. I could deal with anyone until summer. I hoped the sister had more sugar in her makeup than starch.

  The days passed, and soon I’d been working with Patricia for a couple of weeks. Patricia dirtied dishes, I washed them. Patricia laid out a recipe, I set the ingredients on the counter.

  “Not vanilla beans, Alexandra,” she’d shout. “Vanilla sugar.”

  Bon. Then don’t just write “vanilla” on the recipe, I thought. I ran back and got the sugar anyway.