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“Maybe she’s ready for us?” Frank cried, turning back toward the kitchen. “Hello?”
The door between the kitchen and the dining room opened to reveal a forty-something woman with dark brown hair and a trim figure. In all chef whites, she looked prestigious and immaculate, as though she’d never once made an error in the kitchen and demanded that sort of precision from her sous chefs and line cooks.
It took Rachelle a few blinks to remember where she knew her from. This was Diana March, the wife of the acclaimed chef Ryan March. For twenty years—since Rachelle was a child—Diana and Ryan had had a cooking show that had taken them all around the world. They’d made sushi with the grand sushi masters in Japan. They’d dipped fondue in France. They’d driven to the depths of the south to craft the perfect barbecue. They’d spent an entire year roaming South America, experiencing its exquisite cuisine, and sharing it with their viewers at home.
Everyone knew who Ryan and Diana March were. And everyone lauded Ryan as an immaculate, handsome, and worldly chef.
It was just bizarre to see Diana without Ryan. It was like salt without pepper.
“Let’s give a warm welcome to Diana March,” Frank said, clapping his hands and urging the staff to do the same. “We can’t wait to get started.”
Frank went on to explain that the restaurant was changing in more ways than one.
“Starting today, that crew huddling outside in their vans will be filming everything that happens here,” Frank explained. “We have a brand-new name for the restaurant, with a brand-new backstory.”
Rachelle squinted with confusion at Frank. A new backstory? Could you just “invent” the truth on national television?
“Our restaurant’s new name is The Clam Factory,” Frank said. “We’ve been struggling for years to make ends meet. Now, the wonderful and talented Diana March walks through the door to change things around here. She’s going to whip us into shape.”
The back of Rachelle’s neck was warm. She was confused and slightly angry. Why did they have to pretend that they’d been a mess of a restaurant before Diana came? She was proud of the work she’d done since her arrival last year. She itched to raise her hand and create an issue. But the look in Frank’s eyes told her her problems were not his problems. If she didn’t get on board, she could go home.
More than that, Rachelle had a hunch this would ultimately be great for her career. She’d be on television, working under the world-famous Diana March. Sure, her husband wasn’t around. But maybe he would make guest appearances? Maybe he would join them in the kitchen from time to time and tell stories of their marvelous months abroad.
Rachelle could eventually tell him how inspired she was by him. She had to remember not to gush.
Frank went on to explain that they had a number of contracts for the team to sign. “It’s legal stuff,” he said, gesturing toward the stack of papers. “So we can put your beautiful faces on television.”
Paul and Benny went up to sign their names first. They didn’t bother to read the fine print on any of the pages, which gave Rachelle pause.
“Do you think there’s a trap hidden in there?” Rachelle whispered in Eddie’s ear.
Eddie laughed. “A trap? Nah. Come on, Rach. We’re going to be famous!” He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. It was more than he’d touched her, perhaps ever, and she nearly wilted on the spot.
One of the television show creators caught Rachelle’s eye and smiled. Rachelle smiled back. Was there something sinister about the way he looked at her? She was overthinking it. Probably.
As the servers traded papers, signing their names, Frank waved for Rachelle to approach him and Diana. Rachelle hurried over, feeling foolish. Some of the camera workers were already warming up the cameras, getting interior shots of “The Clam Factory.” Rachelle wasn’t sure what she felt about the name.
“Diana, this is your sous chef, Rachelle,” Frank said. “Rachelle, I’m sure you know Diana March’s excellent work in the culinary world?”
Diana peered at Rachelle with what looked like a mix of displeasure and confusion. Rachelle remembered how, on television, Diana had often been so conceited and boring compared to Ryan. She hadn’t shared much of herself on-screen; she hadn’t taken risks in the kitchen, and she hadn’t smiled warmly the way Ryan always had. In fact, she looked just as she did now—unhappy and unsure if she wanted to be there.
Rachelle wanted to tell her, on the spot, that she would take the job instead. But she smiled and shook Diana’s hand, saying, “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
Diana lent her a soft smile that she immediately let die.
“Rachelle is your sous chef,” Frank pointed out. “She graduated from culinary school just last year and joined us immediately after.”
Diana’s cheek twitched. “You didn’t want to go to the city? Somewhere abroad?”
“I grew up in Nantucket,” Rachelle said. “I wanted to be close to family for a while.”
Diana looked like she wasn’t sure why anyone would want that. Rachelle immediately resented it—but also understood the sentiment. She’d watched her colleagues wander across the world, working in kitchens in Paris, London, Stockholm, and Dublin. She couldn’t help but compare her success to theirs.
But she was going to be on television! That was something.
“Your parents must be happy about that,” Diana said.
Rachelle raised her shoulders. “Will Ryan be joining at all?”
