“Wonderful!” The realtor in the corner clapped and walked over. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Gatsby. You are now the proud owner of the Tennant Opera House. Or whatever you decide to call it.” He offered his hand, and I shook it with little enthusiasm. Pulling away, he scooped up the papers on my desk and shoved them in his worn suitcase. “Here are the keys. I’ll be in touch.” He nodded to me and Park, and then left quickly.
He waited until the realtor had left the room to turn to me. “What are your plans for this building, sir?”
“What do you mean?” I walked around the desk, straightening my suit jacket. I went to the bar and prepared myself a drink. “I plan to open it again.”
“The opera house?”
“Yes, Park. Do you doubt my abilities?”
“Well, it’s a bit difficult to imagine you having the experience to do such a feat. This is something that people with years of experience do, not?—”
“A former death row inmate?” I raised an eyebrow.
Park swore loudly in Korean. “Sir, I mean no disrespect. This is my job.”
I grinned, and he relaxed. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be hiring help to assist the process, but I fully intend on opening the opera house again. I want it restored to its former glory.”
“Did you attend the theater as a child?” he asked. “It is just strange that you would insist on moving across the country like this.”
He’d expressed his displeasure in my move to Michigan several times since I’d been released. He lived in California, where Dennis had resided, and until now had done his work for me remote. When he heard about my interest in the opera house, he chose to fly here to discuss it, continuing to complain about it every chance he got. And, as I stared at hisscowl and deeply furrowed brow, I made the decision to let him go after he was home safely, in Cali.
“No, a friend did though. It was all she spoke about. I don’t know, something about how much she loved it…it spoke to me.” I walked to the window with my glass of whiskey in hand. I took a slow sip, savoring the burn in my throat. “Something about it stuck with me.”
“I see. Well, I am excited to see what you do with it. This isn’t the first time you’ve surprised me; I’m sure it won’t be the last.” He gave me a fake laugh.
He was right. He’d sure be surprised when he received his pink slip soon.
“I should check on my staff.” I turned quickly, setting my drink on my desk, and leaving without telling Park goodbye.
I started away from my office and took the elevator from the third story to the ground level of my mansion. The doors opened with a chime, and an explosion of sound, colors, and smells hit my senses.
“Mr. Gatsby!” Jules, my head chef paused in his stride. “Just the man I was hoping to catch.”
He came over, and, tossing his arm over my shoulder, directed me to the kitchen.
“What’s the menu look like this weekend?”
He let me go, and I shoved my hands in my suit pocket.
“Only the best for a Gatsby party.” He beamed, taking me to a counter where a printed menu lay. “Hors d’oeuvres will be Oysters Rockefeller, Deviled Eggs with Truffle and Prosciutto, and Mini Croque Monsieurs.”
I nodded with faint interest. Jules was a five-star chef who had spent many years in France. I gave him full reign over the menu for the parties, and most items were things I’d never heard of before.
“Drinks?”
“Ah yes. I was just speaking to Nathaniel. Our drink maestro has some exciting things planned for this weekend.” Jules raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, I can’t wait to hear about them. And, Jules, have we decided on who our special guest will be for dinner?”
His expression darkened in an instant. I had spent many hours scouring the world for a chef for my plans. He wasn’t just my star chef but a business partner. I needed someone with just as dark a soul as mine, and despite his bright personality, Jules had demons.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, I have, it’s—” He was cut off by a slew of waiters coming in, chatting excitedly.
I patted him on the back and we shared a knowing look.
“I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
He beamed again, seeming to forget the dark nature of what we’d been discussing. “Oh yes. I have haricots verts, pommes sarladaises, and as always, fresh bread!”
