Beyond the Borderline Bk. 02

Of course, all the atmosphere in the world doesn't work if the food sucks. There, we excelled, all modesty aside. The heart of the menu was built around a number of Nana's best recipes, brought over originally from her mother's native Liguria and father's Emilia Romagna. Some I updated and modernized to reflect current tastes, others were so damn good, I left well enough alone, letting them stand on their own.

Nana was never one to drown it in marinara, smother in mozzarella and bake the shit out of it. Her idea of "home cooking" was quite a bit more advanced, managing to be both comforting and sophisticated at the same time. She didn't exactly deconstruct classics, but somehow managed to capture that elusive combination of simplicity, familiarity and a twist of surprising originality, which made all of her dishes memorable. These items comprised about half of the menu. The other half was my baby, a constantly changing, market-based series of recipes, some based on ideas of Nana's, some entirely my own creations, but all emphasizing local seasonal products that were available at the peak of freshness only, with an Italian sensibility. One day might feature Fraser River King Salmon, served poached sous vide in saffron butter, over a bed of house-made linguine and baby vegetables or perhaps flash-seared, fresh halibut paired with risotto, made with local wild morels. There was never a shortage of fabulous ingredients to experiment with. Creatively and professionally, I was in hog heaven.

On the down side, I had learned the hard way just how green I truly was when it came to the actual business aspects of running a place, but fools rush in and all that. I would have failed miserably without Mom's acumen. At least once a week, she discovered some potentially fatal flaw in my plans. After our only argument about launching the business, I learned to trust her judgment and her uncanny ability to spot the right hires for key positions among the wait staff and kitchen. I learned more about bookkeeping, accounts receivable and cash flow management in the 5 months leading up to the opening than I ever thought possible.

Throughout the whole process of my very painful apprenticeship in business, Mom was incredible. She was essentially working 2 full time jobs while pregnant with twins, putting in 14 to 16 hour days between her new practice and helping me get the restaurant ready to open. Many nights we were too tired for anything but a little cuddle and fall asleep in each other's arms, but I wouldn't have traded it for the world. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have her with me through the whole process and at the same time, I felt terrible about how hard she was working.

I recall bringing it up with her the day we opened for business. She was actually probably more excited than I was about our first day, but as always, she noticed my pensive mood, almost before I was aware of it myself.

We stood in the doorway of the back office, surveying the bustle of cleanup at closing time. There was an air of excitement and purposeful energy in the kitchen as our motely group went through the process of shutting down for the evening, our wait staff clustered around one prep counter dividing up the evening's tips and the line crew helping the dishwashers square away the last of the pots, pans and utensils.

Slipping her arm around my waist, she drew me close, her baby bump pushing against my hip, kissing my ear.

"Congratulations, son," she whispered. "I knew you could do it."

Heaving a sigh, I squeezed her back. "Thanks Mom. Without you, it wouldn't have even gotten off the ground. You worked even harder than I did and saved my bacon more times than I can count. All I did was to yell at you and be a dickhead about stuff."

"Bullshit, Ricky!" she scolded. "This was just as much a labor of love for me as it was for you. And don't you ever bring up that stupid argument again, you hear me?"

She turned my head and kissed me thoroughly, speaking softly and seriously. "I don't expect perfection, my darling. I know you do your best to make me happy every day, and I'm blessed for that. Besides, I could almost wish for another argument. I'm not likely to forget your 'apology' any time soon," she giggled. "That was some of the hottest, best sex I've ever had and that's saying a lot, given the standard you'd set before, hotshot."

I turned fully to face her and drew her close, giving her a proper thank you kiss. As we melted together and our tongues became reacquainted, her arms slipped around my shoulders and she moaned into my mouth. Our kiss intensified and the world receded for a time, until our clinch was interrupted by a smattering of applause and a couple of cheerful catcalls.

"Someone get a bucket of water!"

"Cut down on those oysters, Chef!"

Blushing, we broke apart, holding hands.

I am very businesslike about how we run our establishment, but I like to maintain an atmosphere of informality and mutual respect amongst the staff, so the teasing didn't bother me at all. While no one suspected our secret, we never made any bones about of our affection or passion for one another, so this was not the first time we were seen snogging away in the scullery.

Smiling softly and pinching my butt, Mom propelled me gently back towards the sinks, whispering in my ear as I went.

"Get out there any help your people, Ricky. The sooner you get them out the door, the sooner we get to go upstairs. Mother needs your nice, hard cock again tonight."

I always listen to what my Mom says.

We started to generate a little buzz on Yelp and Zagat after the first couple of weeks, but were still just a little better than breaking even after our first month, with no major reviews forthcoming.

I was starting to wonder if we were going to sink without a trace, not even leaving a ripple behind us as my future disappeared. It was a huge struggle to maintain a positive outlook. Our fortunes changed about 7 or 8 weeks after opening, hinging as these things often do, upon an unexpected crisis. We were just beginning to ramp up for Saturday dinner when Mom came into the kitchen, her face grim. "Alicia (our best hostess) just called off. She broke her wrist this morning, poor girl. She's having surgery right now and is going to be out for at least a week. I've tried calling Brendan and Meghan also, but neither are picking up. What are we going to do?"

"If we could call Alain back to work a double, then he could take over." The most senior member of our wait staff, Alain was a 30-year veteran of the restaurant scene who had recently fallen on hard times because of difficulties in his personal life, which he would not elaborate on. He had been one of Mom's "intuition hires" and had been an enormous help to me in getting the place running properly. Having received a second chance from us, he was fiercely loyal to the restaurant. "Mom, do you think you could fill in until he gets here?"

"Ricky! I'm 6 months pregnant, my feet are killing me and I have zero experience!" she exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Trust me on this, Mom. You've got great people skills and your attention to detail is ferocious. You'll do fine until Alain gets in. It shouldn't be more than an hour or so. I took her hand and squeezed it - I trust you and your intuition. It'll be fine."

Heaving a sigh and squaring her shoulders, Mom went back out to the front desk and got to work. She came back ten or fifteen minutes later, an odd look on her face. "Can you step out for just a minute, Rick?"

Discretely guiding me to a vantage point where I could see the entrance, Mom pointed out a couple who appeared to be walk-ins. There was an obvious family resemblance between the woman and young man who accompanied her. She was about 5' 6", with an ample, yet curvaceous figure, which was shown to excellent advantage by a colorful, off-the shoulder peasant blouse and matching scarf along with a hip hugging, wine colored leather skirt.

Her companion was a somewhat stocky, but well-developed young man who stood about 5'9", dressed casually in a pair of Levis, a plain white polo shirt and a black leather bomber jacket. Both had straight, jet-black hair, his worn in a long pony tail, hers in a retro-looking 50's style pageboy. I couldn't see her face well, as her back was turned to me, appearing to be engaged in a lively conversation with her young escort.

After watching their interactions, I could see why Mom wanted me to take a look. Answering the unasked question, I said, "They sure look like a couple, don't they?"

"I'd stake my reputation on it. I'm thinking, Ricky. Should we offer them the private table?"

"Your intuition strikes again Mom. If there are no reservations, go for it."

Remaining discretely in the background, I watched Mom approach them. A brief discussion ensued, which I could not hear clearly, but judging by the way the young man's face lit up, Mom had hit yet another home run.

I caught some of the conversation as Mom led them to the cunningly hidden, enclosed alcove where the private booth was located. "Our private table can be waited upon traditionally, of course, but if you are willing to be a little less orthodox, we can provide a more discrete level of service to you. If you wish, all you need to do is to press the button on the table when you need something. I can attend you personally this evening, if you would like. My name is Jennifer."

"Thank you so much, Jennifer," the woman replied. "We're really looking forward to the meal. I've heard a lot of good things about your place."

"Not at all. A mother's time with her son is very precious and not to be wasted. I hope you enjoy your dinner."

With that, Mom escorted them out of sight and we resumed our regular activities. I went back into the kitchen to talk to the line crew. "We have a special couple at the private table, guys, so I want you to pull out all the stops tonight, okay?"

About a half hour later, Mom came back into the kitchen, her face flushed. Taking me into the meat locker, she kissed me passionately and groped my crotch. "You'd better be ready to fuck me royally after we close up, buster. I'm so turned on right now, I can't stand it. I know for sure that the private table woman sucked her son off between courses. When I brought out the entrees, I'm pretty sure he had been fingering her, too."

"I have to say Mom, when I first heard your idea for the private table, I wasn't sure, but now, it seems like a stroke of genius," I groaned, kissing her feverishly. As she responded, her mouth opening to tangle tongues, I slipped my hand up her dress to cup her pussy through her panties, which were absolutely sopping.

Struggling to regain her composure, she removed my hand with a shiver. "We've got people to feed, Ricky. You can make it up to me later."

About 45 minutes later, Mom came back to the kitchen. "Alain is here now, so I'll be handing off to him. Also, the couple in the private room would like to talk with me." Mom's brow furrowed in confusion. "I have no idea what that's about."

Taking her hand, I pulled her towards the kitchen door. "Shall I come with you?" Mom nodded and I took her hand on the way out the door.

Entering the private room, I thought I could detect very faintly the aroma of fresh semen and female musk. I wasn't sure that it was real, or a figment of my imagination, fueled and influenced by Mom's earlier comments. To all appearances, though, the couple at the table seemed relaxed and composed. I was very surprised, however, when the woman got up to introduce herself.

"My name is Molly O'Donnell and this is my son, Mitch. We'd like to thank you for an extraordinary evening. The service was exemplary, the food was delicious and the overall attention to detail was superb. You have a winner here, in my opinion."

"Not THE Molly O'Donnell?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so," she said self deprecatingly.

Turning to Mom I began to explain "Ms. O'Donnell-"

"Please, call me Molly. I insist."

"Okay, thanks." Turning again to Mom, I explained, "Molly is the lead restaurant critic for the Times-Herald and also the food and dining editor for "City Today" magazine."

Mom's eyes widened briefly in surprise. "We're delighted you enjoyed your evening with us. We hope to see you again."

I produced my business card and wrote on the back. "These are our personal cell numbers. Please call one of us directly the next time you'd like to drop by. We'll make every effort to see that the private room is available."

Glancing at the card, she started in surprise. "You're the executive chef?" she exclaimed. "How old are you, Rick?"

"I'll be 26 in a couple of months," I lied, padding my age a little bit.

"Amazing. You are a prodigious talent, young man. I will be following your career with great interest from now on."

Turning to Mom, she asked "Jennifer, you don't strike me as the typical hostess type. What is your connection with the restaurant?"

Glancing at Mom, I arched an eyebrow in question. Once again on the same wavelength, she gave an imperceptible affirmative nod. "Rick is my son. We own the place."

Suddenly, the silence was deafening. Molly's jaw dropped in surprise as she took in the information. As she glanced at Mom, a distinct flush appeared on her throat and upper chest, but not, I thought, from embarrassment. "Extraordinary...absolutely extraordinary."

Moving closer to Mom, I put my arm possessively around her waist, bringing it up so it rested just below her breast. "We're expecting twins in 3 months."

Mitch spoke for the first time as he also rose from behind the table, his crotch slightly bulging with the beginnings of an erection. "Too fucking cool," he said, coming to his mother's side. He cupped her ass cheek with calm familiarity.

Molly cast a smoldering glance at her son, suddenly a bit unstable on her feet. "Unbelievable, simply unbelievable," she whispered.

Appearing to come to a decision, Mom spoke. "Molly, would it be out of line if I offered you a favor, one mother to another?"

Molly appeared to be having difficulty concentrating. She was unconsciously mirroring her son's actions, kneading his ass with intensity. The aroma of aroused female was suddenly quite evident within the room. "W...w...what's that, Jennifer?"

Producing her keychain from a dress pocket, Mom peeled off our apartment key. "Next to the restroom alcove there's a locked door. Go up the stairs and you'll be in our flat. The master suite is the second door on the left, off the main hallway. Sheets are fresh," she said with a wink. "I don't want to worry about you two making it home safely."

"That's extremely generous, Jennifer, but you hardly know us."

"Please, I insist. If I do say so, I'm an excellent judge of people. I have a strong feeling we're going to end up being good friends." She pushed the key into Molly's hand and repeated what she had said earlier in the evening. "A mother's time with her son is very precious."

"Rick, Jennifer, you are without a doubt the most extraordinary couple I've ever met. Thank you so much for your generosity."

"Rick is going to need to get back to the kitchen, but when you're ready to leave, I'll be in the back office. Do please come by. I always love a chance for girl talk with kindred souls very often."

"We'll see you later," I said, taking my leave.

About 3 hours later, as we were closing the kitchen, Molly and Mitch reappeared, looking refreshed and relaxed. Molly had that "I've just been fucked REALLY well" glow about her. I took them to the back office to chat with Mom, explaining that I was needed to help with cleanup.

Molly was very surprised when I left. "You do clean up? You've got to be kidding."

"It's a leadership function, Molly. You complemented us on our attention to detail. Part of getting the troops to care about ALL the little things is being willing to roll up your own sleeves and help the team. Look, I know I'm a pretty good cook, but I would be nowhere if my crew didn't care about doing their jobs as best they can."

Turning to Mom, Molly shook her head. "You've raised a wonderful, wise son and a good man, Jennifer."

"Please, Molly. My friends call me Jen. Yes, that's why I love him so much, and in so many ways."

Glancing at Mitch, Mom said "You don't need to hang with us old ladies, Mitch. You can go out and talk with Rick if you want."

"Thanks, Jen, but a son's time with his Mom is precious," he replied with a smile. "I never get tired of being with her. Besides, what man in his right mind would not want to spend time with a couple of beautiful women, who, by the way, are very far from old."

"You haven't done too badly yourself in the son department, Molly," Mom observed with a smile.

"Thanks again for you kindness and generosity, Jen. I'll treasure this evening always."

"Nonsense. Kindred spirits have to look out for each other. Just don't be a stranger, okay?"

"We won't. Listen, I've been thinking. My review for the paper will come out in 4 days. You'll want to check it out and get prepared."

"Get prepared, Molly?"

"Yes. Though I say it who shouldn't, when the review hits the presses and then my blog and Facebook page, you're going to be really busy. With all due modesty, I've got a lot of pull in this town. You should know that you are going to be the first new restaurant in my 15 years on the beat that I've given 5 stars to out of the gate - and it's NOT because of your personal interest in Mitch and me. Rick is that good. He's going to take this town by storm, especially after City Today does a feature article on him and Casa di Mia Nonna. We'll shoot for the March issue on that. I'll be talking to my editor tomorrow - and don't worry, no personal information that you don't approve. I'll do the interview myself. After that though, I'll have to recuse myself from further reviews. I'd much rather be your friend." She gave Mom a hug.

"C'mon Mitch. I need to get home and write my review. After that, I need some more of your good lovin'."

Clean up seemed to be progressing quickly. I went out front to personally thank Alain for bailing us out for the evening. "It was my plaisir, Monsieur Rick. Am I correct zat Madame O'Donnell dined with us this evening?"

"Indeed. Il a été un grand succès, Alain."

"Magnifique! I am very much delighted for you and Madame Jenny. You both have worked so hard for this. I am touched in my heart for both of you, that two such kind people should have a good reward. But I am thinking, you should celebrate. Please allow me to close up tonight. Take your lovely woman upstairs and leave everything else to me. I insist."

"Merci beaucoup, Alain. I will do that. See you in the morning."

"Bonsoir, young Master Chef."

I saw Alain and the last stragglers of the kitchen crew out the door and locked up. Moving quickly to the back office, I entered and closed the door behind me. Mom looked up from the desk as I came through the door. In one glance to each other, our mutual purpose was instantly clear and in three seconds she was in my arms. There would be no wait to get upstairs to our bed. As we broke our kiss to catch our breath, Mom moaned in my ear. "God, Ricky, I'm soooo hot! My panties were soaking all evening. I was practically sticking to the chair!"

Gliding my hand up the back of her thigh, I cupped her ass cheek and then slid my hand inside the back of her gusset, slipping my finger into her wetness. She immediately began to thrust herself against my probing digit. "Ohhh, God, Ricky. I need you inside me NOW!" she moaned, fumbling for my zipper.

"Jesus Mom! You're on fire...so wet!"

Mom was pulling me back towards the desk as she unbuckled my pants, her hand shoving down past the waistband of my boxers to grasp my cock, urgently stroking it. As her knees touched the back of the desk, she leaned back, hitching her skirt up to her waist. Pulling me towards her by my prick, she spread her legs, pulling her panties to one side as she guided me into her dripping pussy.