Abel in Paris by Jeffrey Allen Whte (smart ebook reader TXT) 📕

up when you never expect to see it again. He or the staff never noticed it before. Probably because the drawer often stuck as it was next to the large dishwasher and the hot, damp air often swelled the drawer tightly shut. Sometimes it opened just enough to slide in something. Good luck finding anything once the drawer sticks. His mind, occupied with his grief, the café and Sandy, that he had just been going through the daily routines. He never looked at things anymore, never really seeing anything. He passed through each day as if in a self-induced trance-like state running on autopilot. Abel hid his sorrow from the world and from Sandy. Abel took the bracelet and put it into his sports jacket pocket. He would give it to Sandy one day and start her with some new charms of her own.

Just as he put the bracelet safely into his pocket, the bell on the front door rang out. It was still too early for customers on a Monday. It must be the real estate agent and the prospective buyers. Abel looked around the kitchen one last time. Everything was as perfect as it would get. The stoves were clean and shiny thanks to James; the pots hanging over the preparation table were all shiny and hanging in their place because of Maria. Both of them are great employees. The refrigerator showed the work he put into it to make it gleam. Late last night after James and Maria left, a knocked off door handle was replaced on the refrigerator door. He stood there seeing his reflection in the shiny stainless steel doors. He saw himself, alone, and far from perfect.

“Mr. McCormick?” called a women‘s voice. The voice was of Mrs. Edith Desmond from a local Seattle real estate office. She was in her early fifties; he surmised and had bright fire engine red hair. She wore a harvest gold jacket that was the standard attire for her company, including the company logo. The combination of the fluorescent red hair and the brilliant gold of the company jacket reminded him of Ronald McDonald. Abel smiled as it came to his mind.

“Mr. McCormick, I am very sorry we are late in arriving.” Mrs. Desmond handed him her business card. “I had to drop off some flyers at an open house on my way here and the traffic was terrible for a Monday morning.” Mrs. Desmond looked around as to inspect. “Something being done on the streets, I think.” She turned to her clients, “This is Mr. and Mrs. Takasumi. That is Japanese for, well, I am not sure at all,” she said grinning as she whispered to Abel. “They are very interested in your lovely café.” Mrs. Desmond took a step aside to reveal a small, oriental couple who bowed at that moment. Standing right in front of them both, they smiled, bowed, and then held out their hands to shake. They were a nice looking couple, perhaps a product of modern Japan. They reminded him of people arriving home by super fast trains after a fifteen-hour workday. They were young and seemed enthusiastic.

“Pleased to meet you,” was all he could think of saying, not knowing their language fluently. These people were, hopefully, here to buy The Bistro, his and Nina’s Bistro, the one they worked so hard together on building up to what it was today.

“Mr. Takasumi is a chef from Boston. He and Mrs. Takasumi worked for a chain restaurant and they want to relocate here and raise their family.” Mrs. Desmond explained nodding her head toward Mrs. Takasumi who was obviously pregnant.

“We are so happy and honored to meet you, Mr. McCormick. We would like to look see,” he motioned towards the kitchen.

“Oh, yes, this is very pretty place. Many big windows and sunlight.” The wife said in her best English. Mrs. Takasumi followed her husband into the kitchen.

“Yes, of course, take your time.” Abel could only think of Sushi and Chow Mien. Would they change the décor? Of course, they would. They would take down the nautical prints and put up silk screens with dragons breathing fire and they probably would have Lazy Susans on each table with small sticky bottles of soy and sweet/sour sauces. There would be fortune cookies with sayings like, you stand at the threshold of a new exciting adventure. Abel thought this was an adventure all right. Mrs. Desmond took hold of Abel’s arm and pulled him gently aside. Her perfume reminded him of his fifth grade teacher, old Mrs. Fletcher. He never liked her either. His nose filled with the over abundant sweet, smelling aroma of flowers.

“The Takasumis are very eager to purchase your place, Mr. McCormick. They think it is a great location and it will need very little in remodeling and redecorating.” Mrs. Desmond had started walking into the kitchen and followed closely by the Takasumis.

“How could he do this?” he thought. “How could he let these strangers into his and Nina’s dream? Wasn’t there enough Sushi Bars in Seattle already?” He wanted to start today over and never wanted to tell Sandy about selling. He wanted to be wearing his gray sweats instead of a wrinkled Garfield tie with tearstains, go to the market, and buy the week’s supplies. He wanted to see Maria and James and tell them the blender was acting up and he needed to change the pricing on a few menu items. He wanted to see Sandy smiling again. He wanted to see his Nina. He wanted to scream.

The Takasumis had examined the kitchen and then the appliances, storerooms and office. They then went into the restrooms and ended up back to the table area bowing each time they passed by. “Very nice tile work, we like very much.” Mr. Takasumi continued, “We like very much. We want to buy. We talk now.” Mr. Takasumi motioned for them to sit at one of the larger tables. He held out a chair for his wife and sat down.

“Mr. Takasumi is prepared to offer you a very fair amount for your business.” Mrs. Desmond sat down, opened her over-stuffed knock-off designer briefcase and found the files she needed and placed it on the table in front of her.

Abel sat down on the other side of Mrs. Desmond facing the Takasumis. His tear-stained shirt was now damp from perspiration. He was sweating. He was past perspiration, even Garfield looked like a drowned cat. Mrs. Desmond handed Abel a folded bid notice. “I know you will be pleased, Mr. McCormick. In this economy, Mr. Takasumi feels your asking price was a little off…” Mrs. Desmond smiled at Abel.

Abel took the paper and opened it slowly. All he could see was five years of hard work, his wife mixing dough, staying late to do the books, his little girl who would play house with the dishware as he tried to focus on the bid in his hands. Abel took a moment to let it sink it. It was enough to pay off everything and be able to start over anywhere. He would be able to pay off all his loans and have enough to take Sandy on a vacation, somewhere to rest and just be with his daughter. “Why, this is…” Abel stumbled realizing the amount. “Are you sure this is correct?” he hesitatingly asked.

“I assure you this is a very genuine and generous offer and a very good one.” Mrs. Desmond turned and faced him. “I know this may be a little overwhelming for you so soon after your wife’s death. My husband, the late Mr. Desmond passed away eight years ago while grilling steaks outside, but it still feels like yesterday.” Her eyes seemed to well up a little. “And you being in the food business, so to speak, know exactly what it is to lose a loved one.” Mrs. Desmond poised herself and stood smoothing her skirt and picking up her briefcase, “I will leave you now and give you time to decide. The Takasumis would like an answer in the next few days.”

The Takasumis stood and bowed respectfully. Mr. Takasumi looked him in his eyes. “You must search your heart. I will wait for your reply.” Mrs. Takasumi took her husband’s arm and started for the door.

“Thank you, Mr. McCormick. We will be looking forward to your phone call within the next seventy-two hours. Here is my card with my cell phone number. Please call me as soon as you have made up your mind. I assure you, Mr. McCormick, that this offer is a very good one, considering, the economy such as it is.” Mrs. Desmond ushered the Takasumis out the door and into her late model car with magnetic signs advertising her real estate company and a not so recent image of herself. Her red hair blazed in the sunlight as they drove off…

Abel stood at the door with the offer in his hand watching as the car disappeared down the street and around the corner. He did not notice James had come in the back door behind him. “Good morning, Boss.” James took off his jacket and put on a fresh apron from the pile of neatly folded and pressed aprons. “You look pretty sharp today. You win the lottery?” he asked and smiled.

Abel looked at the folded offer in his hand. “That depends, James, on your definition of a winner. Look, I will be back later. I need to do something. Tell Maria the vegetables are in the fridge. I already picked them up on my way here.” Abel turned and looked around the café.

James walked into the dining area and looked around. “The place looks different; what did you do?” James asked.

“I am not sure,” Abel managed to say slowly.

“Hey, Boss, what’s that sticking out of your pocket?” James noticed that something was spilling out of his pocket.

Abel reached down and into his pocket and pulled out the apron Sandy had made for him. He had forgotten he removed it from his waistband when he sat in the car and put it rolled up into the jacket pocket so he would not crush it or even lose it. As he pulled the apron out, Nina’s charm bracelet fell out onto the floor. Abel did not even hear it as it hit the soft carpet. “I have to run, James; keep an eye on things. Maria will be here soon.” Abel left and got into his car parked in front and drove off.

Chapter 4

Sandy would be home from school at any moment. Abel had been sitting at the kitchen table since he got home. He was waiting. Waiting to tell Sandy that he was going to take the offer, he had received for The Bistro. He had drunk several cups of coffee. He felt so toxic now he felt he could actually glow in the dark. He was jittery