Page 17 of The Hampton Beach Café 3
"Hi…" Frances said, "…me too. I don't think I've ever felt this underdressed."
Madelaine stepped toward her and offered her hand. "Bet it helps that people don't assume you're Danny DeVito."
Unsure whether or not to laugh, Frances stalled by putting her thinking face on. She couldn't deny that the very short woman wearing a dark gray suit probably didn't help the situation, but LA had its perks.
"You know I've met him once or twice," she said. "He was always lovely. He’s got a good reputation for being genuinely kind to people."
Madelaine laughed. "Well then, I guess they're picking up on my warm and cuddly soul, not my sub-five foot status."
The wide grin Gus gave made Frances pause––had she completely misread this situation?
"Maddy is renowned for being incredibly harsh," he said. "Nice to meet you. I'm the nice one."
Frances shook his hand, too, and tried to hide her confusion.
"I think you'll find incredibly high standards is more accurate…" Madelaine interrupted, "…standards which Clarkson here tells me will be entirely satisfied by your establishment?"
Oh lord,Frances thought,what has he done?
"Look, Jenny's here," Clarkson waved. "I can't believe she agreed to fly in. Isn't she on her way to Bora Bora or something?"
Gus smirked. "Something like that. She never stops moving. Now, where's this private room and please tell me there will be food there? I can't talk publicity on an empty stomach."
NINE
Sitting down heavily on her bed, her hair wrapped in a tight towel on top of her head, Frances pulled out her phone and opened her usual series of apps.
The eBook she should be reading but couldn't concentrate on, the music she couldn't play on the café speakers because customers wouldn't like it, her email with nothing new––what a surprise at five in the morning––and finally one of her few social media accounts.
Frances hadn't avoided social media so much as she had only used it for work––a shocking number of corporate clients wanted to build a social network outside of the professional channels. As she flicked through her accounts and their various notifications, she realized that while her actual intent was very different, she was engaging in the same behavior the influencer Clarkson brought into the café did. Clarkson, too, now she thought about it. Her 'personal' profiles were all pretty tailored to appeal to high-strung business types, while the accounts for Café Bruno were much more aesthetically relaxed. She'd scheduled out the next three months of posts, so it was a weight off her daily task list, but now she needed to add in some bonus posts for the articles Madeline, Gus, and Jenny were going to write.
She was blown away that these three showed interest in her venture. From what she could tell, they were three of the biggest names in their business without stepping over into the fine-dining and Michelin star side of things. Lucky for her, too, because she did not want that kind of pressure––or the backlash from Kennedy.
How strange her life was now,she realized, sitting up straighter. A weird mix between tiptoeing the same fine lines around the same people she had in high school, a total change from her life in corporate risk, and yet elements of her LA life like the ridiculous party that had kept her out until midnight.
Holding her phone tightly, she counted back on her fingers––four hours of sleep. That was, fundamentally, not enough. Sighing, she reached up to release her hair from its wrap. She needed to prepare for the day––and the conversation with Alex.
Her morning routine was down to a formula––blow dry, whatever clean combination came off the laundry pile first, mascara and lipstick only––who has time for foundation these days?
Catching her face in the mirror as she headed downstairs, she wondered if she should make time for it, the fine lines around her eyes were what she found the most startling. After all, she'd spent so many years covering them up in LA. Here though, did she really care? Would anyone notice? Probably, she realized, but this thought pattern was starting to feel more like a habit than actually caring about the outcome...
Huh,she thought,that's different.
Heading down the stairs, still musing on the subtle difference between caring if people knew her age and feeling like she should care but didn't, Frances nearly walked straight into Alex as he came around the corner.
"Are you alright?" he asked. "Off with the fairies much?"
She laughed. "Sorry, just solving half the world's problems in my head."
"And all before six?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulder and walking alongside her into the kitchen.
"Obviously," she retorted. "What have you achieved this morning?"
Lucinda wasn't up yet. She had closed with Vin the night before and then gone on to do some client work after––she wouldn't be up until at least ten. That meant that the coffee machine would not have been turned on and prepped, Frances realized as they came up to the counter and sighed.
"I think you'll find that you'll be very pleased with what I've spent my morning doing," he said smugly, disappearing as he ducked down behind the counter.
"Oh, you think, do you?"
