There were days when he still couldn’t get his mind around the extent of his success. Five years ago he’d mortgaged himself to the hilt to get it up and running, but he’d actually pulled it off—and in a big way. Not bad for a college dropout from Blanco, Texas. He wished his parents were still alive to see it, but he knew they’d have been proud.
It was his mother to whom he owed his success. She convinced his father to open a BBQ restaurant on the town square when Ken was just a toddler. He grew up in that kitchen, helping his mom when he could, getting underfoot and generally being a pest most of the time. But he saw how the town folk gravitated to the humble spot. And by the time he was in high school, On the Square had become the local after-school, after-work, after-church hangout.
It didn’t take Ken long to realize he wanted to create something like that. A miniature town meeting hall. A place folks could come and enjoy the food, drink a little, dance a little, and have a good time.
He’d started out by studying business at the University of Texas, earning his tuition by working in every restaurant that would have him. At first he’d planned to open a simple restaurant in Austin, figuring its laid-back community would be perfect for what he’d had in mind.
But then one drunk driver had changed everything. Suddenly his parents were dead. His home had been ripped out from under him, and he’d felt more lost than he’d ever imagined possible. Uncomfortable in his own skin, he’d dropped out of college and escaped to the West coast, drowning his grief in a newly fueled ambition. He may have started out only wanting to operate a dive reminiscent of his mother’s place, but he’d accomplished so much more. He’d become a rich man, powerful in the industry.
As usual, this afternoon he was moving among the tables, shaking hands and greeting the attorneys and brokers who made up the majority of the regular lunch crowd. He was chatting with a newly elected judge when he noticed one of the restaurant’s publicists, Marty Talbot, waving at him from a two-top across the room. After excusing himself, Ken headed over, greeting a few regulars along the way.
“I didn’t expect to see you today, Marty. I figured you’d be tired of me after we spent all day yesterday together in a conference room.”
The older man chuckled, his silver-gray hair giving him a congenial appearance that belied his slick negotiating skills. “I never get tired of a man who pays my bills so promptly.” Marty gestured to the empty seat, and Ken sat down. “Actually, Alicia asked me to pitch her show to you one more time.”
Ken stifled a groan. A former news anchor, Alicia Duncan now had her own morning talk show. Apparently she didn’t have anything better to fill the air with, so she’d taken to bugging Ken.
He shook his head, annoyed that he had to revisit what he’d thought was a dead issue. “I told both of you yesterday, I’m not interested.”
“Fair enough. I just wanted to make sure you’d fully considered her proposition before turning it down.”
“I’ve considered,” Ken said, trying to hide his irritation.
“Have you?” Marty asked.
“Come on, Marty. You of all people should know how I feel about publicity.” An old college friend of his father’s, Marty had known Ken his entire life.
Marty waved his fork in Ken’s direction. “Promotion’s a good thing, son. It’s not like you’d be falling in with the enemy.”
“That’s not the point. I built this restaurant up my way, and I’ve always advertised it my way. So far, I think my plan has worked like a charm.”
All of his advertising focused on the food and the mystique that had grown up around the Oxygen name. No testimonials, no personal appearances, no tacky commercials filmed inside the restaurant, nothing that might diminish the aura that Ken had worked so hard to build.
And since every restaurant he’d launched had been a remarkable success, Ken had no intention of now screwing with his advertising plan. As his dad used to say, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Marty just shook his head and took another bite of salad without saying a word. Marty’s habit of suddenly dropping out of conversations drove Ken crazy. And this time Ken was certain the older man was doing it on purpose, presumably to give Ken time to once again ponder Alicia’s proposal.
One pernicious side effect of Ken’s success was his semi-celebrity status—a status that unfortunately attracted the Alicias of the world. But just because the press now treated him as a celebrity, that didn’t mean he had to encourage such nonsense. So when Alicia had suggested filming a segment of her show in the kitchen—and having the restaurant’s hailed executive chef, Tim Sutton, whip up one of his famous creations on camera—Ken had flatly and resolutely said no. It wasn’t an answer he intended to change, no matter how much Marty or Alicia pleaded.
Across from him, Marty finished his salad without saying a word. Not until the waiter slipped over and silently removed the empty plate, did Marty look up and meet Ken’s eyes.
“Go ahead,” Ken said, his voice resigned. Years of experience told him that there was no getting rid of Marty without first hearing him out. “Finish what you came here to say.”
“It would bring in a broader clientele.”
“I’m content with the clientele I’ve got.”
“Then do it as a favor. For Alicia.”
Ken ran his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out what the hell Marty was talking about. “Excuse me?”
Marty just shook his head, then ripped open a sugar packet and dumped it into his coffee.
The clack of the spoon against the coffee cup grated on Ken’s nerves. “Marty…”
“Well, son, it’s just that I think you ought to think of the girl,” he said, signaling for a waiter, “especially after the way you two broke up.”
Ken swallowed a burst of anger as he wondered what kind of nonsense Alicia had been spouting. “For one thing, we weren’t dating. We went out to dinner twice. That doesn’t make a relationship.” They’d slept together, true, but both of them had known it wasn’t going anywhere. “And even if we were, I’m not changing my philosophy for anybody. Not you, and certainly not Alicia. Nobody. I’m off limits. My restaurant’s off limits. And that’s just the way it is.”
“If you’re sure…”
A waiter, Jake, came over.
“I’m sure,” Ken said.
“It would make a great tie-in with the anniversary. Five years next Saturday since you opened this place.” He let the thought linger, then turned to Jake and started discussing the day’s dessert selection.
Ken’s stomach twisted. He knew perfectly well what day next Saturday was. Every year at this time he struggled through his own private hell. When the anniversary of Oxygen’s opening rolled around, it was as if someone opened a memory floodgate and he was sucked out with the tide.
Five years ago he’d thought he had it so good. The opening of his first restaurant, a woman he adored and whom he thought adored him. But he’d been a fool. He’d stood right in this very room with an engagement
