Page 22 of You Chive Me Crazy
“The Terminator strikes again,” Damian said, shaking his head in disgust and taking a small sip of his wine. “How do you sleep at night?”
Lucas shrugged. “On my back with a memory-foam pillow, blackout blinds, and an occasional dose of chewable melatonin.”
It sounded like he was telling the truth, but I didn’t know what to believe from him.
Lucas helped himself to more wine, then poured me a glass of water. “Make sure you get your fluids. Don’t want you collapsing on me again.”
“Seriously—you put her grandson out of business,” Damian continued. “Don’t you feel any remorse for that, or do you get your kicks being a world-class bunghole?”
Kay cleared her throat. “Everything Lucas said in that review was one-hundred percent accurate. I can’t fault him for that.”
Damian blinked twice, his mouth falling open slightly. “You’re defending this scumbag for what he wrote?”
“Absolutely. It was good reporting on his part—he just said what everyone else was thinking,” Kay said. “You did my grandson, Rowan, a favor with that review, so thank you.”
That shut Damian up, but it definitely piqued my curiosity.
“How so?” I couldn’t help asking.
Unlike Lucas’ millions of fans, I didn’t appreciate how harsh his reviews were sometimes, but it would be interesting to hear an opinion from someone who was directly affected by one.
Kay took a sip of her wine and set the glass down. “Rowan’s restaurant was bleeding money long before Lucas walked through his doors. That review forced him to do some serious contemplating about his future, and it ultimately helped him make the brave and smart decision to shut the place down before he lost everything he had. Mediocre restaurants can survive fifty years or longer under the right conditions. Rowan’s biggest problem, much bigger than serving up mediocre food, was the sky-high rent of Rodeo Drive. And there was one other thing that led to his downfall, something that made me want to bop him upside the head.”
“What was that?” Lucas asked, taking another big sip of his wine.
More like a gulp.
Was Lucas uncomfortable?
“I love my grandson more than words can say,” Kay said. “But he was a fool for thinking it would be a clever gimmick to open a steakhouse called Bursbury directly next-door to Burberry, the luxury fashion store from London. All that did was create a great big bundle of confusion. Bursbury, Burberry, Burberry, Bursbury. People came in looking for two-thousand-dollar tote bags and seven-hundred-dollar leather sandals, not eighteen-dollar burgers that tasted like . . . How did you describe them, Lucas?” She squinted her eyes, thinking.
“A beastly beef abomination,” Marty happily provided. “I loved that review!” He turned to Kay. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she said. “Like I said, Lucas did Rowan a favor. Honestly, that restaurant was never a good fit for him. He strayed away from his true passion, and when you don’t enjoy what you do, it shows in your work.”
“What’s his passion?” I asked.
Kay smiled. “Hot dogs.”
“Now, you are talkin’ my language!” the man at the end jumped into the conversation. “I love hot dogs. Foot longs, hot links, chili dogs, corn dogs, you name it. Throw on some red onions, mustard, and ketchup and I’m a happy, happy man.” The rotund man patted his belly to prove his point.
He wore a T-shirt that said, “I’m with her.”
The woman next to him had on a T-shirt that said, “I’m with him.”
Betsy gestured to the two of them. “Hank and Harmony come here every year on their anniversary, which coincides with Big Bang Big Bear.”
Hank nodded. “I guess you can say we’re foodies, although we were disappointed last year when the only hot dog vendor pulled out of the festival at the last minute.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because Rowan will be here with his brand-new gourmet hot dog and sausage food truck,” Kay said, glowing with pride. “And his chili dogs are out of this world. He’s never been happier or felt more successful; that’s why I thanked you, Mr. Filo. Your honest review was a catalyst for his current situation and his five-star hot dogs.”
“You sold me. I’ll be there,” Hank said, twisting spaghetti onto his fork and slurping it up.
“Zoe also has a food truck,” Lucas offered out of nowhere.
What possessed the man to tell them that? Not that I wasn’t proud of my culinary offerings, but I was perfectly capable of speaking for myself.
“That is wonderful,” Betsy said. “What kind of food truck do you have, Zoe?”
