I say.
“Is that the extent of your history with Twyla?” Russell asks. “That you were once in her employ?”
Wavonne cackles loudly. “That would be a no,” she answers for me. “Twyla was ridin’ high when Halia opened Sweet Tea. She had a good story... the same story as Halia actually . . . as a whole bunch of people, I guess. She’d quit a nine-to-five job as a lawyer or a librarian... or a lab techni—”
“She was a loan officer,” I say. “For whatever reason, when she opened Dauphine, the press ate up her ‘leave your humdrum office job and follow your dreams’ tale. She was featured in the Washington Post and was on the local news . . . and she eventually ended up with a spread in People magazine and a guest appearance on one of the national morning talk shows.”
“The first year or two Dauphine was off the chain busy,” Wavonne says. “Twyla landed a regular cooking segment on the local news that promoted her restaurant and helped pack ’em in. She was great on camera. She has a thick, and if you ask me, overdone, southern accent and knows how to lay on the sugar when she wants to.”
“Yes. We’re aware of her quasi-celebrity status,” Cynthia says. “That’s how we ended up casting her as a guest judge. How does Halia factor into any of this?”
“Well... like I said,” Wavonne replies, “Twyla had a good story and talked a good game... got lots of publicity. There was only one problem. Girlfriend couldn’t... can’t cook worth a damn. She could get people in the door with all the press and hoopla, but no one came back. A few years after she opened, the place was hurtin’ big time, but things started to turn around when she hired someone who actually knew her way around a kitchen.”
“Halia?” Cynthia asks.
“Yep. She pretty much saved the joint.”
“Wavonne is exaggerating, but I was able to up the kitchen’s game a bit and help her develop a steady clientele. She hired me as a front of the house manager, but the longer I was there, the more time I spent in the kitchen helping her and the line staff. Twyla opened a restaurant with no experience. I’d worked in a dozen restaurants by the time I came on board at Dauphine and had always had a knack for cooking, so I was able to really contribute there... improve recipes, change a few work-flows... implement some quality control. I also tried an approach to working with the kitchen staff that was somewhat... shall we say novel to Twyla—I was kind and respectful to them.”
“I have a few friends who work at Dauphine. They say she’s a total pill,” Wavonne says. “My girl Nicki... she’s a server there . . . calls Twyla ‘the Wet Hen.’ And Adam... he works in the kitchen... calls her ‘Twyla the Hun.’”
“Wow,” Cynthia says. “She seems so nice in the TV clips I’ve seen of her and has been so pleasant when I’ve talked with her on the phone.”
“She’s sweet as molasses when it suits her, especially when she’s on camera,” Wavonne replies. “But once the cameras are off, or she’s in the kitchen out of earshot of her customers, she’s suddenly Evillene trying to get her sister’s shoes back from Diana Ross in The Wiz.”
“She’s not that bad, Wavonne,” I defend. “She eventually made me a sous-chef at Dauphine even though I’d never had any formal culinary schooling. I’m grateful to her for that. I learned a lot working for her... even if it was more about what not to do rather than what to do. My experience at Dauphine was immensely helpful when I opened Sweet Tea.”
“So how are things between you and Twyla now?” Russell asks.
“They’re fine.”
“Ahem... liar... ahem,” Wavonne mutters.
“What? We are fine.”
“Halia might be fine with Twyla, but Twyla’s still got a beef with Halia. I saw her fuming at the Rammys last year when Halia won in the casual brunch category.... Bitter as a Brussels sprout, that one.”
“Bitter about what?”
“About her restaurant going the way of Mariah Carey’s music career. You know... still around but not terribly relevant or successful. Even her silly little cooking segments on the local news got canned a few months ago.”
“What’s Halia have to do with that?”
“She left Dauphine and took all of Twyla’s customers with her.”
“I did not,” I protest. “At least that was never my intention.”
“When Halia left Dauphine, the place went back to bein’ the second-rate eatery it was before she worked her magic in the kitchen.” Wavonne turns to me. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t let me have mine on me when I’m workin’ the floor.”
I hand her the phone. “What do you want it for?”
“I bet it’s still online,” she says, tapping a few keys and scrolling. “Here it is. This is what the Post critic said shortly after Halia left Dauphine.” Wavonne begins reading. “‘Without the talents of sous chef Mahalia Watkins, who recently left to open Mahalia’s Sweet Tea, Dauphine has, once again, become mundane . . . ordinary... not awful, but the food has lost that something extra that abounded when Ms. Watkins was manning the kitchen. It’s unclear whether or not Dauphine will survive Ms. Watkins’s exit. Proprietor and executive chef Twyla Harper kept the doors open prior to Ms. Watkins’s employ with some good old-fashioned southern charm and a knack for garnering publicity. Without some significant retooling in the kitchen, Dauphine will, once again, have to rely on Ms. Harper’s flair for hospitality and her weekly television appearances—and perhaps a regular supply of DC tourists who have not already paid a ‘one and done’ visit to the establishment to bring in customers and keep the lights on. It certainly will not be the quality of the food that fills the seats at Dauphine.’”
“Ouch,” Russell says. “That had to hurt.”
“Boy, did it ever. This was back when people actually read newspapers, so having the Washington Post tell the entire DC area that someone else was responsible for the success of her restaurant did not go over well with Twyla the Hun. And, not only did the Post say Dauphine had gone in the dumper following Halia’s exit, it also told them where to go to find Halia. The one mention of Halia leaving to open her own restaurant brought all the Dauphine regulars to Sweet Tea... and they’re still comin’.”
“You’re tempting me to play up this angle during the show,” Cynthia says. “It could be good for ratings.”
I laugh. “There’s no angle to play. Really. Twyla and I are fine. Wavonne likes to dramatize everything.” I turn to Wavonne. “And shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”
“Yeah,” Wavonne grumbles, getting up from the table.
“Interesting dynamic you have with your wait staff,” Russell says with raised eyebrows. “Do your servers always pull up a chair and start gossiping with customers?”
“Not my entire wait staff... just Wavonne. She’s family . . . for better or worse. She—”
Before I can finish my sentence, I hear someone calling from the
