Читать книгу And Then There Is Love - Lori Buckman - Страница 3

When she pulled into Fiore’s empty parking lot she turned off the engine of her Rav-4 and sat back, gazing at the restaurant fondly. The building was painted a soft apricot. Ivy crawled up the sides. Yellow and purple lantana and vivid crimson ice plants hugged the front of the restaurant. Two scarlet bougainvilleas grew up the sides of a white trellis that framed the front door while tall cypresses flanked either side of the building. In a short time she, as manager, had made so many changes inside and out that a previously unimpressed restaurant critic gave it another try and his delightful experience earned Fiore a mention in the Los Gatos Gazette.

She unlocked the side door. Before entering she looked up at the slightly cloudy sky. Well, cloudy or not, it’s probably going to be a scorcher. It was cool inside. She always felt that she had just entered a strange world where no human beings as yet existed but her. She tiptoed almost soundlessly down the dark hallway that led past her office, past the beautifully redone male and female bathrooms and out to the dark lounge and up the one step to the beautiful dining room.

Soon after she became manager at Fiore she had decided that it needed to be totally revamped. It wouldn’t be the Italian cafe of old so the first change she made inside was to paint over the cheesy frescoes on the ceiling and install recessed lighting. The walls, as well as the ceiling, had been repainted a light cinnamon and four wall sconces and four modern paintings decorated them. The cold, gray flagstones on the floor had been covered with a beige and mauve carpet. The red and white checked tablecloths went the way of the carpeting and were replaced with new, off-white tablecloths. The restaurant’s padded chairs were crimson, a color that reminded her of the two chairs and loveseat in her late grandmother’s beautiful condominium on San Francisco’s Nob Hill. Even the music was changed from modern Italian to classical. The new menus promoted exquisite, continental dishes for which their world-class chef was famous. Every day Barbara congratulated herself – in a very short time she had transformed Fiore into a stylish, four-star establishment. The restaurant, packed for dinner every day of the week showed just how successful it was. Barbara stood in the now empty room and gazed about it in satisfaction. It was her taste and it was beautiful! She had finally succeeded!

Before retreating to the office where she did most of her work, she stepped back down into the dim lounge, decorated differently from the dining room. Dark green flagstones covered the floor. Tiny tables, meant for an appetizer and two or three drinks, populated the lounge. At the periphery of the room on two sides were groupings of easy chairs and small couches that flanked larger but lower tables. She went behind the bar and made a pot of Italian Roast. While the coffee was brewing, she re-entered the dining room, approached the full-length window and drew the diaphanous curtains. Her eyes were less sensitive to the sunlight but nevertheless she still squinted; though the sunlight had risen in the sky it was still painfully bright to someone who had, she supposed, drunk too much and partied late into the night. She took in the spectacular view of the beautiful, well-kept golf course beneath them and beyond it the Santa Cruz Mountains. She sighed. Every morning it was as if she saw it for the first time and this morning was no different. She poured a cup of coffee at the bar, looked about and smiled to herself, and took it back to her office where she would remain at her desk until the restaurant began to hum with the first shift employees in the mid-morning. Too much alcohol and its accompanying headache or not, it was her routine and she loved it.