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Great question. He tells me every chance he gets.
“Don’t linger in the door, Brooksy, come have a seat. Put your coffee down and breathe,” he instructs. “Hold on, let me get you a coaster. Can’t have it making rings on my replica Resolute.”
He chuckles pompously.
Remember what they taught you in anger management.
Slowly, I count to ten.
By the time I’m done, he’s settled into his chair.
“So, Reggie, what did you need?” I ask.
It’s not the most mature thing, but I feel a little flicker of satisfaction when he scowls in annoyance at “Reggie”.
I don’t always call him that. Most of the time, I call him Reginald. That’s what he prefers, but on days like this when I’m already agitated, I let myself call him Reggie as a little treat.
“I was hoping, Wesley, you could help settle a disagreement in the scholarship review committee,” he says stuffily.
Old dogs can learn new tricks. Maybe I should call him Reggie more often.
“What’s the issue, exactly?”
“As chairman of the review committee, I know that my vote will have extra weight and influence the other members, so I always insist on voting last. Usually, a majority is reached before it’s my turn, but this time, they’re at a deadlock and I’m the tie-breaking vote.
“You’re one of the first mentors we approached for this academy, so I have no doubt you are well aware that our students come from only the best families,” he says, lifting his nose in the air, “and while we’re proud of the charity work we do for the… less fortunate members of society, we can’t award a full scholarship to just anyone.”
Trust fund babies being exposed to something beyond the boundaries of their country clubs? Perish the thought.
“It would do them no good to be exposed to vulgar manners and bad habits. It could ruin their future,” I say, mimicking his pompous tone.
“Just so.” He nods.
Right… I keep forgetting sarcasm is a skill he doesn’t have… yikes.
“As I was saying, we are very selective when it comes to our scholarship students and the arguments during review meetings can get quite heated because of it. Some of the committee members were downright ruffled after viewing this submission. I was worried it would come to blows.”
I rub the back of my neck and sigh.
“I appreciate the context, Reginald, but I do have a meeting with my sous chef this evening and I can’t be late again. Would you mind getting to the meat of the issue?”
I don’t have a meeting with Suzanne, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Yes, of course,” he says, turning his computer monitor to face me. “This is the applicant in question. We’re considering her for a full scholarship.”
He scrolls through her photo portfolio first. It’s a food lover’s dream—gorgeous tiered cakes with classic icing work, pies that belong on the covers of magazines, and cookies that make my mouth water from the photos alone.
Things only get better from there because after she showed us the basics—not that I’d consider any of the work I’ve seen merely basic—she gets weird with it. There’s an isomalt terrarium with realistic gravestones and moss, a three-story Southern Gothic mansion made from gingerbread, and a realistic carousel with sugar work horses so perfect it nearly brings me to tears.
Going by the photos alone, I’m either going to have to hire this woman or marry her—maybe both.
Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? My brain asks.
Absolutely not. Did you or did you not see the same pictures I did? My stomach retorts.
“I don’t see any issue whatsoever from those photos. She’s exceptional. What exactly is the problem? Does the committee hate edible art or something?” I demand.
“The issue is more in the application video. Let me pull it up for you.”
