Chapter Two- All Hail the Great Bon Vivant
"And now, ve put ze ail eentoo ze sauce. Do you see eet?"
"Yes," the students chimed among puffs of steam.
Chef Dominique frowned. "Non, non."
"Oui, Chef Dominique."
"Bon."
It was the third day of Mitra's class at the Old Brownstone, which was, appropriately enough, an old brownstone, situated on Dupont Circle. The restaurant had newly opened less than a month ago and, in addition to ridiculously overpriced food, they offered Cooking 101.
Chef Dominique, the proprietor, had come up to the second floor to see how they were doing. He was a sprightly man, as thin as the moustache above his lips, with a head of badly dyed black hair. Mitra privately thought he used glue to keep his chef's hat so firmly affixed to his badly dyed black hair. He tended to lean intensely into what they were making and inhale deeply, although not always with a pleasant look on his face.
Chef Nguyen was the one who taught the class. She was a petite Asian woman in her thirties and, although it was obvious to Mitra that she did not always welcome Chef Dominique's visits, she would sit quietly on a stool while he lectured them on why parsnips were better than cumin.
"Now stir, please, stir ze sauce." He leaned over to smell the pot of the person sitting in front of Mitra when his brow suddenly creased and he rose indignantly. "Qu'est que c'est?" He cried, gesturing towards the pot. The student opened his mouth to speak but Chef Dominique went on. "Zeese ees not garlic. Eet ees ze ginger you have put een ze sauce. Mon Dieu!" He threw his hands up in the air and stalked to the front of the room, where he began taking out jars and bottles from a cupboard. His dark, beady eyes swept over the room as he began passing them around, indicating that the students should smell them and then identify what they thought was in the jars.
"Basil?" Was the uncertain response of the person sitting nearest him.
The next student was a bit more confident. "Uh, something like…some herb."
So it continued. He came to the person next to Mitra, a very young, short, stout girl named Tamara. Chef Dominique, however, delighted in calling her by her last name, which, unfortunately, happened to be Bundt.
She sniffed deeply and puckered her lips in thought. "Was it, like, onions?"
He rolled his eyes upwards and thrust the jar at Mitra. "You! Viz hair ze color of Italian tomatoes een ze summer, vat ees zeese?"
As Mitra had never seen an Italian tomato in the summer, she wasn't sure if she should be flattered or not, and she touched her red hair as if to make sure it wasn't rotten. "Smells like…rosemary." She frowned and sniffed again. "But with…what is that…sage?"
His eyes opened wide and his moustache quivered with excitement. "Ah! Your nose, my dear, your nose ees superb!"
Mitra touched her nose and laughed at this…unique…comment as he returned his attention to the rest of the class and said, "Now, zat ees vat I vant from zis class. To smell! Smell everyzing in front of you. Bon." He turned to Chef Nguyen and nodded. "Mademoiselle. Adieu."
Chef Nguyen sighed after he had gone and frowned at the clutter of bottles he had left on the table. "Okay. Take your sauces and dump them out. Garlic ruins the flavor."
Afterwards, when they were packing up to leave, Tamara accidentally spilled some condensed milk on the table. Mitra's bag also received a few drops and Tamara began apologizing profusely.
"Oh, I'm so, like, sorry," she gasped, tearing off half a dozen paper towels to clean up the small beads of milk.
"It's okay, really," Mitra tried assuring her even as she scrubbed hard to remove any invisible stains.
"Are you in high school?" She asked curiously, shaking her stiff bleached hair out of her wide blue eyes.
"Uh, no, I'm at-"
"Oh, well I'm, like, a senior." There was a certain degree of pride in her voice as she said this. "I'm taking this class to figure out if I should, like, go to cooking school or not. Where did you say you were at?"
"I'm at-" she started again, but this time was cut off by her cell phone ringing.
"It's your phone," she announced helpfully, diving her hand into Mitra's bag to take it out.
"Oh, thanks, I can take it," she said as Tamara flipped it open. "Or, sure, you can."
"Hey, who's, like, speaking?...Uhuh…Oh my gosh, are you, like, British? Shut up!" She squealed.
"It's Will, isn't it?" Mitra mumbled.
"He, like, says his name is Will."
"Right, so can I have my phone-"
"I, like, just love England," she exclaimed, practically shouting into the phone. "I mean, I've never actually been there, but I hear it's really, like, cool. Do you all, like, really drink that much tea?" It was at this point that Mitra tried to gently pull the phone away from her. "Oh, wait up, Mitra, like, wants to talk to you. Cheerio!"
She handed the phone to her, leaned forward, and whispered loudly, "He sounds, like, kind of surly."
Mitra smiled politely and, turning away for a little bit of privacy, cautiously held the phone up to her ear. There was a long silence until Will spoke. "Mitra?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank God," he breathed. "For a minute there I thought she had permanently damaged my hearing with her screeches."
"I'm really sorry," she said softly.
"It's amazing actually. She's even perkier than you."
"I guess she was excited by your accent," she said, ignoring his rib. "And then there was the milk."
"The milk?" He repeated inquisitively.
"Condensed."
"Erm, right then. I, erm, just rang up to say that you should stop by my room, but I reckon teaching your friend actual English would be a more commendable service to society."
"What's in your room?"
"You wanted to meet Fiona, didn't you?"
"Who? Oh, Fiona, your friend! Oh, wow, yeah, I'll be there. Is she allergic to shellfish?"
There was a small pause. "I'll see you Mitra."
"Wait, can you stay on the line? I have to go down an alley to get to my car."
He paused again. "You do understand that criminals aren't going to be scared off by my voice, right? Besides, my minutes are being used up here."
"Oh, come on Wi-"
"Oh my gosh, I, like, have to go down that alley too!" Tamara interrupted loudly. "You know, to, like, get on the Metro. We can, like, so go together." She shoved Mitra's coat and bag at her and headed towards the door. "Come on."
"There, see?" Will said, as Mitra reflected on how ridiculously far Tamara's voice could carry. "And remember, if anyone follows you or offers you drugs, just throw something with carbs at them and I'm sure they'll run off," he advised before hanging up.
Tamara and Mitra exited the restaurant by the side door and stepped out into the small, dimly lit alley. They walked quickly, trying to avoid stepping in the garbage that littered the place as their breath took shape before them. Naturally, Tamara started talking again, so that by the time they emerged from the alley, she had somehow obtained Mitra's phone number and her life story, and Mitra knew more about her than she really wanted to.
"…and I told him that if he, like, ever stuck his hands down my pants again, I'd, like, totally tell my boyfriend. Oh, I really gotta go, don't wanna, like, miss my train. Bye!" Tamara said, heading off for the Metro station as Mitra walked to her Civic.
The parking lot was nearly deserted and the silence seemed even more oppressive to Mitra when Tamara was no longer there to fill it up. She had nearly reached her car when-
Rrriiing. Rrriiing.
She gasped, momentarily startled, and gazed at the pay phone she had just passed.
Rrriiing. Rrriiing.
No one was nearby and she considered just not answering it, but then she thought it could be an emergency, or maybe someone desperately needed to get in touch with someone else.
Rrriiing. Rrriiing.
Besides, that noise was really grating on her nerves, so Mitra slowly went over, picked up the receiver, and held it up to her ear.
"He-"
"Hey, man, where you been? Look, he's comin' out now, so you ready? And remember, nothin' rough, cause then we don't get paid."
Her eyes opened wide as she looked around, but no one was coming out of anywhere. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "Who do you need to speak w-"
The person on the other end cursed and hung up quickly. Mitra briefly wondered how much crack he had had to snort before she hung up as well and walked quickly to her car.
A/N- Well, that was two chapters with a new POV. Let me know what you all think. Also, any input on the plot and characters is welcome. Thanks to all the reviewers!
utsuri- I'm glad this kept your interest and I hope you enjoy the rest of it. Thank you!
HowAreYouToday- Thanks for your encouragement and enthusiasm, and for pointing out that mistake. I hate making errors, and I appreciate your help. "On the Psychology of Sherlock Holmes" should be up soon, hopefully. Thanks!
Dreamsprite5- You'll find out soon enough about that. Thanks for the review!
Estriel- Thanks for the great support! I hope you like the rest.
Moonjava- A review is always good, no matter when it is received. Thanks for the compliments!
silvertongue04- I'm glad you liked the dialogue, as I was afraid it might be a bit confusing. Thank you!
EdWood- That was a really nice compliment, thanks! As you can see, I've updated, which might be a hint to you to update your story, as it was quite enjoyable;)
Review please!
