Chapter Text
The streets pass by in a blur and buildings blend into each other as Neil leans his head against the car window. He has been awake for hours already, long enough to have gone for a run and to have taken a shower in the hotel room, but his day is really just about to start. One last glimpse at his phone reveals that there are no new messages from the production team and so he is on his own. It’s the way he prefers it. The car begins to slow down, and Neil breathes in once, as deep as he can.
The owner of the Foxhole Court is a middle-aged man with a reasonably friendly, yet tired look on his face. He stands waiting at the front door as Neil arrives.
“David Wymack,” he introduces himself with a firm handshake. Neil thinks he can spot the beginnings of a tattoo flashing out from under the man’s sleeve. “Thanks for coming, I hope you’re prepared for this,” Wymack adds with a weary note.
“Likewise,” Neil answers, though these people rarely ever are. “Has everything gone okay so far?”
The crew should already be finishing setting up their cameras and microphones inside. They had arrived bright and early at the restaurant to avoid getting in the staff’s way. Erik had talked about getting some general shots of the dining area before the opening time as well.
“Yeah, the guys are just starting with the preparations, so they haven’t had the chance to cause any trouble yet today, and I think your people are almost done with whatever it is that they’ve been doing with all that stuff,” Wymack says.
“Okay,” Neil says. “Erik, um, the guy in charge of the filming, promised to come and get us when they’re ready. They’ll want to shoot this whole first meeting again, probably.”
He can’t help but shift a bit on his feet. Smalltalk has never been one of his strengths and his skills haven’t improved all that much since he had first started in the show one year ago. It’s not only that though. Wymack with his large frame makes him feel uneasy for reasons Neil would rather not think about.
“That’s alright. Is there anything special I should know about before you start filming?”
Neil shrugs. “I suppose you’ve already read the contract?”
“I have, yes. Even the small print, so don’t worry.”
“That covers pretty much everything, I think. Today I’m just going to be shadowing you for most of the time. I need to see how the staff handles the lunch rush and dinner, and how things are running here in general,” Neil says. “I won’t meddle much, as long as there won’t be a fire in the kitchen or something.”
Wymack offers him a grim smile, which indicates that a kitchen fire isn’t something that can be entirely counted out. Neil swallows his urge to sigh. He has a feeling that it’s going to be a long day. Then again, as he’s learned, there are no short days in a restaurant.
“Anything I should know beforehand?” Neil counters. “I’ll ask you questions throughout the week, but if there’s something you want to share off-screen, now’s the time.”
Wymack seems to hesitate before his answer. “Well, I guess I should warn you… Our pastry chef is a bit of a brat and he wasn’t over the moon once he heard that you’re coming, so you might want to steer out of his way.”
There’s no way Neil’s going to do that. It’s not the first time he’s handled someone who didn’t really want his help. He’s not scared of someone whose biggest weapon is a rolling pin. At least by the looks of it the owner himself won’t be causing too much trouble this time, and that’s enough for Neil.
“Thanks for the tip,” Neil says anyway.
As if on cue, Erik pops his head out of the door. “Morning, Neil. Are you guys ready to start?”
“Hi. Yeah, we’re ready when you are.”
Wymack echoes the sentiment.
Erik and his assistant, whose name Neil hasn’t bothered to learn, come outside and arrange them where they want them. Neil ends up walking a bit further down the street only to walk back to the restaurant with the camera following at his heels. They’re probably aiming for a dramatic entrance with some ominous music in the background. Neil can barely contain his eye roll.
He walks to the entrance, where Wymack opens the door for him.
“Welcome to the Foxhole Court,” Wymack says. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for having me.”
Neil’s first impression of the place is “orange”. The walls are orange, the table clothes on the wooden tables are orange and it’s the same with the curtains. Some miscellaneous pictures of whom he assumes to be members of the staff hang framed on the walls of the dining area, and a distinctly dying-looking plant stands next to the counter. Neil sighs. He can already tell that he design team is going to have a field day with the makeover.
“Your favorite color?” he guesses.
“Our chef picked it,” Wymack explains a bit sheepishly. “It’s supposed to make an impression.”
“That it certainly does,” Neil deadpans. “How long have you been running this restaurant?”
“Four years now,” Wymack answers. “It’s been a wild ride. Most of the staff has changed since the beginning. We had a bit of a rough start. Most of the people I hire either haven’t been working in the field for a long time or have had some bad experiences on the way. I like to think that I can offer them a second chance at something worthwhile. It doesn’t work with everyone, like the first year showed us, but everyone I have here right now is good at what they’re doing.”
“Is that right.” Neil feels like pointing out that something about the system clearly isn’t working, since he’s been invited. Wymack’s hiring principles certainly don’t seem too reliable to his ears. Still, he’ll have more than enough chances to criticize them later on. No need to do it all at once.
They walk toward the kitchen area with Erik and his team circling around them. Wymack seems out of his comfort zone with the microphone stuck on his chest, which Neil can understand. He tries his best to keep the conversation alive and gain some information on what will be waiting for him.
“At what time do you open today?”
“We open at eleven. They should be preparing for the lunch rush right now,” Wymack says as they reach the kitchen doors. “Morning people! Look who’s here with me.”
They get a round of greetings, followed by a single wolf-whistle.
“My, you look even more delicious in person,” a man with twinkling, dark brown eyes and a very form-fitting black shirt says.
Neil blinks at him slowly.
“Knock it off, Nicky,” a short blond says, his voice laced with irritation. “The guy’s not even been here for five minutes yet.”
“Don’t be a killjoy, Aaron,” Nicky says and then rushes to offer his hand to Neil, grinning. “Nicky Hemmick, I’m the number one waiter of this fine establishment.”
“Nice to meet you,” Neil says. He turns to look around the kitchen. “Hello everyone, I’m Neil Josten and if you didn’t know it already, I’m here to try to help you out of the mess that you’re in. I’ll appreciate your cooperation. Today I’m just going to follow what you’re doing to get a basic understanding of what’s going on, so please don’t mind me, just do what you normally would.”
“You heard the man,” Wymack says. “Back to work, you slackers. You’ll have all week to learn his favorite colors and dishes and whatnot.”
“Yes, boss,” the kitchen staff mutters and starts to turn back to their meal preparations.
At the moment nothing looks too bad. Unlike in the last restaurant that Neil had visited, here the kitchen looks like it actually would pass through the hygiene checks, which is somewhat comforting. He doesn’t really fancy finding dead pigeons from the pantry ever again. Since the Foxhole Court is only four years old none of the appliances seem to be too dated either, at least not with the first glance. So far, so good.
“Kevin,” Wymack calls, and a familiar face comes forward. “Please, show Josten here around,” he orders and turns to Neil. ”This is our sous-chef, Kevin Day. I need to get back to work myself, but he’ll take care of you. I’ll be in the office at least until the lunch rush.”
“Sure.” Neil nods and doesn’t mention that Kevin is the only person present who needs no introduction.
Kevin looks sour, but agrees nevertheless. “Prepare yourself for the disappointment,” he mutters. Looks like his attitude hasn’t changed for the better in the time that they’ve been apart.
Kevin is the main reason behind why Neil is at the Foxhole Court at all. Once upon a time they had both been working at Edgar Allan’s Evermore, one of the most prestigious Michelin star restaurants West Virginia had to offer. Neil had been trying his best to start his career and live up to the expectations that automatically fell upon the son of the Butcher of Baltimore, and Kevin had been on his way to becoming the restaurant’s sauté chef. Then Kevin had broken his hand right at the turning point of his career and it had for a while seemed like he would never be back in the kitchen again. Neil himself had left barely two months later and turned his whole life around. They hadn’t kept in touch.
Then, after three years of radio silence and a TV-program later, Kevin had called him, clearly drunk, and desperately rambled about a certain restaurant that he believed was worth saving and… well. Neil had been too curious to turn him down.
“I’ll introduce everyone to you,” Kevin says and begins to lead him through the kitchen. Their first stop is next to a small woman with dark, curly hair tucked neatly under her white hat. “This is Danielle Wilds, she’s our head chef.”
“You can call me Dan,” she says, raising her gaze from a paper that Neil believes to be the menu of the day. “It’s nice to have you here.”
“Nice to meet you, Dan. I hope I can be useful to you.”
She smiles kindly at him. “I’m sure you will be.”
“How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Three years now,” Dan answers. “Me, Matt, Renee and Allison all came here around the same time, when Wymack was in desperate need of fresh blood. Only Seth, our roast chef that is, has been here longer than us.”
“And how do you see your situation right now?” Neil asks. “Are things going the way you want them to?”
Dan sighs. “I think we’ve got lots of potential.”
“And next to no skills,” Kevin mutters, earning himself a glare.
“I think that most of our problems have something to do with attitude, as you can see,” Dan remarks dryly.
“Right. Well, I’ll get back to you later, I’m sure you’re busy,” Neil says.
“Have fun.”
Their next stop is with a very tall man chopping carrots into thin sticks.
“Hello, I’m Matt Boyd,” he offers as he sees them approaching. “I’m the pantry chef. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Neil says.
“And I’m Renee,” the woman who is assisting Matt with the vegetables pipes in with a sweet smile. She doesn’t need to look at her fingers while she’s chopping, Neil notes. She’s good with the knives. The thought makes something dark flash in the back of his mind. Neil tunes it out. Renee turns to stir a soup on her right side for a second and it gets easier to focus on the normal spiel again.
“Nice to meet you. I’ll talk to you both more later on, so feel free to carry on,” Neil adds once he notices Kevin’s impatient stare.
They move on to the meat preparation area, where a surly looking guy chats with a blonde, who looks like she belongs to the catwalk rather than the kitchen. They are standing close to each other, hips almost touching.
“No flirting in the kitchen,” Kevin hisses. “Get back to work, Allison.”
“Yes chef,” the woman grins and bats her eyelashes at them as she passes by. “It’s a pleasure, Neil.”
“Allison is our saucier. Seth handles the meat and being an unpleasant pain in the ass,” Kevin explains and drags Neil to the dessert station without letting him have a chance to chat with Seth. There’s obviously some bad blood there.
“This is our pâtissier, Andrew Minyard,” Kevin says. “His twin Aaron is our roundsman, you saw him earlier. Now he’s… somewhere. Andrew, where’s Aaron?”
“It’s not like I have a tracker on him,” the short blond answers in perfect monotone. He’s the one Wymack had warned him about, Neil remembers. Seeing that Neil is actually for once in his life taller than someone else does wonders to his self-esteem and thus he doesn’t feel overly wary of the pastry chef.
Kevin looks annoyed. “He’d better be back soon. We have five minutes until the doors open. Anyway, Neil, I need to get ready and check something with Dan, will you be okay.” He says it more like a statement than a question. Some things never change.
“That’s fine. I’m just here to observe anyway, I don’t want to get in your way,” Neil says. Kevin nods thankfully, but there’s a snort from Andrew. Neil turns to him. “Is something the matter?”
“Oh everything’s just peachy”, Andrew drawls and keeps drawing intricate swirls on parchment paper with molten chocolate.
“What are those for?” Neil asks.
“Dessert,” Andrew says.
Okay. So that’s how it’s going to be then. That’s fine. Neil wasn’t expecting things to go smoothly anyway. He settles for watching Andrew work. He might not be the best company, but he does seem to have some artistic talent in him. After a short moment Nicky arrives with the first orders of the day.
“Two soups of the day for table thirteen and a Caesar salad and the Foxy Burger for table six,” he yells before fetching the drinks. Dan repeats the order to the kitchen and so the lunch rush begins. Neil turns to look at Erik and his camera.
“I suppose I’ll go and see what’s happening out there,” he says. “Let’s see how many people turn up.”
The answer seems to be: not many. At the moment there are only six people in total.
Nicky smiles at him and asks whether he’d like a window table. Neil declines. He doesn’t like to sit in direct view of the street or with his back to the rest of the room. He also wants to keep an eye on all of the exits if he can. Old habits die hard. Therefore Nicky leads him to the utmost corner of the dining hall. Neil sits down in one of the booths that line the back wall (the seat is head-achingly orange) and Nicky hands him the menu.
“How many people can you seat in here?”
“120, give or take.”
“And how many people can you usually expect during the lunch hour?” Neil asks.
Nicky grimaces. “Not that many lately. Yesterday we had probably about thirty diners.”
“That isn’t very promising. So, how many waiters are there in total? I haven’t seen anyone else yet.”
“Oh it’s just me and Katelyn,” Nicky says with a smile. “She’s Aaron’s girlfriend, but she’s really sweet. I’ve got no idea how they got together. Love really must be blind.”
“So you have seats for 120 people, but you only have two waiters to serve them,” Neil says. “That’s crazy.”
“Well, to be fair, there rarely are that many people here. Also, I’ve got quick feet,” Nicky says and winks at him.
“And where is this Katelyn right now?” Neil enquires.
“She’s at home. The poor thing has got a stomach bug.”
“You’re alone,” Neil states. Nicky shrugs. “Oh hell. Please get me a glass of water and get back to work. I’ll take a while with the menu.”
“Of course! See you soon,” Nicky says and sashays away.
“They’re gonna be in so much trouble later on,” Neil says to the camera. “How does Wymack think that they will survive with one waiter throughout the day? What happens if both Nicky and Katelyn are out of the game? Okay, moving on now. So, the list.”
Neil eyes through the lunch menu. It has orange paw prints running down the sides. “It’s sort of cute, I guess. They have… wow, they have lots to choose from. Maybe too much. There’s fox paw soup, I wonder what that’s supposed to be. I’m not sure I want to know. Hopefully they don’t mean it literally,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
“So they’re going all out with the theme,” Erik comments.
“That they are. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
More people are slowly trickling inside as Neil ponders on his order, but it can barely be called a rush. Over half of the tables stay empty. Despite of that Nicky seems to have some trouble with serving thirteen tables on his own. It seems like he tries to make up for it with his sunny smile, but even that looks slightly tired when he gets back to Neil.
“How are you holding up?” Neil asks as Nicky sets a glass of water in front of him.
“Good, good, I mean it would be easier if Katelyn was here, but I’ll survive. What can I get for you?”
“I’d like to have the soup of the day, the Fox balls, and a piece of the Sweet Sweet Victory pie, please.”
“Sure thing. Anything else I can get for you?”
“No thanks,” Neil says.
Meanwhile Erik attempts to keep his camera steady and his voice quiet while he dissolves into laughter. As soon as Nicky is on his way to deliver the order, he seems to lose the battle.
“Did you just order fox balls? Is that actually part of the menu?”
Neil grins. “Well, how could I not. It’s one of their specials.”
Erik shakes his head.
“Let’s just hope that there won’t be a food poisoning involved this time,” Neil says. “The kitchen looked tidy, but you never know. I’m putting my trust in Kevin’s hands.”
“I’m praying for you,” Erik comments solemnly. His blue eyes shine with amusement, and Neil resolutely doesn’t stick his tongue out. He’s a professional after all.
Nicky returns with the soup swiftly enough. It is an orange concoction that smells relatively sweet.
“So, what soup is this?” Neil asks.
“Carrot and sweet potato. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“At least it fits the color scheme. Thanks.” Neil swirls his spoon in the soup. It looks slightly creamy and he dares to bring the spoon to his mouth. “The texture is pretty nice,” he comments. “Smooth. And it doesn’t taste bad, though I might have added a bit more salt to balance out the sweetness. Overall, it’s okay even if the color almost makes me blind, and I’m not dead yet. A positive surprise.”
It takes longer for the main dish to arrive. Almost thirty minutes go by.
“This isn’t good,” Neil says. “If I wasn’t here to… well, to be me, I would probably leave. If I was a busy businessman, I wouldn’t have time to wait this long for my lunch.”
Nicky rushes to the table with flushed cheeks. “Here you go, the Fox balls for you, beautiful. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Nicky,” Neil says, but the waiter is already on his way to the next table. “See, this is what happens when you don’t have enough staff,” he comments to the camera. “The customers get ignored.”
The plate in front of him has two large meatballs arranged separately into a nest of mashes potatoes. Two pieces of celery rests on top of them like eyebrows and there’s a large swirl of ketchup, like a gory mouth running at the bottom of the dish.
“The presentation is a bit odd,” Neil comments, pushing one of the meatballs around with his fork. “It doesn’t really scream fine-dining to me. More like a kid’s meal.”
He takes a careful bite and winces. “It’s a bit cold. Hasn’t anyone checked this plate before they sent it off? Right, I won’t finish this. Not gonna risk it this time, sorry.”
The next time Nicky appears with Neil’s dessert, he seems to deflate at the sight of the almost untouched plate.
“Was there something wrong with it?” he asks and Neil feels almost guilty at seeing those puppy eyes.
“Tell the chef that it was cold.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” Nicky says. “Here’s your dessert, I hope you’ll like it better.”
It definitely looks better. It’s a piece of an apple pie with golden crust and some whipped cream on top of it. Neil isn’t really a fan of desserts, but this one doesn’t make him cringe with overt sweetness.
“It’s actually good,” he remarks and takes another bite. “Cool.”
“Remember to describe the taste,” Erik whispers. “The audience doesn’t know what you’re tasting.”
“The apples are slightly tart and the crust is perfectly baked. There’s also a nice touch of cinnamon and I think that the cream brings just enough sweetness in this. Overall, if the rest of the meal was a four, this pie is a nine,” Neil says and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Let’s go and see if the kitchen is still up.”
The first thing that greets Neil when he walks through the doors is yelling.
“Where’s my goddamn burger for table eight, Gordon?” Dan asks as she goes through the order slips.
“It would be there if fucking Minyard would get me the fucking salad at some time today,” Seth answers.
One of the twins, probably Aaron, answers him with a glare. “You haven’t asked me to get anything for you. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Fuck you, I asked ten minutes ago.”
“No you didn’t!”
“Go get it, now!”
“I’m not your fucking servant, get it yourself,” Aaron hisses. “I’m busy with this chicken.”
That is when Kevin seems to decide that he needs to do something. He steps forward with a threatening frown on his face. “Finish the dish, Gordon. You have fifteen seconds to plate it. Aaron, you’re going to burn that.”
Aaron turns back to his pan morosely, but Seth doesn’t make a move.
“It’s his fault,” he insists.
“I don’t care!” Dan yells. “The customer has been waiting for the past half an hour because of you. Just do it. Please.”
She look harried. At some point during the last hour her curls seem to have escaped from under her toque and her cheeks seem to be flushed with more than just the heat of the kitchen. Seth mumbles something under his breath, but turns back to his dish.
“Enjoying the show?” Andrew asks. He’s suddenly abandoned his station and joined Neil at the doors. There’s a bowl of whipped cream in his hands and he scoops some into his mouth.
Neil lifts his eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
Andrew just shrugs. “You can’t really bring out the dessert before the main meal,” he says. “And as you can see that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.”
“Is this what the lunch time is usually like?”
“This isn’t unusual.”
Neil braves another attempt at conversation. “I liked the pie. It was yours, wasn’t it?”
“I’m the only pastry chef here,” Andrew says and leaves it at that. Still, Neil thinks he might spy something pleased in the curve of his mouth as Andrew eats some more whipped cream. His tongue is very pink, Neil notes.
Nicky makes an appearance less than a minute later. He looks close to tears.
“Um, Dan…”
“What is it?”
“The customer at table eight just left,” Nicky says in a small voice.
Dan pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fuck. Just, fuck me.”
“No thanks,” Andrew chirps. “I’m sure Boyd would, though.”
“Shut it, Minyard.”
Five minutes later Dan rips off the last order slip from the wall and crunches it tightly in her fist. “Right people, the lunch is over. Renee and Aaron, you’re washing the dishes today.”
“Yes, chef,” Renee says with a smile. “C’mon Aaron.”
Aaron follows her without a complaint.
“Don’t you have anyone hired as the dishwasher?” Neil asks Dan, who shakes her head.
“Wymack had to get rid of the last one two months ago. She was caught stealing. So right now we’re taking turns and Nicky and Katelyn handle as much of the washing up as they can during their breaks.”
“That doesn’t sound like the best solution,” Neil points out.
“Maybe not in the long run, but it’ll do,” Dan says and stretches her back. “We’re very skilled at surviving by the skin of our teeth.”
He doesn't like to admit it, but it reminds Neil a bit of himself.