The Caterer

Chapter 8

A LICE WALKED THE APARTMENT, things eerily quiet since the family’s departure to Europe the day before. They would be gone for most of the summer, Paul hoping the distance would help Tabby deal with what happened. For the first time since Alice moved out of her apartment so Tabby could post it on her website, she could do as she pleased. She could leave her cereal bowl in the sink, her bag on top of the bench. She could watch what she wanted and shower without locking the door, got to love sharing a bathroom with two ten-year-olds. Taco lounged on Tabby’s bed, a place strictly off-limits, and sat on the floor beside Alice, who fed her scraps and rubbed her ears. They all needed the break.

She got a paper from the front desk and folded it into her messenger bag before getting onto her bike and starting the ride toward Chinatown, debating taking her apartment off WlkmNt. On the one hand, it felt wrong to use the website that ousted her sister. On the other, it provided money she needed. She kept the calendar open until the weekend before Tabby and her family got home and would decide then whether to leave it up. For the next seven weeks, it helped with her income as things were about to get tight with Valencia leaving for Spain. One thing at a time.

She crossed the Potomac and rode beside the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington Monument rising on her left. As she turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue, she stopped to look at the building on the corner, her favorite in all of D.C.

The construction fencing had gone up over the spring. Someone bought the old beauty. Ten stories tall, the marble exterior featured a clocktower that rose into the sky. Built in the late 1800s, the building’s center opened to the top floor, flooding the space in natural light. For years it sat underutilized with a sparse food court on the bottom floor, only a few of the offices in use. Just blocks from the White House, Alice wondered how The Old Post Office Pavilion stayed two steps from vacant for so long.

In high school, she thought about becoming an architect so she could save the building and restore it to its heyday in the 1920s, when it was the city’s premiere apartment complex. But her mother helped her see how impossible that dream was. Then she met Cornelia and never looked back. She talked to him about opening a restaurant in the space. A restaurant by D.B. Cornelia could bring in the D.C. elite, which would attract others, and bring the building back. They started talking about it when he passed away. Another dream that died with him.

The fencing around the building felt like the wall around her dream of a white linen restaurant. Maybe she could let go of both dreams and find a way to be happy with what she had.

She opened the back door to Carver’s bakery and put her collapsible bike in his office, taking a moment to run her fingers through her hair and cool down from her ride before going to find Carver, who chatted with a customer at the front counter. Alice got a muffin and a cup of coffee and went to find a table. They needed a plan for the Macon event on Friday. She wanted to do deluxe charcuterie boards with locally sourced meats and vegetables, complemented with a variety of Chardonnays and specialty drinks at the bar. Carver played with how to manage a sorbet bar with a variety of berries for dessert.

Knowing Carver would be in his meeting for a bit, Alice opened the paper. On the third page, below the fold, was a story on Macon Enterprises’ acquisition and merger of TabiKat and Chip-Pixel. Moe Manuel, the new CEO, called it a bold step forward. Alice reread the name of who acquired her sister’s company. Oh, cheese puffs! Tabby never told her who bought her out, only calling it a holding company, or “the scoundrel.” It felt like one more sign to get out of the industry with Jonas blocking her from every credible kitchen and Valencia leaving for Spain. Try as she might, Alice could not cook as well as her friend and working the truck alone was impossible. Now the one legit, non-wedding or family-based event she’d booked was for the company that just screwed her sister. Maybe her mother was right, and she needed to try an industry that had not kicked her in the teeth for the last four years.

Carver sat across from her, asking what was shaking. Alice slid the paper his way. Carver finished his raspberry croissant while he skimmed the story.

“Huh.” He looked at Alice. “And?”

“And what? I can’t cater this event.”

“How much is this man paying us?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is the point, Lil. Listen, I get they did your sister wrong. But it’s a job like any other. Macon owns dozens of businesses across D.C.; there is a high chance you will do an event for this man sometime.” He sat back and chose his words. “I am behind you, 100 percent, you know that. My kitchen is here for you to use. I am happy to be in this business. But I need you to decide if you want to be in this business. ”

“What does that mean?” She tried to sound incredulous. Carver sat back and said hello to a regular. They chatted. Alice’s gaze turned on the article. Either commit to the catering company or don’t. The idea of losing her own kitchen hurt. But Alice could either take the catering company seriously and let it be an outlet for her dream, or she needed to close it down with the food truck and move on. This was her chance. The Macon event opened the door. For all her lectures and micromanaging, Alice could only hope her sister would understand the decision.

“So?” Carver asked after the customer moved on.

“Maybe we could do charcuterie boards.”

“That’s my girl.” Carver folded the paper and put it on the table behind him. Alice reached for her laptop. If all went according to plan, by the time Tabby got home in the middle of August, the Macon event would not matter anymore. She finalized the menu and sent it off to Katy.

Her cell phone rang. Alice answered it and sat back, a polite voice on the other side asking where the rest of her menu went. Alice asked Katy what she meant, putting the phone on speaker.

Katy laughed. “This is not just an office party. This is the event of the year. It’s Mr. Clare celebrating his retirement and casting a vision for his next phase. We’re talking board members, investors, the leadership of dozens of companies Macon owns in the area, not to mention the boards of nonprofits and philanthropic endeavors Mr. Clare is connected to—easily four-hundred people. I think cheese and meat boards are a great start. But what else do you have? We were thinking appetizers, a meal, some kind of fun dessert or three.”

Alice closed her eyes and latched onto the first vision she thought of. “Based off the board, we could add in locally sourced oysters…”

“Shucked as people ordered,” Carver whispered .

“Shucked fresh on hand. We could do spit-roasted meat, and a variety of shot-sized gazpacho. I know Carver will add in more desserts.”

He nodded, adding it to the list he’d started.

“I can modify the drink menu to match. How does all that sound?” Alice held her breath.

A contented sigh came through the phone. “We can’t wait to see how you pull this all together.” Katy hung up. Alice reached for Carver’s notes, unsure how to pull off her vision.