The Bed You Make
Chapter 50, concluded
Russell Lee tapped a few times on the locked front door and waited patiently for a response. He hadn't informed anyone that he would be in the area, but that hardly mattered. It never had before. Since becoming friends with Chef Philip Gottorp, Russell had an open invitation to dine at Xanthe whenever he desired. In fact, it was a standing order for the staff that –open or closed– the chemist was always welcome to a drink and meal on the house.
The two men met in the early days of Philip's popularity. At a time when chefs the world over were more focused on food presentation than food composition, the little-known chef of Xanthe restaurant chose to do just the opposite. It wasn't long before he was the darling of Europe, spawning a wave of imitators in America racing to capitalize on his unique style.
Russell Lee made his way to Xanthe in search of an apprenticeship, of sorts. The young chemist had watched an interview in which Chef Gottorp explained what he believed to be the attraction of his simple style of cooking- each individual component of a dish not only complimented but enhanced all the others. Nothing less than a true marriage of flavors would do.
It was a concept that resonated with Russell Lee. He saw no reason why the same standard could not be applied to the fragrances and cosmetics he crafted. Russell felt so strongly about it that he left his first job as a chemist at a major cosmetics company because they hadn't understood his desire. Management saw Russell’s insistence upon a more in-depth approach as obstinance. His fellow chemists considered him a diva. None of that mattered to Russell. He had greater ambitions than just turning out cookie cutter fragrances, however profitable they might be.
"Mr. Lee." The soft smile of Xanthe’s lanky sommelier greeted him. He’d been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard the door open. "Welcome."
"Thank you,Georgiy." Russell stepped inside, struck as always by the ambience of the place. Even closed, Xanthe gave off an inviting vibe. Chef Philip, (through the use of small, subtle touches), had crafted a venue that contributed to the dining experience as much as the food.
"The chef did not mention your visit."
Russell waved off the sommelier's observation. "I was on the continent, so I thought I would drop by.”
The flippant response earned Russell a brief chuckle. He had an affinity for the young sommelier. They were more alike than Russell sometimes cared to think. Born to native mothers and foreign fathers, both men existed just outside of their respective communities.
Georgiy had had the tougher childhood. He had grown up in a Russian orphanage, placed there at age 5. His mother had fallen ill and died only weeks before they were scheduled to secretly travel to Ghana and join Georgiy's exchange student father. The authorities placed Georgiy in one of the few orphanages that would take him and gave no thought to trying to locate young Georgiy's father.
“Come. Sit,” Georgiy instructed. “The staff will prepare for you breakfast. Chef will be alerted that you are here as soon as he is available.”
