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There’s a brief silence as we all absorb the significance of our gathering.
“I’m ready,” Steve whispers, his fatigue evident in his voice. “It’s time.”
Chapter 19
Cat’s Out of the Bag
Randy
This morning, I struggle to even stand on my feet. Throughout the final hours of filming, the thought of going home, seeing Gina, and finally getting some rest propelled me forward. But now, the reality is far from what I imagined. Yesterday, Jeremy and I checked Steve into the same rehab center that helped me recover. The future is uncertain—whether the treatment will work for him this time is unclear. It’s all up to Steve now; his journey is his own.
Steve’s recent decision brings a glimmer of hope. Thank goodness for Jeremy and his lawyer. Because of their thorough examination of the loan agreement, we discovered that Steve could transfer his loan to another individual if the overdue balance was settled within forty-five days of default. When Jeremy paid off Steve’s debt, he inadvertently met the deadline. Long story short, yesterday, Steve agreed to transfer the mortgage to me, and I’ve deposited the balance of the loan into an escrow account. Soon, ownership of Calypso will be mine.
It’s odd standing outside Calypso, seeing chains and a hefty black padlock securing the doors. Even though it’s a disheartening moment, I’m eager to step inside and breathe in the familiar scent of the place once again. The anticipation of wandering through the kitchen, knowing it belongs to me, is exciting.
I have ideas to turn our town into a culinary hotspot, beginning with my own restaurant. My ambitions go beyond just my own establishment. I want to work with other restaurants who are interested in transforming their menus and services. By improving the dining experience throughout our town, visitors drawn by my restaurant will also discover the variety of delicious foods our community has to offer. My hope is that our collective effort will make our town a prime destination for food lovers.
My ambitious goals prompted me to reach out to Deanna to ask if she’s willing to support me in taking on this monumental task. We talked about my next steps after the show ended. She suggested I go back to New York and start my own restaurant. I assured her that this place, this town, is where I belong.
“All right, Randy,” she said, pacifying me. “You’re tired. Go home, rest, and we’ll revisit this conversation in a month or two.”
Neither of us could’ve guessed that I would’ve bought the Calypso. When I pitched to her my plan to make this town a culinary pit stop, she didn’t shut me down.
“Will Jeremy be involved?” she quipped.
I couldn’t help but smirk at the mental image of her playfully batting her eyelashes at Jeremy.
Keeping the conversation honest, I responded, “Only if we need his business acumen.”
“But I need him.” She snorted with laughter. “Well, not really need, but I definitely want him. So what’s the deal with him these days? Has he found a girlfriend yet?”
“Not yet,” I replied. Our longstanding friendship and her role as my formidable manager have always been built on honesty, which is why I have to tell her the whole truth. “You know, I told him you’re interested, but he’s just not looking for a relationship at the moment, although he is flattered.”
Deanna let out a cynical laugh. “Ah, ‘flattered.’ That’s the polite way of saying ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ But yeah, count me in.”
Her response was a huge weight off my shoulders. Deanna is a seasoned expert in launching, sustaining, and popularizing restaurants and chefs. If she ever claimed credit for making Chef Randy Thorn, it wouldn’t be a fib. She’d be stating the unvarnished truth. As my manager, she took a leap of faith when nobody else would. Even during my lowest moments, she stood by me unwaveringly. I owe much of my success in the competition to her. Without her guidance, I doubt I would have made it as far as I did.
Discovering she was a fellow contestant on the show came as a shock. When another chef dropped out, production asked her to step in. While a heads-up would have been nice, having her there was an advantage. She coached me through the challenges, kept my spirits high, and reminded me of what was at stake, just as any effective manager would. Her presence was a reassuring force throughout the competition.
A blue sedan, followed closely by a white pickup truck, glides into the parking lot. I wave at Deanna, who is behind the wheel of the sedan. Despite the early hour, she made the journey from Boston and spent the morning at the local bank, working tirelessly to ensure the doors would be unchained today. While part of me longed to remain snug in bed for the next twenty-four hours, I knew that if anyone could accomplish getting us the keys and inside before the bureaucracy was finalized, it was Deanna. Sure enough, she managed to get it done.
“Randy, Dandy,” she calls out as she emerges from the driver’s seat, exuding brightness and cheerfulness. Deanna seems well-rested, having had a full night’s sleep ahead of me.
“Grr,” I playfully groan, earning a laugh from her.
However, the closer she gets, the more concerned she looks. “You look terrible,” she says.
“Physically, I feel terrible,” I admit. “But inside, I’m throwing a party, overjoyed that he’s here with those.” I gesture toward the keys in the hand of the individual who will soon unlock the door to my new restaurant and allow us to step inside.
* * *
With a newfound spring in my step, I lead Deanna through our walk-through of the establishment. The place needs a thorough cleaning—that’s for sure. I catch sight of a bunch of soiled aprons, towels, and tablecloths hanging on hooks, awaiting the night cleaning service that never came.
Yet the spirit of this place still lives on. I can almost feel the presence of the former employees, who are now my friends, when we reach the locker room. The locker Gina often uses catches my eye, serving as a reminder that we need to talk soon. I simply want to know why she’s dodging my calls.
Deanna estimates the square footage of the space we’re standing in and suggests that we eliminate the locker room to expand the dining area, which often becomes overcrowded. Despite the many cherished memories I’ve made in this room, including those nights when Gina and I made love on the bench or against the wall, I find myself agreeing with her suggestion.
“Hello?” a curious voice calls out from the front, interrupting our conversation.
