Traci smiled and pointed to the chair across from her desk. “Please. Tell me, Felice, what do you like to cook?” she asked, as soon as the girl was seated.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m wondering what kind of dishes you enjoy preparing,” Traci said, enunciating each word as though she thought Felice was deaf or stupid or both.
“I… I… cook whatever kind of cuisine your guests like,” Felice said, stammering because she’d been caught off guard. “French, of course. Asian fusion? New American? Also, high-concept Southern. I went online and saw a couple menus from the Verandah, your fine dining restaurant. That’s in the hotel?”
“Correct,” Traci said, waiting.
“I can, of course, fry chicken…”
“No, no,” Traci interrupted, deliberately putting Felice off balance. “I mean, what do you like to cook, for yourself? Your favorite dishes?”
Felice clasped and unclasped her hands, which were folded on her lap. “Me? I cook simple at home. Fresh fish or crab when I’m in Florida, of course. I do a very nice roast chicken, and I love whatever fresh vegetables are in season. Fruit too. I do have a sweet tooth…”
“What would you cook for me? For lunch, today?”
“Maybe something light. Fresh local greens with a simple herbed vinaigrette. Some poached shrimp, slice of avocado. Some nice sliced tomatoes if they are ripe.”
“And if I don’t care for shrimp? Or seafood?”
Felice wrinkled her brow. They were at the coast. Who didn’t like seafood at the beach?
“Well… I do a nice peach and watermelon salad with burrata, dressed with reduced balsamic vinegar, that could be toppedwith some poached or grilled chicken, maybe sprinkled with some toasted, chopped pecans. Benne seed crackers too,” she added.
“What else would you add to our menu?”
“Hmm. What about a soft-shell crab BLT, on small brioche buns, with microgreens and an herb mayonnaise? If you have a reliable source, what about frog legs instead of wings, in a nice butter-lemon sauce? If your guests simply must have a burger, I’d offer Wagyu beef sliders with quick-pickled red onion slaw, or a deconstructed salmon burger served atop sourdough bread.”
Traci’s stomach rumbled. The protein shake she’d whipped up at home this morning seemed light-years away. And if this woman’s cooking was as good as she sounded, she felt heartened that she’d found her new chef.
“That all sounds very interesting. And inventive. Now, tell me a little about you. Your credentials look good. I called the GM at the Flamingo Club in South Beach, and he had lovely things to say about you.”
“Jerry. Nice man,” Felice said. “Best boss I ever had.”
“If he was so nice, why’d you leave a hit restaurant like the Flamingo to take a job at a less prestigious chain steakhouse?”
Felice flinched. “I had… family demands.”
“I see. Are you married? Do you have children?”
“No.” Felice felt her palms starting to perspire, but she’d be damned if she’d be pressured into explaining about her aunt’s illness and the shattering effect it’d had on her large, extended family. It was nobody else’s business.
Traci noted the applicant’s reluctance. She fiddled with the cap of her gold Montblanc pen. It had been a wedding gift. “I realize these are fairly personal questions, but this is an incredibly high-pressure, time-consuming position. So, if you’re a single parent…”
“I’m not,” Felice said, feeling her cheeks burn. Why did every white woman assume every Black woman her age was a single mother? She decided to plunge ahead with questions of her own.
“Your ad mentioned a competitive salary. Could you be more specific?”
The salary Traci Eddings mentioned made Felice’s eyes widen. “That’s… not bad,” she said. It was almost on par with what she’d been making when she left the Flamingo Club, back before Sherise’s cancer diagnosis. Before Felice moved home to take care of the aunt who’d been like a mother to her.
“Your ad also mentioned on-site housing,” Felice continued. “Could you tell me about that?”
“We’re just completing a staff dormitory down near the golf course,” Traci said. “We’re only set up for singles right now. You’d have a private room, of course, and there’s a communal lounge with seating and television, dining area, kitchenette, and laundry. Separate men’s and women’s bathrooms.”
“Oh.” Felice longed for a place of her own again.
“Mind if I ask what happened to your most recent chef?” Felice asked.
