There were only customers out front. Sal glanced at his watch. It was ten after two. Her interview was set for two. Strike two. Punctuality was a must. If this girl couldn’t even make the interview on time, how was he supposed to take her seriously? Everyone else he’d interviewed had either been on time or early.
Sal stopped at the refrigerator behind the bar and pulled out an energy drink. He’d just taken his first sip, when he saw the young girl walk in the front door. He could only assume this was his next interviewee. Her application said twenty-three, but she hardly looked it. Maybe this was someone else.
She had to be here for an interview because she held some kind of paperwork in her arm and seemed a bit lost. She wasn’t as professionally dressed as some of the other interviewees but at least she’d worn a dress. A loose, unflattering one but it would do. Her hair was in a tight bun and she wore glasses. The dark rimmed kind, that only teachers and older women wore. He jotted three words down: trying too hard.
Even though she was late, she didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. She strutted in like she owned the place. The hostess at the front turned to Sal after the girl stopped to ask her something. Sal nodded and waved her over to a corner booth. He walked over already expecting another frustrating interview. Alex wouldn’t be happy.
Julie, one of the waitresses, stopped him on his way to meet with Graciela. “Real quick. Can you make sure I’m off next Friday? I forgot to put in my request.”
“I’m pretty sure Alex already made that schedule.”
She squeezed her hands together in front of her. “Please! I need that day off. My best friend is gonna kill me. I was supposed to request the day off a long time ago.”
Sal frowned but nodded. “If he scheduled you, I’ll change it but next time don’t forget.”
Julie squealed and hugged him. Someone behind them cleared their throat loudly.
Sal turned around. Seeing her this close made her young age even more noticeable. He glanced back down at her resumé. No way was she twenty-three.
She took the initiative. “Hello.” She held her hand out. “I’m Graciela Zendejas.”
She was average height, and average looking all around except for the big brown perfectly almond shaped eyes. He smirked at her attempt to mask her accent. Though she rolled her r’s, she did a good job of toning down the accent, but it wasn’t entirely gone.
“I’m Sal Moreno.” He reached his hand out and took her firm handshake. “My parents own this restaurant, Graciela.” He rolled his r’s pretty well, if he did say so himself. “Is it okay if I call you Grace?”
“No. I prefer Graciela.”
Her immediate and curt response took him by surprise. “Okay… Graciela. Have a seat.”
He couldn’t help notice what perfect posture she had and how she held her shoulders so high even when she sat. Her chin was up a bit as well. Sal glanced down at the paperwork and read the experience she had. She’d written paragraphs about her experience cooking with her grandmother but valid restaurant experience—not much.
“Okay,” he smiled. “So it says here you’d like to be considered for the head cook.”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“But you don’t have a lot of experience and you’re still in culinary school.”
“I have a lifetime of experience, Mr. Moreno.” She pronounced his last name just as his parents did, rolling the r and short e as in end rather than the long e as in eat like he pronounced it and had grown accustomed hearing it. “My grandmother owned a restaurant in Juarez and I worked there since I was a child.” She held her chin up a little higher. “As a cook.”
Sal had to glance away from the big dark eyes that peered at him accusingly as if he just insulted her. “I see.” He examined the rest of her résumé. “I was talking about professional experience.”
“Mr. Moreno—”
“Call me Sal,” he said, without looking up from her résumé. Her icy demeanor was beginning to annoy him.
“Mr. Moreno,” she continued, ignoring his request. “My grandmother’s restaurant in Juarez was one of the most renowned restaurants for years and she trusted me in the kitchen even when I was ten, because she taught me everything she knew.”
Sal glanced up at her, noticing how her eyes seemed to have darkened even more. “That’s great, Ms. Zendejas.”
Knowing it would be inappropriate, not to mention illegal, to ask he emphasized the Ms. and waited for her to correct him. Her expression remained rigid. Though he was certain because of her age, that she was a Ms. and not a Mrs., for some reason he was relieved that she didn’t correct him. Maybe it was because he found her obvious contempt for him somewhat amusing. He wasn’t used to women being put off by him. “It’s just that for head chef, we’re looking for a little more experience than—”
“Than a lifetime?”
“Well, Grace—”
“Graciela.”
Sal pressed his lips together breathing in through his nostrils and nodded. “I’m sorry, Graciela. Our restaurant is quite renowned in San Diego County—”
“I’ve heard plenty about your restaurant. I only apply where I’d be proud to work. Moreno’s has an impeccable reputation for serving only the most authentic dishes. I think I would bring my experience as a lifetime chef—”