Anna Sirosky was a wise woman aging like the fine wine she cooked with. Her hair was always pressed, and her toffee-colored face was always powdered. She had an elegant and studious attitude and aura about her, and she never made bad first impressions. Her lips danced like ballerinas when she spoke, and her hands moved like ribbons dangling from a soaring kite. She cooked with such delicacy and poise, but with enough passion to fill the room she was in.
Everyone knew of Mrs. Anna’s cooking, and especially that seasoning mix she kept so secret. Although largely popular, Mrs. Anna struggled to keep up with the newer, more viral restaurants that had wrapped up the current generation. Cookie dough croissants the size of a basketball, colorful concoctions of milkshakes, and seafood served on dry ice had changed cuisine altogether. Mrs. Anna saw her success falter, as the public flocked to post a picture of themselves alongside their popular dishes, drinks, and desserts. And so, seeing the struggles of a small, and old-fashioned diner, Talia Gilligan found it fit to ‘revamp and remodel’ Mrs. Anna’s restaurant. She arrived on a cool Tuesday afternoon, wearing a sleek white jumpsuit, silver heels, and Tiffany sunglasses far too large for her fake-tanned complexion. Her teeth were a blinding white, and her cuticles seemed to be screaming out in pain from having to support such lengthy hot pink acrylic nails.
Mrs. Anna watched as this customer, who was carefully avoiding brushing up against the mahogany tables or the waiters who rushed past with a warm smile, approached the kitchen. Talia held her expensive handbag closer to her side and made it a point to whip her shining black hair across her shoulder as she crossed the check-out counter.
“How may I help you?” Mrs. Anna asked kindly.
“Well, I would just like to introduce myself. I’m Talia Gilligan, producer of Restaurant Revamp and I was wondering if it would be possible for us to shoot an episode renovating your diner.”
Mrs. Anna’s expression was now a bit colder, and she crossed her arms and set her weight on her left hip. She wondered why these businesspeople were always sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. She wondered if Talia would take no for an answer.
“You see, we noticed your business is struggling a bit and thought we could help you out! The renovations would be completely free, as our sponsor is paying for this episode. So, what do you say?”
No.” Mrs. Anna answered. She grabbed a handkerchief from the sewn-on pocket on her lavender apron, and patted it along her brows and forehead, to ensure she still looked her best. Talia looked visibly appalled, almost as if she had just watched a baby turtle get run over.
“Well, I’m sure we can… you know…umm- work something out. In fact, just a few decorations here and there and-.”
“No. Now if you aren’t planning on ordering anything, I ask that you allow me to tend to my customers.”
So, Talia Gilligan took a step back, her handbag gripped even tighter. She smoothed her hair over with her hand and adjusted the sunglasses to sit a little lower on the bridge of her perfect button nose.
“We’ll be seeing each other very, very soon.” Talia remarked.
“I’ll have a plate ready for you then hon.” Mrs. Anna answered, holding the door open for the producer, and offering some mints to the young children that were walking out.
“No that’s fine, I’m sure I’m allergic to whatever it is you serve here.”
Talia Gilligan left the diner in a scramble, her bracelets jumping around her wrists. She aggressively dialed a number and held her phone up to her ear. Mrs. Anna could hear Talia muttering complaints all the way until she reached her silver Bugatti, where two large men in suits awaited her.
Mrs. Anna chuckled to herself, closing the door behind her, signaling homemade chimes. She smiled sweetly to the people sitting nearby, who were enjoying some roasted Brussel sprouts and fried Mozzarella. She returned to the kitchen, where she gently patted her fellow cooks’ backs, grabbing a skillet from the rack, and placing it on the hot stove. She cracked a few eggs and sighed as they sizzled alongside the chives and tomatoes. She sprinkled oregano, salt, pepper, and shredded parmesan into the pan, watching as the bubbles on the surface of the eggs grew and popped. She flipped the omelet into the air, and as she did this, she could see a familiar silver Bugatti frantically pulling back into the parking lot. She watched as Talia Gilligan climbed out of the car, now accompanied by several businesspeople, cameras, microphones, and more producers who had fake smiles plastered all over their faces.