Christopher sat at his desk at 5.30am on the morning of Christmas Eve. His door was closed to his restaurant beyond the four walls that showed no visible signs of Christmas.
He could hear the hustle and bustle of his staff in the kitchen, preparing for the continued demand of the yuletide clientele. The voice of his Sous Chef Pierre Bertrand could be heard, shouting wildly at Dan, the pot boy who had obviously walked in five minutes late.
“You are late!” his unmistakable musical French accident blurted out, permeating the solitude of Chris’s office.
“Sorry Chef.” Dan’s Irish tones rang out “My Ma and Da arrived from Dublin last night and we had a few Irish whiskies in celebration. It won’t happen again Chef.”
“Get to work. Now!” Pierre ordered.
Chris slowly put his pen down. He had been calculating ways of gaining more profit over the next two days. People always put their hands deeper into their pockets at this time of year, and he was determined to get every penny he could.
He stood up from his desk and opened the door to his kitchen.
Pykes was one of the most exclusive restaurants in San Francisco. It’s position on Fisherman’s Wharf held a prime location, serving both tourists and locals alike and Christopher Pyke was one of most celebrated Chefs on the west coast of America. He had opened his first restaurant at the tender age of twenty two and dedicated his life to building up his business empire and perfecting his skills.
“Pierre.” He called as he walked into the kitchen, his voice crisp and sharp.
“Yes Chef” Pierre answered and came quickly to his side. Pierre admired Chris immensely; he was a workaholic and had four highly acclaimed restaurants to show for it. Pykes of San Francisco, Pykes of Santa Barbara, Pykes of New York and Pykes of Los Angeles, all highly successful.
Chris pulled him to the far corner of the kitchen.
“I want you to send Daisy out to buy two hundred red roses. Have her sprinkle them with glitter and arrange for Suzie to walk around the tables offering them for $5 each.
Also develop some seasonal coffees. Use that pallet of yours to develop unusual combinations, and brand them as “Pyke’s Winter Warmers”. You know the sort of thing Cinnamon and Amaretto, and put them up by 15% on normal liquor coffees.”
“Yes Chef.” Pierre responded, his head nodding in agreement with his boss and mentor.
“Hire a local photographer; I think we should be able to get Meredith Chow. She is great with people and I know she is struggling a bit, so get a good price. I want her to take photographs as clients come through the door. We can frame them up using my office and sell them for $50 each. Get Daisy to purchase some classy frames when she is ordering the followers.”
“Yes Chef” Pierre responded again, making a mental note of everything he was being told. “Any changes to the menu Chef?”
“No, the menu is good. We have both worked hard on it this year and I think it’s a winner. We are fully booked today and tomorrow which is great.”
“Thank you Chef” Pierre said, his lyrical voice soothing to the ear.
Chris began to make his way back to the solitude of his office, to shut out Christmas as much as he possibly could. He hated this time of year; if it wasn’t for his businesses he would lock himself away for the whole twelve days, ridding himself of the unnecessary false cheer and phony interaction that he witnessed over the years.
“Oh yes” he said as he made his way to the office, “Get rid of Dan.”
“But….but Chef, he is a good worker!” Pierre blurted out, louder than he had intended and proceeded to follow Chris into his office and close the door.
“Chris!” he said behind closed doors, “It’s Christmas Eve for God’s sake!”
“He was late.” Chris said without emotion, “I heard him say he was drunk last night.”
Pierre shook his head, his brow furrowed with concern,
“He did not say he was drunk.” Pierre’s European tones pleaded, “He said he had a few drinks with his parents!”
Chris sat down behind his desk and looked at his Sous Chef. He never understood why Christmas time was any different to any other time.
“Get rid of him Pierre.” He repeated, “Call the agency and get him replaced. Now!”
Pierre knew Chris too well. It was futile to argue with him, especially this time of year. He had worked as his Sous Chef for four years now, and every year his mood darkened as the month of December loomed. He tried one more time,
“Chris, he is a good worker. He does not earn much and I know that he sends money home to his parents every month to help them out. This will kill him!”
“I am running a business here!” Chris snapped, “If you don’t do it Pierre I will, and you know how unpleasant that will be for the boy!”
Pierre reluctantly left the office to deliver the news to young Dan.