

For Max and Viv, Dena and Mark, Kurt and Kate, and especially Damen. Without you, this story would have never been written.

He lost his reputation, his career and his family. Now Damen was determined to destroy the man he blamed for his demise, and he would not stop until the job is done. In this modern day fatal attraction, Max and Damen start out as promising business partners, but success has a dark side. After Max sees Damen's true character, the relationship turns toxic, and Damen is willing to stop at nothing to see everything taken away from Max.

The Review

By Quill

Copyright © 2015

Chapter 1

"It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters."

-Epictetus, Roman Philosopher

He didn't realize how much he missed open spaces. After adjusting to his freedom and recuperating from the work of packing up their lives, the humid Pacific wind roaring through the window of the moving van was cathartic. It felt like it could finally rinse away the experience of the last few years. His body tingled with the thought of starting life one more time in a fresh, new town with new friendships and new plans. Success can only come when failure acts as a motivation. With goals as strong as Damen's, tempered by the experience he had accumulated, it was his time now. He was the full package, and as the distance grew between him and Seattle, the heaviness of the life he left behind was replaced by thoughts of his future.

Two years ago, life in Seattle was full of promise. He managed to pull together the financing to open his small restaurant, MyTable, in early spring, giving himself six weeks to work out the kinks before the season kicked in. It was located in the heart of Pioneer Square, a richly historic place, known for its Renaissance Revival architecture, First Thursday art walks, night life, eateries, and quirky retailers. He created a menu that reflected the best the Northwest had to offer, including salmon and shellfish, game meats such as moose and elk, and unusual plants such as wild mushrooms and fiddlehead ferns. There were house items on the menu with plenty of room to offer farm-to-table specials every day. Each was sourced from the farmers markets and specialty shops that were, and still are, an established commerce of the city. Every dish was expertly paired with locally brewed beers and wines. It was perfect but for one man's opinion—an opinion that spread quicker than the news of a jailbreak and as devastating as a ptomaine outbreak.

This one opinion presented a challenge to Damen's planned trajectory. It tripped him up and distracted him from his goals. That was his fault. But this path may all have been part of his fate: a serendipitous story that had already been written. This chapter was his chance to redeem himself. The goals stayed the same of course, but the plan would have to change. He could still establish himself as a leader in the culinary community. This time, it would be on someone else's dime. He could offer his expertise and his West Coast flair to a restaurant that needed that edge in a town that was hungry for diversity. The small city of Albany would be perfect to regroup but still big enough to gain some traction and close to New York, where he could set a trend and make a name for himself.

Albany couldn't keep him forever, but it was a perfect place to convalesce, rebuild, and reenter the exclusive ranks of culinary stars and tastemakers of New York City. It could be bigger than his reach in Seattle would have ever been. If he could just get some traction in Albany, he was one train-ride away from New York. He just needed to get there. And then his influence could be felt worldwide, not just the West Coast. With a few strategic moves, his smoked salmon with crushed cherries in a sweet wine reduction would be featured in the New Yorker. It was certainly good enough and he had the personality to bring it home. His elk steak rubbed with a special spice blend and served with blackberry port sauce would pass the lips of the most well-respected critics on the coast. The sway these people had on a global scale dwarfs the impact of Guy Doxin. He was small time. His cronies were nothing more than wannabe connoisseurs of the Seattle area. They probably don't even know who Doxin was in the Meat Packing District.

Cailey saw the good in Damen, even though his experience over the last couple of years sometimes gave him a bitter edge. She understood he was an artist and what it meant to realize his dreams. His ideas were good, his food was excellent, and his following was at one time strong. It would be again. He just needed to start fresh in a town that wouldn't punish him for one moment of bad judgment. Although he couldn't control his temper, she saw something sweet and needy in him. She loved him and even after all that has happened, she had faith in him. Besides, after his mother's passing, she was the only family he had. With the move back to Albany and preparing for a new life on her own, she had shown she was strong enough to handle that responsibility of taking care of them. This move would be good and, as she sat by Damen in the van, she felt reborn. This was the second chance they needed to build a new life, a new family, a new career.

Damen did have two brothers that still lived in his native La Conner, a small town about an hour north of Seattle in the Skagit Valley. La Conner offered a rugged lifestyle that just was not suited for Damen and his ambition. His father had left early on, disappearing into the Alaskan outback, and Damen's mother saw him as a protégé, doting on him constantly. She overtly favored him over his siblings, creating a molten layer of sibling hatred between Damen and his brothers. Damen didn't care. His determination to realize his dreams superseded any family loyalty. His only personal connection to the family was his mother. The rest were no more than strangers that shared the same DNA. His mother knew Damen needed more than the rest to fulfill his dreams so she worked a day job at the town offices and nights at the local bar at the end of the street to scrape together the tuition to The Culinary Institute of America at Greystone, one of the finest culinary schools on the West Coast. Located in the premiere wine-making region of the Napa Valley, the school had a reputation for teaching students master-chef techniques as well as business skills, perfect for the goals Damen had for himself. Regrettably, his mother never saw Damen graduate. She would have certainly been proud of his accomplishment if she hadn't passed away from a heart attack the winter before graduation. After her passing, Damen's brothers had no use for his shining star and the family disbanded before the grass had germinated in the dirt that lay on her grave.

Although Cailey had a strong family and solid friends back home in Albany, she didn't have any friends in Seattle because Damen didn't like to entertain beyond the guests of MyTable. He said he got enough of people at work. At home, it should be about him and her. She liked that. It made her feel special. It made her feel important to the man she loved, although the challenges they had endured as a couple in Seattle at MyTable would have been easier to handle if she could confide in someone.

It wasn't that long ago that life with Damen was a romantic thriller. Together, Damen and Cailey took what was once a spaghetti house that catered to the economy traveler and willed it to be more. It took them a few months of tireless work to get the space ready to be MyTable but with the right paint choice, lighting and furniture, late nights, and hard work, the restaurant emerged as a charming yet arrogant bistro that drew the same kind of patron. As the more sophisticated visitor began to discover MyTable, the stylish and comfortable seating accommodated the most refined pallets that Seattle hosted.

Once they opened, word traveled fast. Within a few short weeks, it seemed they couldn't fail. Every night, the tables were full with a list of reservations that ensured a sellout performance. Damen was in his zone, producing perfectly seasoned steaks and seafood that were served expertly with delicate or hearty sauces—whatever the plate demanded. As the kitchen created the best in gastronomy, Cailey played the role of the supportive wife and hostess. She had chosen her staff well and she kept the front of the house in order by tending to the whims of their high-maintenance patrons, maintaining control of the floor and diffusing the occasional tussle between the wait staff and the kitchen. She was good at her job at MyTable, and it seemed she was building some respect in Damen's eyes.

Her other role with the restaurant was as the in-house technology expert. She was given the title by being the only one that knew how to use a computer with any proficiency and understood how to access Facebook. The couple had put every dime they had into the restaurant itself and had very little budgeted for marketing, so social media became paramount in getting the word out about the latest specials or a recent rave review. Although Damen did not understand how to navigate social media, he knew it was one of his few promotional options. He was more than a little uneasy about Cailey being the primary knowledge base on their window to the world. He also knew he did not have the proficiency or the time to get it, so he was forced to defer to her for all things social media. He did, however, demand to see what Cailey was posting.

Cailey found the promotion of the restaurant an empowering experience. It was a skill she continued to cultivate and something she could call her own. Soon, her area of expertise grew in the minds of Damen and the staff and she began to be consulted on all matters pertaining to advertising. Although her heart felt strong with pride, she was careful not to be too self-assured, as it might spark a tantrum from Damen that would take the rest of the week to recover from. It would have to be enough that she knew she commanded this space. Damen did not even have a Facebook account, and she was happy to take on the tasks of building social media pages, constructing messages, sending newsletters, and posting the latest quip. She loved being his support system, but as with any artist, Damen could sometimes be obsessively myopic in his thinking. He would get onto an idea or a task and you were either part of the passion or a liability. Her contributions in these areas were one way she could support his craziness without being in the middle of it. It was at these passionate moments of brilliance or artistic frustration she felt most fortunate that Damen didn't understand how to use social media.

It seemed perfect, and it went on for months; she playing the skilled hostess, he producing beautiful plates. Local foodies and transient snobs began to appreciate and recommend his artistic renderings. As the story is told, all good things can be disrupted by one man's opinion and another man's moment of madness.

Social media was only to promote the business, but Damen came up the ranks at a time when you could see your customer, interact with them, gather feedback from the expression on his face, and address it right then and there. Although there have always been professional food critics, it was more of a gentlemen's game. It was a small, tight-knit, albeit dysfunctional family. There were rules of engagement—like the press club keeping the extent of Roosevelt's paralysis out of the public view during his term. Now, everyone with a connection is a critic, a critic that is all too happy to uncover, or in some cases fabricate a flaw or shortcoming. Damen now had hundreds of commentators with a keyboard that had no pedigree, no mercy, no understanding of what it takes to serve a perfect fig, stuffed with just the right cheese and served over only the freshest arugula that you would pick yourself if you could but instead you are forced to rely on the day worker in the fields to get it right.

Damen was absolutely disturbed and a bit obsessed by this trend toward every shithead that was bored with either his privileged life or, worse yet, underprivileged, spending the meal noting what they see as failings, later to be culminated into a masterful diatribe of insults and slander. He commented often that it was like giving a baby a loaded gun. The customer becomes the bully that could at any minute heave his opinions onto Yelp! or Tripadvisor before he even leaves the premises. He became frighteningly skilled at spotting a Yelper at the door. It was never good news because Damen's mood would go dark until the table turned over. He thought there should be some vetting on who is allowed to have an opinion and who is not. How does the reader know the context in which the review is written? How are they to know the qualifications of the author? The idea that somebody can express their assessments about the sum product of a man's lifetime of work is insane, but it is the new reality of the culinary universe. Hotdog stands to the finest restaurants are all susceptible to the random disgruntled, unhappy, unfulfilled fuck that shows up at the door. God forbid you get lemon juice in your eye and squint at the customer or push the plate too forcefully at the waitress. Before they hit their table Yelpers have already checked in online to tell their audience that the chef gave him a dirty look and was beating the waitress with a hammer—even though it is likely she deserved it.

The public kept proving Damen right. It is as if they seem to take a certain comfort in the fallibility of those that appear to be successful—like the collective consciousness trying to correct a flaw in the sameness. The cutting words and bullshit feedback make others feel good about their own little, meaningless lives, as if to say "See, he sucks too." The better you become, the more the haters hate, so he took most of it as a testament to his progress. No one talks about a nobody, and honestly, Damen could live with the ankle biters. There was so much noise from the general public that any one nasty comment packed less of a punch—unless it came from a celebrity. Damen just rose above it and let Cailey take any body blows. Being with Damen, Cailey had grown tough and she could take it but she knew better than to share anything but the occasional positive review.

Cailey spent most of her free time scanning through social media sites for new places to post, feedback on competition and of course, reviews about MyTable. She saw the review from Guy Doxin on a Thursday afternoon right before dinner service. It first appeared in the online version of West Coast Living, a trendy, high-end magazine that was a must-read for the well-off and the wanna-be's. She saw it but hoped it would get buried in the feeds. It was a scathing, utterly awful review by Doxin, the only restaurant critic with any sort of station for miles. He annihilated the experience with his server, a poor soul that lasted a week and would have never survived even without Doxin. His first course was, in his opinion, a drawl and boring salad camouflaged by a few medallions of overly processed elk and dry, tasteless cheese. His entrée was a disappointing slurry of unrecognizable fishes drowning in a red Diablo sauce served over store-bought pasta. It didn't improve with dessert and coffee. It was outright devastating.

Damen was oblivious to the bloody mess his reputation was rolling in as he prepared for dinner. The night came and went and he didn't really need to know of the storm brewing to see that Thursday was lighter than the recent trends. At the end of the night, the numbers confirmed his suspicions. Perhaps there was another function that pulled the crowd a different direction. It was a one-off. Tomorrow it would be on track. Tonight, he was out early, still full of piss and vinegar, and decided to burn off the energy he did not use behind the line with Patrice, the lovely legs behind the bar. As always, she was happy to oblige.

After spending the night with Patrice, Damen stumbled into his own house at 5 am, crashed on the couch, and fell into a hard sleep till mid-morning. As with any typical Friday, he got up, showered, and mentally made a list of the things that needed to be done. A quick cup of coffee later and he was out the door, nearly knocking over Cailey on the way in from a run. One kiss, a pleasant "Good morning," and he was off. Even if she was going to tell him about the review, there wasn't a chance. He was always so busy that getting any conversation time was a privilege she did not want to waste on a meltdown. It was, however, painfully clear that she would have to come clean when she opened her social media feeds and found that the review did not go away. In fact, it had started to spread like a virus.

Damen began to realize that night after night the crowd became thinner and thinner, and the week closed with an unapologetic thud. This was the first week during the season they fell short of their goals. There must be more to this. The food was going out perfectly. There weren't any major mishaps on the floor, and there wasn't another restaurant that just opened their doors in near proximity. Monday would be the day to get to the bottom of it. But tonight would be spent with Patrice, burning off frustration as opposed to excess adrenaline.

With Damen at MyTable, Cailey spent the evening investigating what impact Guy Doxin's review could have caused in the change in traffic. It didn't take her long to find herself poking around social media sites to find out. She was sick to discover that the review had indeed gone viral. Doxin, a freelance critic, wrote for not only West Coast Living but was also syndicated on several other sites. His review seemed like it was everywhere, reposted, liked, shared, and commented on by those that claimed their cheese was dry too or the waitress they had was clearly not trained either or they even witnessed a temper tantrum from the chef. The impact was impressive. Of course, the chorus of anonymous contributors that had uploaded their thoughts from their cubical had moved on to their TPS reports, leaving a wake of devastation behind them. This was bad, but what was worse was worrying about how she would explain it to Damen. If she said she just saw it, he would ask how she could have possibly missed it with the inordinate amount of time she spent online. If she admitted she knew about it, he would explode with anger from being kept in the dark. In either scenario, it was going to be a long and ugly road out of this.

By Monday, Cailey was absolutely terrified to tell Damen. His week was awful, and he wasn't sure why. She knew why. She knew before most of the world, and she didn't tell him. He was still asleep on the couch but gave her a nod last night that getting to the bottom of this was his Monday mission. How was she going to start this conversation? How could she help him through this without him losing his temper? How could they get straight to the healing without the hurting? It seemed like hours before he appeared at the kitchen door. He still had that sleepy, snuggly look about him, and she could smell the soapy perfume left from the shower he took the night before. He gave a sweet "Good morning" and prepared a cup of coffee. For a moment she thought this might go better than she anticipated.

He sat down and in a calm voice said, "I just don't know what happened last week. I have been going over in my head each piece and I can't figure it out."

"I think I know," Cailey said in a quiet voice.

The sleepy look evaporated from his face. "What do you mean?" he said in the same quiet voice.

She could not bear to try to explain it, so instead of muddling through a pathetic explanation, she simply turned the laptop around to face him and waited.

There it was, at the top of the dining section of West Coast Living. In clear, well-written words, Guy Doxin's review unfolded in front of him. He didn't even get through the entire thing before he quite literally lost his ability to see. He could still see shadows, enough to detect a string of responses and likes under the poisonously penned words left by Doxin. There was no thought, only a dark and deep rage creeping over him. From a basic human instinct, Damen's week became clear to him. This fucking crock of shit threw up all over Damen's life, and his groupies licked it up off the floor only to regurgitate it again and again until the last of the readers probably never knew the origins of the filth.

As if channeling an evil spirit, Damen's voice changed. "When did you know about this?!"

"I didn't...." She couldn't even finish the excuse before he reached across the table with a sweeping motion and slapped her so hard it knocked her out of the chair and onto the floor. His hand was like a two by four.

"How long did you know!" he proclaimed as he kicked her with his shoeless foot, a small blessing because the rage that carried him gave him herculean strength.

Again, he asked. Again, he kicked, and again and again. It just was not enough to release the evil in him. In a blink of clarity, he knew he might kill Cailey if he did not move away from her and instead unleashed the beast on any inanimate object that lay in his path. She had been here before. It would be hours before he would come back to her in a more human state. For now, she would crawl out of his way and hope that he would take his anger out on something other than her.

He regained his sight enough to find his car keys and a pair of flip flops. He had to leave and clear his head before he killed the bitch. It's not that Damen didn't know people read these things, but he has been so busy sweating his ass off cooking for the fuckers that he did not have the time to read the shit. Now it is painfully clear he should not have trusted Cailey with such an important task. It was too good to be true. Nothing can be left to chance. He would take matters into his own hands today, but first, he had to get out of the house.

He jumped into the car and drove until he could think straight. He then set his sights on the nearest dive where he could drink and think without being bothered. The perfect place was Tommy's, a bar that had been in existence for nearly a century and smelled like it. He started with a shot of Fireball. One shot quickly turned into five, with a light beer chaser. A few more beers later, he felt good to drive and was now in the right state of mind to tackle these ungrateful bastards online. Calm, breathe, drive, home. As he shut the door to the car, the Fireball buzz started to mellow. His head was fuzzy but still good enough to dictate a few choice words to Doxin and his pals.

The shadows on the walls were longer now as the afternoon sun shone bright through the window and the house was quiet. Everything was in it's place from the scuffle hours before. The coffee cup was still laying in a pool of liquid and the chairs were still turned over. Damen went through the kitchen and tried to straighten up before he called for Cailey. "Cailey?" he said in a loving, quiet tone. "Cailey, where are you?"

He knew she was here. She never left when they fought. It was her habit to retreat to a dark place in hopes to disappear as she rode out the storm. He eventually found her in the fetal position at the bottom of the closet with a blanket and a pillow. It was like coaxing out a stray cat from under the bed. He knew how to do it. He had done it before. Soon enough, he was cooing to her a litany of apologies as he rubbed her hair.

He knew it was wrong, but Damen couldn't help but to be turned on by the scene and although she resisted for a time, she allowed his caresses to turn into more. The truth is, she was turned on too. The sense of relief having Damen back from his rage was erotic. In more sober moments, she knew this was an unhealthy, unwinnable pattern, but at that moment, he was irresistible. Damen effortlessly lifted Cailey on the bed and continued to softly woo her with apologetic and loving words as he slipped off her yoga pants that she had slept in the night before. Her skin was warm and soft and smelled like a combination of perfumed soap and sleep that sent him reeling. He was burning for her.

Damen knew how to make love to Cailey. He whispered assurances that this would not happen again then he showered her with light, teasing pecks down each arm. He could feel the little dewy hairs on her arms raise as he went about his work, paying special attention to the soft, sensitive skin at the inner crease of her elbow. As he finished with one arm, he returned to pant a little hotter in her ear as his words became deeply passionate. With each breathy lie, her body responded with an involuntary heave that made Damen's groin twitch. Cailey was consumed by his mouth. His light pecks only tormented her and made her want him more. Although she didn't want to admit it, and certainly did not want to request it, her body ached for him.

Damen knew the queues, he could feel her hips move with each kiss. He could hear her soft groans. He knew she wanted more. Without meeting resistance, Damen slipped his hand up into her shirt and grabbed hard against her warm breast. Cailey's entire body jolted as the passion took over. He moved her shirt away to expose her flawless chest. His mouth watered as her nipples became hard from passion and the change in air. He teased himself by kissing softly around the soft mounds. Her back arched as he brushed the tip of her hard nipple with his lips and finally wrapped her in his mouth with hard passion. She let out a groan as he began to skillfully use his lips and tongue to suck and forcefully caress her beautiful tits in waves as he pushed against her in rhythm.

As he pushed his mouth against her chest, he reached into her panties to confirm what he already knew. She squirmed under his hands as his body pulsated. Without letting go of the warm, delicious mound in his mouth, he pushed down her panties and wiggled out of his shorts. He finally let her breast lose only to bring his mouth to Caileys hot, panting lips where he just as passionately took her in. With his new vantage point, their bodies were aligned and he easily slipped inside of her. Her body was so hot and wet, Damen had all he could do to control himself long enough to send her reeling. In her final throws, Damen could not hold back and let the last of his rage shoot inside of her. The moment left them both cleansed and free from the damage of the day.

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After a quick but heavy cat nap, the two emerged from the bedroom. Cailey's face told the story of the morning, with a big red welt complete with wedding ring imprint and black and blues forming on her legs. Although she was still sheepish around Damen, the demon was at bay and the man was back.

They opened a bottle of Petit Syrah, and Damen began to prepare a fresh pesto pasta dish with prawns and shaved parmesan. As he prepared, he told Cailey to dictate his responses to the online feeds. She knew this was a rookie move and would not garner the results he was hoping for, but after the day that she had endured, she did not have the strength or the courage to resist. As he cooked and drank, his thoughts began to flow. She would read a passage, and he would giddily dictate what he believed was an eloquent and smart comeback. In reality, the responses were snarky and arrogant, and, in some cases, cruel. "You wouldn't know the difference between a poached quail egg and the deviled egg that landed on your plastic plate at your mother-in-law's wake!" It went on from there. After a couple of hours of cooking, eating, and replying, they were both exhausted from the day. Mercifully, they let it come to an end.

As the days drifted by, Cailey could see the storm brewing in her husband but tried to be supportive as he became increasingly agitated. She had a difficult time talking to Damen about anything after the review. He was either deep in his own thoughts, defensive about the state of their business, or too drunk to be coherent. His wine-infused responses did nothing to improve attendance at the restaurant and as the first season wound down, they were strictly relying on the locals to get them back in the black. He modified the menu to be more local friendly as the seasons began to change. He added an array of artisan burgers and hearty specials like gourmet meatloaf and even a hearth pizza. But the sword had a wider cut than he could have imagined. Doxin's opinion spilt the first pint, but Damen's own words cut right into the carotid.

By March, almost a year since opening, he, his wife, and his business were bruised and beaten. The locals drifted in but couldn't learn to appreciate the experience at MyTable. They much preferred cheaply priced chicken tenders, pizza made with rubbery cheese, and deep-fried toenails if Damen was willing to serve them. He knew the off season would be tough, but it was brutal. He cashed in everything he had to keep operating until the next summer season. With one man's opinion, his life had deflected onto an entirely different course. Doxin was somewhere else right now, analyzing some other poor slob's dish, and it made Damen's blood boil. Cailey's incompetence ate at him too—so much so that they more often than not just stared at each other: Cailey waiting for the blow and Damen waiting for her to redeem herself. She tried to be soothing but did nothing more than annoy him as sales slumped to emaciating levels.

He knew that Cailey was trying to be supportive, but with her whiny voice and placating tone, he could barely stand to be in the same room with her. He needed an intellectual equal to help him move through these challenges, not this dishrag sitting next to him. Needless to say, his love, and even his lust, for her was practically non-existent, and with each abysmal evening sale, he moved farther and farther away from her and fell back into the old routine of late night rendezvous with bartenders and waitresses that satisfies the flesh but did nothing to maintain a marriage.

What was once was a light, almost playful tap on the back of the head to show Damen's disapproval with a silly misstep by Cailey became a quick punch right between the shoulder blades She found herself back where she used to be with him before the restaurant, before he thought he could realize his dreams. It broke her heart to think everything her mother had said was true. Her mother never liked Damen, and for good reason. Before the restaurant, he was a tyrant. Cailey shuttered to think about what she would say if she could see him now. Damen could be a bear, but the experience of the last few months brought him to an entirely new level. He was a man fighting for his life, and he did not care what the cost to others might be. Something had to break. This purgatory could not last forever. As bad as it seemed, Cailey could have never dreamt she would wish for this state of purgatory again.

By the beginning of the second season, the restaurant had been hobbled by the drain of the winter and the desperation of the couple. In one year, they had gone from the darlings of the Square to an inconsistent and unreliable epicurean experience, relegated to the untouchable class of restaurants by the palates that mattered. It was clear they just weren't going to be able to create the symphonies on the plate that are deserving of those that used to come. He had no money to pay for the food, so Damen was forced to cut corners, cut staff, and cut quality. Almost as if it were prophecy, everything that Doxin alleged about the experience at MyTable was now true.

When he had discovered the review, Damen's whole body had writhed in anger. That anger had mellowed to a slow-burning coal bed of hatred for Guy Doxin. Damen firmly placed the blame of his predicament on the review he had written. After another lackluster Thursday, Damen sat at the bar with his bottle of Fireball and allowed himself to imagine the revenge he could wreak on Doxin. With each sip, the schemes became darker and more sinister. Damen could harass him online and call him out on each of his reviews. He could leave a sack of smelly dog shit burning on his front porch. Or, he could find him in a dark alley and put a tire iron between his ears. Would it be the revolver in the study or the knife in the ballroom? The possibilities seemed endless, but as the night grew, his head became too heavy to hold so he laid it on the bar and drifted off into fitful drunken sleep.

In the morning, he wasn't any less angry than he had been for months, but he tried to channel his energies in a direction that might let him survive another week. As he prepared for his day, he reviewed his options for defending his business, his talent and his reputation while still staying out of jail. It was a short list. He passed Cailey on his way out of the house, and without acknowledging her any more than you would a squirrel hopping across the lawn, he left the driveway. He gave no thought in explaining to her where he spent the night, and she had stopped asking a long time ago. He just let her wonder, and his mind turned to the day ahead.

The journey of the day started at the farmers markets. Where once he could indulge himself in the ingredients that he saw fit, he now had to think of every purchase. He busied himself by trolling the market for things he thought he could bring together in an interesting yet cost-effective way and found himself caught up at the mushroom stand. He finally decided on a blue oyster mushroom that would go nicely with the steaks that were on sale. He wasn't the only guy that had a farm-to-market mentality, so it wasn't unusual to run into Chef Richard, who was formulating his menu for the evening, but he wasn't always prepared to engage in a conversation and today definitely was not the day. As he looked up, he couldn't avoid the glance of the chef from the novo French restaurant around the corner and was forced to acknowledge him.

"Sorry about your review, man. I haven't seen you since. You surviving?" he asked, knowing full well he was not.

"Living the dream," Damen answered in a way that did not encourage a response.

"Yeah, my buddy a few years back had the same thing happen, but after a rough patch he actually came out on top. He is the head chef at the Hilton downtown: health insurance, 401k, the works. He even gets to see his kids play ball now and then." Damen did not respond, so Richard kept talking. "I hear Doxin's in town for his annual reviews of the Northwest. The rumor is he has that new Asian fusion place on his list." Damen began to listen without demonstrating any interest. "The girls were talking about it at the waitress stand the other day. Hope for their sake they are on their game when he shows up at the door." Immediately the menu for the evening faded into obscurity and his head was rushed with the possibilities. Could this be his chance to meet this guy in person?

Damen had tried to find Doxin in the past but had a hard time finding his personal information, like his street address and phone number. Doxin had been wrecking lives long enough to learn that keeping personal information personal was very important, so seeing him in public could be a great way to exact justice on the talentless creep. While standing there at the mushroom stand, the scene fell into obscurity as Damen began to imagine himself in a dark suit, clean-shaven, and suave, addressing Doxin on neutral territory while sipping on a sake martini. While remaining composed, Damen could belittle his contribution to the culinary community with sharp wit and choice examples. He would steer clear of making it personal and rather focus on Doxin's inferior palate and his inability to discern the good from the bad. He would talk in third person about his inept babble having ill effects on hard-working, talented chefs and restaurateurs. He could take down one of the most experienced food bloggers with style and panache and walk away vindicated—a hero even—to those that were also unfairly lambasted by the little shit.

To the naked eye, Damen and Chef Richard were just two guys talking. In reality, it was the planning site of one of the most memorable moments in local restaurant history. As much as the thoughts of revenge were as satisfying as a shot of good bourbon, the planning would have to be put on hold until after the evening rush. Damen untangled himself from the conversation with Chef Richard and walked away while Richard was still talking. He had what he needed for the evening, so he left the market to prepare for the dinner crowd.

Beautiful, white, meaty scallops to be paired with a creamy Pinot Grigio sauce and his steak and mushroom dish with garlic mashed took over his thoughts. As he got lost in the preparation, his mind was free of the review, but the night did not materialize the way he had hoped. It hadn't in months. There was never a frantic peak to the night that gives every chef the cue that it is going well on the floor. He didn't even sell out of the specials. In fact, there wasn't even a wait. Available tables on a Friday night equals suicide. It became clear that some action had to be taken and the time was now. There wasn't going to be a discussion with anyone. Who could possibly consult Damen in this matter? Cailey? She was the one that helped him get here. If she had told him right after seeing the review, he may have been able to take a different course of action. What could she possibly contribute anyway? She was only a mediocre front-end face and certainly did not understand the nuances of what went on in the kitchen. Yep, this was his action to take and his alone.

It was pretty clear that finding his home address would be nearly impossible, so he would try to get a handle on Doxin's movement around town through his online rants and get a strategy to run into him in a public place. He didn't wait till Monday, the day he would normally reserve for these kinds of projects. He was too fired up. Instead of drinking and falling asleep on the bar, he went straight home after the place was buttoned up, opened a bottle of bone-dry cabernet, and turned on the laptop. Cailey would have been helpful in finding some of the sites where Doxin posted, but she was too much of a pain in the ass. Besides, she had gone to bed hours ago, and he was a smart guy. He could figure it out.

By 4 am, Damen began to paint a picture of Doxin's life. He traveled a lot, followed the tourist crowd, and paid his way by berating businesses from here to Hawaii. He seemed to have an affinity for the West Coast and boasted that he had lived in many towns on this side of the earth while being careful not to reveal too much. It is important to understand your enemy and how he thinks, so this information helped form Guy Doxin's person. His likes, dislikes, routines and plans were all laid out in his posts. The most important thing that Damen learned from a recent post was that Doxin did indeed plan on visiting the Seattle area when the clouds parted for the summer season.

He was here, in town. Damen knew it. The comments from Chef Richard, Doxin's own words, and the recent buzz on the new Asian fusion restaurant confirmed it for him. It was a matter of time before Damen would have his chance to vindicate himself.

Although the weekend dragged on with no news of a Doxin sighting, Damen wouldn't have to wait long to meet his rival.

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Chapter 2

"Grant us a brief delay; impulse in everything is but a worthless servant."

-Caecilius Statius

Sometimes you don't know that this is the day that will change the course of your life until it is over. Sometimes the reality hits soon after; sometimes it can take years before you draw the conclusion. The sunny, breezy third Wednesday of June had the makings of that kind of day. After prepping for what would be an underwhelming night, Damen paced the kitchen like a caged animal. The staff knew better than to engage him in such a state and kept busy prepping salads or cleaning shelves. In one of his passes by the waitress station, Damen overheard his wait staff talking about Guy Doxin. He had become something of a legend at the restaurant, given his impact. As the story goes, the waitress was dating the sous chef at the Asian fusion restaurant and they were on high alert that very evening for Doxin to make an appearance. With those words, Damen could feel the energy of anger rush from his toes, through his body, and into his eyeballs. As it crossed the bridge of his nose, the anger almost took his eyesight, but as the wave passed through his body, he regained himself enough to focus on the opportunity that has been bestowed upon him. There was no time to fine-tune a plan—no time to shave or dress in a dark suit or slick back his hair. He had to go on instinct.

It was slow. He knew he could pass the middle of the line to his second in command, so without an explanation, he gave a few commands to the kitchen staff. With a stiff "Yes Chef!" reply, he was out the door in ten minutes, threatening to return within the hour. He knew that he could get to the restaurant quickly, say what he had to say, and get back in time to his own establishment to wrap up dinner service and break down the kitchen. He could finally look forward to a good night's sleep knowing that he had been vindicated. The tongue-lashing probably wouldn't do anything for his business, but it would allow him to purge the cancerous tumor that had been rotting in his belly since he read the review.

He jumped into the driver's seat of his car and calmly pulled away from his parking lot. This is going to happen today. He had to gather his thoughts. Breath, drive, park, think. It didn't take long to get to the Asian fusion restaurant. In fact, it was too short of a ride. He made a pass, and fortunately, the front of the restaurant was floor to ceiling windows. He slid into a parking spot across from the restaurant with the perfect vantage point. He could see the front door and half-way through the window-covered restaurant without looking like a stalker. He turned off the ignition and waited. It was still daylight, 7:15, too early for a true connoisseur to have dinner, so he wasn't surprised that he found himself waiting in the car as people drifted in and out. He used this time to review the events that got him here, in this car, on this night, waiting for this guy. He ruminated over the impact that Doxin had over his life. He had single-handedly wrecked a dream that Damen had lived for. A few paragraphs by a perfect stranger crushed the busy season only to leave MyTable to be further devoured by the slow season and then, of course, starting a new season hobbled by the lack of funds. All of this from a guy who had probably never cooked a dish in his life and was empowered only by a keyboard. Would he even care? What would his reaction be? Would telling him how this review impacted Damen and his life be enough?

His own restaurant was in capable hands, so he hunkered down with a new pack of cigarettes and a six-pack of Fremont's Summer Ale. It was warm, but it was better than chewing on his fingernails. Nearly an hour drifted by; it was almost 8 o'clock when a late-model BMW pulled into an empty spot on the street almost directly in front of the restaurant. Once parked, the car produced a middle-aged couple. The woman held no mystery for Damen, but the man had an immediate familiar habitus. It was Doxin. He didn't waste much time on the street and ushered his date through the front door for what Damen deduced was an 8 o'clock reservation. Doxin would call a comfortable corner table home for the next two hours, where he would be served by the most skilled and knowledgeable waiter and checked on periodically by the chef and his charming wife. Damen knew the routine.

The time drifted by, marked by an occasional cigarette and pull on the piss-warm beer. The initial adrenaline had long since worn off, and Damen flipped through the stations, occasionally hitting a good song or a silly conversation by talk show personalities he had never heard and hoped to never hear again. The weather for tomorrow was supposed to be good. No rain until next week. He learned about a food truck event going on in town, a new market opening up, and some waterfront jazz event, but still no sign of Doxin and his date. The longer he waited, the more he had invested, and at the end of the first hour, it would have taken a grenade to get him to leave. He knew how long these things took. He could have told you when they got their appetizers, how long it took them to eat them, when they got their entrees, and when they would be served a late-harvest dessert wine to end their meal. 9:30 came and went, and at 9:45 he knew it was a matter of time. According to his watch, Doxin would be getting a hand job from the chef right about now to ensure a good review in this month's West Coast Living. At 9:53 pm, on a warm Wednesday night, the time had come to rectify a wrong that started over a year ago.

"Do you know what you have done to my life?" fell out of Damen's mouth as he slammed the door behind him. He strode the stride of a lunatic as he crossed the street, leaving no wonder that he was ready for a fight. Later, he would reflect on that moment and wish he could have done it more like he had seen himself doing it, with a dark suit and a sake martini. Instead his well-aged frustration and anger carried him across the street like a madman—a look that was certainly more in character for him than Matthew McConaughey in a car commercial.

Guy didn't even realize that the commotion was for his benefit initially. That changed soon enough as the frothing manic came directly toward him. He quickly shuffled his date toward the car and demanded quietly for her to get in. While still holding the doggy bag across his chest, Guy addressed his adversary by replying, "Excuse me?"

"Do you know what you've done to me?" Damen shouted. Now, cars started to slow and pedestrian traffic had come to a standstill. "Because of you and your amateurish taste buds, my business is dying in front of me. I put everything I had into my place, and with a few short words, you destroyed my life's work—my dreams!"

"I'm sorry sir; I don't know who you are." Guy had made his living traveling to review restaurants in some of the most exclusive resorts in the world. He had written about restaurants in Taiwan, Philadelphia, Chicago, Houston—probably thousands by now. He couldn't put his finger on who this maniac was. Is he from town? What kind of restaurant? Think. Think. Think. The synapses of his brain were going off like Christmas lights trying to place the face. Like being in a car crash, Guy's mind was reeling and calm all at the same time. Things were moving fast, but he had time to study the crazy person in front of him for any detail that would make it click.

"You mean to tell me you don't know who I am! You destroy a man's life and you cannot remember?" Fireworks exploded in Damen's brain. All thought was gone and Damen drifted above the scene, leaving his body to tend to the rage. For the next 30 seconds, he hovered and watched like the Devil's angel as his body hurled at Doxin, lashing out in an awkward, albeit effective display of boxing throws. After a few body blows, an upper cut to the soft jaw of Doxin sent the box of delicately seasoned spicy shrimp with rice noodles airborne, holding perfectly still at the top of their climb for a brief moment only to rain down on the action below. This was followed by an even less graceful fall to earth by Guy himself.

The sound of Guy hitting the pavement, accompanied by a muffled shrill scream from the car, were enough to bring mind and body back together, and once reunited within himself, Damen stumbled back away from the spectacle of Guy lying flat on the road covered in his leftovers. Now in the moment and yet to fully comprehend the damage that he had done, he knew one thing for sure, whatever was going to transpire between him and Doxin had happened. There was nothing left to do outside the soon-to-be scene of the crime but leave.

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Buzzing with adrenaline and working off of little more than brain-stem functionality, Damen drove aimlessly around the city streets for an hour, maybe two, maybe three? Going to MyTable was out of the question. Home was something he could not bear, and driving around had lost its therapeutic properties. He found a small dive on the other side of town and began the healing process with a few shots of honey jack and a beer chaser. After a few hours of medicinal drinking, driving was not an option, and it was an excellent excuse to call Patrice, who proved again to be a willing muse. Within an hour, Patrice loaded Damen in the car without staying for a drink herself. He had gone well past flirtatiously tipsy and was firmly planted in messy drunkenness. This was nothing more than a babysitting job for Patrice, but now she was saddled for the night with the two-hundred-pound toddler.

Damen woke in the morning feeling better than one might expect. He had long since conditioned himself to be able to handle a bender. He could be unconscious and within hours, be ready to operate. Still hazy, he didn't even bother wondering how he ended up at Patrice's. Given that he was still fully clothed and she had her night gown on, he knew not much happened. As usual, he slipped out of Patrice's bed without waking her and made it to the street, where he hailed a cab back to where he suspected he had left his car. In the cab, the details of the previous day began to pull together, but at that moment it was almost as if everything was unchanged. After picking up his car, he still could not discern any impending doom, so he set about what was a reasonably normal routine. He went home, let the cat in, peeked in the bedroom to see Cailey sleeping, took a shower, shaved, and redressed himself to prepare the dinner service at the restaurant. The details of the night started to paint themselves in the back of his mind, but he thought perhaps his actions would go unpunished. After all, Doxin did not even know who he was, which is what started the whole thing in the first place. Maybe the dumb fuck would never recall who Damen was. It could happen.

# He fumbled through the market, finding a nice, mild, soft camembert: pears and camembert served with a warm rosemary brandy glaze and walnuts. "The cheese should be cold, so it can be sliced; the glaze will warm it when poured on top," Damen whispered to himself. "Gotta get the cheese in the fridge." The vegetable could be a fresh, tart broccolini served with a center-cut steak. It was all coming together as he traveled back to the restaurant, unpacked his field greens, and began to work the product. The prep cook came in with the waitress manager behind him, and they all began the preparation of a menu that no one would ever eat.

Guy lay in the hospital with a broken nose and two shattered ribs in utter disbelief. What started out as an ordinary excursion to a local restaurant turned into a nightmare. With every painful breath, he relived the few brief moments where a madman attacked him. Due to the pain meds, it had taken him most of the morning to remember the details of the night. It took a visit from the forensic artist for him to piece together the face of his attacker and a review of two years of blog posts to figure out who it was. By five pm, he had a name, Damen Anderson, the owner of MyTable, a nothing little joint that he reviewed over a year ago. He barely remembered the place or the dinner. The chef's reaction to Guy's review was what stuck in his mind. It wasn't a great review but Anderson did more damage to his own reputation than Guy could have ever done.

He had had a few irate culinary people lash out after a bad review. It usually came in the form of an online rant or a sneer at an industry affair, but the rage he encountered with Anderson, even in his rants, was like nothing he had ever witnessed, let alone been subjected to. In his 15-year career as a writer, he had never been assaulted. He shuddered to think of what Anderson might be capable of if he really gave him a reason to be pissed. If he was clear of mind, he would be livid, but for now, he would doze off knowing his attacker would be sleeping in jail tonight instead of a comfortable hospital bed with drugs and nurses to fetch them.

Once law enforcement had a name, they went about the business of processing the necessary paperwork to arrest Anderson. Like a scene out of a trashy reality show, the cops entered the restaurant in full regalia. As with any assault charge, they were there to get their man while minimizing the risk to themselves and the public. When they made it to the back of the house, there was a sense of disbelief drawn across Damen's face, but they took no chances. In front of staff and customers alike, they threw Damen to the ground, restrained him in cuffs, read him his rights, and mercilessly dragged him through the front of the restaurant. As he passed by tables, cell phones came out like lighters at a concert, but instead of a flicker of light, he knew he was being captured on camera and was likely posted on the web before the cop car drove away.

## For the rest of the evening, Damen was charged with and processed for second-degree assault. According to Washington State assault statutes, a person is guilty of assault in the second degree if he or she intentionally assaults another and thereby recklessly inflicts substantial bodily harm. Given that Guy was in the hospital with several broken body parts, this seemed a fitting place to start. By midnight, Damen had made the dreaded call to Cailey, giving her a quick recap of what was happening and several instructions about lawyers and bail and was ushered into a cell with a hard mattress and a latrine, where he stayed till morning.

## The morning was full of activity. Unbeknownst to Damen, Cailey saw no other choice but to call her mother and tell her what had happened in order to ask for help. As a small-town girl from the Northeast, she had never been exposed to cops, arrests, jail, or bondsmen. She was way over her head. Damen spent the morning waiting for his time in front of the judge, who would decide what Damen would be charged with. Because he could not afford representation, he was appointed a lawyer who was terrifyingly inept at his job.

## "Will I get released or will bail be set?" Damen dared to ask his council.

## His lawyer answered "The judge will decide whether to release you on your own recognizance or set bail. The decision is usually based on the seriousness of the assault charge or whether the judge believes you will return to court. A misdemeanor assault charge may not warrant too much concern; a felony assault might, but they haven't decided what to charge you with yet. We have to wait." Having this wet rag on his team didn't seem like it could make a huge difference in the outcome of his arraignment. And because he did not have a dime to his name, little in the way of collateral and because he was unaware of Cailey's conversation with her mother, Damen didn't think he could make bail anyway.

By the third day, King County determined there was enough evidence to convince a jury or judge that Damen committed assault and the district attorney's office agreed. The lawyer was then kind enough to draft a criminal court complaint that listed the assault charges. After the criminal court complaint was drafted, Damen saw the judge, who officially informed him of the felony assault charges he was facing.

Minor felony charges usually result in bail amounts of $5,000–$25,000, while more serious assault, robbery, and drug felony charges will lead to bails of $25,000–$100,000. Damen was being charged with a more serious felony assault charge, so the judge set bail at $30,000. For now, he would stay put in his new luxury suite until the preliminary hearing ten days later.

By the time of the preliminary hearing, Cailey had worked out a bail bond to get Damen home, at least for now. In order for her mother to provide the resources to help mop up the mess, Cailey and Damen both had to assure her that, once this was over, Cailey would come home. The months that followed were utterly consumed with grand jury appearances, bail hearings, pre-trial investigations, pre-trial motions and hearings, and, of course, the trial itself. By the time of the trial, there wasn't much they would be leaving behind. The restaurant was closed permanently and the landlord had begun looking for another tenant, the few friends they had drifted away, and neither Cailey nor Damen had a job.

### The results of the trial could have been better. Damen was convicted of second-degree assault, a felony, and at his sentencing, Guy Doxin was present to witness Damen being sentenced to six months in jail for the havoc he had wreaked. The final irony of it all was that Guy enjoyed a nice boost in his readership because of the incident and become a minor celebrity in Seattle circles. Damen, of course, was cast as the lunatic, c-rated chef that was not worth the risk of doing business with. He was as good as dead in Seattle, and although he would have sooner eaten his own tongue before he told her, he was grateful for Cailey and the work she was doing to put together a plan for when he was released.

Damen did his time cleanly, while Cailey returned home to Albany to pull together a life after incarceration. There was no mistaking Damen's displeasure with relying on Cailey's mother for anything. For now, he was at a disadvantage. He was not in a position to be demanding, and he knew it. He would have to rely on Cailey to use what she had in the way of family resources to set them up for a new life and a new chance to build a future—somewhere far from here. Although it killed him, he watched his temper with Cailey and cooed to her from long distance. She ate it up, but it made Damen sick to his stomach.

It was nice to be back in Albany, even under these circumstances. Home is always home, no matter how long you stay away. There is a comfort to knowing the streets, feeling the air, smelling the smells, and hearing sounds that bring back memories. Her parents were being amazingly supportive. Where once there might have been a lecture about how Damen was no good and preventing Cailey from living her life, they were now just concerned with helping their little girl get back home, permanently. Cailey made it clear that Damen was coming too, and they were willing to accept it. Perhaps they thought they could deal with that piece later. Maybe they thought the time in jail might change him? Who knows. All Cailey knew was that she needed them to help her and her husband put their lives back together.

Damen would be out in May, the beginning of spring—a perfect time to begin again. Her plan was to spend the holidays back in Albany, visiting with family and friends. She and her parents had already decided that in order to start a new life, less detail was better. There was no need to get into the nitty-gritty during Thanksgiving supper. All family had to know was that Cailey and her new husband were coming home to start their lives together. When you said it like that, it almost seemed normal.

There was no reason why life couldn't be normal. Damen could get a job, even with his record. It wouldn't be easy but far from impossible. Cailey could put her marketing degree to work with a local marketing firm. Between her degree and her experience at MyTable, her resume didn't look half bad. They could save money by living in her parents' apartment and maybe even buying a small house outside of Albany. Real estate was affordable outside of the suburbs, and now that things had changed, maybe Damen would reconsider children. When the restaurant was open, he was adamant about no children, but the goals were different now. This really could be a blessing for Cailey in the end. Some of the excitement had gone with the restaurant, but they still had each other; they were young and healthy, and they could build a different kind of life on a different coast.

The holidays drifted by; Cailey stayed on script at the holiday suppers, and Damen did his time. Cailey got the apartment ready for inhabitance and landed a job with a marketing company out of Rensselaer. The pay wasn't great, but it was a start, and she was fascinated with the work. As per the plan, she took whatever vacation time she had accumulated after five months of working and went out to get Damen and the rest of their lives that had been long-since boxed up and put in storage.

Her plane left at 6 am. She had a layover in Chicago and then a long trip out to Seattle. She got in around 3 pm local time, grabbed a cab, and headed to the hotel to recuperate from the flight. Being in town was an eerie feeling. Although her life here was shattered, the town itself was buzzing with the onset of spring. Spring is a great time for bargain hunting, as many of the hotels have yet to raise their rates for the summer tourist season, so the economy hotel she was in was full of tourists, the same ones that used to come to the restaurant asking if there were any Groupons available. She hated to see them coming and could always pick them out. It wasn't quite warm, but this time of year, you always had to be prepared for biting Pacific winds and yes, rain. It was in the forecast for the rest of the week, so moving boxes might be a hassle, but they would get it done, even if they had to dodge a few rain drops. The average springtime temps range from 55 to 65 degrees Fahrenheit, but chilly breezes can make it feel much colder, so she was glad that she had packed a few warmer layers, just in case.

### Damen was to be released tomorrow from King County Correctional Facility at 9 am. She would take another cab to the rental place to pick up the small moving truck first, then swing around and get Damen. For tonight, a quick call to her husband, a cheap meal from Panera, and a good night sleep was on the agenda.

The good night sleep did not materialize, but she was up just the same in time to keep her schedule and be on time for Damen. After six months in jail, he would not be happy with her being late. On her way out, she stopped at the front desk to see if she could have the room for another night. It was affordable and there was a lot of work to do today. She would have to check with Damen, but it seemed like a good idea to prepare today and leave tomorrow. It was available, so she reserved it and stepped outside to the waiting cab. As she drove away, she thought, _So far, so good_ , and she tipped her free hotel coffee cup up ever so slightly and whispered, "Here's to new beginnings."

Things went smoothly for Damen at the jail. He collected his things, signed fifteen-thousand papers, kept his goodbyes brief, and headed out the door. Like an angel waiting to take him to the promised land, Cailey was waiting outside the jail to pick him up. Instead of a chariot, she offered him the keys to a beat-up old rental truck. He happily snapped up the keys and came in for a warm and receptive hug.

"I missed you sweetheart," Damen purred.

"I missed you too, husband," Cailey replied. She was not used to the terms of endearment but wanted to encourage it however she could.

With that, Cailey's well-laid plans went out the window. Although she started to explain the things that needed to be done today, Damen only asked where the hotel was. He had been locked up like a dog for eternity, and the last thing on his mind was working like one. He was more interested in what was hiding under that bulky sweatshirt that Cailey was wearing and took the liberty of slipping his hand up her chest to find two warm, soft pillows that made his fingers tingle and his crotch bulge. If that wasn't enough, what he found smoldering in her yoga pants sent him into the stratosphere. There would be no moving boxes today.

The lovemaking of the day started out hard and fast and passionate. Months, if not years of frustration fueled the first round of frenzied groping, ripping, tugging, and fucking. There was nothing loving about it. It was purely animalistic and lasted for what seemed like forever and ended in an unnaturally deep sleep in the most comfortable bed Damen could ever remember sleeping in.

The second act was very different than the first. Damen woke first and was immediately ready for more but teased himself by moving the sheets gently off his wife's naked body and just watching her chest move up and down with the rhythm of her breath. She was young, loving, thoughtful, and beautiful. He was hard and ready but was enjoying the ache between his legs because he knew it was a matter of time before he could mount this beautiful body and satisfy his desires when he couldn't take it anymore. He took his time approaching his conquest and delicately addressed her neck with a flurry of soft, dewy kisses. As her breathing changed, he knew she was coming into consciousness in the most delicious way. Her breath went from a slow, rhythmic pace to a deeper, quicker one as he moved down her warm, soft body.

Cailey came out of sleep in a way that she almost forgot was possible. Her handsome husband, naked and at peace, was using every skill he had to bring joy to her body. He expertly worked his tongue, lips, and face in a way that Cailey had not experienced in years, and she let him do it. As he passed by her breasts and down to the crease in her hip, she slowly moved her leg aside, opening up an entirely new host of possibilities for Damen's mouth. He skillfully obliged in the most sensuous way, bringing his wife to a place she had not recently visited.

The day was filled with mutual reciprocation of sexual satisfaction that was healing for both mind and body, and by sunset, the couple could barely muster the strength that it took to order delivery Thai.

The food had a sobering effect on the room, and after they ate, they discussed what had to be done the following day. They could both feel the stress creep back into their bodies and decided to delay the discussion for the morning, opting instead to watch reruns of Friends until they fell asleep.

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Chapter 3

"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."

-Joseph Addison

It was unseasonably warm for April in the Northeast, and Max was sweating his ass off as he moved things around on the patio. The winter sucked, and Max welcomed the warm weather. For him, it was a sign of hope. It was the beginning of a new season. It was another chance to make his hard work pay off. He was out of shape, unfocused, and unclear how things were going to shake out, but something about the warm spring breeze and the sun on his back made his spirit believe anything was possible. Hearthstone had withstood another brutal Upstate winter, and he was barely paying the bills. With a lack-luster kitchen line-up, it hadn't been easy, but he had a new guy to head up the kitchen. He was a real superstar that had so much to bring to the plate. Max anticipated a clean slate behind the line with some fresh ideas added to the menu. That, coupled with the entertainment he had planned, gave him hope that it would finally be a good year.

The fate of Hearthstone wasn't always this uncertain. In fact, when Max and Viv opened the restaurant four years ago, it was rated as the best restaurant in the Times Union Best of the Capital Region two years in a row. It was a long time in the making, in fact, it was to be a life-long commitment. It was a place they planned to build their life, make their money, raise their kids, and finally sell to retire. So when they opened, Max damn well made sure everything was perfect.

The reviews on Yelp! and Trip Advisor proved to be the best source of new business, with feedback like, "There is nothing better in the Capital District than Hearthstone! 5 stars! Without a doubt, Hearthstone is still the best place around for anything on a cedar plank" and others like "I was born and raised in Munich, and I feel like I am home! They have an outdoor area with a fireplace. I just love it there. They have great beer specials too!" and "A good go-to place! Love this place. Has a wonderful German decor, a very friendly staff!" More that started with "A European gem at the foothills of the Berkshires," "A Great Place To Visit," and "My restaurant of choice, not just in Averill Park, but tops in the entire Capital District."

There was a litany of great reviews from visitors passing through to locals that stopped by weekly. Max looked back on these entries from time to time and felt a rush of pride. He was always amazed that he and Viv got the accolades they did. He felt as though he was pulling one over on the town and someday, they would figure out he really wasn't as good as his reviews. The better the reviews, the more they worried him.

Growing up in Rotterdam, a suburb of Schenectady, Max spent his childhood in a small house full of people. He was the youngest of five brothers that terrorized each other as much as they did the town. Each one left their mark on the trail to adulthood by cutting class, smoking cigarettes, committing petty crimes, and eventually dropping out of school. When role call was taken on Max's first day of school, the teacher called out  
"Max Bennett", she paused and said "Bennett? Max, do you have brothers?" Max quietly nodded and the teacher did too. From there, Max grew a hefty chip on his shoulder that he carried with him until he graduated. He didn't plan on college. He didn't need any more in the way of education. His fate was sealed. He would carry on the tradition of working in the food business like his father before him. He would make a decent living as a line cook at Ferrari's, marry a local girl, and build a family in the small town of Rotterdam. It was the plan until he met Viv.

Vivian Russo was a feisty, dark redhead with porcelain-white skin, born and raised on Staten Island. Her cousin Marie and her family moved to Rotterdam when Marie was a week old, so she was a country girl in Viv's eyes. When she was young, Viv's parents would ship her upstate to get her out of the city for a week or two during the summer. Summers with her cousin were like an escape. She and Marie would spend what seemed like a lifetime exploring the woods along the power lines, having picnics under the trees, and sharing stories about each of their lives. It was such an important annual event that, as she grew up, she would come on her own to visit with Aunt Rose, Uncle Tony, and Marie. She had so many nice memories that she just couldn't let go of the tradition.

Viv went to school, graduated with reasonable grades, and got through college without getting pregnant or catching anything incurable. When she was released from her indentured servitude with a PR firm in the city, she landed a decent gig with a small marketing firm on Staten Island that focused almost exclusively on social media campaigns and other online marketing. These medias were right up Viv's alley, and she considered more conventional outlets like radio and print archaic. She wasn't getting rich, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the fate of some of her classmates, so it would suffice for now.

Marie took a different path by finishing high school and immediately starting full time at her uncle's well-established Italian restaurant. She had no interest in professional pursuits. As a waitress, she was making more than Viv. Besides, her goal was to find a husband, start a family, and live out life in a small, comfortable home near her parents. In fact, she had struck up a flirtation with Max, the line cook, and she was hoping it might materialize into more than just a lingering glance over the pickup window.

Max was an approachable guy with boyish good looks and a massive mound of dark brown, almost black hair that always looked like he had walked out of a wind tunnel. He also had his eye set on Marie. She was cute, nice, and seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. The conversations that they had told him that she shared many of his same values and priorities. She seemed like she would fit in with Max's friends and make a nice addition to his family—those that were left. Since his mother and father had passed away, Max's urge to have a family of his own was stronger than ever. His parents weren't perfect. Their household was in constant chaos, and there was never a shortage of drama. At the time, Max couldn't wait to get out and away from the mayhem. Now, he would do anything to have his mother cook him some of her stuffed peppers. Although three of his brothers were left, he didn't have much in common with any of them, and only his sister played any significant role in his life. Although it was a big role to fill, Marie seemed like she might be a good candidate. At least in the way of girlfriend material, she had real potential. After dinner that night, he planned to ask her out for coffee or maybe dinner. Nothing too crazy. Who knows if they would even get along outside of the restaurant.

"Hey Marie," Max called.

"What's up?" she called back, thinking it might have pertained to side work or customer comment.

"Come here." He coaxed, not wanting to scream across the room. She sauntered over to the window. "How about you and me get coffee tomorrow. I have the day off and I didn't see your name on the schedule. How 'bout it?"

"Well, my cousin Vivian is in town. She is only here for a week, and I hate to leave her home. Can she come along?"

"Sure." What the hell else could he say?

They met at the Jumpin' Jacks to watch the ski show on the Mohawk. It was a summer tradition to visit Jumpin' Jacks, get a cone, and wander around the park—one that Max, Marie, and even Viv knew quite well. With a threesome, the choices were limited, and this was one of the few scenarios that seemed to work.

After each had their cone and a bit of small talk, Max could not take his eyes off of Viv. She was an exotic beauty with deep red hair and light blue eyes. She couldn't sit still, with an unending ramble of funny stories and commentary about the world around her, all told with a thick New York accent. She commanded the conversation while still bringing Max into the stories she was telling. She was different than what Max had known of girls. Most, like Marie, were pleasant and good looking enough, but this woman in front of him held his attention as if it were the first time he had ever seen another human. He watched her punctuate her sentences with wild hand motions and cheerily ramble on about how life here was so different than the city. He could not bear to look away as he was afraid he might miss something.

It was immediate. Marie knew bringing Viv was a huge mistake. Viv was everything Marie was not. She was a great dresser, well spoken, educated and animated. She could make the dullest of moments sound like a day at the amusement park. Marie was way out of her league. What she felt from Max at the restaurant had all but disappeared, as he could not stop hanging on Viv's every word. What was more upsetting is Viv didn't even seem to notice the spell she was casting over Max. The betrayal she felt would last a lifetime, and from that moment, the friendship she had shared with Viv for her entire life turned sour.

Viv noticed. She noticed this cute boy who couldn't get enough of her antics. It seemed the more animated she got, the more fixated Max was. She knew this was going to get her in hot water with Marie, but playing with Max from across the picnic table was too addicting to stop. She was used to getting her share of attention. She knew she could carry on a good conversation and was interesting enough, but here, in Rotterdam, she was a novelty, an import, something different and special. From his reaction, she knew that was true in Max's opinion anyway.

From that night on, Max and Viv shared a long-distance romance. All they could think about was each other and found every reason to travel up and down the Taconic to get close to one another. Within a year, Viv had quit her job downstate to find another in a small marketing firm in Troy so she could be with who she knew would be her husband soon enough.

Max and Viv lived in their own world. Viv was a dreamer constantly conjuring up alternative realities in a spellbinding way. Max was in love. He was in love with the woman and her stories and the way she thought that life could be, should be. He never imagined all of the possible outcomes before Viv. Life was a simple voyage: eat, work, sleep, repeat. With Viv, there were things to eat that surpassed sustenance. There were ways to fall asleep and even more interesting ways to wake up, and repeating all of it was a pleasure. Life had gone from a predictable, comfortable, and ordinary existence to a vibrant, wild, and winding road, and Max was strapped in and ready for the ride.

Her office in Troy was almost an hour away from their apartment in Rotterdam. Viv spent an inordinate amount of time at work and had built a great many friendships in Troy. That wasn't hard for her to do under any circumstances, but Troy had a cool vibe with a lot of events and venues. She liked the attitude of the city, and there was a lot to do with the friends she had made. She could see herself building her life on this side of the Hudson river, and after a year of living together, Viv knew that Max had marriage on his mind. Her hope was that he would see it her way and entertain moving east to start a new adventure as man and wife. He really wasn't a city boy, but there were lots of small communities surrounding Troy with affordable property and investment opportunities.

Just east of Albany, Rensselaer County sits among the Hudson-Mohawk Heritage area. It was the perfect place to escape from the hustle and bustle of city life, Rensselaer County is full of beautiful vistas, exciting towns and villages, and peaceful lakefronts. Max and Viv would sometimes come in for the amazing Troy farmers market or to visit the charming countryside. The couple was fond of getting lost in the landscape, but on this early fall day, Max was far from lost. Max new quite well that Viv wanted to live on the other side of the river. With Viv's help, he had also developed dreams of his own beyond working behind someone else's line. When he met Viv, a new sense of ambition was awakened inside him, and he yearned to add to the tapestry that Viv was constantly weaving. For almost a year, he had saved every penny and researched the possibilities that would allow Viv to live in a community that was better suited for her and allow him to indulge in his ambitions. He was sure he found the right mix in the historic, picturesque town of Averill Park. The town itself was about 15 minutes from downtown Troy, and the surrounding area was dotted with gorgeous lakes, small, charming shops, and gingerbread houses. The most exciting part of the find was a small restaurant with a resident building behind it that could act as a starter home for him and Viv while he ran the restaurant up front. She could keep her job for benefits and connections, and Max could build a life for them in this small, rural community. If things went well, the couple could start a family.

First things first. Max had to get through today. Unbeknownst to Viv, he had been sitting on a shiny new engagement ring all morning. He knew she was expecting a ring, but she did not have a clue today was the day it would happen. They had their favorite stops. Today it would be Man of Kent, the perfect dive that was worth the drive. It was a comfortable little nook on the way to Vermont, and it was an ideal place to pop the question. Max had called ahead to ask if he could reserve the small patio. He would pay extra to have it to themselves. The owner felt privileged and assured Max there would be a quiet, private place available when he arrived.

Although there was no official hostess, the couple was scooped up at the front door and ushered to the back on the patio. It was a small seating area but charmingly lit with countless little white lights. They sat alone with the sound of an obscure soccer match wafting by, punctuated by an occasional cheer. They ordered a bucket of Chatham Summer Ale and lazily looked through the menu. Viv wasn't starving but loved sitting with Max like this, lingering over appetizers and cold beer. There wasn't a better way to kill an afternoon in her mind. She did notice a slight difference in the level of service the couple was receiving. Although the staff was always appropriately attentive, she could see a few of the girls continuing to peek in on them. Oddly enough, they were the only two on the patio on what was turning out to be a beautiful Sunday evening. She was pleasantly surprised to have the privacy.

Max could barely stay in his seat. He was sure that Viv had taken notice of his fidgeting. Although he was proud of his plan and the choice of ring, he silently ruminated over the amount of responsibility a man is expected to take in the process of courtship. Although Viv sent unmistakable signals, he was expected to ask for the first date. He then had to muster the courage to reach over for the first kiss and the first gentle grab. The first penetration was a result of hours of teasing where they were both relieved to be finally satisfied, but here he was again, working up the guts to pass another threshold. It wasn't so much the idea of asking Viv to spend her life with him. He was sure he wanted her forever. It was taking on the responsibility of giving Viv the kind of life that Max knew she deserved. With this ring, he was vowing to embark on a journey worthy of Viv's imagination. It was unsettling, like going on the biggest employment interview of your life and asking for the job even though your resume was a stretch.

Max was determined to complete his mission in a way that would make Viv proud and set the tone for a great future. As much as it made him tingle, he resisted every urge to upstage himself by jumping the gun. It was a masochistic thrill to hold off until the right time. He drank a beer, let Viv pick a few appetizers, and sat back in his chair, forcing himself to relax his muscles. They grazed their way through a shared sandwich and the rest of the beer. As the evening progressed, Viv was slowly preparing to leave, freshening up her lip gloss and picking up her sunglasses. Max had waited long enough and gave the signal for the waitress to bring out the next course.

With the only desert plate and matching cover they had in the entire building, all three waitresses had painstakingly arranged some red raspberries and blueberries, then finished it with a delicate scoop of vanilla ice cream that lay beside a gleaming, almost karat diamond on a classic gold band—a culinary presentation that had never nor will ever be available on the menu again at The Man of Kent. The waitress that had been custodian of the table all evening delivered the plate with pride and dignity, expertly placing it, cover and all, in front of Viv. She did it with such skill Max wondered if she had done it before.

Viv was still processing the events happening when she watched in a dreamlike state as Max glided to his knee in front of her and scooped up both of her hands in what seemed like one motion. The only tell was the cold sweat on Max's palms. Max drew in a steady breath, as if he had practiced it a thousand times, and uttered the truest words he had ever spoken in his life, "Viv, when I met you, the room melted away and there was only you. I know you deserve the very best, someone who will back you up without limits, let you grow without borders, and love you without end. Will you let me be the one?" He simultaneously lifted the ancient plate cover to reveal the symbol of his commitment floating in ice cream, and then, immediately, time abruptly and unmercifully halted. The breeze stood still, the birds hung in the air and the ice cream stopped melting as he waited for her reply for what could have been a thousand years or a fraction of a second.

She knew it was inevitable. She even day-dreamed about how it was going to happen. Yet, still, she was unprepared to gracefully accept the gifts of devotion in front of her. Viv's life had moved in a direction she had not planned on. She had not planned on living in upstate New York or meeting Max or even being so captivated by him. In her mind, she saw herself in a different reality, one that was far more sophisticated, surrounded by more worldly individuals that contributed important things to society. Upstate was a place to visit her country cousins in the summer time and maybe even have a pubescent fling—maybe even experience love for the first time. It was not somewhere to fall in life-love and build a future. Her future was supposed to be somewhere else, somewhere better, somewhere far more interesting and with more opportunity than here, in Albany.

And yet, here she was, sitting in front of a man who loved her and that she loved in the most desperate way. Although he lacked the sophistication she thought she was destined for, he held her attention completely. He was a willing participant in her schemes, big and small, and had even come up with some of his own. He was fun and flirty and courageous and kind. He was for her, irresistible, like a summer fling that was now possible to claim for a lifetime. And so, as it had always been meant to be, Vivian accepted Max's invitation to spend their time on Earth together. "Yes Max, you have been the one since I met you. I love you." Viv slid out of her chair and curled around Max's body and hugged him as the entire staff and every patron of the small little restaurant watched and cheered behind the plate-glass window that looked out onto the scene. As perfect as that moment was, Viv would find that she would have to call upon this very moment countless times for strength as their fated path began to emerge.

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Chapter 4

"The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a man's determination."

-Tommy Lasorda

In Greek mythology, the Moirai controlled the mother thread of lifestyle of every mortal from birth to death. There are countless names for this same force in other cultures, but semantics aside, Moirai, or fate, was a partner to Max at every turn. Even the gods could not alter what was ordained.

Their friends and family could not have been happier with the announcement of Viv and Max's engagement. Viv's mother arrived within the week to help with the planning, starting with setting the date. Max gladly took a backseat in the planning. His sights were set on the details beyond the wedding day.

Each had their obsession over the next 12 months. After the date was set for early September, Viv was immersed in reception options, bands, dresses, and decorations, and that was just the beginning. Bridesmaids proved to be exceptionally difficult. Viv was relatively new in town, and the only family she had in town was Marie. Marie wanted nothing to do with the wedding party. Max was grateful for Viv's mother's help on the wedding. He was free to work out a deal for the Rensselaer property and make arrangements for necessary accommodations to open the restaurant that would be called Hearthstone.

The building had been there for over 150 years. It had been a campground, a drug store, and a laundromat. The most recent occupant was a sole proprietor that had run a small diner, serving breakfast and lunch out of a stark, white kitchen on greasy plates with cheap silverware. He had tried to sell the property for years and had long since lost the will to run the business, let alone run it well. Out of courtesy for the private mortgage holder, he left the doors open, but it wasn't unusual to have only the local mortician at the counter until noon. When Max started discussions about six months prior, he was a welcomed courter. His warm and sincere enthusiasm impressed both the current owner and the mortgage holder. It wasn't long before Max presented a plan that the proprietor, and more importantly, the man who held the note, felt it could be viable. Max was to pay the proprietor $20,000 for the business and assume the mortgage of $150,000 from him. The mortgage holder would have preferred Max get a conventional loan. That would have allowed him to get out of the property that had been nothing but a source of worry. Unfortunately, assuming the debt from the current party was the only feasible way to turn the property over to Max's new and ambitious leadership. Banks are not fond of loaning money to untested borrowers in historically risky ventures.

Max was starting Hearthstone on $35,000 in cash and $1,500 in credit cards, elbow grease, and, most importantly, luck. The mortgage holder was willing to take a chance on Max and his ambitions, and Viv's parents absolutely insisted on paying for the wedding. After putting up a weak resistance to his future in-laws footing the bill, Max relented and breathed a sigh of relief. Every penny he had and didn't have was earmarked for their future in the form of drywall, paint, furniture, pots, equipment, glasses, and payroll.

The money he paid for a broken down business, rusty meat cutter and a few lonely tables was far too much. But, once he had the keys in his hand, Max was overcome with emotion. He was a businessman with a building that would house his visions. He would turn this dust bowl of a parking lot into a thriving and inviting culinary haven that his father would be proud of. He would host the town as if he were hosting a private party in his home, with the same care and consideration he would show his closest relatives. He would be a respected part of the community and bring good things to his family and the people around him. For all that this building lacked, it was his, and he was going to do everything in his power to make it what he knew it could be.

Max and Viv sat in the middle of the filthy dining room that was decorated more like an old hospital room than a restaurant, and painted a vivid picture only they could see to the minutest detail. They shared ideas about the décor in the bar, dining room, bathrooms, entryway, and landscaping. Although he was not a carpenter or a plumber, Max was resourceful, and he could envision how to accomplish each of the agreed-upon tasks. If he started immediately, he could have the doors open right about the time of the wedding. For now, the honeymoon would have to wait. There would be time for that later.

As Viv continued her planning, Max became an apparition in her life, giving every piece of his physicality to the success of Hearthstone. His first task was to create a clean canvas for the vision of Hearthstone by cleaning out the business of the past. His chores drew him into the community around him. With each interaction, he began to meet business leaders and future patrons. He first met Danny at the hardware store, then Bill the garbage guy, and Blair the owner of the sandwich shop down the road. The first time someone drove by and gave him a friendly wave, Max knew he had made the right move. It gave him the strength to keep going even though he was absolutely exhausted and way over his head.

Despite a miserable winter, by spring, Max had the place gutted, the walls knocked out, and a firm design in place. The wedding plans were heating up, but Max was completely removed from the process. Her mother was more than happy to step in, and Viv seemed happy to have her. Max learned that keeping his mouth shut about all things nuptial was the best strategy. He had set himself a goal of completion by the wedding date, and he was absolutely immersed in the job at Hearthstone. Unfortunately, some of the work that was in front of him required an extra set of hands.

Fate stepped in again in early June. Max had been slogging through old grease traps all morning. He was debating calling a contractor to help with moving the kitchen to make more seating. It was an eyesore now, and although patrons think it is fun to watch the kitchen work, Max was experienced enough to know to hide the ugly. He couldn't have dreamt how ugly it would be. At mid-day, Max sat down at the roughed out bar to scarf down leftover pizza and make some decisions on a POS system. He raised his head to see a massive shadow in the doorway. "Can I help you?" His words sounded louder than he intended in the empty space.

"Name's Mark. I have been watching you work all winter long. I have some time on my hands and thought you might need some help."

"Shit yeah, I could use some help. I can't really pay you much, but I can keep you in beer, and when we get this shack open, I will feed the hell out of you."

"Sounds good to me." With that, he pulled up a stool to the dusty bar, Max cracked open a beer from a cooler under his chair, and the deal was done.

Over the following weeks, Max learned Mark's story. He was a beefy, warm-hearted lunk that treasured his family and feared his wife. He was born and raised in town and was related to half the residents. Mark was laid off from GE last fall, where he had worked since vocational school as an electrician. He left GE with a pretty good package and a hefty bruise on his ego. He laid low for months, babysitting the cat, the hound, and the beer fridge, but with the onset of spring, he found himself craving a project. Suzanne, his wife, finally took a job over at the hardware store behind the counter and had been reporting back about Max's visits to the store, speculating on what he was up to down the road. He had also been watching Max shoveling, clearing, and scraping. It was the most exciting development since the sub shop opened three years ago, and Mark was intrigued with the commotion.

To Mark and everyone else in town, watching Max at work was like watching a crazed bird feverishly building a nest for his anticipated mate. The activity in the rest of town was imperceptible, and Max was an unwitting one-man sideshow. His daily movements were stitched together by the regulars at the bar down the road, each contributing a small portion of Max's day they had cataloged while driving by. Each offered an interpretation of where it might be leading. None confirmed or denied their conjecture with the source. There was no need to ruin the fabrication with truth. Mark often took part in the speculation, but now, talking to Max, he immediately liked and respected him for what he was trying to do. Mark needed Max's charisma and passion more than he needed a shitty non-union gig, so minutes after meeting Max, he knew they would be friends, and he knew he would help Max realize his goals for Hearthstone.

Max's ambition was infectious. Mark allowed himself to get caught up with the excitement and shared in the sense of pride and accomplishment as each task was completed. Over the following weeks, Mark never got paid except in the promised beer and food, but he could not have been happier. Max had pangs of guilt for the work that Mark was contributing to Hearthstone. He was so fixated on his goals that he did not understand the salvation he offered Mark beyond traditional compensation. Suzanne even went so far as to thank Max for helping Mark through a dark period in his life by giving him a mission. Although he appreciated what she was saying, he didn't truly understand what this project and his friendship had meant to Mark. He would learn the hard way what it meant to compromise the faith in this friendship.

The entire summer was absorbed by Hearthstone and the wedding. Due to her schedule, Viv had not visited the site in weeks. Max was happy that she stayed away. He was making real progress and wanted to present his work in a completed form. It was a matter of final touches now. He was down to cosmetics, and he savored every minute of it. He carefully picked the paint palette, including dark, mossy greens and rich, silky stains. The windows were sparsely decorated, the fixtures were an interesting array of scrap-yard finds assembled in a purposeful way, and the furniture was decorated with metal and unrefined elements that gave it a modern industrial feel with a dash of Bavarian beer hall. The epicenter of the building was the river rock fireplace that Max and Mark engineered in the middle of the space with a view from all corners of the dining area. This one fixture gave a character to the place that was to be memorialized in countless pictures of new loves, young families, prom goers, and passing tourists in the years to follow. It was a place that, if he didn't own it, he would want to hang out in. It was perfect, and Viv was going to love it.

With everything in place, Max turned his attention to completing the menu, shaping the beer and wine selection, and getting the small house behind Hearthstone ready for it's new family. By late August, weeks before the wedding, it was all coming into focus. Vendor accounts were set up, phone and utilities were in place, and a bookkeeper was on call. Viv had not seen any of it, and now Max was determined to have her wait. She reluctantly agreed with the plan only because she was so consumed with the wedding. Otherwise, he would not have been able to keep her away.

On the last Monday of August, the divine power of fate directed Max's destiny again. He had recruited a career waitress named Kate from the French fine dining restaurant on the other side of town. The cuisine was unlike anything she had served in the past. The menu was full of heavy, rich meats and fish with hearty accompaniments like dumplings in broth, bratkartoffel, and spaetzle. Although the pallet was different than the delicate French dishes she was used to delivering, she understood the importance of the customer experience. Max thought she had the potential to be an excellent manager in the front of the house and would prove to be much more. What Max had not settled on was the leadership for the kitchen. He did not want to be strapped to the grill. Moreover, his menu and his vision for future offerings were beyond his innate skill and learned qualifications. He needed a partner in the kitchen. It would have to be someone he could trust to deliver on his vision while adding a level of quality that would match the care that was put into the ambiance of Hearthstone. As if it were predestined, Jim, the Sysco Wholesale Food rep, walked in unexpectedly. His main goal was to review the inventory list with Max, but before diving into the details of the ordering book, he said, "I don't suppose you are in the market for a head chef?"

"You aren't going to believe this but I was just thinking about who to put back there. If you're this good at anticipating my needs, we are going to make beautiful food together!" Max said with a grin.

"Yeah, the guy can run your kitchen with one hand tied behind his back. I've known him a long time, and he is reliable and easy to get along with, as long as you can keep him off the sauce. He can get a bit surly when he is on a bender."

"Does he know German and European cuisine?"

"His last name is Schultz," Jim answered.

Kurt Schultz grew up in a German community outside of Chicago. He followed a waitress back east to Albany, and although the girl went away, he stayed. He liked the community, low crime rate, and cheap living. Like a lot of guys in his business, he had his share of ups and downs. He liked to drink, probably a bit too much, but he could control a kitchen on even the busiest Saturday rush. The predicament had always been his lack of input on the menu. Cooking someone else's menu night after night burns a man out. It was a rare instance that he could cook the way he was meant to cook. Instead, he was usually told to compromise his recipes in early October when the owner of the steakhouse thought it would be fun to run an Oktoberfest menu. It usually included some weak, pretzel-breaded pork and a German pot roast. If left to his own, he could make a mean braised short rib. The key to his sauerbraten was the four-day marinade soak. The vinegar with his own blend of spices made the braised beef extra tender, and he had more than one award to prove it. These guys up here doctor up a chuck roast with some powdered gingersnap gravy and mashed potatoes and called it Sauerbraten. Kurt called it shameful.

The first time he heard of Hearthstone he was sitting down at the Bier Garten in south Albany. A couple of the regulars were talking about a guy in Averill Park trying to do the German thing. He wasn't sure if it was open, so he had asked Jim what he knew about the place. Jim told him what he knew, which wasn't much. It was enough for Kurt to ask for a meeting if Jim could swing it. He was bored where he was, and if this guy was serious about what he was doing, Kurt knew he could make the menu sing.

Jim brokered a meeting between Kurt and Max for the following morning. It was one week before Max's wedding and two before he opened the doors of Hearthstone. He did not have a moment to waste.

Kurt found his way to Hearthstone and was immediately impressed with the European-style architecture. It reminded him of a place in Chicago he used to frequent and gave him a warm, inviting feeling. He was greeted at the front door by Max, who welcomed him with a firm but friendly handshake. The place was well thought out, with a generous bar and comfortable seating in the front room and a magnificent fireplace that served as a centerpiece to the dining area. If this guy's style is anything like the menu, things could go in a good direction, Kurt thought.

Kurt soon discovered what others had been learning about Max. He was easy to like and well researched. Max explained that the area had been founded by German immigrants and had always had a strong German influence. Although his culinary background was more in Italian cuisine, he was convinced that this was the right fit at the right time in the right place. Max did not have a strong sense of heritage but had always been drawn to the German culture and had an affinity for German cuisine. As he explained in great detail, every single nail, every single piece of furniture, and every single thing on the menu was a reflection of what he would like to experience as a customer. Although Max was passionate, there was plenty of back and forth as the story unfolded.

After a few minutes, they talked like old friends and began to share the same dream. The tracks had been laid, but Kurt could see where he could make an impact at Hearthstone and be part of the vision.

"I put together the menu based on some of my favorite dishes. You can see here I added bratwurst and a cheese board. I thought we could serve it on a rustic cutting board with some selection of pickles and kraut," Max offered as he presented the menu to Kurt.

"In Chicago we used to do a wurst sampler with Smoked Kielbasa, Bavarian Bierwuerstchen, Muenchner Bratwurst, Oktoberfest Bratwurst, and a seasonal sausage accompanied by an artesian mustard. It was one of our best sellers and easy to plate." Kurt added.

The collaboration continued for hours. Each completed section was punctuated with a loud "tssst" of escaping carbonation. By the time the meeting was over, Kurt had left his thumbprint on the menu. Both were almost giddy with the results and were confident in the partnership. To galvanize the union, they spent the remainder of the meeting sharing travel stories, wedding plans, and a few more beers. The two had started off the day perfect strangers and ended it as friends and confidants.

As Kurt drove away, he had a sense of excitement that he hadn't had in years. He could see himself at Hearthstone for a long time to come, and he wasted no time in calling his steakhouse boss to give notice. The conversation was brief and matter-of-fact, with Kurt promising to finish out the week. With that task complete, he promptly went to the bar to finish the job that he had started with Max. He would never make it to his scheduled shift.

As Max watched Kurt pull away, he gave silent thanks for the happenstance meeting and prayed that destiny would continue to be in his favor. Hearthstone was now complete. Max knew it was time to turn his attention to the wedding. During his meeting with Kurt, Viv had called a half a dozen times, and he was sure he was in deep shit. Viv had made every single arrangement, from the ceremony to the cake. She arranged for the tuxes and coordinated the wedding party. The only thing Max had to do was show up and not blow his part. With Hearthstone in order, he could commit his attention completely to the whims of his bride to be.

"Where have you been? I have been calling you all day. You have a tux fitting this afternoon, and I hope like hell you're ready to go right now because you're supposed to be there in 15 minutes," Viv barked over the phone.

Max was a smart man. He did what he was told. He did not put up any resistance and gave no explanation. With a simple, "Okay Viv. I love you," he locked the doors of Hearthstone behind him, got in his car, and drove straight to the Waldorf's on Lark.

Viv knew she was harsh with Max and she would have to apologize later, but so much of the responsibility of planning the perfect wedding had lain on her shoulders. Over the last several weeks, Max was no help at all. He was completely consumed with the restaurant. She hadn't seen the property in months, and although she trusted Max's decision making, she had a healthy concern about the condition of the house she would call home.

Viv had always appreciated her mother's ability to organize an event, and she had been a true blessing over the last few months. She had been by Viv's side through the entire planning process. They were now a week away from the wedding, and if it wasn't for her, Viv was convinced the wedding would never have happened. Without one complaint, her mother trailed behind her for each excursion. They had been to dozens of reception sites, five bakeries, four bridal shops, and two churches. By the end of the last bakery visit, they had tasted so much cake, she felt she could have opened the bakery herself. Viv's mom wasn't guarded about cherishing every moment and was grateful for Hearthstone's distraction. The final decisions were reached between Viv and her mom, and they were perfect. Both the wedding and reception were being held at the charming Crooked Lakehouse, only a few miles away from Hearthstone. The dress was to be a sheath-style, classic design, and the cake was a four-tiered marble masterpiece with the best butter cream frosting in the Northeast.

One hundred and fifty guests were confirmed, her dress fit like a glove, and the favors were safely locked in her closet. As ready as she was, the days leading up to the wedding were nothing but a litany of last-minute details. What time should the flowers come? Where is the bridal suite? Who is standing where? Viv had a phone and a tablet with her constantly. And, although she showed up to work daily, she was useless.

As if a nod to the old wives' tale, the morning of the wedding started out with a light sprinkle. As the morning progressed, the clouds gave way to a crystal blue sky. Viv had planned well. There was no detail left unattended, but as with any bride, she was full of anticipation. She spent the morning preparing to pack the car to go to the inn. Her plan was to make it to the bridal suite by noon and spend the day getting ready to be the bride by four. She had given ironclad instructions to Max about where he should be and when and how he was supposed to look when he got there. She was learning quickly how to be a wife.

Within character, her mother arrived just in time to load up the car. After a quick inventory, they were on their way, and within an hour, Viv and her mother found their way to the bridal suite at The Crooked Lake Inn and made it their own. They were joined early in the afternoon by Dena, one of Viv's new but dear friends from Troy. Her life has changed so much in the last couple of years, and Dena was a critical support system in a time where Viv needed it most. She was a perfect maid of honor. She doted over Viv as if they were sisters and anticipated her needs through each of the planning stages of the wedding. She booked a happy hour in December, a planning dinner in March, a shower in July, and a much-needed spa day in August. She was right on cue this morning. She started Viv out slowly with a double-shot macchiato, and by two, she had changed her over to a light Riesling, white of course to avoid any wine-stain drama. Dena did her job well and knew this bride had a long day, so they were going to take it slow. There was time for shots later.

Dena also knew to stay out of the way of Viv's mom. As much as she and Viv had become fast friends, she knew her place and was not about to step on Viv's mom's toes. Dena was the one to hold Viv's wine as her mother synched up her dress. She then stepped back to admire the radiant redheaded beauty in front of her. Being an amateur photographer, Dena had photo documented the benchmarks of the planning process from taste-testing to dresscapades and now this special day. As soon as the camera came out, the rest of the girls came in and lit up the room, each fawning over Viv with exaggerated flamboyancy. The wedding party was made up of four girls, a number smaller than what Viv was used to from city weddings but just the right amount for her country gala. Dena was standing up as her maid of honor. She would be flanked by one of Viv's lifelong friends from the city and two more from Troy. She didn't know the Troy girls as well as she knew Dena, nor did she find a deep kinship, but they were nice and fun and she knew that they would be a great contribution to the party. Her girlfriend from the city had known her for a long time. She knew Viv's antics quite well, and she was thrilled to be part of the party. The voyage of life prevented them from being close friends, but they always enjoyed each other's company. They were all young and beautiful and wore their tee-length deep-burgundy dresses perfectly. Each had great gams perfect for the flirtatious slit up the thigh, a feature they would use throughout the course of the day to tease their dates on the dance floor. Viv's dress was a classic sheath dress that she paired with elegant pearls and a gem-encrusted veil. Her young, tone physique and clear pale skin made her look like a model that had been ripped off the cover of a bride's magazine. She wasn't a showy beauty in real life, but when called to task, she knew how to wear fashion.

By 3:45, the girls were ready to make the entrance they had practiced the night before. Viv hugged each of them and they parted ways. As the girls floated giddily down the hall toward the foyer, there was a split second when Viv wondered if everyone would remember their roles. As she thought it, Dena was expertly corralling the group and pairing them up with their dates. "Thank God for Dena," Viv whispered. It was almost too easy to leave the bridal suite on the second floor and make her grand entrance into the foyer. It seemed like it should have taken longer. From her perspective, the guests in the room could not see her, but she could see right down the center of the foyer and directly out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a small lake. She could hear the delicate rhythms of the harpist's music floating through the air, and she knew it was time to take a few small steps that would lead to her future. The force of fate guided her to father who was waiting dutifully outside the room to take hold of her hand and steady her on her journey.

As she entered the room, each row was compelled to admire and even to envy her. Her father was nothing more than an accessory, as she truly commanded the room. It seemed like an eternity before she reached her mark across from her husband to be. When she arrived at her perch, her father gingerly offered her smooth, pale hand to her intended as if he was passing over a china doll.

As Max received her, he leaned over and gave her a small peck on the cheek. Viv caught a faint whiff of gin on his breath and gave him a playful grin. He returned it in kind.

Their audience was full of restaurant people and young professionals. They patiently waited through the formalities of the nuptials to get to the party afterwards, and when Max and Viv turned to the crowd as man and wife, there was a roar that could be heard across the lake. It was as if the couple was unraveling an invisible seam that released the crowd from their seats as they moved down the aisle. Each side found common ground at the bar, and the mix of vintage middle-class, pool-hall chic, and urban outfitters around the room was enough to start a fashion revolution.

Max and Viv had not seen much of each other, and being completely free of responsibility for the first time in months, they began to find one another again. Before they joined the rest of the celebration, they shared a toast in the room with the wedding party. Max tried to live up to the tux he was crammed into and was on his best behavior. He had not seen the playful side of Viv in what seemed like forever and was titillated when she, still looking like a work of art, filled her cheeks with champagne and playfully approached Max. She touched her lips to his in what could have been perceived as a sweet kiss and seductively emptied the contents of her mouth into his. Hidden by the mounds of material from her pinned up train, she let her hand brush over his crotch to make sure that he was responding appropriately to her actions.

Viv was high on wine, adrenaline, and freedom from the planning. She had not left anything to chance and had put Dena in the driver's seat. She was free to immerse herself in the decadence of the day. She sauntered away from Max, leaving his cheeks full of champagne and his pants full of heat. He had to hide himself from the crowded room until he could regain his composure. Viv was immediately on to flirting with her bridesmaids and making plans to enter the party. She gathered up Max and draped herself elegantly around his arm. They sauntered down the hall and entered the room to a second, more-boisterous roar. Max spun his new bride around as if to show off his prize, and Viv embraced the role as the trophy. Together, they were the power couple of the day.

Dena slipped immediately into the role of celebrity handler and made sure that Viv and Max did their duty by leading them around the room, addressing every guest. As they traveled from table to table, Viv took every opportunity to flirt with her husband in seductive and playful ways that were undetectable by the people around them. At the first table, she tickled his inner thigh with her fingers behind her back as she welcomed her Aunt Ellis and Uncle Roy. At the second table, she maneuvered her ass in a way that just brushed by his crotch. He let his hand drift down her bare back until he hit the silky fabric that lay against her body and tucked his fingers in enough to feel the dew of sweat on the dimple at the end of her back. By the fifth table, Max was starting to get the hang of the game and came up with his own playful reciprocation. As Viv bent down to give her college roommate a peck, Max stood behind her and pushed himself against her backside just enough to not be noticed by anybody but her.

They looked like they had just jumped off the cake, led around like royalty by Dena from table to table. Their actions were perfectly camouflaged by some unwary prop in the form of a chair or a napkin or even a cousin. Their timing was spot on and their small talk was relevant. The key was not to break eye contact with the subject so as not to break the illusion and expose the deviant underpinnings of their actions. As they addressed each table, they found a way to make each other crazy without being detected. This only added to the sexual tension between them. By the time they hit the last table, the foreplay was almost too much. With a flimsy excuse, they found the nearest exit that landed in the front foyer. Like crazed sex addicts that were just released into the general population, they frantically searched for an open door and found it at the coat room. It was an exceptionally mild evening, so the coat room was empty and no one had access to it all day. The two slipped into the small dark room and, without fear of consequence, began to wildly grope each other. Although Max tried to be considerate of his bride's makeup, he violently pressed his lips against hers and appeared as if he was trying to consume her from the head down. She responded with the same veracity. He pushed her up against the wall and simulated feral sex acts between their clothes.

Viv broke free from Max's grip and a devious grin rolled across her face. The look alone almost made Max explode. Being careful not to disrupt his ensemble entirely she tugged at his zipper to get at the bulge inside. It was as if Max had been thrown into a catatonic state and was helpless against her advances. She knew this wasn't going to last long and she would have to wait for satisfaction, but the power she was wielding over Max was intoxicating and outrageously exciting.

He kept a tenuous balance between going mad and prematurely exploding as he impatiently waited for what Viv had in store. Viv never broke her gaze as she carefully hiked up her dress and slid down to her knees. She took her new husband into her mouth and caressed his hot intumescence with her tongue. It was all he could do to resist pushing himself deeper into her when she suddenly grabbed him and hungrily pulled him closer. She recoiled and plunged again, taking all of him in her mouth and again repeating the exhilarating motion, and again and again. By now his eyesight had adjusted to the dark closet and he could see her red lips wrapped around him. Her eyes glinted wide open as she intentionally sent him reeling. Her mouth demanded he relent. It was painful to resist. He didn't last long and finally gave into her, delivering his passion forcibly into her throat.

Max could not move. In fact, he was afraid he couldn't walk. Viv maintained control of the scene by tidily replacing her husband's spent member back into his pants and zippering it closed. She carefully tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie, wiped his mouth, and propped him on a chair buried in the corner of the closet. Once he was out of the way, she straightened her dress and produced a small, lighted compact that she used to reapply perfect lips and radiant, bridal eyes. She was satisfied with her performance and ready to reenter the room. Max wasn't so sure.

### The rest of the evening continued with typical Italian-American tradition. The first dance with the bride and groom was followed by formal dances involving different members of the bridal party, and finally all of the guests were invited on the dance floor. Countless speeches were made, punctuated by the words "evviva gli sposi," or "long live the newlyweds," as wine glasses were raised in celebration. Tears were shed and hugs were shared. After dinner, the relatives began to drift off, leaving only the loud and increasingly obnoxious younger partygoers to trip the light fantastic.

By daybreak, only Max, Viv, Dena, her date, and Mark and Suzanne were left to meet the day. The band had long-since left, and the bartender had abandoned the group three hours ago. They were relegated to drinking Miller Lights from a can on the back porch of the inn, but they weren't totally alone. The innkeeper came out to periodically remind them to keep it down as their voices carried across the lake. As the sun rose, there was one last toast among the friends before they all retreated to their rooms at the inn.

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Chapter 5

"Success is simple. Do what's right, the right way, at the right time."

-Arnold H. Glasow

When Viv was introduced to Hearthstone in its completed form, it was as if she had fallen through the looking glass. When she had last seen the property, it was nothing more than a broken-down diner in a dusty parking lot. What she stood in front of now was a charming and well-groomed being that took her breath away. Max was resourceful and talented, but what was laid out in front of her was more than she could have possibly conjured.

Like any good groom, Max swept Viv up in his arms and carried her across the threshold of their new life. It all started over again when she entered the building. A rush of details flooded her brain and made her dizzy. Max trailed behind and let Viv fondle every fixture and feature. It was a half an hour before she spoke.

"Max you have left me speechless. Hearthstone is more than I could have ever imagined. I am so proud of you and excited about our lives together."

"I can't tell you what that means to me. But this is just the beginning Viv. We are going to open this restaurant, and it's going to be great, and I have plans for more to happen here. I don't want to rush our lives together, but I am so excited to get started," he said in a sincere tone.

The week that followed was sheer chaos. Pots and pans flew, deliveries of food and liquor came spilling in the door, and staff hurried in and out. Kurt was there first thing Monday morning to prepare for opening week. He was solid and sharp and ready to take whatever was coming his way. He studied the menu, organized the recipes, and began to train his team. He brought a sous chef and solid line cook with him, and Max finished the team with some local boys that showed promise. Viv and Kate worked the front of house. Every day after work, she would turn her attention to menus, table tents, and the customer experience. She had started to do some online teasers about the opening and set up Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts and even decided to develop an email list. Every time somebody walked in the door out of curiosity, she would say they were not open yet, but asked them to "Sign up for our emails to get the latest in events and specials." Through that activity alone she already had twenty names on the list.

They decided to open the following Tuesday to give them a chance to head off any major SNAFU's before the weekend. Kurt started with specials, like a stuffed steak and seared scallops with some quirky appetizers like frog legs. Opening night was really quite unremarkable, except for Mark, who had since gotten a job. He claimed his favorite bar stool early and collected his back pay in the form of a flaky white pan-seared Chilean sea bass with wild mushroom grits. That bar stool became Mark's perch for the next four years.

At the close of the first night, with only fifteen-hundred dollars in the drawer, both Max and Viv had a pang of concern. Feedback from the customers was good, but that number was not going to cover the nut. Fortunately, they had Mark. Mark bragged about Hearthstone to anyone that would listen, and by the end of the third night, Max and Viv were well on their way to success.

On Sunday evening, Max, Viv, Kate, Mark, and Kurt all sat at the bar and enjoyed a congratulatory drink. Everyone in the group felt a sense of ownership and pride for what had been created with Hearthstone. Monday was a dark day at the restaurant. That gave Max a chance to catch up on the surge from the week before. Viv was at work, so he had some time by himself. They hadn't done any marketing and were relying on word of mouth to start promoting the business. The couple was not well known in culinary circles, nor did they have the money to launch a big campaign, so the experience of their guests became critical to the success of the business. Max never spent much time online. He never needed to. He knew of the food blogs in Albany and now started to read them with some regularity. He was surprised to see that Yelp! had already listed Hearthstone and that there were two reviews. A wave of anticipation washed over Max when he clicked on the first. He was relieved to see it was from Mark who rambled on about his delicious sea bass and the Grade A service he received. Max smiled a little and was grateful for the friendship. He opened the second review and was jolted back into the moment when he read, "My steak was cold. The service was slow. And the overall dining experience was nothing special at Hearthstone. With all of the hype that has gone into that place, I was expecting more from my experience. I could have gone to the Creekside and had a far better meal for half the price." Max was dumbstruck. He couldn't react. An outsider would not have noticed the reaction but Max could feel the heat of emotion ripple through his body. The only tell were his fingers quivering against his coffee cup, making the liquid contents shutter.

When he regained his lucidity, he thought about how to respond. He knew better than to start tapping on the keyboard, so he called Viv instead. "Viv, I need your help. Please get on Yelp! and read the review. What are we going to do? This is going to kill us," he pleaded over the phone.

Viv was at her desk and quickly opened a new browser window. Within seconds, she had reached the review and had the same visceral reaction. The heat was crawling up her neck, and she felt her face catch on fire, but then she saw it, like a savant would see the answer to an impossible math problem. It spilled out all over her computer screen. The Yelper had one other review. It was a glowing review about Creekside. It rambled on about the extensive beer selection, the ambiance, and the menu that was unrivaled in southern Rensselaer County.

Kat Murphy was the author's name. Viv with no stranger to backhanded publicity, but she was even surprised and moderately impressed with how quickly the competition had moved in, especially in a small, sleepy town like Averill Park. Upon further research, Viv discovered that Kat was the adoring girlfriend of the nighttime bartender at Creekside and a regular fixture at his bar. The little shit had thrown down the gauntlet, and Viv was happy to pick it up. Now that she understood this first in a long line of rivals, Viv could work on a strategy. When she had completed her research on Facebook and Twitter, Viv called Max to free him from the bear trap. "Yep, it's the girlfriend of Greg, the bartender at Creekside. I guess we should have expected this, Maxy, but don't let it get you down. You have to take the high road and let the experience of Hearthstone speak for itself," Viv advised. Max would learn to hate the expression "take the high road," but for now he would listen.

Although Viv went back and responded to Kat by offering her the chance to come back on the house, her scathing review got buried under a stream of glowing reports. People traveling through to the ski resorts, local foodies, and expatriates from Albany all agreed that Hearthstone was living up to its reputation. The kitchen was running like a Tesla, and the front of the house was a perfect match of upscale dining and hometown comfort. Viv had accumulated over eighteen hundred names for her mailing list and used it to entice customers back each week. As the holiday season came and went, hundreds of pictures were taken in front of the grand fireplace, thousands of plates of food were enjoyed, and countless numbers of beers were poured. It was better than what the couple had dreamed it could be. There was an occasional attempt to besmirch Hearthstone's reputation in social media, but Max learned to identify those quickly and to rely on the 12th man to run D for him.

It was impossible to separate their personal lives from their persona at Hearthstone. They were reminded constantly during the most mundane tasks. Walking through the grocery store was like a press conference. As a couple, the experience drew them closer as they shared a private world that only they could understand. They had made the small cottage behind Hearthstone their own. When they could get away, they spent their time in small antique shops and garage sales, finding one-of-a-kind gems to add to the eclectic look of their home. Viv decorated both Hearthstone and their cottage in a rich traditional look during the holidays. They spent Christmas Eve with their restaurant family and the close friends they had developed across the bar. It was too busy for them to consider going downstate this year, but Viv was relieved. She had a special surprise for Max on Christmas morning that would not travel well.

The couple enjoyed the evening with their friends. They drank a little too much, but it was liberating to experience these friendships without having to drop a check afterward. As a result, Max wasn't in a rush to get out of bed the next morning. He was a bit surprised when Viv jumped up at 7 am and started moving around the cottage. He rolled over and buried himself deeper into the blankets, trying to ignore Viv sing-songingly prodding him to get up. He was finally levitated by the smell of coffee and cinnamon buns wafting from the kitchen. He dragged himself out of his warm nest and pulled on a pair of sweats. Viv sweetly instructed Max to sit by the tree and she would deliver his coffee. As he watched the dust sparkle in a shard of sunlight, he heard a foreign noise coming from the kitchen. Although he couldn't place it, it was a notable enough to force him to pay attention to the sounds in the kitchen. After a few more clinks and clangs from the kitchen, a freshly groomed Viv emerged with a tray. His eyes were so fixated on her rich red hair contrasted by her porcelain white skin that he never noticed the clumsy cub following close behind her.

She lay the tray down in front of Max and glided onto the couch, followed immediately by the anxious pup with an obnoxiously large Christmas bow around his neck. As the little dog nipped and pulled at his bow, Max sat stunned. "What...who...whose is this?!" Max exclaimed.

"Merry Christmas Maxy," Viv said. "I thought you could use some companionship while I'm at work. He's a bullmastiff. They say this breed is pretty calm and makes a great sidekick. He's going to be big."

"He is going to be huge!" Max had not planned on having a dog right now. He was so busy with Hearthstone that he barely had time for Viv. But the truth was he never left the property and was a little lonely. As the little dog pounced around the couch, feverishly licking the couple's faces, he immediately fell in love, again.

His name was Gunther from the moment Max met him, and he became an instant companion. For the entire month of January, Max and Gunther were inseparable. The restaurant was quiet, the days were insanely short, and Gunther needed all of the help he could get to learn where to pee. By the end of the month, he was well on his way to being a perfect gentleman and Max's best friend.

In late January, Hearthstone was paid a visit by Sean Baker, the one and only restaurant critic north of Kingston. He was a girthy man who took his business seriously. He sat alone on a busy Friday night late into the service. He had a small notepad that he would occasionally scribble on and would sometimes refer to his phone for reasons that were not clear to Max. Max watched from a distance and tried not to ogle his guest. The restaurateur tried to give Baker's table as much attention as he did the rest of the room.

At the conclusion of Sean's meals, Max took the unorthodox approach by inviting Sean for a nightcap at the bar. He hesitantly accepted the invitation and ordered a Glenlivet neat. Although it would not have been the drink of his choice, Max joined him in the same. He wasn't a terribly talkative fellow and did not typically commiserate with his study subjects, but he found himself disarmed in the presence of Max. There was nothing pressing him, so he decided to take his time. They engaged in industry small talk and how the restaurant concept developed for Max. Sean shared some insights on successful restaurant trends and industry tips. The conversation led to customers and their feedback, and Max shared the story about his experience with Yelp!. Sean was of the mind that it took certain knowledge of the business to have an opinion worth sharing. He gave no credence to the Yelpers, whether the feedback be bad or good.

The night ended with the men having a mutual respect for each other. The resulting review was a gift to Max and Hearthstone.

"German food is hard to find in Albany, so when I visited Hearthstone for the first time, I decided I should focus on the German part of the menu. Hearthstone offers a tavern menu with salads, burgers, sandwiches, and sharable appetizers like the cheese and sausage board and wurst sampler. But especially on the cold nights of winter, German seemed the way to go.

Before I even looked at the menu, it is worth noting the clean and inviting décor with a huge fireplace in the middle of the dining area. The place was full, and the happy acoustics added to the experience.

I started with a bowl of ham and cabbage soup and an order of bitterballen, small balls of veal stew, deep-fried until crispy on the outside and served with mustard. The soup came out first, and it was obviously handmade at the restaurant, with big chunks of fresh carrot, celery, chopped cabbage and potato, small-diced ham, and a beautifully seasoned broth that was not over-salted. It was a wonderful choice for a snowy evening.

The Bitterballen were good, too, not greasy though they were deep-fried, and filled with chopped veal and potatoes. The mustard-mayonnaise blend served with them used a sharp, punctuating mustard. It was a perfect accompaniment. I decided to have the second one at home with unadulterated German mustard.

For the main, I chose the sauerbraten dinner. My Sauerbraten was fantastic. It was very tender beef in a sour sauce with red cabbage and spaetzle. The gravy's tang of vinegar made a good complement to the marinated beef. I got a side of brussel sprouts prepared with shallots, extra-virgin olive oil, red potato, and sausages.

Both the apple fritters and the apple strudel are made at Hearthstone. I chose the fritters. My server told us they come with vanilla ice and caramel sauce. The apple rings had been very lightly battered, deep-fried, and tossed in cinnamon sugar. The results were perfect.

I was fortunate enough to sit with the owner of Hearthstone after my meal and share a scotch. I hadn't known Max before this evening, but I found him to be warm and open, prepared to share his story and solicit suggestions. My experience there made for a very pleasant evening that I will repeat soon."

The following spring came in like a lion. Although the winter was much milder than the one before, the mud season in the Northeast was as bad as ever. As things began to thaw, Max discovered a new problem with Hearthstone. The runoff this year led to flooding in his basement and jeopardized the water source for the entire restaurant. So he and Gunther spent all of April under the building shoring up a series of sump pumps and drainage. When he emerged from the basement in late April, Kurt had prepared a spring and summer menu for his review. He had really lived up to his reputation as a firm and talented chef. If Max had not been covered in mud, he would have hugged Kurt at that moment.

"Thank you man, for everything. I really appreciate what you do," Max said simply.

"Thank you for letting me be part of Hearthstone," Kurt replied.

Viv and Max had decided the goal this year was to finish the upstairs room that went the length of the building. Up until now it had only been used for storage and was full of petrified receipts and old decorations. Viv thought it would be perfect for a stammtisch, German for "regulars' table." The intimate space could be used for small receptions and dinner parties. As was always the case, when Viv bit, Max chewed, so Max trusted Kurt with the daily operations of the kitchen and Kate with the operations up front. The couple spent until early summer preparing the upstairs. It was decorated in a similar style as the rest of Hearthstone. Because it did not require a lot of infrastructure, he was able to complete the project by June, with Mark's help. In exchange, Mark threw Suzanne a 30-year anniversary party with Max and Viv in attendance.

The summer was full of evening parties and endless entertainment. Max, Gunther, and Kurt spent their days preparing for each evening, and Viv took on the responsibility of marketing the business by social media. She also remained in touch with Sean and other influential bloggers in the Capital Region, becoming a regular on the party scene. She had also developed a list of over 5,000 recipients that she kept informed of the events and happenings at Hearthstone. They were booked till Christmas with reservations for both upstairs and down and continued to live up to the reputation of interesting, well-crafted dishes.

As the season changed and the days got shorter, Kurt reworked the menu to bring back those heavier comfort-food selections. The feedback on Yelp! was almost immediate when reading reviews about his rouladen and other hardy meat dishes. Although Max tried not to make it a habit to look at his reviews, it came as a sense of accomplishment to see this kind of feedback. He and his staff closed out the year on a high note. January was proving to be the slowest month of the year. Max made a decision to close for the last two weeks of the month to give the staff a break and freshen up the facility. He thought it would be good to sharpen the blade for the year that lay ahead and to convalesce after spending the last year in a blender.

Kate had plans to take her kids to an indoor waterpark, and Kurt had planned an excursion with his new girlfriend. Max and Viv handed over the keys to a cleaning company and disappeared in the snow-covered mountains of Vermont.

The crew returned from their sabbatical ready to tackle the annual goals. Although Kurt looked like he got dragged behind a truck, his contributions at the staff meeting were spot on, and they were poised for a great spring.

The year was record setting and ended with an employee appreciation event a week after the New Year. Each brought their spouse or significant others, except Kurt who came stag. He had broken up with his girlfriend before Christmas. Max could only speculate why but could see a palpable difference in Kurt's demeanor. Max and Viv were skilled partiers. They drank a lot and often. Somehow they maintained a level of composure even if their blood alcohol level was off the charts. When Kate found Kurt bent over the porch railing, Max's concern was triggered. He had been noticing small inconsistencies in Kurt over the months. He had even begun to find beer bottles in unusual places, like the men's room garbage can, in the walk-in, and in the parking lot. Taken alone, it would not alarm Max, but he started to develop a pattern that he did not like.

At the planning meeting after winter break, everybody brought their ideas. Kate and even Dena, who had been playing more and more of a role in the private parties, was there and contributed. Viv was her enthusiastic self, chatting about her promotional ideas and upcoming events. Kate, who had now taken on beverage management, felt solid about the team she was bringing back this year and had some thoughts on specialty beer dinners and other pairings. Through all the chatter, Max noticed that Kurt was not contributing as he had he done in the past. He looked tired and unenthusiastic. Max knew he broke up with his girlfriend, so he thought that may have contributed to his malaise. His concerns over Kurt's drinking also become more acute, and he wondered how to turn Kurt around.

Max and Gunther were consumed with repairing fixtures, potholes, and outdoor furniture in preparation for spring. Viv and Dena proved to make a great pair in booking and hosting parties in the small banquet room upstairs. It was soon becoming a chic hot spot to throw your intimate affair. Viv was present for almost every party, and Dena was never far behind. She was an expert stager and knew how to pull together an event. Viv found her indispensable.

The ala carte service was going perfectly. They launched their spring menu to much acclaim and social media chatter. Sean wrote a nice write up, and sales were strong. Max still maintained an uneasy feeling about Kurt and his increasingly common hangover. It was a matter of a few short weeks before the lake people came back for the season, and Max thought it might be time to intervene.

After dinner service on Saturday night, Max and Kurt sat down for their customary late night drink. Without thinking it through, Max said, "Let's go fishing."

"What? No man, I gotta clean up my damn yard tomorrow," Kurt replied.

"The yard can wait, man. I have seen it. That shit isn't going anywhere. Let's go fishing up at Lake Ontario. There is a tributary called Salmon River where the salmon practically jump in your boat this time of year. We could leave tonight and be there first thing in the morning. We'll rent a small boat or even fish from the side of the river."

"My shift, man."

"We'll call somebody in. It'll be our last chance before the summer crowd gets here and we're both buried in work."

Kurt tried to find a reason not to go, but within a half an hour he had agreed to indulge Max on his crazy excursion. Before he had a chance to back down, Max told him he would drive by his place and pick up a few things and be on their way. "You finish cleaning up here; I'm going to run back and get Gunther and let Viv know what we're doing."

Max walked across the dark parking lot to the cottage and hurried in the door to find Viv and Dena at the kitchen table drinking a bottle of Petite Sirah. Both Viv and Dena noticed Kurt was not his former self and talked about it often, so when Max explained, neither were surprised to hear of Max's concerns.

"I think if I can get him out of town for a couple days to clear his head he might come back in better shape. Besides, the season's right in front of us, and I could use a couple days out of this parking lot. I'll take the dog and we'll find a place to stay. If everything goes well, we'll hang out till late Monday and head back then."

Viv nodded and added, "Great, Dena and I can have a pajama party and go to the farmers market in the morning. Dena?"

"It sounds like fun. I'm in," Dena said.

The two drove all night, stopping only to relieve themselves of the beer they shared on the way up. Four hours later, they arrived at the Salmon River. The Salmon River offers more than 12 miles of shoreline with public fishing rights. All along the water there are pull-offs, as well as parking areas operated by the village of Pulaski and the county. They found a pull off in the lower zone of the river where they could wait for daylight. Max let the dog out one more time and relieved himself. He crawled back in the car, which smelled like dog and beer. In minutes, the three were snoring. What seemed like only a moment later, Max was unceremoniously wakened by Gunther's sloppy kisses. He unfolded himself from the car, stretched, and committed to the day.

The morning was quiet, with just small movements of fish. "We are getting the right weather for the fish to run the river, but they're not cooperating," Max commented. By mid-day, they had better results, and by early afternoon, they had a full string and were ready to crash.

The boys stopped to buy a cheap cooler at Fat Nancy's Tackle Shop. Gus, the counterman, turned out to be helpful beyond lures. He directed the two to a local tavern that was known for its steaks and the cabin rentals down the road. It was still early in the day, but Max and Kurt were exhausted after driving all night and fishing all day. Gunther lay sprawled out in the back, and the two guys cracked a beer as they followed the GPS to The Riverhouse Restaurant, as was recommended by Gus. It was a pleasantly cool afternoon, and Gunther was happy to stay in the car while Max and Kurt went into the restaurant. It was nice to be just a customer in an unassuming joint for a change. They both ordered Pabst on tap, the Porterhouse with a baked potato, and the house mixed vegetable. The service was excellent at 3 pm, and they were treated like kings. Small talk with the bartender added to the experience, and the food was prepared well. There is no doubt that Kurt had more training than whoever prepared his meal, but he enjoyed it more than he ever could cooking it himself. With full stomachs, they set out to find the Pulaski cabins.

Pulaski Cabins is on the river with over eight acres, just downstream from the sportsman's pool in the heart of salmon country. The cabins are tastefully done, and the guys felt right at home. They had called ahead to make reservations, and because it was early in the season, they got lucky with a riverside spot. Besides the 200-pound dog, they were traveling light, so it didn't take much to check in and move into their temporary residence by the Salmon River. Full from dinner, the last thing to do was to break open the case of Pabst and sit on the porch. The day started to weigh heavy as the two sat on the front deck just looking at all the birds and wildlife and hearing the river in the back flowing.

"So what do you think about the year ahead? Will we run the same menu as we did last year?" Max asked, breaking the silence.

"Close. I read on the blogs some of the favorites that people seem to come back for so we'll be sure to include them," Kurt replied.

"How's the love life?" Max asked.

"Could be better."

"Who's your pick for the season?"

"Mets are looking bad."

"You would tell me if you need anything from me at Hearthstone, right? I can't do it without you."

"Yes boss I would. Everything is in great shape; we're going to have a strong year," Kurt answered matter-of-factly.

So ended the therapy session. Max felt better than he had in months about Kurt and allowed himself to enjoy the evening on the porch with his friend, his dog, and a beer.

The guys returned late Monday night smelling like beer and fish, but each had a relaxed demeanor that Viv hadn't seen in months. It was late, so the goodbyes were brief. Kurt found his way to the car, and Max and Gunther found their way to the couch until Viv demanded a shower for both.

It only had been 48 hours since the two had taken off for their excursion, but it was if they had been gone for a week. They were both revitalized and ready to take on the year with the same sense of vigor they had at the beginning of last year. They produced the finest dishes they had to date, and business and praise abounded. It wasn't until after Christmas that Max started finding beers bottles in the trash again.

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Chapter 6

"It's fine to celebrate success but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure."

-Bill Gates

Averill Park seemed to be charming, small town—the kind that looks like a postcard in the corner store. From the outside, it didn't really look like anything unsavory could ever happen. Kids ambled on school buses without fear of harm. The Christmas parade hosted a stream of decorated tractors and homemade floats from local businesses and community groups, and every piece of springtime grass hosted a ball game. Sometimes, things aren't what they appear. In the case of Averill Park, what had been a shameful secret in the picturesque town exploded in the community's consciousness one morning as a young man, an Averill Park High School graduate, stumbled out of the bathroom of the local gas station and asked a clerk to call 911. He said he had shot up some bad heroin. He collapsed outside the store and was pronounced dead at Samaritan Hospital in Troy. After the twelfth life was taken, a customer at the bar commented, "Kids are still dying, and it seems like we've reached a standstill. Nobody knows what the next step should be." It seemed to be everywhere. Max would soon realize the reach of the poison and what it meant to be a victim.

Kurt had been doing great for months. He laid off the booze and was turning out amazing cuisine. Max felt the weight lift from his shoulders, and he and Gunther concentrated on the inevitable broken pipe, clogged toilet, or sales call. It all changed when Kurt blew out his knee by jumping off a shelf during a Tuesday prep. Max drove him to the hospital with a heavy heart. He could not help but be uneasy about the impact to Hearthstone. His concerns were realized with a rough summer of late arrivals, absences, and short-armed specials. Although the feedback was generally good, Max began to notice an increase in negative feedback. Subject lines like "Not what it used to be" from Tom K or "Don't stop at Hearthstone, Keep going" from Cheryl P. Max would have rather scratched his eyes with a shard of glass than read the bad ones but tried to use them as a management tool. He shared them with Kate and Kurt and used an empathetic tone as he explained where things weren't matching up. Kurt was so preoccupied with the pain in his knee it was hard for him to care about the feedback and would resort to a temper tantrum, which usually ended with him blaming poor performance on one of his staff. It was becoming apparent to everyone but Kurt that pain killers were becoming a problem. Max was deeply concerned about the impact his injury, drugs, and booze were having on Hearthstone. He often found himself in conversations with Kate, Viv, and even Dena about Kurt, but because of his loyalty and lack of competent alternatives, he was at a loss.

On a Sunday afternoon, Max and Mark chatted about the recent rash of bad reviews. "I feel like Yelpers are in it for the notoriety. Did you know they earn badges for reviews that earn online acclaim? That's where their friends are, and they can feel self-entitled after they bash restaurant owners with no accountability for their claims. It is so upsetting that people can write whatever they want to without having to do any fact checking," Max rambled.

Mark listened, but he too was noticing a bit of a stumble in service and quality. His loyalty and empathy for his friend compelled him to say only, "I get it."

Kurt was scheduled for arthroscopic surgery during the January break. He had no family in town and was long-since single, so Max was happy to drive him and wait. He was hopeful this would be a turning point for Kurt. The pain had become a crutch to abuse drugs and alcohol to the point where Kurt was almost useless in the kitchen. He had trained his staff well, and they were doing their best to keep up the standard of service set by Kurt himself, but they needed a leader to work at peak performance. Max found himself standing in more and more, but he knew he was not the right fit for the job.

It took a few short hours for the procedure to be complete. Kurt was sent home with a script for a heavy painkiller, and he readily filled it. Max drove him home, helped him out of the car, and settled him in. "I hope this gets you on your feet, man. We miss your spirit. Let me know if you need anything."

A week later, Kurt came back to work looking bedraggled. Max's heart sank. "Doc won't give me any more pain meds, and it still hurts like hell," Kurt said as he dragged his leg behind him.

"Wow, I really thought you would be in better shape," Max said with a hollow tone.

"Me too, man. I really need those meds," Kurt replied.

"Kurt, I am worried about you. You should try to get yourself off those. How about PT?" Max suggested. Although it took months to become obvious, Max knew Hearthstone was in trouble from that moment on.

Spring was a nightmare. Mud season did thousands of dollars of damage to the parking lot and water source, and the restaurant was slow. The wait staff was impatient for the season to start, and there was nothing but trouble in the kitchen. Kurt's knee was still bothering him, and his ability to concentrate was deteriorating. His general health wasn't much better. He had missed numerous days because of stomach bugs and gastrointestinal problems. The most recent affliction was a bizarre skin infection that looked ghastly. It was so noticeable, Max found every excuse possible to keep Kurt off the floor.

Summer was no better. The Yelpers were having a feeding frenzy with each substandard experience. Business faltered, and Max was desperate. "Viv, I cannot ignore these reviews or respond graciously to them; I keep finding myself responding to them with mild verbal abuse that only incites them more. Do you know last night someone even threatened to give us one star if I did not get him a new plate? These Yelpers are power-hungry tyrants who threaten one-star reviews if we don't cater to their whims. Holy shit, what is happening?"

"Maxy, most of the people who write negative Yelps think they are talented writers and they hide their nitpicking with some cleverness. They are assholes in my book with too much free time. Don't give in. Please, please take the high road. We will get past this," Viv pleaded.

"I am turning into someone I don't even recognize. I am on Yelp! half the day defending us and the other half trying to catch my chef in the act of drinking my fucking beer. To add insult to injury, Yelp! just started a new advertising program that showed up in my email this morning! The timing was ironic. I just read a series of heinous reviews and the email shows up with the subject, "Bravo! Yelpers think Hearthstone is great!" Within an hour it was followed up by a call from Shelby, my personal Yelp! advisor who suggested advertising with Yelp! could help in the order of which reviews appeared. What the hell does that mean, Viv? I am getting my ass kicked from every angle."

"Max, let's go away. There is a wine tour in the Finger Lakes. We could go this weekend. Dena said she will watch the dog," she said in a sweet voice.

"I can't Viv. Shit is falling apart here," he said, exasperated.

"They aren't falling apart. I checked with Kate. She is on all weekend. Dena said she could hang around. The schedule is in good shape, and she will stay in the cottage with the dog till we get back. You need this Max. You are losing your shit. You need a break to clear your head."

"Let me think about it," he said in parting. That evening, Max got a face full of insults from a customer that posted a review before leaving the building. He immediately called Viv and agreed to let her pack him a bag. He would be ready to leave by noon the next day.

It was Friday, late in the summer. The sun was bright and the day was clear. The couple confirmed with Kate and Dena that they were ok with the restaurant for the weekend. They both assured them they were fine and prepared to handle it. In the car and alone with Viv, Max noticed how beautiful she looked for the first time in months. He was more in love with her now than the day he met her. As flamboyant as she was, she was his touchstone, and with her near him, everything seemed right.

As Max and Viv travelled west, dinner service at Hearthstone was lackluster. It wasn't on par with the norms of last year. Kurt was in the kitchen, but he was more of a liability than anything. It had become routine for his team to correct his mistakes and compensate for his absentmindedness. Kate and her team also found themselves apologizing more than ever. Dena hung around most of the night and helped bus tables and greet guests. She liked to be part of the action but felt a pang every time a customer showed dissatisfaction for what was truly an amateur mistake. She had seen the experience suffer with the parties upstairs, but the degradation in quality was never more evident than with ala carte service. Her heart went out to her dear friend Viv, and along with Kate, they did their best to appease the disgruntled guests. "I am not calling them no matter what happens tonight," Kate said. She would not be able to keep her word.

The night ended around one with the last customers lingering to take photos in front of the smoldering fireplace. Kate and Dena sat at the empty bar with Gunther at their feet and admired the scene. "This place has really been a ride," Dena remarked.

"Yes it has. As much as I have considered leaving, I just can't. Max and Viv have been so good to me that I feel like I should stay to help them through this rough stretch. I just don't know if we can get Kurt—" Kate stopped short as Kurt stumbled out of the back. In the dim light, his face looked sallow and sickly. It had been a slow progression, but after a long night, his ailing health was evident to the two. Kate gave Dena a nudge under the bar and said, "why don't you head out, Kurt, we will lock up."

"I am still working on that sauerbraten for next week. I have to get it brining tonight or it won't be ready. I'll just be a few more minutes. I can lock up," Kurt said.

The girls nodded and finished their drinks while discussing the Saturday plan. "Come on big boy," Dena said to Gunther. "Take me now or lose me forever," she said in a playful voice. Gunther grunted, got to his feet, and started heading to the door, as he had done countless times before. Dena and Kate shared a quick hug and parted ways, Kate to her car and Dena and Gunther to the cottage. As she passed through the door, Dena flicked on a few lights in the cottage and gave Gunther a snack. She found a bottle of Bogle and rummaged around the drawer for an opener. "Wine glass, readers, clicker, couch—all set. Damn" before she could pick a channel, Dena realized she forgot her phone. She unfolded herself from her nest on the couch and found her purse on the table. After dumping the contents of the purse, she decided she must have left it on the bar.

"Ugh," Dena sighed as she slipped on a pair of Viv's flip flops. She opened the screen, and as it slammed behind her, she realized how quiet it really was out there in the sticks. She was never alone at Hearthstone. There was always commotion: cars coming in, going out, cooks hanging around the back door, Max yelling at Viv, waitresses calling out orders. The thick darkness made the familiar parking lot feel like a foreign land. A sudden pang of anxiety landed on her chest and Dena became very aware of her surroundings. She thought it would have been smart to bring the dog, but it was too late now. She was at the back door. She fumbled with the keys in the oppressive darkness and finally pushed the door open. Once inside, the back of the restaurant was dark but still warm from the ovens and the purr of the walk-in was a comforting, familiar sound. The anxiety lifted as quick as it came and she walked briskly to the bar.

Dena rounded the corner to the bar and involuntarily stepped back to process the scene in front of her. Behind the bar, in an almost unrecognizable state, was Kurt. He was like a rabid animal, completely out of his mind, wrestling clumsily with the cash register. He was so absorbed with the task that he didn't hear Dena enter the room. Dena's flight instinct told her to turn and run, but her character overrode the urge as she assessed her best move. She moved closer to the bar and saw the culprit: a dirty glass pipe on the bar. A flood of knowing washed over her, and the events of the last few months suddenly became clear. "Kurt?" Dena said in the most soothing voice she could muster. Kurt lifted his head like a zombie who just sniffed out a human and turned to Dena in a haze.

"What are you doing back here, you dumb cunt!" Kurt slurred.

"Kurt, you don't want to do this. You know this is wrong. Let's sit down and have a drink and talk about how we can make this better."

"Fuck you, you little witch. I see how you and Viv look at me and your snide little remarks. Who do you think you are anyway? You are just a groupie. They don't care about you any more than they care about me! Wake up little girl!"

By now, Kurt had turned the knife he was using to unsuccessfully pry open the cash register open toward Dena. The situation was deteriorating quickly, and Dena knew there was no way to improve it. She started to step backward. As she moved back, he came forward. It was seconds before Kurt's face changed from a dopey drone to a mean monster as he was prepared to stop Dena from leaving the building. He did not have a plan beyond exacting pain on the disruptive force in Dena.

Adrenaline surged through Dena's body as she pushed through the kitchen, shoving pots and pans, dishes, and silverware in the path of her pursuer. It was the drugs that saved Dena that night because Kurt lacked the agility to catch his prey as he stumbled over every obstacle. Dena burst out of the back of Hearthstone and into the dark parking lot. Once freed from the clutter in the kitchen, Kurt took on a new speed, catching up to Dena and snagging her in the shoulder with the knife he was still holding in his hand. She felt no pain, only a dull ache, but she knew she had been wounded. As they reached the porch, she fell to her knees, and Kurt fell on her. Gunther was now barking furiously on the other side of the screen. Smart as he was, the screen seemed impenetrable to the dog until Kurt lunged at Dena with the blade. With that, Gunther forgot all of his training and used every ounce of his two hundred pounds to crash through the door and tear at Kurt. Dumbfounded by his new aggressor, Kurt stumbled back away from the scene and turned on shaky feet. Gunther stayed in pursuit, clamping down on Kurt's calf, sending shocks of pain through his body. Kurt untangled himself from the dog and ran like the coward he was down the dark street, only to collapse in a painful, distorted heroin high in the middle of a field across the street. Gunther turned and ran to Dena, who was unable to walk. She was covered in blood from gashes on her back and legs. As if he understood, Gunther nudged himself under her arm. She helped as much as she could by clinging to the dog as he dragged her in the cottage. Dena used whatever strength she had to reach the house phone on a small table inside the door and dial 911. Within minutes, the parking lot was on fire with lights and sirens.

"I am so sorry Max, but you have to come home. There has been some trouble at the restaurant." Kate's voice sounded tired, and Max couldn't quite grasp what she was saying. It was 5 am and Max was still drunk from the night before, but the call sobered him up immediately. Within minutes, Max packed up the car and they were on the road. By the time they reached Albany, Max had talked to Kate, the police chief, the emergency room doctor, and his lawyer. It was only 20 hours since he left town, but he came back to an entirely new reality.

The next six months were the toughest Max and Viv had endured to date. It broke Max's heart to watch Kurt in a catatonic state as he was led off to jail. He had gone from a vibrant and important part of the success of Hearthstone to a thief and convicted felon within a year. He received a year-long sentence for the attack on Dena. The sentence was light because it was the first time he had ever been convicted of anything more than a parking ticket. The other contingency was that Kurt would successfully complete the new recovery program instituted by the state of New York in response to the increasing heroin problem. Dena took the news of Kurt's sentence with a gentle smile. In her mind, she wished he would have received a harsher sentence. In her heart, she hoped he would get the help he needed.

Although Kurt had not done his job in months, he was still a galvanizing force in the kitchen. Without him, the kitchen crew was a snake without a head, and things went from bad to worse. The team was not equipped to handle the business that had been built at Hearthstone, and the moment Kurt was escorted away, the kitchen fell like a deck of cards. He was a mess, but he was integral to serving the menu they had built together. When he left, half the team immediately left with him. Max was immediately forced to offer only the tavern menu and work the team he had for the short term while he rebuilt the staff. It killed him to run only lite fare when only a month ago, they were brining the best sauerbraten in the Capital Region.

Fall was a complete disaster. Max didn't dare look at the reviews and just tried to remain focused on rebuilding, but replacing Kurt was easier said than done. It was hard to come by someone as passionate about German cuisine as Kurt, and even though he had his demons, his work ethic was beyond reproach. With the first snow, Max felt utterly deflated. Everything he had worked so hard to build was falling down around him.

"Viv, I have broken bad. I used to be a nice person, but now, if you fuck with me, I will cut you. Do you know I was a people pleaser who genuinely loved to be of service to others? In fact, this characteristic is what attracted me to the hospitality business in the first place. I wanted to serve people great food that they raved about. I wanted to open a place that made people happy while using their hard-earned dollars to make a positive difference in this ungrateful little town.

"I actually don't care if I'm liked anymore. Do you know that I was shopping the other day and I overheard two hags on the other side of the breadcrumbs talking about me? They were discussing my demise, and one bitty said to the other that she heard I was a heroin addict too. The other heard that I was the dealer. Can you believe it?! I don't even know what the junk looks like, and now they have me pegged as the dealer. I prefer to be hated. Now few people perceive me as being nice, and the ones that do are probably just scared of me," Max confessed.

"I'm not afraid of you. And you are still a sucker for a pretty face," Viv purred.

"I am only a sucker for you, my darling." Said Max, feigning a smile.

Where once Max and Gunther would start the day hungry, neither showed much enthusiasm to brave the weather, even to cross the parking lot. It used to be the day was an exciting package on the stoop, waiting to be unwrapped. Now, Max dreaded the creaking of the cottage door because it meant facing what was waiting for him outside. It was a chore to open the back door because what was on the other side was never fun and rarely what he instructed. The kitchen crew was a bunch of misdirected punks that couldn't make a grilled cheese sandwich correctly, let alone beef rouladen. It was as close to a walking nightmare as one could get.

The holidays came and went, and the upstairs stayed dark. Viv and Dena stopped booking parties after the first few shit shows. They couldn't handle the backlash, so they stayed out of the restaurant during business hours, while only occasionally coming in to lift a bottle of wine or some vodka to share at the cottage. Max made a decision to cut back on hours until he could find a more permanent solution to his kitchen debacle beyond the string of untalented, self-absorbed little assholes that had darkened his door over the last six months. None, regardless of what their resume said, could hold a candle to Kurt. Each only dug the hole deeper for Hearthstone. The darkest moment came when Max, who had long-since stopped looking at the slaughter on Yelp!, received a personal review in his email.

"Max, you have numerous times asked me for my opinion of things pertaining to your restaurant. Well, like it or not, you are going to get my opinion right now. Luckily, I have had two hours to calm down. I was on my way home after a twelve-hour work day, and I was going by right at the same time Suzanne was going to get out of work at 6 o'clock, so I texted Suzanne to ask her if she wanted to go to the tavern at Hearthstone for dinner and a beer so we didn't have to bother when we got home after both working long days.

I asked if you had clams for a burger. I was told, yes. I ordered a Long Islander, and Suzanne ordered The Wild Slider plate. After waiting for 25 minutes, the chef came to the window and said he had no fried clams, just steamed clams.

In the meantime, while we were sitting there, he came to the window, and we overheard him say he was also out of romaine lettuce and had no mashed potatoes that were part of the special menu.

After we had been waiting for 55 minutes, he came up with the food for the two tables of people that were on the patio that came in after we did...and ordered after we did...and we still had not gotten our food. While we were sitting there, a guy came in and sat next to us and saw the problem we were having. I jokingly said to him that he should order some food; his response was that he had stopped eating there a few months ago and had just stopped to see what beer you had on tap.

By now it had been over an hour waiting for our food, and I was so pissed I told the waitress to forget it, that we were leaving. And we did. It was obvious the chef was overwhelmed in the kitchen and couldn't handle that job. He has no business being in a kitchen.

We ended up going to Creekside, where every table was full except for two. We got our food within 20 minutes and it was very good. Max, you know that no one has ever supported you more than me and my family. As I said when I started this, you've always asked my opinion. Well, take it is my opinion...take it as constructive criticism...take it any way you want. You have been in this business more than long enough to have your shit straight.... Stop embarrassing yourself."

"Stop embarrassing yourself," Max read out loud. This well-thought-out, highly descriptive diatribe was penned by someone who he admired and trusted. What should he do with this massive blow to his tormented ego? How could he use this constructively? There was no one who cared enough to print it out and share. He was paralyzed with grief, and for the first time in years, there was no Saturday night dinner service at Hearthstone.

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Chapter 7

"The devil doesn't come to you with his red face and horns, he comes to you disguised as everything you've ever wanted."

-Linda King

"It's daytime. Get up," Viv said as she swept away the drapes.

"Leave me alone to die."

"Nope. Things to do," Viv said smartly.

Max smelled like sweaty sleep and had a tattoo of a pillow on the side of his head. He had no intention of doing anything constructive today or any day. Hearthstone had been dark for weeks and cast a shadow over the cottage like a huge mausoleum waiting for his corpse. He rolled over and threw his leg over Gunther, who let out a groan of inconvenience.

"I found you a playmate, and you are going to get up, take a shower to wash off the nasty, and you are going to set up a meeting." she exclaimed.

"Viv, I am not in the mood for your shit. Shut the door and leave me alone."

With that, Viv ripped off the filthy sheets, exposing Max like a naked mole rat. "No shit Max, I found a guy that I think might just work to get Hearthstone going again. He's from the West Coast, well spoken, great papers, sober, and looking forward to talking to you about that pile of bricks out there."

"Does he know what is going on with Hearthstone?" Max asked, shivering in a ball.

"Yes Darlin'. He does and he doesn't care. He went on about his own experience out west. Similar to Hearthstone, I guess. Something about a bad review that buried him. I stopped listening after a while. You guys can share war stories over the pickup window once you guys get your shit together at Hearthstone. Get up, get showered, and get on the phone. The day awaits, sexy," she said playfully.

Max reluctantly did as he was instructed and hoisted himself out of bed. After his shower, his head began to clear. As he became more lucid, he wondered out loud, "Viv, who is this guy and how do you know him?" Since Hearthstone started to sour, Max and Viv had been more like roommates than man and wife. Max had succumbed to depression, sleeping for days at a time, and Viv found herself coming home later and later, often stopping off for a glass of wine in Troy or meeting up with Dena in Albany for dinner. She had always had a life of her own outside of Hearthstone. She had relied on that existence to save her from the misery that Hearthstone had become.

"Dena and I were down in Albany at that little place on the corner of Hamilton and Lark. It was slow when we were there, and we got talking to the chef. He ended up hanging out with us after his shift. He had an eye for Dena I think. Anyway, we got talking, and one thing led to another. Before I knew it, he was practically ready to take a drive out that night," Viv explained. It seemed reasonable enough.

Max was still shaking off the funk when he called Damen. He didn't have much hope for this guy. He had been through a half a dozen chefs in as many months. None were worth the knives they carried. Each helped to destroy Hearthstone in their own way. But it had been weeks since he'd had a conversation with anyone other than Gunther, so he followed through by setting a meeting at The Ilium for coffee. Neutral ground. If this guy is a waste of time, I can get out and get on with my self-loathing without a long goodbye, Max thought.

It was a great day. Spring had started early, and even in a hopeless state of depression, Max felt the sun on his face. For a moment, all things were possible. Luck was kind enough to leave an open spot in front of the busy eatery, and Max accepted the gift. He hopped out of the car as if he were a living man and artfully dodged the traffic as he crossed the street. He walked into the front door and was greeted by a tattoo-covered, slim man, about thirty-five, Max guessed. "Hey Max, Damen. I recognized you from your website. Nice to meet you. I have heard a lot of great things," Damen said in a pleasant, professional tone.

"I don't know who you're talking to," Max quipped. They both chuckled. "Well, let's grab a table and talk."

The conversation started with small talk. Damen was from Seattle; he had been a chef and a business owner, and Max was surprised to learn that he was married to a woman named Cailey, who worked in marketing. He was careful to leave out the unimportant details of his life story, as it was not pertinent to the discussion. Max found him to be well spoken, even tempered, and thoughtful in his responses. Although he tried to resist, he couldn't help but like him. Max shared his particulars in kind, and they moved on to more industry talk.

"If you know anything about what has happened at Hearthstone, I have to wonder why you would want to get involved," Max said.

"Max, I am a serial entrepreneur. I live on making the impossible possible, both in my cooking and my work. The challenges that Hearthstone has been through have only seasoned it to be great for the long run." Max's mouth was practically watering, as if he were watching the perfect center cut on the grill. "I am not boastful, but I know what I can do in a kitchen, and I have the track record to prove it. This wouldn't be the first time I turned a restaurant around. In fact, when I first got back in town, I rewrote the menu for Fresh Catch on Pearl. They hadn't made changes to the menu since the old man ran the place, and business was flat. I came in, reworked the menu, and turned the kitchen around," Damen explained.

"Why aren't you there?"

"After I reconstructed the menu, the old man's kids pushed me out. If you go online, the menu you see there is all me: every item. I taught them how to cook it, and they didn't need me after that. I'm not sore over it. I get it. " He neglected to mention that he had been there for only a matter of months before he had an affair with the old man's youngest, and when he found out his baby girl had financed a trip to the Hamptons for the two of them, Damen was asked to leave with a police escort. He was not even allowed within five hundred feet of the building. In Damen's mind, this was another irrelevant detail that would only distract Max from the bigger accomplishments in the kitchen. Besides, Cailey never knew, and they were getting along just fine despite his pain-in-the-ass mother in law, so it was as if it never happened.

The conversation continued with a discussion around the Hearthstone menu. Max explained the origins of some of the dishes, and Damen offered some modifications that would add a new twist to a new Hearthstone. Damen could tell Max was hooked and he set the hook firmly in Max's cheek by ending the discussion with, "Max, a lot has happened for you, and you have a lot to think about with Hearthstone. I would love to be part of your rebirth, but that is your decision to make. I will leave you with my resume and some references to call. If you decide I would be a good fit, let's get back together at Hearthstone and get serious about putting us on the map." The hook was set. Damen guessed right that Max would never check the references. He pushed himself away from the table, and Max followed suit. Like shooting fish in a barrel, Damen had Max and he knew it.

After a firm handshake and a friendly goodbye, Max sat back down and whispered "Too good to be true." Max drove away from The Ilium with a renewed ambition and immediately called Viv. "Viv, I don't want to get too excited because we have been down this road before, but this guy says a lot of the right stuff. Thank you for arranging the meeting."

"No problem, babe. I knew you guys would hit it off."

"How did you guys meet again?"

"I told you, down in Albany," Viv said. "Yes, I will be there in a sec. Maxy, I gotta go. They are calling me in for a meeting."

He knew he hadn't been attentive to Viv, and she was the kind of woman that needed attention. With Damen in the picture, it was almost like a dark veil had been lifted and he could see what had to be done clearer than ever. He would first tend to his beautiful wife. A nice bottle of wine and a delicate sea bass with some Marvin on the Bose should do the trick. Then he and Gunther would open up the tomb and dust off the bar to prepare for what could be an amazing year.

Viv stopped for her usual wine before heading home. Going home to Max's dark depression was always better with a couple of glasses of wine, so her happy-hour stop was habit by now. While she ordered her first glass, she remembered that things had changed today. Max had had his meeting with Damen and, at least this morning, sounded happy about it. She would stay for one and take her chances going home early.

When she arrived in the parking lot, the lights were on in the cottage: first good sign. When she opened the door, she was surrounded by the smell of a well-prepared dinner and the sound of soothing jazz. As always, Gunther was the first to greet her. He came trotting out of the kitchen as if to say, "Hey Mom, things are going good here. Check it out." As she kicked off her heels, Max came around the corner with a glass of dark red wine. She could tell from where she was standing that she was going to enjoy it.

"Thank you, honey. I take it you had a good day," Viv noted.

"I had the best day," Max answered.

He moved her to the couch and sat next to her. "Viv, I feel really good about this guy. I think he can really help us get back up and running at Hearthstone. I've already made plans to meet him tomorrow to come up with a plan for reopening, and I am going to make him an offer. I know we burned through a lot of our reserves, but I think we have to pay him what he wants to keep him. Besides, if he does what I know he is capable of, his salary won't be a stretch."

"I trust that you will make the right decision," Viv responded. There is no better aphrodisiac for a woman than a man charged up with ambition. There is no better aphrodisiac for a man than a woman's adoration. They had not made love in months. The stress of Hearthstone pulled them quietly apart until each stopped trying. Even before it had closed, Viv found herself moving away in defense of herself. It was painful to watch Hearthstone slide and take her husband with it. But now, he had clear eyes and his tone was hopeful. She had not heard him talk this way in the better part of two years, and it made her want him all over again.

The music added a texture to the room that made it easy for Viv to reach over and kiss Max's neck softly. As she moved around his ear, she heard him begin to purr, which encouraged her to keep going. As Viv worked her way expertly around Max's neck, Max moved his hands gently up her bare thighs and beneath her skirt. When he found the soft, wet spot between her legs, Viv let out a sigh in his ear that almost sent him reeling. Max manipulated her silky folds between his fingers, speeding up until she almost came and slowing down to bring her back. All the while, her hot breath gave Max the cues he needed to keep her on the edge.

Finally, Max gave her the relief she was begging for. As her body lurched in Max's hands, Max kissed her hard and passionately, thoroughly enjoying her ecstasy. When she had finished climaxing, Max kissed her face and he eased down her panties. He turned her body over to gain full access to her beautiful bottom. The sight alone was plenty for Max, but his body tingled with anticipation of fully rediscovering her. She willingly spread her legs and invited him in by pulling him close. The feeling of entering her was exhilarating. Her soft, wet creases surrounded him completely. If that weren't enough, Viv arched her back to give Max full access to her and forcibly pushed herself into him. Max groaned with delight as he watched himself move in and out of her glistening folds. Max could feel Viv's body begin to shudder, and he knew it was almost time. When her body tightened down around his, he pushed himself deep into her and let his passion go.

They both lay crumpled together in satisfied exhaustion, not moving for what seemed like forever. Dinner would have to wait.

"Good morning," Max said warmly.

"Good morning, handsome," Viv replied.

"It's going to be a great day today."

"Indeed it will."

When he opened the door of Hearthstone for the first time in a month, it was as if Max was opening it for the first time. The dust stood still in the air and twinkled like lights as it caught the sun. He thought it must have been hanging in mid-air since he left. The whole place had just stood still, like a time capsule waiting for someone to open it. Max took a deep breath in and let it out into the room, as if to resuscitate Hearthstone. He turned on a few lights and hit the radio as he moved through the kitchen. And the heart of Hearthstone started to beat again.

Within the hour, Damen showed up ready to work. It would be a week before they could reopen, but there was plenty to do to be sure that when they did greet their first guest, they were on firm footing. Damen was immediately impressed with the layout of the building. He spent the first half of the day experiencing the layout and décor to understand the guest experience, inspecting the kitchen and utility areas to understand the staff experience and get a feel for the products guests of Hearthstone had come to expect. The second half of the day was spent rummaging around spice racks, walk-ins and liquor cabinets to see what he had to work with.

As the day began to wind down, the two sat at the bar and reviewed the existing menu. "Damen, I need a partner on this because I cannot do it alone. I will pay you what you have asked for, but I need a commitment from you that you will stick this out. I know what this place can do. I think with your ideas, we can make it great again. It is not going to be easy. In fact, there are going to be downright ugly days, so if this is not what you want, you still have time to bail," Max said.

"I told you, this kind of challenge is right up my alley. We are going to rework this menu, get some guys in the kitchen that have a clue, and blow the doors off this place. Lean on me. You just concentrate on keeping the lights on and the public interested. Leave the rest to me. I got this," Damen reassured.

Damen completely took the kitchen over. He reviewed the previous employees and asked only the teenage dishwasher back. He built a team comprised of sous chefs, line cooks, and a saucier. He, of course was the executive chef and only to be referred to as "Chef." Wanting to change the expectations of the customer, he removed some of the dishes Hearthstone had been known for. He explained, "No matter what we do, even if we follow the exact same recipe, the dish will not be what they remembered. Maybe in time we can bring some of it back, but for now, we are going to reintroduce the new Hearthstone to upstate." He filled the menu with much of what he did at MyTable: hearty meats and a variety of fishes served with spice blends that no one had offered before in the Capital Region.

Max just stood out of the way and he and Gunther busied themselves with sales reps, promotional strategies, house priorities, infrastructure issues, and general grounds keeping. Product was being delivered, waitresses were coming in for orientation, and cooks and kitchen staff were milling around waiting for instructions from Chef. It was as exciting as the day he brought Viv to Hearthstone years ago.

The soft opening was on Tuesday. The minute the doors opened, Mark and Suzanne were there to eulogize the event. Hugs were shared and angry words were forgotten. It was as if time had folded on itself and they were back at the beginning, Mark raved about his meal and left a happy man. As before, he shared his experience and the tide began to turn.

Damen proved to be more determined to succeed than Max could have imagined. He was there early, stayed late, researched recipes, and found local sources for unique items. It was a whirling dervish of activity, and Max was elated. Although Sean knew that Hearthstone had reopened, he gave Max a chance to get his footing before he revisited. When he arrived several weeks after opening, he was happy to see that Hearthstone was thriving. His review showed up in his blog the following day:

"Rebirth and reinvention in the restaurant business is an unending task. Hearthstone had a great run of a couple of years, but when it lost its chef, it could not recover and closed a couple of months ago.

The modern German hofbrau had been in business for about four years and always kept it's image fresh. The space is so cavernous it could house a bowling alley, and with the huge fireplace in the middle of the dining room, it was always inviting and almost hard to leave.

A few months ago, Max Bennett, the owner and founder of Hearthstone, took on a new partner in the kitchen, Chef Damen Anderson, who has a very impressive resume. They closed for a remodel to bring it alive while maintaining a sense of the original Hearthstone.

The kitchen has been opened up, separated from the dining room only by an open shelf filled with vintage beer steins that telegraph the restaurant's strength in beverage offerings: 25 draft beers.

The place is packed with professionals, politicians, travelers, and state workers, many of whom are standing at the bar or sitting at the wooden tables drinking enormous boots of beer.

Farther back into the dining room, the scene gets more subdued but still bustling. Although it is an open floor plan, there are smartly placed partitions that can easily be moved to afford additional privacy depending on the customer preference.

The food under Chef Anderson has a modern, West Coast approach. Anderson spent three years at MyTable in Washington State, so he knows something about West Coast flair.

The resulting cuisine is a blend of hearty meats and rich sauces accompanied by exotic vegetables and starches. The presentation is beyond reproach, and the blend of spices are a unique and welcomed contribution to the culinary landscape in the upstate region.

Welcome back Hearthstone. We love your new look."

Max read the review and read it again. He sipped his coffee, refilled it from the pot, and read it like he had never seen it. This review was certainly not the best he had ever received, but he cherished it as if it were a note from his mother. It was the high point of his life, and he was alone: in his kitchen, drinking coffee, with a smelly old dog—perfect.

The year flew by. Viv and Dena were in their glory. Receptions, political dinners, birthdays, and reunions were packed in upstairs. When they weren't busy upstairs, they were down in the tavern cooing and flirting with the boys and gossiping with the girls. Viv always knew where Max was and visa versa. When she flirted, it was all for Max. A wink or a glance above the head of her most recent subject made Max feel like the envy of every man in the room.

Damen was a quirky guy. He had an intensity that Max could relate to, but he had a bite that Max didn't trust. He worked a lot, both in and out of Hearthstone. If he wasn't cooking, he was wandering around a market or researching new specials. He rarely, if ever, mentioned his wife and family, but Max just chalked it up to his focus at work. Max was pleased, however, when Damen suggested a golf date with the girls as a way to introduce the wives. Without confirming with Viv, Max agreed to it and the made a plan for the following Sunday at Glass Lake Golf Course, a small course where Max had been a member since he moved to Averill Park.

It was a perfect August morning when they met in the parking lot of the club. Cailey was a charming brunette with a slight build and not a tattoo on her. In fact, her style seemed to be conservative, and her cadence was poised. This was quite a contrast to her wiry, outspoken, assertive husband, who didn't have a spot on him devoid of ink. Neither couple was exceptional at golf, but Max and Viv looked at it as another opportunity to socialize and drink alcohol at an unreasonable hour rather than a competitive game. Damen saw it differently. As with his cooking, he had an intensity on the course that tightened the mood of the game. Max and Viv didn't give his competitive nature much attention, but Cailey wilted further with each hole. When they had met her an hour ago, Viv had high hopes for a new friend. By the time they got to the 5th tee, Damen was lecturing Cailey about her performance in a menacing whisper, and Cailey physically seemed to shrink. The conversation, which had started out perfectly, dried up between the carts. "Max, he is not a lot of fun to play golf with. Poor Cailey looks like she just got kicked in the kidneys," Viv commented.

"I see that. Wow, he just doesn't let up. He is like this at work. I thought if I could get him out of the kitchen for a while, he might loosen up, but he is downright nasty with Cailey. Why does she put up with that?" Max said as he picked grass out of his spikes.

"I guess we don't know how he is at home. Maybe he is just nervous because he wants us to like her," Viv said.

"He lives with his in-laws. He doesn't talk about it ever, but knowing him, I cannot imagine it is an easy situation," Max said.

"Oh, shit. That's right. I almost forgot. How do they have room for his head in that house?" Viv asked.

After the game, the couples went to the bar. Damen and Max talked casually about Hearthstone, and the girls sipped their drinks. "So, Damen tells me you grew up in this area. How does it feel to be home?" Viv asked.

"It is good to be home. We weren't happy in Seattle...." The word forced Damen to attention, and he glared at Cailey, who immediately changed her tone to an almost singsong voice, "...but we are doing great now. Damen loves working at Hearthstone. He feels he is really making a difference."

"He is," said Viv. "Are you OK?" The question made Cailey want to cry.

"Yes." She caught her breath just a little. "I'm OK." Her eyes began to pool. "I will be right back."

"OK," said Viv.

A few minutes went by, and Viv ordered another glass of wine. "I am going to powder my nose," she said as she gave Max a peck. "I will be back, boys! Don't drink my wine."

She made her way to the bathroom and opened the door. There was no immediate sign of Cailey, so Viv took the first of five stalls to go pee. When she was done, she heard a quick sniff from the end of the row and called out gently, "Cailey?"

"I'm OK. I just got my period and it turns me into a cry baby," Cailey said from the stall.

"Cailey, come on out. I have some powder and mascara. We'll put you back together and go get some dinner." The kind words coaxed her out of the stall. When she appeared, Viv tried not to react to the shiny black eye on Cailey's face. She had not noticed it earlier because, she guessed, it was covered with makeup. "Sweetie. What happened?"

"I'm sorry, I really am. I am fine. It's just the makeup came off and I don't have my bag. I can't go back out there like this," Cailey said with desperation.

"Probably not. Thank God you have me. Let's see what we can do to get you fixed up," Viv said.

As Viv began her work, she said, "You know I have to ask what happened."

"It's nothing. We are under so much pressure at my mother's house, and Damen is trying so hard at Hearthstone, sometimes he loses his temper. I know what it must sound like, but really, he didn't mean it. He just pushed me out of the way and I fell down the stairs. He feels terrible about it. He really does," Cailey explained.

"Cailey, is this the first time anything like this has happened? Don't lie. I can spot a liar a mile away," Viv said lightheartedly.

"It's just that things are really tough at my parents. They don't like him, and he doesn't like them. He has been so good since he has been at Hearthstone, and I don't want to set him back. He loves me. I know he does. We just have to get our own place."

"Cailey, I am now your friend, and I take that role seriously. This does not smell right to me. I believe that this has happened before, but I am going to let it go because it is the first time I have seen it. If I find out that it happened again, I am going to help you whether you want me to or not. You are too special to be treated like anything other than a princess. Got it?" Viv turned Cailey to the mirror. She looked flawless. Viv hugged her reassuringly and they went out to finish their drinks. Viv stuck to her word and did not even tell Max about this incident until the inevitable next time.

Early in November, Damen asked Max and Viv to help them move into an apartment in West Sand Lake. It was easy because a lot of their stuff was still in boxes from their move cross-country. Much to Viv's relief, both Damen and Cailey were like newlyweds. She was happy to think she might have been wrong about Damen and allowed the judgment of Damen to drift out of her mind.

Months went by without incident. Although Max and Damen worked together well, Max sometimes felt a chill from Damen that he couldn't put his finger on. Max occasionally made suggestions to Damen, but Damen brushed it off. He never said it, but he did not see Max as his equal. He considered most of his ideas shallow and sometimes downright silly. Even if they were good, out of principle alone, Damen would have never taken them. After making a suggestion about a soup one day, Max walked away dejected and Damen whispered, "Jackass," only loud enough for Jermaine, the sous chef, to hear. The cook snorted in support and moved on. Oblivious to the gesture, Max didn't allow himself to dwell on the rejection because, over all, things seemed good. He could put up with the ego of Chef if he continued to help Max succeed at Hearthstone.

Max scheduled a holiday dinner for the staff right before the break. Somehow, it was different than other years. Although it was pleasant enough, the sense of camaraderie that had existed in the past was lacking. After the party, Max and Viv stayed behind to clean up the room, and most of the staff went to the bar for a nightcap. By the time the couple had finished, all but Damen and Amy, the bartender, had left, so Max and Viv sat and shared a nightcap with the two. Viv left before she finished her wine, and by 1 am, Max was blurry eyed. He called Gunther in from the fireplace where he had curled up hours prior and started making moves toward the door. "OK, guys. I guess we should call it a night," Max instructed.

"I'll hang out for another minute and clean up the bar. I just want to block off the beer cooler so I don't have to come in early tomorrow," Amy said with a gentle defiance.

"I'll keep you company and walk you to your car. I'm off tomorrow and wide awake," Damen said.

"OK, guys. Just be sure to turn off the lights and lock the back door." Max walked across the parking lot with an uneasy feeling. It wasn't obvious, but there was something not right about the conversation he had had. He was beat, so he chalked it up to exhaustion, but in the end, his instincts would prove to be right.

That spring, Food Network was hosting a chef challenge at The Empire State Plaza. "Hey Damen, did you see the blog in Sean's feed today? They are having a chef challenge at the plaza next month. Should we give it a go?" Max asked.

"I'll look at it later," Damen said dully. Max accepted the answer, but the odd distance between him and Damen had become the norm. It was starting to affect the way Max communicated with Damen. He knew he had to address it but wasn't sure how. He opted for a low-tech approach and hung around till the end of the night.

"You want a drink?" Max asked.

"Scotch," Damen replied.

"How did it go?" Max asked.

"Good, if I could keep Kate out of my window," Damen replied.

"Oh, do you need me to talk to her?" Max asked.

"No, man. She's just like every waitress I have ever met. A pain in my ass," he said matter-of-factly.

"OK, well, I can if you need me to."

"I can handle her."

"How's Cailey doing in the new place?" Max asked.

"She's not."

"What do you mean, 'She's not.'"

"I mean she went back to her bitch mother. Since I have been here, the two of them have it out for me. She follows me around, checks up on me, and accused me of sleeping with the neighbor."

Max caught himself before he said, "Well, did you?" and opted for a less inflammatory response. "I am sorry man. Can I help at all?"

"No. Just cut me some slack."

"Course."

Minutes went by without a word until Max floated the idea of the Food Network event. "Did you want to enter the thing down at the plaza? It might be fun. Besides, it could be great for exposure."

"I'll look into it tomorrow," Damen responded civilly.

The two finished their drinks and called it a night. Max couldn't wait to get across the parking lot to unload the anxiety he felt in his chest. He needed to talk to Viv and decide what was real and what was imaginary. There were so many small, seemingly unrelated events that kept coming back to Damen and his character. "Viv, I just had a very disturbing conversation with Damen. Lately, every time I try to talk to him, he is short with me and doesn't even consider my ideas for the menu. I try to brush it off, but it never gets better. Now, tonight, he tells me that Cailey moved out because she thinks he is cheating on her."

Viv set down her drink and stared.

"Am I crazy? What is going on with this guy?" Max wondered. "Maybe his personal life is none of my business, but he has a nasty streak that I see more and more. He even took a shot at Kate. I don't expect them to love each other, but he is really becoming antagonistic behind the line. I just don't know how to react, if to react! I am afraid to make it worse by addressing it, plus Kate hasn't said anything to me, so how bad could it be...."

Viv sat motionless.

"Viv?"

"Maxy, I didn't tell you this sooner because I thought it was just a one-time thing, but do you remember when I went to the bathroom after golfing with them?"

"Well, yeah, sorta. You took forever," Max said.

"I walked in the bathroom, and Cailey was hiding in a stall. When she came out, she had a shiner the size of a baseball on her eye. It took me twenty minutes to cover it back up again after she stopped crying. She said that it was an accident, but I didn't believe her. I gave her my word I wouldn't say anything unless I saw it again. Max, I don't think Damen is a nice guy, and I don't think he is a good husband. In fact, I think he is a bad, abusive husband," Viv said.

"Oh Viv. Poor Cailey. Maybe she is better off at her mom's."

"That is for sure. But there is more. The girls have come to me several times to tell me that Damen torments them behind the line. He does devious, nasty shit like holding up tickets or serving plates he stuck under the broiler without telling them. He picks on one and won't let up until they quit. Don't you remember Renee? That cute little girl from Stephentown? He cooked her plates so hot she ended up in the ER. Kate took her."

"Kate didn't tell me. She hasn't said a thing."

"Maxy, Kate loves you and doesn't want to upset you. We have come so far with his help she does not want to be the one to tell you he is causing problems. Don't be upset with her."

"How could I be upset with her?! I am ashamed of how clueless I am. I really don't know what to do," said Max.

There was not an easy answer. It was a conflict of heart and mind for Max. The distress Damen was exacting on the people around him would only get worse, but addressing it may only serve to accelerate the deterioration of the situation. He had no answer for now, so he did nothing. He hoped that Cailey being safe with her mother and away from Damen might shift the dynamics enough to change Damen's preoccupation of terrorizing the waitresses at work. It was a long shot, but Max was not prepared to rip off the sheets to see how ugly it could get. Viv took a different approach.

Viv was consumed with thoughts of Damen. She could not believe that he could continue to intimidate the people around him without retribution. From a practical perspective, she understood why Max could not react, but that is where it stopped making sense to her. The compulsion to act was less about vindicating Cailey or Renee and more about overthrowing a tyrant. Days later, the urge had not relented. The final irresistible incentive to act came when Viv watched Damen perpetrate general acts of cruelty against Kate while almost fondling Amy through the pickup window. "Misogynistic fuck," she said under her breath. From her perch at the bar, she texted Cailey that moment and asked her to meet her for lunch in Troy—Viv's treat. Cailey responded within minutes, and the unfortunate plan was set.

Viv arrived early and found a corner table. Cailey came in right on time. She looked healthy and strong and walked with an air of assuredness. During lunch, she explained to Viv that after the episode in August, Damen got better for a long time, but he turned on her around the holidays. He beat her up so bad that she had to take a week's vacation to heal before she could even cover up what he had done. The wounds were so horrific that her mother broke down and begged her to come home after she saw her days after the beating. Cailey didn't want to leave, but her mother threatened to involve the cops if she didn't. Once she committed to leaving, it wasn't so bad. She managed to make her exit while Damen was working. "He doesn't always come home anyway, and I got lucky. He stayed out all weekend, so I had time to take all my stuff. You know, as I was moving my stuff, I thought about you Viv. You are so strong and self-assured. I tried to remind myself of our conversation and stay focused. Whether or not you knew it, you really helped me during that time."

Blushing a little, Viv asked, "Does he ever contact you?"

"He tries, but I don't answer his calls or texts. I am seeing a therapist, and I am learning a lot about how to handle the situation. It isn't over. In fact, he called me today. I don't know how it is going to end up, but things are so much better. If I can manage to stay away, I think I will be OK," Cailey explained.

After an hour of conversation, Viv looked at her phone and realized her time was up. "Cailey, I am so glad I checked in with you. I will sleep better tonight knowing you are safe and doing well. Be true to yourself and stay away from him. Use your mother for a mediator if it will keep you safe. You are worth it." With those words, they parted company for the last time.

Even though Damen didn't understand why, the relationship between Damen and Viv became cold and matter of fact; the arrangement suited him just fine. He had become tired of Viv's charisma and bold nature. Although everyone in the building catered to her whims and schemes, Damen found subtle ways to sidetrack her just enough to send her spinning. "Bitch," became a common breathy comment when she would leave the kitchen.

Damen always found time to torment Kate and Viv, but his main focus was the upcoming Food Network chef competition. He had planned on cooking a sea bass dish that was popular at MyTable. The recipe included a firm and flavorful white sea bass, served with a lime and ginger sauce over steamed rice and snap peas prepared with sesame oil for a perfect Asian-fusion presentation. The choice of this West Coast style plate over the heavier German dishes Hearthstone was known for was an intentional effort to distance himself from the restaurant. It was time for him to stand on his own style of taste-making. Damen did not go out of his way to tell Max the details of what he planned on presenting to the judges, so a week before the competition, Max asked Damen directly. He brushed off the conversation by simply saying, "I think we will go with a sea bass." The cadence of his response made it clear there were no additional details to be had, so as had become all too common, Max allowed himself to be pulled in a different direction but carried away the familiar uneasy feeling. As final preparations were being made for the booth at the event, Max asked again about the details of the dish. When he learned of the direction, he was further deflated. It was too late now to make a demand for a more reflective flavor. Max wasn't sure if he would have reacted even if he had known sooner because it had come to a point where Max did not know what kind of a reaction it would provoke. He could not risk a blowout on such a public stage, so he found himself acquiescing once again.

At the event, the booth looked great. It was laid out much like the restaurant. Max had constructed a bar from the same type of wood and made a backdrop that was as if you were sitting in the tavern. Damen arrived early with a fury that Max had not seen as of late. At first, he was elated to see Damen's focus, but as Damen set up, it became clear that his motivation was solely about self-promotion. If there was any doubt, it was blown away when Damen placed his personal chef cards next to the menu of Hearthstone. Max was dumbfounded. It was true that this was a chef competition, but at every booth, the chef proudly represented the establishment they came from by bringing a signature dish that could be found on the menu. From the dish he chose to the logo-free chef coat he wore, it was clear Damen saw this as an opportunity to shine alone. For Max, the day was a disaster. As press and patrons addressed the booth, Max found himself an outsider to the experience. Damen talked over and around him in sometimes subtle but often times overt attempts to control the conversation.

By the end of the open house portion of the event, Max had had enough and drifted away from the booth to see what others were doing. As he walked by the judges table, he noticed that Food Network had chosen a local restaurateur who was not competing to take a judges seat. Dominic Puglisi, a well-known old-timer in the business and founder of Fresh Catch, was a perfect pick. There was no one else on the local scene that knew more about food than Mr. Puglisi. Max walked up to introduce himself to one of the greats. "Hello Mr. Puglisi. I'm Max from Hearthstone. It is an honor to meet you. I have been in your place many times." Although the old man hadn't had an active role in daily operations for years, he still emanated a classy sense of pride in Fresh Catch.

"Nice to meet you. I am glad you enjoy the work we do. No one knows more than you what it takes to deliver excellence in this business." Mr. Puglisi responded. "It's good to see you here. How are you doing out there anyway? I don't really keep up with the news the way I used to, but I heard you hit a rough patch."

"We brought in Damen Anderson about a year ago, and things have really turned around," Max said.

"Boy, that name sounds familiar," Mr. Puglisi remarked.

"It should. He spent some time at your place when he first got in town. Helped reorganize your menu?"

Mr. Puglisi's mood darkened instantly. "Son, let me offer you some advice—off the record. Find yourself another chef. I need to move on to the folks behind you." He waved the next visitor up to the table, and the conversation unceremoniously ended.

The room was spinning, and Max felt sick to his stomach. He wasn't sure if things could possibly get worse until Sean walked toward him. "Hey Max. How are you making out?" Sean said lightheartedly.

Max was completely off balance. If Viv were here, he would have been able to manage everything coming at him, but he was alone in a room full of enemies—except for Sean. "Sean, I just had a conversation with Old Man Puglisi. Do you know him?"

"Of course," Sean said carefully.

"He just told me to get another chef and then shut me down. I don't think the guy will ever talk to me again. It is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me."

"You know Damen used to work there, right?"

"Yes, of course. That's how his name came up."

The room narrowed, and the background sounds all but disappeared as Sean began to respond. "Max, I have not told you this before because at the beginning I was afraid you couldn't handle another blow, but then you guys seemed to be doing so well, the information became less important."

"Sean, we are doing great," Max lied, "but I need to know what are you talking about."

"Well, Damen raised hell over at Fresh Catch. He ran the kitchen like a dictator, talked to Pugs' kids like they were unwelcomed visitors, and had an affair with the youngest. It was such a mess that he had a physical altercation with the son and the cops got involved. Then he was gone. I think he did some fill-in work here and there, but when he reappeared at your place, things seemed to be going great so I left it alone. That's really all I know"

Max could feel the contents of his stomach creep up his throat. "Thanks Sean. We are fine at Hearthstone, but Mr. Puglisi's reaction makes sense now. I should get back to the booth. I think they will be looking for the judges' plates soon."

Max got back to the booth in time to watch the porter walk away with six shiny plate covers on a tray. "Are those the judges' plates?"

"Yes. I feel good about this. The public is raving about the dish. They love the ginger sauce," Damen said.

"Hey, did you see who the local judge is? Mr. Puglisi," Max said, masking his emotions.

"Oh, no. I didn't. Well, I bet he'll love it. He's got a great pallet," Damen responded coolly.

Max and Damen stood quietly behind the booth for a few minutes as the general public milled around. The tastings were over, so Damen offered to pick up some of the food stuffs and bring them to the van. "Sure. That'd be great. I'll man the booth till you get back." The next time Max looked at his watch, an hour had gone by and the room was thinning out. Every competitor anxiously waited for the results from the judges, except for Damen, who was nowhere in sight. The announcer approached the stage and Max texted Damen, "come back, man, they are announcing the winners." No response.

The winners in each category were announced and congratulated. Pictures were taken, and applause was heard with each. Hearthstone and Damen were never once mentioned, not even at the end of the event as the announcer called out each of the participants over the sound of clamoring pans as the room started to break down. Max broke the booth down alone. Damen was gone. He felt like he had cement in his boots. Although he told himself that their name probably just didn't make it on the list due to late registration, he knew better.

On the ride home, Max felt a level of despair that he had almost forgotten. Earlier, all he wanted to do was to talk to Viv and try to get himself right. Now, things were so sideways, he didn't want to try to get it right. He did not want to tell Viv, and he did not want to relive the day. As he pulled into the parking lot, Sunday dinner service was winding down and the lights were on in the cottage. Instead of heading to the restaurant, Max made a path to home. "Hey Maxy! How did it go?" Viv called out.

"Fine. We didn't win, but we got some great exposure," he lied.

Damen had vanished. Max covered for him in front of the staff and Viv but was running out of excuses. On Wednesday, Damen came bouncing into the kitchen like nothing happened. "Hey boss." Max was rendered speechless. "Sorry I didn't come in yesterday. I talked to Jermaine and he said he could handle the line, so I took Cailey to dinner," he said lightly.

"Damen, you left me at the event, and I haven't heard from you in days," Max said.

"Oh, I am sorry boss. I thought we agreed I would take the food back to the restaurant while you got the booth. When I got back, Cailey called me for the first time in weeks and we ended up hooking up for dinner."

"I am happy to hear about Cailey, but Damen, I waited for you to come back to help me. We just talked about you running some things to the van."

"Geez, Max. I am really sorry for the confusion. I completely misunderstood what you said."

Max found himself back in a hole. They both knew the truth, but even under extreme duress, Damen would have never admitted any of it. Max did not even present a challenge. Damen easily maneuvered around him both conversationally and physically as he went to find his chef coat.

Max knew he was in deep shit. It was a matter of time, but it was going to end. For now, Damen had Cailey back in the house, and he was like a cat with a canary. Max could only speculate that part of Damen's mood was the fact that he had won over his mother-in-law's influence. He was done lying to himself about Damen, but he couldn't act on any impulse until he had an alternate plan. The most he could hope for was that Damen's mood would hold out until Max could come up with a replacement.

The summer was profitable but miserable for Max. When Viv found out that Cailey was back with Damen, it only enhanced the disdain that Viv had developed for him. Viv had exiled herself to the upstairs, with only a rare appearance in the restaurant, and Max found himself short-handing the daily Damen stories as to not further infuriate her. With the abbreviated communication, Max began to feel distant from her once again.

In September, the rep from Channel 6 thought it would be fun to have Max prepare his favorite Oktoberfest plate for the cooking segment. Max immediately knew what he would prepare. It would be a massive plate of schweinshaxen, or German pork shank, served with braised red cabbage, country bread, and pickled sides—perfect.

As Damen was preparing his weekly order, Max remembered the segment. "Oh, hey man. The rep from Channel 6 stopped by the other day and asked me to do a thing for the cooking segment. I thought we could do a 'Backyard Oktoberfest' thing with a pork shank and red cabbage. I have a great recipe that's easy to make. Can you get me the stuff when you talk to Jimmy Sysco and get what we will need for the dish?"

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" Damen asked.

"Oh, yeah, the rep came in and asked if we could do something for the cooking segment. Goofy little piece, but it sounds like fun, doesn't it?" Max said.

"Max, you hired me to be in charge of this kitchen. If you don't think I am capable of doing so, let's have that conversation now! Otherwise, this is my gig and I will decide what goes on the goddamn Oktoberfest plate. Who do you think you are fucking dealing with? This is not amateur hour, and you are not playing house here."

"Whoa dude, who are you fucking talking to?" Max defended. "I do not challenge you in the kitchen—it is your domain—but last I checked, I am still the one paying the bills."

"And I am the one who pulled you out of hell. What's your point?" Damen quipped.

"Jermaine, Kate, get out of here now. Damen, I have had enough of your shit," Max exploded.

The room was electric. "Hey, listen man, you fucking hired me to run this dump and I did. I dug you out of your shit and here you are, the star of the Capital District. I am the one who put you here, and you can't do it without me you dumb fuck!" Damen said.

"Who the fuck are you?! When I met you, you and I agreed we would work together—we did this together. You go home and I stay here...paying bills, washing dishes, building walls. This is not about you, pal. This could not have happened without all of us!"

"Go home? If your fucking wife had her way, I wouldn't have a home to go to."

"What in the fuck are you talking about?"

"Cailey is gone again, and your wife talked her into leaving me!"

"Wait, what? What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about I am here every day making your fucking dreams come true, sweating my ass off for you, while your bitch wife is counseling my wife about how I don't deserve her. Thank you for the kick in the ass. You and Viv can kiss my ass and do this alone. Fuck you. Good bye and good luck asshole!" Damen pushed the table back, knocking the contents to the floor, exploding across the room, only to pause and say, "Why don't you ask your little whore princess how she met me. Did you ever ask how I ended up here? Stupid fuck." With that he turned on his heal, punched a hole clear through the partition and practically took the back door off the hinges.

Max sat petrified in his chair. The weight of his own body was too much to bear. Kate came to him moments after the episode and consoled the man she knew as a friend, not a boss. "Max, go home. We can do this. Jermaine and I will finish the order and get the place open. Let the air settle down. We will be OK till the weekend. Maybe by then you guys can resolve whatever is going on between you."

Max slowly rose from his chair as if he were catatonic. He did not say a word as he walked to the kitchen. Days later, he could not remember all of the details of the day, but the next thing he remembered was Viv coming in from work. "Maxy, you here?"

He blinked himself awake, and as he gained consciousness, the details of the confrontation came flooding back. He was not sure if he could speak. He wasn't sure what would come out if he did. Sadness? Rage? Despair?

"Are you feeling OK?" Viv sat down on the edge of the bed. She smelled good. Like perfume that had steeped with her scent and the autumn air. She touched his forehead. "Do you need medicine?"

"Viv, tell me what happened with Cailey."

"What do you mean 'happened'? Did Damen do something to her?"

"No, I mean tell me what you have been doing with Cailey. When is the last time you talked to her?"

"Max, what did Damen do?"

"Viv, I am not talking about Damen. I am talking about you and your interaction with Cailey. As far as I know, you haven't seen her in months. Is that true?" Max said, slightly annoyed.

"Max, do you know how cruel Damen is to Cailey? I mean he practically beat her to death last week because she didn't do the laundry. He is evil!" Viv exclaimed.

"Viv, are you telling me you are talking to Cailey?"

"She's my friend, Max. I care about her."

"Since when?"

"Since I found her curled up in the bathroom after her asshole husband gave her a black eye."

"Viv, this is none of your business. You have no right to get involved with their private lives. He is our employee, which is where it has to stay!" Max said. He was sitting up now and angry.

"Are you defending this guy? Who are you and what did you do with my husband? Max, this feels a lot like before. You never talk to me anymore. You are constantly at Hearthstone, and I don't have any idea how things are going. Now you accuse me of meddling in your cook's personal affairs? Yes, I have been talking to her. She is my friend, and her husband beat her unmercifully. Can you defend that?"

"I can't run that pile of bricks without him, and he is accusing you of telling Cailey to leave him. He walked out! As of right now, I do not have a chef to run that kitchen! Viv, your big fucking mouth can't keep us out of trouble!"

"I can't believe I am hearing you right. My mouth? At least I stand up for my convictions. He walks all over you, Max, and you take it. I can hear the staff talking about how he runs you! It is devastating to watch you pander to that tyrant!" she ranted.

"He also said I should ask how he got to be here. What does that mean Viv? Viv, I have never strayed. Never!"

"This is poetic. The skinny little fuck is telling you that we fooled around? Give me a fucking break, Max. If I were to have an affair, there are far better choices than that broke, egotistical megalomaniac. I met that little asshole at the restaurant in Albany like I told you. He came on to me! When I told him I wasn't interested—and not because I wasn't lonely because I was—but because he was a little shit that held no mystery for me. Believe me Max, I thought about cheating on you a hundred times and even came close, but not with that pig! Dena was there and witnessed the whole thing. The only reason why I kept talking to him is because you were desperate and I thought he might be able to help. That was my mistake here," she shouted.

"I don't believe you, Viv. You are such a fucking flirt, it wouldn't surprise me if you were propositioned at my own bar!" he screamed.

"Max, I think you have some soul-searching to do. If you can't trust me, we have nothing. After all we have been through, it sickens me to hear these accusations. This is how it is going to go next; Dena has offered numerous times to have me take a break at her place. Guess what, I am taking her up on it! You better get a hold of your fucking chef and get some control over your restaurant because right now, you are on the outside looking in, pal!" Without packing so much as a toothbrush, Viv made her way to the door, and for the second time that day, Max heard the slamming of a door.

Days went by before Max mustered up the strength to reach out to Damen. Max knew there was nothing to save in the long run, but he needed to preserve his business until he had a better idea. Owning restaurants had given him insight into having a criminal mind. Surviving in this business is not for those without the ability to accept certain moral ambiguities. He knew that from Ferraris. He could have never understood the lengths one is willing to go to stay open or to get people paid. He had had to threaten people, sometimes with legal action and sometimes with bodily harm. And, now he was selling the last of his soul to the devil himself to get food on a plate.

He knew Damen wouldn't answer his call, so he drove to his apartment, not before he stopped to get a six pack of Sierra Nevada. When he came to the door, Damen smelled filthy. Max guessed he hadn't showered since he saw him last. "Can we talk?"

"Sure, come in." Damen knew he had Max by the short hairs. There was no way to lose because Max needed him and he didn't care.

"Viv is gone. She moved out three days ago." There was a long stare from Damen. "What she did was inexcusable. She had no right to get involved with your personal life, and I can only say that I am truly sorry."

Pussy, Damen thought. "I will not work with Viv again. It's either me or her. Your choice, man." Max silently shook his head. "And I need a raise." Fortunately for Max, that is all he asked for. If he was as smart as he thought he was, he would have demanded a piece of the business and Max would have likely complied.

"She won't be back, Damen, and you earned the raise." He could taste the vomit on the back of his throat.

Upon his return, Damen was bolder than ever. He knew he wasn't going to be there forever, so the rules had changed. The days of playing nice were over. Now it was about how much he could get out of Hearthstone and who he could torment in the process. One day, after watching a documentary about how world-renowned chefs were opening wildly successful food trucks, he said to Jermaine, "Let's open a gourmet food truck." Jermaine had followed Damen since he lived in the area, and although he knew he was a little crazy, it was always exciting, so Jermaine agreed. Not everyone hated Damen. In fact, he had made quite a few friends in town, especially with the ladies. He knew of one widow that had a food truck on blocks that she had already offered him. At the time, he wasn't ready for that kind of move, but he was ready now. All he needed was a few thousand dollars and some food and he could play at his own game. Besides, it would be fun to watch Max fall after he left. It was early winter, no time to start a food truck. It was a perfect time to plan and to get what he needed to do the job right.

Since he opened, Max always paid Jimmy in cash. Now, although his credit was excellent, it was just how they did business with one another. The tradition continued even after Max turned the ordering book over to Damen. Damen would do the order, and where once he would go over the list with Max, he now just told Max the number he need to have ready for Jimmy when he came with the delivery. Max would occasionally spot-check the receipts to be sure it was adding up right and had never identified a problem, so there did not seem to be a reason to change the process. As of late, the bills seemed to be bigger, with unusual items. Max tried not to obsess over it but took note to look over the invoices after the weekend.

Max found himself avoiding the restaurant during the day. There was only Damen and Jermaine, and it was incredibly tense, so he found himself doing chores off the property. He was in search of walleye and found himself down at the market in Menands. They often had obscure meats, fishes, and produce. Walleye, although popular in the Midwest, was sometimes hard to source in the Northeast. There was nothing pulling him back to Hearthstone, so he took his time exploring the different shelves in the spacious building. As he turned the corner, he nearly ran Kurt over. Kurt apologized, "Oh, man. Sorry."

Max reacted. "Kurt? Is that you? You look great. How have you been?" It had been over a year since he had seen Kurt. The last time they crossed paths, Kurt was drawn and sickly looking and on his way to jail. The man Max saw in front of him now was clean-shaven, healthy looking, and free.

"Hi Max. I am glad to see you," he said nervously. "I have been meaning to call you. I got out a few months back and have been clean for over a year now. I am so sorry for any pain I caused you guys."

Max wasn't sure what kind of reaction to have. There was a time where he couldn't have hated Kurt more. He had compromised his business, tried to steal his money, and attacked his friend. "Kurt, I am glad to see you doing well, but you caused a lot of pain for me and my family," Max said. "You really hurt Dena too. She still has scars."

"There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about it," Kurt said. "I'm working at the bier garden in Albany now. It's good, but I sure miss the time I spent at Hearthstone."

"Sometimes you just can't do it over," replied Max. "It was nice to see you, and I am glad you are doing well. Now that you are out, I am sure I will see you around."

They parted, and Max finished collecting his list. When he returned to the restaurant, dinner service had started, and Max spent his evening milling around the tavern and greeting guests at their table. The feedback was good, and the night was adequate—nothing special. As the night wound down, Kate and the waitresses finished their side work, and one-by-one said goodnight. Amy was busy wiping down bottles and tending to the last of her customers, and Damen was breaking down the line. Max took a final loop around the restaurant and started to pack up. "You OK to lock up, Amy? I am right next door if you need me."

"Yes, no problem. I am just gonna finish up and head out," Amy said.

"OK, I will see you tomorrow." He moved toward the kitchen and the back office. "Good night Chef," he said without stopping.

"Night," Damen responded.

Max stopped by the office, checked the night's receipts, and reached for the switch when his eye caught a fresh pile of mail. He had meant to go through it earlier but got caught up in town. There was nothing pressuring him to go home, so he sat down to go through them. Most of the stack was the usual: Niagra Mohawk, accountant, insurance, Sysco. He opened each one, the same gouging from NIMO, nothing interesting from the accountant, garbage was typical, payroll was uneventful, and then there was Sysco—the most interesting one in the stack. As he opened the envelope, he heard the unmistakable sound of a glass hitting the floor. Max's head jerked. "Amy..." he said at a whisper, unalarmed. He ripped open the envelope. It seemed thicker than usual, but it wasn't remarkable. The first page was the recent total: $10,500. "OK, what did that buy me?" As he thumbed through the itemized bill, he noticed a few supply purchases that didn't seem right. "Sauce pans, spatulas, fryer basket? Huh, I didn't know we needed these." It wasn't unusual to replace supplies in the kitchen, but it seemed like a heavy pick list.

He thumbed through the rest of the items, and when he got to the last page, his throat closed up like he was having an anaphylactic reaction: "Current balance: $21,840. Due now: $10,500 and 30 days overdue: $11,340." "What the...." Before he could finish with an expletive, something far more substantial than a glass hit the floor. The sound pierced the silence of the restaurant and brought Max to his feet. Although the piece of paper that he held in his hand burned his fingertips like they were covered in acid, he was drawn to the commotion in the tavern.

With the paper in his hand, he walked through the now-dark kitchen and through the dining room. As he rounded the corner to the tavern, his movement halted; only his eyes were able to move in exaggerated blinks in order to adjust to what he was witnessing. Amy was pinned with her hands holding her steady on the bar and her back pointed to Max. The blue bar lights showed on her bare ass, and he was mesmerized by how it shivered and rippled each time her lover pushed into her. Max could not make out her suitor until he pulled away from Amy's neck like a vampire. He recognized Damen's eyes before he saw anything else. The rest of his face was obscured by the piles of Amy's blonde hair, and his eyes glinted up at Max as they locked stares like they were horns. Max was motionless, unable to move, unable to look away at the perversion. Damen was so turned on he refused to end it. He did not break his stare with Max as he pushed himself deeper into Amy in defiance. Amy, unaware of the voyeur in the room, groaned with passion as the napkin holder fell to the floor. He pounded her harder and harder without moving his eyes. Her breath became more rapid with each advance until she threw her head back and let herself go with a guttural shriek. Damen pushed forward with one more thrust and shot himself inside of her. Only after his release did he drop his stare to savor his orgasm. Max broke from his spell and slipped around the corner with one step. He knew Damen would not look up or call him out or even tell Amy he might have thought Max was in the building. For Damen, it would have sullied a perfectly decadent experience.

Max silently slipped out of the building and across the parking lot. He felt utterly violated, as if he had been raped. He could not reconcile the sick pleasure Damen got from tormenting him. It was at that moment he looked down to his hand that still held the papers. Only then was desperation was complete.

The next morning, Max called Viv. "Viv, can we talk?" Max asked. They hadn't talked since she had left, but Max needed her more than ever. "I could really use your advice," he said sincerely.

"I am not sure, Max. You really hurt me."

"I am not asking you to come home, I am just asking you to help me think through my options, cause I feel like I am trapped. I could really use your feedback. You always loosen the snare."

"Well, now that you said it that way, I guess you can buy me lunch," Viv said. "Just lunch."

At the table, Max greeted Viv with a warm hug. Her smell filled his nose and it lingered on his jacket long after they parted. Just being with her made Max feel better. She ordered an ice tea and a salad. When the waitress walked away, Max began to purge the cancer he had been carrying around. He talked about the food event, the constant belittling at the restaurant, and the complete breakdown in communication, but he saved the best for last. As he walked Viv through the events of the night before, Viv's face dropped. She felt physically sick. "Fucking pig," she said quietly.

She listened as Max filled in the details about the Sysco invoice and his speculation that, instead of paying the bills, Damen was pocketing the money. "Cash? That is going to be hard to prove," Viv countered. "Maxy, he has to go."

"I know. I do have a thought, but I am not sure you are going to like it. I ran into Kurt at the...."

"No."

"Please listen, Viv. You know how hard it is to find someone to handle that kitchen, let alone anyone that can cook German like he can. He has been clean for a year, and I know he would come back. He looks like a new man," Max explained.

"Dena would be devastated," Viv replied.

"I know. What if I had him reach out and make amends? I know I am asking a lot but Viv, I am running out of ideas and this guy is going to take us down."

"Us?"

"Viv, you are mine, my sweetheart, my love. Please don't."

"I will ask if Dena would be even willing to do that. If she throws something at me or starts crying, I will blame you," Viv said.

After Dena hesitantly agreed, Kurt did everything right. He called Dena and they met. He said all the right things in all the right ways. He explained his demons the best he could and talked about his recovery. It was a sincere effort, and Dena knew it. She was a sucker for a success story, but she felt this one was real. He was clean, and his eyes were clear. He was heartbroken over the loss of his friendship with Max and his involvement with Hearthstone. He seemed to be willing to do anything to get it back. "It won't be the same, Kurt," Dena said.

"I know, Dena. To be honest, Hearthstone is the best thing that ever happened to me, and if, in some way, I can help Max and Hearthstone survive, I have to. I cannot do it without your forgiveness. I know I do not deserve it, but if you give me that gift, I promise I will not squander it." She was hooked.

Damen knew his flagrant insubordination and thievery could not last, but as each day passed without consequence, his acts became bolder and more diabolical. It felt like, no matter how bad he was, he couldn't be touched. For the time being, he was right. Max could do nothing until the weekend was over so he tried his best to stay out of Damen's way and keep peace among the staff. He didn't want to give Damen any ammunition to work with so he prepared his pay on Sunday and changed the locks on Monday. He would take up the Sysco mess with his lawyers after he got Damen out of the building.

Max asked Viv to be there for support. She wouldn't have missed it for the world. He also let the troopers know that he was terminating a potential hostile employee at 9:30 sharp. He asked if they could just drive through the parking lot to help avoid any trouble. The couple arrived early and sat at the bar, waiting for Damen to arrive for Tuesday prep. He was always the first in on Tuesday, and no matter how bizarre his behavior, he always seemed to be on time and ready for dinner. The restaurant was uncharacteristically still and hollow. No music or background conversation gave it a foreign, empty feel. The two had not made amends, but Viv thought it was important to be here for many reasons, not the least of which was that she owned half of the business with Max and felt that she had a right to be present. Her mood was supportive, but there was no doubt that she hated Damen for what he had done to the people around her and her business. She felt that he had been left to pillage too long and this day could have not come soon enough. She knew her role was to be supportive and that this was not a "speaking part," but it would take every ounce of energy not to give him a piece of her mind. When the door creaked open and slammed shut, the footsteps were like a thunder roll toward the tavern. "Are you ready?" she asked Max.

"As I can be," said Max, bracing himself for what had to happen.

Damen came into the tavern and slowed his pace. "Mornin'."

"Hey Damen. We need to talk," Max said.

"What is she doing here?" Damen asked. It took everything Viv had to stay in her seat.

"Damen, we appreciate everything you have done for Hearthstone, but we think it would be best if we went different directions." It was a perfect, well crafted, definitive response.

"Can I ask why?" Damen said. Max wasn't sure if his sick mind just wanted to hear how Max would respond or if he was that delusional that he thought nothing was wrong.

"We would just like to go a different direction this year."

"I'm sorry, aren't you the one who begged me to come back? What kind of game are you fucking playing here, Max? I gave up numerous opportunities to work in restaurants worthy of my skill and reputation, but I stayed here to help you out of a jam. " Max thought he was, in fact, delusional. "I didn't just help you, you dumb fuck, but I put you on the map! Do I need to read some of the heinous reviews from Hearthstone before I arrived? It was downright painful shit," Damen rambled.

"I am happy to give you a reference if you need it," Max lied.

"You can shove your reference up your ass. You won't be around long enough for anybody to call you after I walk out the door. You and your pain-in-the-ass wife have no clue who you are dealing with. I am going to wreck you." Viv was still quiet, but her body was shaking with anger.

"I don't think threats are in order, Damen. These things just happen."

"Fuck you asshole. You have no idea what you are in for. No one can run that kitchen the way I have for you and no one is going to touch you with a ten-foot pole when I am done," Damen seethed.

"Here is your pay to date."

"Not that you deserve it," Viv whispered.

"What did you say?" Damen demanded.

Max held a gaze with Viv. "Nothing," he answered on her behalf.

"You little cunt. You whore around this place and do nothing but make demands. You have no idea how to run a restaurant. Your mouth has done nothing but get you in trouble since I've known you and here you are, opening up your dirty little hole again. Max, do you know what your problem is? You are more of a pussy than she is. You let her lead you around like a monkey. You have no power here. You're better off drowning yourself in the lake and letting this bitch run your shit."

Max didn't move. "Leave." As if it were staged, a patrol car gave a "blip blip" as it slowly rolled by.

"You don't know what you and your bitch wife are in for," Damen hissed as he turned to leave.

When he was gone, Max turned to Viv. "Viv, I really wish you hadn't said that," Max said.

"It's true Max. He doesn't deserve it. Besides, what can he do to us that he hasn't already done?"

With that, a door creaked opened and slammed. "Boss? Where are ya? Let's get crackin'," Kurt yelled from the kitchen.

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Chapter 8

"Collective fear or envy or hate stimulates herd instinct and tends to produce ferocity toward those who are not regarded as members of the herd."

-Bertrand Russell

"The constant connectivity amongst people that is provided by social media, combined with the speed at which information is exchanged, have significantly empowered people to do both good and evil. Twitter and Facebook users provide a spontaneous snapshot of their individuality, and in most cases unintentionally, they can turn their individual thoughts into an incredible tool for collective behaviors. It's like humanity acquired a collective nervous system. In our next seg—" Max clicked off the television. He loved those stupid documentaries. He could spend all day on the couch watching programs about the brave new world, a journey through the body, weather chasers, and life on other planets, but it was time to crack the whip.

"OK, Gunther, ready?" Max hoisted himself out from the armchair and grabbed his cup. Viv hadn't come home yet. She was still living with, Dena but they were dating and having more fun than they had had in years, so neither one felt a rush to change the current situation. At least for now, they would remain lovers and friends. They would work their way back to man and wife.

He was supposed to meet Kurt down at the market by 10 to show him a new sausage supplier out of Poughkeepsie. "Gotta go to the market buddy. You gotta watch the shop." It had been a couple of months since Kurt had come back, and things were going great. There was barely a wrinkle in service, and the reviews were still good. In fact, a few had come over the wire like "Sauerbraten is back at Hearthstone, and it is as good as ever!" or "Took my family to Hearthstone for my mother's 80th birthday. The waitress was kind enough to take a picture of three generations in front of the fireplace! The picture is hanging over my own fireplace now! We'll be back for mom's next birthday!"

There were a few stray comments like "Hearthstone can't keep a chef" from his dear friend Kat, the bartender at Creekside's girl, but nothing changed the tide. In fact, Max was feeling pretty confident about Hearthstone's standing on social media, so he was surprised when Jimmy said, "What's up with that Marrisa....Maria....Mary chick on Yelp!? Not a fan, huh? I was here for that thing. We donated the cold cuts. I thought it went pretty good. Wasn't she the one that hugged you on the way out?"

"I give up, Jim. What are you talking about?" Max asked.

"The review on Yelp! this morning from that chic Damen brought in right before Memorial Day last year. Don't you remember? It was like last minute; Damen asked if we could donate some stuff for the ceremony. I remember because I had to drive to the warehouse to get it."

"I remember, but that thing went great. Maria...yeah, that was her name. Pretty girl that lost her leg in Iraq. I couldn't have been happier to put it together for her. What did she say?" Max asked. Jim handed him his phone.

"I'm a local wounded vet. We organized an event to be held at Hearthstone on Veteran's Day last year. My mother lives in Sand Lake, so we used to come in pretty often.... but I haven't been in since then due to the inexcusable service we received during the event.

They were gracious enough to donate cheap, dry sandwiches and salty soup for the very large group that congregated after a wall dedication near the high school. There were quite a few veterans and community leaders in attendance for what was one of the biggest ceremonies of its kind in Rensselaer County. MANY of us opened tabs for beer or food (including myself and my fiancé) but the owner was later heard whining about how he didn't make any money off helping to support the dedication of the memorial wall. Because I was one of the organizers, I was appalled at the comment and left without even acknowledging him. He should be ashamed of himself for his lack of consideration for those that have given so much for their country.

In all, the food is mediocre, and to be quite honest, the "award winning" mac and cheese from their tavern menu I had that day gave me gastrointestinal issues. I'd personally rather stop at the Creekside or drive into Albany than stop here ever again. Maria P."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Max exclaimed. "This was a great event and she is writing this now, a year later? What is wrong with people? Jimmy, was this what you took away from it?"

"No man, like I said, I thought it went pretty good, especially with just a couple of days to plan. I was surprised to see it; that is why I asked," Jimmy said. "Wasn't her boyfriend pals with Damen? I thought that is how you got the gig."

"Oh, man. You are right. Evil fucking bastard put this bitch up to this, I know it," Max said. "Probably sleeping with her. If I was her boyfriend, I would keep an eye on that."

"Well that might be a bit conspiratorial, but it does seem strange she would post this almost a year after the event."

"That shit just doesn't happen, Jimmy."

"What are you going to do?"

"What can I do? Call out a one-legged, chick vet and tell everybody she's a liar?"

"Good point."

Max shoved the review to the back of his mind. He would address that later. For now, he had a full restaurant and happy people to greet. When he got back to the cottage, he and Gunther curled up on the couch, and he popped open his computer. He needed a beer for this, so as his computer booted up, he threw the dog off of him to get something out of the fridge.

But the time he made it back, his browser was up with Yelp! on top. He clicked "Most Recent," and there it was: Maria's review. He was expecting that. He was not prepared for the four more below it that were just as venomous.

One in particular stood out as exceptionally cruel:

"I was here last summer and things were amazing. I stopped here for Sunday dinner with my girlfriend and pretty much everything was sub-par, which is the nice way of putting it.

First, as we were sitting, two men at a nearby table stood up and told their waitress they weren't going to wait any longer and walked out.... It should have been a sign of things to come. On top of that, my wife informed me she heard the owner shouting after them that the wait wasn't so bad and he didn't know what they were complaining about. I thought I also heard that.

We placed our order, the porterhouse and stuffed chop and appetizers. Every single thing we ordered was wrong in some way. The steak was like a piece of shoe leather and the chop was dry with a stuffing that tasted like it was out of a box. The potatoes were so hard and dried that butter wasn't melting on them. Butter wasn't melting. I had to type that again because I still can't believe it. How long had the dish been waiting back there? Frustrated after the wait and for having to send all food back, we immediately asked for to-go boxes without taking a single bite.

The waitresses, owner, or someone needs to get on the chef because he had no idea what they were doing. I can't imagine how bad it gets on a busy night. Do people bring their own food to eat while waiting?

On a positive note, I fed the chop to my dog. He seemed to like it, but then again he rolls in dead squirrels sometimes, so... Ken Treadwell"

Holy shit. Max immediately logged into his Yelp! account and submitted a claim to have these reviews removed from the site. His rating dropped almost an entire star from the activity of tonight alone. He explained that this was a revenge move from a previous employee that had a vendetta against the establishment. "As you can clearly see," he wrote, "these all happened tonight all around the same time. Please remove them immediately as they are not true and will hurt my business greatly. Sincerely, Max Bennett."

Max fell into a fitful sleep with his computer on his lap and woke up before sunrise. Gunther was snoring like a drunken lineman and smelled like a sewer. Max rubbed his eyes, flicked on the television, and moved away from Gunther's breath. When he repositioned himself, his computer kicked out of sleep mode and he found himself staring at Yelp! again. This time, in the corner of his screen, there was a little notice that said he had a message. Already? he thought.

"Dear Yelp! Listing Owner,

Thank you for expressing your concern about the reviews recently posted to your listing.

It currently appears that the reviews in question comply with our submission guidelines. However, we take accusations of review fraud very seriously and are deeply committed to ensuring that the information found on our website is unbiased.

If you have not already done so, we encourage you to use our management response feature, which lets you respond to the review and tell your side of the story. Your management response will appear alongside the review it refers to so that Yelpers can read both perspectives.

Your property is an important part of the Yelp! community and we appreciate your participation.

Best regards,

Yelp! Support Team"

"Fuck you very much Yelp!. You obviously did your research," Max said bitterly to the screen.

He closed his computer and stared at the TV for an hour before deciding to get up. He was cantankerous all day as he trudged through the prep. Max couldn't help but wonder if there was a larger force at work that would not allow Max to be free to succeed. Each time he made strides toward his goals, something, whether it be a broken water main, ovens on fire, or homicidal chefs, there would be a correction each time. It was as if fate decided to take the road less traveled for a damn good reason.

Although dinner service was good, there was a constant stream of mention about the batch of reviews, which had since been posted to Facebook and Twitter by the collective consciousness. Max discovered the first to post it was Ken Treadwell, a man born two months ago on Facebook with no other posts but hate speech about Hearthstone. But because social media sheep snap into another level of being, one that allows them to be cruel beyond anything they would be individually, they reposted the comments. Regardless of its truthfulness, if it is vile, it has a chance to catch a spark and be shared. If it is about a person or thing that appears to stand out among the rest and it is hateful, it has even a better chance of a share. If all of these conditions are met, the stage is set for a cyber-mob attack on any given subject. The collective will punish whomever and whatever they see as a threat to the sameness, and given ammunition, substantiated or not, they will attack mercilessly until the subject has been properly conditioned to conform to the mediocrity of the rest. Yelp!, Facebook, and the other social media platforms are not ghosts in the machine. This behavior was not born with social media. It is as old as the human race itself. The platforms are just catalysts to this mob mentality or mob insanity. They allow for not only the accelerated information exchange but also provide unprecedented waves of tantalizing, albeit dubious wordbites.

As Max followed the threads, Ken let lose across the different platforms of Twitter, Facebook and Yelp!. He couldn't help but have a sense of pride that he and Hearthstone had earned the notoriety of so many that they were willing to believe and repost such insidious filth without even so much as visiting the creator's page. Even those two bitches in the grocery store could have seen the game afoot. Max followed the putrid breadcrumbs around the web until he found himself back to Treadwell's page. The profile picture itself was the image of an inhumanly mean and scary, rotten-toothed fiend. Is that how he sees himself? thought Max.

Max had enough. He shut his computer and tried to sleep. He had plans for an early season golf game with the guys, and he refused to let this destroy the rare chance to do something unassociated with Hearthstone. He woke up early. He pushed thoughts of work out of his mind as he collected his things for his golf outing. It was chilly when he got to the course, enough for a coat, but as the day went on, Max found himself stripping off layers until his bare arms could feel the sun. It was exactly what he needed to recharge his mind and body. He played terrible golf but savored each hole. They played a full 18 and made plans to eat an early dinner in the clubhouse. Hearthstone was in good hands, so Max agreed to stay.

After a beer at the bar, the foursome found a table in the dining room. It was early, so the room was sparse and they had their waitress all to themselves. Even after hours on the course, the group found new things to talk about. At one point, Tony, the owner and long-time friend of the group, came and sat at the table. Both being in a high-profile business, there is always someone to talk to, so Max did not pay much attention to Tony's cursory acknowledgement of him. He shrugged it off quickly and continued to contribute to the conversation with the rest of the table. "How's your new guy working out?" one of the guys asked of Tony.

"Great. He has really upped our game in the kitchen." The conversation continued about the changes in staff, but it was Max's creed never to discuss another man's kitchen, so although he was curious, he recused himself from the discussion and studied the menu. He settled on a French dip with a side of fries.

The small talk lingered, but when the food arrived, the table got quiet. Max ate around his sandwich, dipping his fries in the au jus before he tackled the beast. The sandwich was piled with freshly prepared medium-rare roast beef and a homemade pretzel roll. The roll looked like a picture with a classic pretzel crust. Max thought it had to have been done using traditional methods instead of baking soda which was far more inconvenient and time consuming, but the results were superb. As Max bit into his sandwich, he immediately tasted a flavor he could not pinpoint. As he pulled the sandwich away, he saw the red glint of what Max identified as the color and texture of a ghost pepper, one of the hottest varieties on the planet, and before the sandwich hit the plate, Max's throat was on fire, with heat crawling up his face like a virus. His world closed in around him as he struggled to breathe from the effects of the pepper. No one at the table seemed to notice the hellfire that was engulfing Max's face.

For one brief moment, Max thought he was going to pass out as beads of sweat started to form on his brow. It took several long draws off his beer to bring him back into the room and begin his recovery. No one at the table seemed to notice. They did not even break stride in conversation to come to Max's aid. He was grateful to have the effect of the pepper begin to recede without the table's involvement, but as one nightmare subsided, it was replaced by an even more horrific one. Max glanced across the room to see Damen, in his chef coat, filling his glass from the soda gun. What amount of cruelty had Max dispensed in his past life to deserve this karma? He must have been Vlad the Impaler to warrant this torture. As Damen nodded with a crooked grin, Max pinched himself, hoping it was, indeed, a dream. He blinked to clear Damen from his vision, but it was to no avail. There he was, in his club, preparing his meal. With all of the choices available to Damen, why was he here? Max could only speculate that this was all for him, to continue to torment him outside of Hearthstone. Since he couldn't do it there, he could do it from the next best place: Max's playground.

Watching Max's face was one of Damen's prouder moments. He could only imagine what Max must be feeling at the table. For Damen, the discomfort he was inflicting was arousing. Although it wasn't his plan, ending up here at Glass Lake was like a gift. He could run the kitchen as he saw fit while tormenting Max with minimal effort. It wasn't what he was hoping for. He had to steer clear of Albany because of the unfortunate outcome at Fresh Catch. Troy was full of pompous shits that couldn't appreciate what Damen could do, so until he could collect the rest of the funds he needed for the food truck, he was content to watch Max twist and do what he could to dismantle his reputation with colleagues and customers alike. In fact, Tony, the staff, and the regulars at the club were more than willing to accept the stories of Max's unprofessionalism and incompetence. Although social media was far more efficient, nothing can replace the one-on-one reaction of people. It was the most satisfying form of deconstructing a man's life.

"Have fun asshole," Damen hissed. Max deserved everything he got, and Damen was grateful to be the one to deliver it. He and his mouthy wife wouldn't soon forget what it meant to fuck with him.

Max felt the all too familiar sense of desperation at the table. He sat in front of the dish in front of him, and although he wasn't prone to tears, he could have cried right there. When one of the guys asked why he wasn't eating, Max replied, "Oh, you know, that sun really got to me. I have been cooped up so long that I think I got a little burned out there. I might excuse myself if you guys don't mind." With that, he pushed his chair away and threw a few twenties on the table for the bill. "I'll catch up with you guys next week, same time?" The table nodded in unison.

"Weird," one guy commented, and they moved on with the conversation.

He didn't even leave the parking lot before he called Viv. "Viv, do you have a minute?" Max asked.

"Yeah, what's up Maxy?"

"I just got done golfing with the guys, and we stopped for a bite in the clubhouse. I can't even believe I am saying this, but Damen was there," Max explained.

"Oh, honey, I am so sorry," Viv said. "Was he working or at the bar?"

"He's working there," Max answered. "He is out to get me. He tried to kill me by loading my sandwich up with ghost peppers today. I can't help but think if we could have gotten through that day without any remarks, he might have just gone away."

"Max, what are you trying to say?" Viv asked curtly.

"I'm just saying that if we didn't poke the bear he might have just gone away."

"I don't think I like what you are suggesting."

"Viv, we did get involved more than we should have. I am not saying he isn't crazy, but we asked for some of this," Max responded.

"You mean, I asked for it," Viv said.

"I mean...." Max wasn't sure where to take it.

"I cannot believe that after all he put us through, you would even as much hint that this is in some bizarre way my fault. He is a psychopath, and you know it. It hurt me when you chose him over me the last time. This time, it is inexcusable." The phone went silent and Max let it drop from his ear in dejection.

"Not Vlad. Definitely Genghis Khan," Max remarked to himself.

As quickly as the bad reviews came, they went. Bad news does indeed traveled fast, but there was always fresh bad news to oust it from first place in the feed. It was one of the few redeeming qualities of social media. The conjured up fiasco of bad reviews quickly settled down and eventually dried up. Unfortunately, the hurt feelings between Viv and Max weren't as easily dissipated. After the call from the golf course, Viv decided she needed a break, and Max hadn't heard from her since. His feelings of desperation matured into sadness. He worked. He slept. He ate, but there was no fire in his belly.

Unremarkable weeks drifted by. Kurt stayed clean, Kate was elated with the mood of the restaurant, and Max worked hard to keep everything tied together. He decided, after seeing Damen at the club, he would hold off on his golf league until things changed. Although he could have easily avoided him, the thought of him there made Max's skin crawl.

It wasn't long after seeing Damen at the club that he was notified by New York State that he had applied for unemployment benefits. Damen, in absentia, once again found a way to put Max in an untenable situation. If he disputed the claim, it would lead right to Tony, who was most assuredly paying him under the table. Compared to some of the other antics, this was pretty tame, but Max was not sure what to do next, so he left the notice in the pile and moved on to countless other tasks. When he picked up his phone to call Jimmy, he saw a Yelp! notice feverishly wiggling in his corner screen. It used to be a thrill see what was waiting for him. Now, it was more like a psychological thriller designed to spin him into madness. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't resist clicking on the icon. He scrolled down through the reviews. Nothing new, strange but relieving. Still scrolling, he reached the "Tips" at the bottom of the screen to find that "Patrice from Seattle" posted "Restaurant closed and abandoned." She explained, "While I was visiting the East Coast, I was staying with a friend in Upstate New York. Hearthstone was recommended to me, but when we stopped out to eat, the place was closed and dark. When I peeked in the window, it looked abandoned."

"HAH! HAH HAH HA!" Max laughed insanely. This is great! I love this guy! he thought. If this were his first time, he would have been reeling. Now, he simply opened his computer and typed out a complaint to Yelp!. Within an hour, he received his gratuitous "Dear John" letter from Yelp!. Patrice's comment would stay.

"OK, Damen. I finally get it. How about we do it this way," Max said out loud. He pulled out the notice from New York State and replied to the unemployment claim with a denial, stating, "Employed at Glass Lake Country Club." Signed, sealed, and delivered. With a sigh, he labored his way out of his chair and went to start the prep.

It took two weeks to get the news that Max had denied his claim. Damen had underestimated Max's loyalty toward Tony. He would have never guessed that Max would have the balls to deny the claim. "Cocksucker," Damen said to himself. It was another week before the state sent Tony an audit letter to review his payroll.

"Damen, I am paying you under the table as a favor, to help you get back on your feet after what Max did to you. You didn't tell me that you were going to file for unemployment. This is going to be a big deal, man. I can't tell you what this means to me in time and money," he rambled. Tony wasn't the kind of guy that forgave easily and had his own evil streak. From that moment, Tony put him on the books and cut his hours in half. He didn't have the same strangle hold on the club menu as he did a menu like at Hearthstone, so Damen found himself on the receiving end of the ugly stick. An increase in Damen's free time was an unintended consequence that Max would soon regret.

Damen lay in bed while his mind toyed with ways to kill Max—not in the poetic way, but in a bone snapping, blood spurting, shrill screaming way. This little dick would not lay down. He figured the reviews would have at least gotten a reaction out of Max, enough to parlay into some legal action or something. But nothing: no reaction, no news, no nothing. He looked out the window. The leaves were changing again, and his situation had not improved. In fact, things had gotten worse. He wasn't in jail. He was grateful for that, but he was alone, in an unkempt one-room apartment with no career to speak of, no money, and no one to come home to. All he had to look forward to was cooking a bullshit menu at that glorified sandwich shop, and Max still had Hearthstone. It was criminal.

As if on cue, Damen turned to the television to see Max on Channel Ten cooking that hideous Backyard Oktoberfest thing that he had talked about a year ago. Max looked young and healthy. He was dressed in a tidy little sweater with a matching tie. As he chatted with the reporter, Kurt, who had a clean, pressed chef coat on with the Hearthstone logo blazed across it, worked around them to prepare each component of the dish. "The key is to braise the shank first," Max was saying.

"What the fuck." The rage that roared through Damen's body felt like it could have levitated him right off the bed. He couldn't stop watching, and with each word that left Max's mouth, Damen became more enraged. He would have thrown the television across the room, but the stark reality was, he did not have the money to replace it if he did so. He had no choice but to let the hatred sit in his chest and putrefy. His commitment to destroying Max had reached obsession level. He would end him. He would ruin him, or he would die trying.

He spent the morning reading the most recent Yelp! postings. He gave a little smile when he saw that Patrice had followed through. "Thank you my sweet," he said in a whisper, but the seas of Hearthstone were calm. That would have to change. The question was, how?

He went through the motions of getting ready for work. He took a shower, made a half-hearted attempt to shave, and pulled on some clothes that were more clean than dirty. The air was crisp and the car was cold, but it did nothing to break Damen's fixation. From the outside, he looked like an ordinary guy waiting at the light, but his mind was exploding with bloodthirsty musings. If anyone had crossed his path at that moment, it could have triggered an eruption that would have left someone dead.

Once at the club, Damen worked on prepping for the evening shift. If he were asked to recall what he had done so far, he would not have been able to. There was a clean cognitive break between thought and function. Muscle memory took over the tasks as Damen's mind was consumed with Max. When he sliced his finger prepping cucumbers, the pain brought Damen back. "Damn," he said. He grabbed a Band-Aid, wrapped it around the cut, and kept moving. Within minutes, the Band-Aid was drenched, and Damen was forced to stop and change it. The bleeding seemed to slow as he finished up. Before long, the dinner tickets came trickling in: steak sandwich with fries and grilled cheese, cheeseburger with a Reuben, chicken tenders and a fish fry. It was almost too much. He could barely bring himself to prepare this shit Tony called food, and he definitely did not want his name associated with it, so as was often the case, Damen hid in the back and took his ego blows alone.

"Table fourteen forgot their box," the waitress said as she laid down the container. "Don't throw it out in case they come back for it."

Come back? Damen thought. For what? That lard bar I just threw on a plate? Ok, have it your way.

The box lay there for hours, never to be claimed. Damen was finishing up his side work when he looked at his bandage, which was again soaked in blood and clumped with food and unidentifiable goop. He pulled it off to inspect his wound, which had become a white, wrinkled, slimy slit. He tossed the bandage in the overflowing garbage and tapped his fingers on the clean table in front of him. Work was done. Now what? he thought. The box caught his eye as a flaw to the landscape of his clean kitchen. "Dumb bitch," he said as he opened the box. Inside was a tortured piece of chicken drowning in cheese and canned salsa, the club's version of Mexican Chicken. He went to toss the box in the garbage, and it was if it stuck to his hand. A depraved smile crept across his face as the idea came into focus.

It was a perfectly revolting plan. He grabbed the bandage out of the garbage and brought it over to the sink. With a serrated steak knife, Damen reopened his wound and allowed the fresh blood to drench the bandage. He opened the take out box and, with minimal staging, threw the bloody dressing on top of the heap of chicken. The ends of the filthy bandage curled as soon as it hit the moisture of the salsa. Adding to the character of the piece, thought Damen. For effect, he allowed his finger to drip a few glistening drops of blood on the side of the container and watched is ooze down into the pool of gelatinous cheese at the bottom of the box. When he was done, he quickly grabbed his phone as to not to lose the shot. He cropped the image close, made sure it was in focus, and snapped a picture of the gruesome pile. He spent only a moment admiring his masterpiece before he disposed of the offending box. It seemed too easy to post it to Facebook immediately. He wanted to savor the moment, so he waited until he was in his car. After critiquing his work for several more minutes, he opened Facebook as Ken Tredwell, attached the image, and added a comment, "I am outraged at Hearthstone. This is what I found in my take-home box when I got home! The picture doesn't do it justice. It is absolutely disgusting. I am suing!" With a touch of a button, up it went to the cloud.

The car was silent. Damen could only smile at himself for the devious deed that he was sure would bring Max down. He drove home with a new sense of pride and, for the first time in a week, got a good night's sleep.

Max's phone was vibrating mercilessly on the nightstand. It was way too early to start his day, but it would not relent. "Hello?" he said sleepily.

"Max, it is Sean. Wake up. You have to get up and see this. I am at the office. I was collecting things for my morning post, and I came across an image Hearthstone was tagged in. It's not good man. You have to see it."

"Sean, I just woke up. Can this wait till I have a cup of coffee?"

"No, Max. It can't."

Max crawled out of bed and looked at the time on his phone. "It's 6:30 am, Sean. This better be good."

"Quite the opposite," Sean replied.

He opened his computer and logged into Facebook. There were 231 notices in the corner of the screen. "Whoa."

"That's it?"

"Give me a minute." He clicked on his feed, and the image appeared immediately. It was clearly in focus. It was absolutely disgusting, and it was tagged with Hearthstone's name. He had become accustomed to the lies and the insults, but this was a new level of abuse that Max was ill equipped to deal with. What am I going to do? he thought.

"Max?" Sean said from what seemed like the bottom of a well.

No response.

"Max, are you there?"

No response.

"Max, you have to answer me."

Max realized he still had the phone to his ear. "I have to go," he said in a dead voice.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Is this how it would end? Did he finally manage to get him? "Why me?" he asked in a tiny voice.

The hashtag "#HearthstoneHell" hosted hundreds of tweets and posts of the ugly image. It was unprecedented. It was the revolution Damen had hoped for, and Max was, for the first time, truly scared it could be over. He was prideful, but this was too much for him to handle. He needed advice from someone he could trust or at least trust to steer him the right direction. No one came to mind except Sean so after several excruciating hours of research, Max rang Sean back.

"Sean, I need your help," Max said.

"You definitely need someone's help, but this is a lot of heat, Max," Sean said honestly.

"Sean, I swear to you that did not come from my restaurant. I don't even use those containers, let alone offer whatever that dish was."

"I know, but sometimes the truth doesn't matter," Sean said. "I have never seen anything like this. This guy has it out for you, man."

"I guess I will start with the police," Max said.

"I am not sure how that is going to help your reputation. It is ugly," Sean said. Seconds dragged on forever until Sean added, "Hey, how 'bout that cyber-bullying series they are doing at Channel 10? I think it's the same guy you did that Oktoberfest spot with. I don't know, maybe he can help you spin it."

"I don't know, Sean. That seems extreme."

"Max, some sociopath just posted a blood-soaked batch of leftovers with your name on it. I think we already passed Go here," said Sean.

"I will start with the cops and take it from there," said Max.

It was early, but Max was never going to sleep again, so he jumped in the shower for what would prove to be a long day. After a quick coffee, he was out the door. It was still early, the morning was crisp, and every one of Max's nerves was on end. The trooper station was close enough to throw a stone at it, so Max found himself in front of Trooper Rogavoy within minutes of leaving the house. The story was hard to start, but once he started, he couldn't stop. An hour had flown by, and the trouper forced a pause by saying, "Max, what are you hoping I can do to help you?"

"What do you mean? This guy has wrecked my business, tried to hurt me or possibly even kill me, told lies about me, talked poorly about my family...." He voice trailed off, deflated. As he rattled off all of the nasty things Damen had perpetrated, he realized there was little the trooper could do to help him.

"Max, unless he tries to physically hurt you with more than a hot pepper, I cannot do anything. As far as the online stuff, we do not have jurisdiction over that. That is federal territory and extremely hard to prosecute. It could take years and tons of money to get nowhere."

Max had felt so much desperation; the trooper's reaction didn't surprise him. He would be ruined before a judge even heard his grievance. "Thanks for listening, Henry. Stop in, I have that German pilsner you like on tap. "

"I wish I could do more. I know it's not much, but I can make sure the guys start driving through the lot a little more often," the trooper said. "I will ask around in case I missed something, but it might be time for a lawyer. Any way you look at it, it will not get resolved quickly."

Max fell into the driver's seat and started the car. He stepped on the accelerator, and the next thing he remembered was pulling into the television station. It was 9 am and the station had just opened. "Is Rich here?" he asked at the front.

"I think he just got in. Let me page him."

"Hey Max! How are you?!" Rich said as he bounded down the hall. He was a young, ambitious reporter that had an easy smile. "What brings you by?"

"Do you mind if we go somewhere quiet?"

"Of course. Do you want a cup of coffee?" Rich asked.

"Sure."

The pair found an empty conference room and started with some small talk. "Hey, we got great feedback on that Oktoberfest piece. We will have to do that again next year," Rich said.

"Love to. But that isn't why I am here," Max confessed. "I don't know if you remember our chef last year. His name is Damen, and he is out to destroy me; his weapon of choice is social media."

"OK, sounds interesting, but I am not sure what I can do about that. That seems more like a cop thing," Rich said.

"Been there. I won't get into the personal hell that I have been living since I met this psycho, but you might be interested in how he is using social media to bully my business."

"You have heard about my series, I take it," Rich said. "Most of my interviews have been with kids and parents. This is way different."

"How is it different? My business is being bullied online by a guy who sways hundreds of people with lies and fear-based accusations, enough to change their opinion about my business to the point where they won't come in. Until now, he has had friends post untrue, very seditious reviews about my business, he has created a fake profile, and now he has posted a picture that makes me want to puke every time I see it and tagged my business, claiming it as where it came from. Sean Baker called me this morning to tell me about it. When I saw it, it had been reposted about 200 times, and that was hours ago. He is even using a hashtag: HearthstoneHell," Max explained. As he continued to talk, Rich fumbled around on his phone to bring up the hashtag. He found it quickly and his face darkened.

"Max, I think you might be in a real pickle here. There are over 2,400 shares and too many comments to read. I think it could be a relevant angle for the series, but I have to check with my editor. We are going to have to be sure not to accuse anyone or use names unless you have proof it is him. And, if you aren't careful, going public with this could be like throwing napalm on a campfire," Rich warned.

"Rich, I am going to walk out of here and be shelled from every angle. Any minute now, my phone will start to ring with employees, customers, and vendors, all of whom are going to want details, and I will have to find a way to explain that we are indeed the victims in this case without sounding guilty. That will all happen before I leave the parking lot. By the time I get to the restaurant, I will have the house phone in one hand ringing constantly with a barrage of cancellations and my cell phone in the other trying to calm my people down. I hope like hell they are not going to immediately quit. Oh, they are going to go, but I am just hoping they all don't go at once.

"When I give up on the phone and open the computer, that is when the fun is really going to start. I will have to weed through endless scrolls of insults and lies and try, in the most diplomatic way, to explain that this is an ugly cyber-attack from a man that does not exist. I don't mean to sound indifferent to the possibility of destroying my image by conducting an interview with you, but I am already dead. You are my only chance for resurrection. So, talk to whomever you need to and get whatever paperwork you need me to sign and I will be ready by noon. By then, I will have made a decision to close the restaurant tonight to avoid subjecting my staff to the verbal assault that will undoubtedly be waiting for us at dinner hour, so I will have all day to make sure we say it right."

The reporter was rendered speechless.

At noon, Rich came over to Hearthstone and set up lights near the fireplace. He tried to capture a background that would be immediately recognized as the restaurant.

"This week, we have been talking about cyber-bullying," Rich started. "Until now, we have focused on teens and families. Today, we are going to look at what the same social media forces can do when a business is targeted. We are interviewing one courageous business owner who is willing to talk about his experience, even at the risk of putting his interests in further jeopardy. Let me introduce Max from Hearthstone. Max is the founder of this well-known establishment that has been a landmark for years in southern Rensselaer County. Thank you for sharing your story. Before we get into the details, I have to ask why you are coming out about this experience when it could have an ill effect on your business."

Max's eyes were still adjusting to the bright lights, so he squinted a little as he spoke. "Rich, I know this is a risky move for me personally, but I feel it is my responsibility to share the story. The reality is, it might be too late for me, but if talking about it helps another business owner that might be faced with a similar scenario, it is worth it to me. I wouldn't wish my experience on my worst enemy."

"Can you explain how you think your business is being bullied?" Rich asked, careful to defer everything to Max.

"Well, about six months ago, we started seeing numerous negative Yelp! and Facebook postings. In itself, it would not be overly concerning because bad reviews sometimes happen to even the most accomplished restaurants, and we address each one in a personalized way. When they started to become more frequent and more unfavorable, it was very alarming, so we researched the origins of the postings. We learned they were coming from what appeared to be fake accounts."

"What makes you think they are fake?"

"Each account was opened recently and only talks about Hearthstone. There aren't any additional postings or pictures about anything else. In one day, we got 10 extraordinarily bad reviews with details that were proven to be false from accounts we couldn't trace back to real people. Yelp! would not take them down, even after we demonstrated the fraudulent nature of the posts. These kinds of posts can be devastating to a business because they get reposted by legitimate users and reposted again by their friends, often without being verified for authenticity. For example, the week after these reviews were posted, we saw a 20% dip in business. We did recover because the claims were not true and therefore not reproducible," Max explained. "We cannot verify who is doing this or why, but that sense of anonymity is both the beauty and the danger of social media.

"As bad as they are, these actions are nothing compared to what happened last night. One of our cyber bullies took a picture of what I can only say is an indescribable horror to someone like me and claimed it was from our restaurant. It was so repulsively bad, it was hard to resist reposting. I can honestly say, if it weren't me being attacked, I would have also been tempted, but I would like to think I could have resisted. Many did not resist. At last count, it has been reposted over 3,000 times. Only time will tell what effect it will have on our business, but I fear we will not recover this time."

"Why haven't you gone to the police?" asked Rick.

"We have, but this kind of attack is unprecedented. They don't have the expertise, and in some cases, the authority to stop this kind of assault. It is often a federal offense that would take years to resolve. By then, my business would be but a memory and the bad guys would have succeeded. Even if I sued, I suspect the culprits could not pay for the damage they have caused. Besides, the thing that has suffered the most is my reputation. I cannot put a value on that. In my business, it is all you have."

"How do you plan on addressing this?"

"Well, this is the first step. Although I am not convinced we can put the toothpaste back in the tube, we will try to educate people online. It is very hard to prove your innocence in the public's opinion, especially when the accusations are so bad."

"Do you have any advice for our viewers?"

"Don't believe everything you read and don't believe this cannot happen to you. One fight with a friend or compromising picture posted in jest or by an enemy can devastate your life. You can lose face with your friends, compromise relationships with your family, and ruin your career," Max warned. "Do not underestimate the power of social media to influence others around you to do extraordinarily good and extraordinarily bad things."

"Wise words, Max. Thank you for your bravery, and good luck with Hearthstone." Rich was careful not to make it personal or endorse Hearthstone in any way in case it came down on the wrong side of the fence.

After the interview, Max said goodbye to Rich. Rich was hoping to air the piece that night but couldn't promise. Max was so drained, he couldn't work up the strength to convince him to prioritize it, so he settled for "Thanks," and they parted.

Max locked the door to Hearthstone behind him, and he went back to the cottage, where Gunther was waiting like an eager servant. "You are the only one that loves me, Gunther." He grunted and curled up at the base of the couch as Max grabbed the clicker. "How about we binge-watch that new crime series?" Gunther thought that was a perfect idea.

Hours went by and there was no movement from man or beast. Much to Max's relief, the phone had long since run out of battery, putting an end to the incessant ringing. With nightfall, Max flipped his body to the other side of the couch and surfed the channels one more time until he landed on the conclusion of his favorite murder show on Channel Ten. "I saw this one," he said out loud. In minutes, it ended and the late news flashed on.

"We have a special conclusion to a cyber-bullying series tonight coming up right after the break." Max had almost forgotten about the interview. It seemed so long ago. It aired within minutes and it was almost word for word.

"Well, this should make things worse," Max mused.

He never slept. Or maybe he did and couldn't tell the difference between the nightmare of his awake life and the one in his sleep. Regardless, morning came and Max knew he had to face it. His first step was to plug in his phone and listen to the voicemails that crammed his inbox. The first one came in at 3 pm yesterday.

Jimmy: "Hey Max, I just wanted to find out what's going on over there."

Mark: "Hey pal. Just checking on you".

Viv: "Maxy, can you call me?"

At 5:30 am, a 212 area code left a message: "Mr. Bennett, this is Cheryl from 'Good Day.' I just saw your spot on our Albany affiliate, and we are interested in interviewing you for the show. Can you call me back? We are on deadline and I have a spot for tomorrow."

Max involuntarily shuddered. What does this mean? he asked himself as he dialed the number.

"Cheryl here," said a bright voice on the other end of the phone.

"Cheryl, this is Max Bennett from Hearthstone returning your call," Max said.

"Oh, Max. Great. Ok, we still have a segment tomorrow morning. The zoo guy had to cancel. Something about a whale having a baby or something. Anyway, can you get here for a sound check by 5 am tomorrow? The segment will go on at eight."

"I'm sorry, I am still playing catch-up. Why do you want to interview me?" he asked.

"I'm sorry Max. Sometimes I get ahead of myself. We loved your piece about the cyber-bullying that aired in your market. We have been doing a similar series down here and would like to add your story to it. Due to scheduling conflicts, we happened to have an opening tomorrow if you are available to come down. We can send you up a train ticket and get you a hotel tonight so you can be ready to go by 5 am sound check. So, what do you think? Would you like to come down and share your story?"

Max did a quick calculation of the risks and rewards and decided he had already gone too far. It was likely his business would not survive the blows anyway, so he might as well try to help someone else if he could. "Sure. Let me make some arrangements and I can be ready by three."

He called Kate. Although she sounded deflated, she assured him the restaurant would open for dinner and it was in good hands. "Do you mind checking on Gunther?" he asked as he packed a clean suit.

"Sure." Thank God for Kate. He turned off the lights, locked all the doors, and headed to the train station.

He couldn't bear to open Facebook. He had to stay strong for this interview, and he was afraid the evil shit on social media would suck his life blood right out of him. He resigned himself to a cup of coffee and watched the Hudson drift by on his way to New York.

"#HelpHearthstone. Check it out," texted Sean.

"Huh?" He was just pulling into New York, so that would have to wait, but it didn't sound as bad as the rest of the texts he had gotten in the last 24 hours. He grabbed a cab and made his way over to The W on Lex. The show put him up in one of the swankest hotels in the city. Not a bad way to spend your last day in business.

He hadn't made it a habit to check his phone over the last couple of days, so he forgot or maybe blocked out the message from Sean to check out the hashtag. He couldn't even bring himself to call the restaurant in fear of what he might hear, so he just sat and sipped on his beer, making small talk with the bartender, waiting for the morning to come.

The phone rang at 4 am. "Good morning, Mr. Bennett. This is your wake up call."

"Thank you." Max jumped out of bed and started to the shower. But at 4:30 am, the phone rang again.

"Mr. Bennett, your car is here," said the pleasant voice on the other end.

"Car?" This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. He should have devastating tragedy happen more often. "OK, I will be right down."

It wasn't a car. It was a limo. In it, there was a steaming cup of coffee and a bagel slathered in cream cheese waiting for him. "Good morning, Mr. Bennett. I will get you right over to the station. Traffic is light this time of day, so it won't take any time at all."

"No rush," said Max with a grin.

He barely finished his bagel before the limo pulled up outside of the station. He gathered up his bags, left his bagel on the table, and thanked the driver. As he crossed the threshold of the building, he was immediately greeted by sharply dressed woman. "Good morning. I trust you slept well," Cheryl commented.

"Yes. The room was very nice. But you already knew that," Max said playfully.

Max was ushered into a dressing room, where he was guided into a chair. The stylist came in from nowhere and went to work evening his tone and straightening his chronically tussled hair. "So, you are going to sit with Bryan Allen at 7:30 for a 'live' show at eight. It is a 10-minute segment, so when you are done, it will go to editing and air with a short delay."

"OK," Max responded.

"Right now, we are going in for a sound check. It will just take a minute." Cheryl brushed away the stylist and escorted Max to the set. It was not what he expected. It seemed so big on television, but the set was small and lit like they were on Mars. They put a mic on Max, checked the sound, and waved him off to the side. "Come on, I will take you to the green room, where you can wait for the segment. Please don't get lost."

He landed in the room with a few other guests, a tall silo of coffee, and a pile of decadent treats. The large screen TV aired the program that was on right now, so Max found a seat. It was almost 7, so he didn't allow himself to get too comfortable. It proved to be a wise choice because his handler was back in minutes. "Max, its time."

He was escorted like he was a celebrity and placed in a chair alone on stage. "Bryan will be here shortly. He's just freshening up," said the handler.

Bryan appeared a few minutes later looking like a man doll. With a toothy grin, he said, "Good morning, Max. Welcome. It is a pleasure to meet you. Now, just relax and imagine we are just having a conversation."

"OK, I'll try."

"Ah hem, Ah HEM, AH HEEM," Bryan cleared his throat. "Ready?"

"This morning, we continue our look at cyber-bullying with a story that is not often highlighted but more common than we would like to believe," Bryan said into the camera. "Max Bennett is a business owner that has experienced one of the most heinous kinds of attacks—one that not only attacks his reputation and character but has taken away the business that he spent a lifetime building. Max, can you tell us your story?"

Max fumbled for a second and then began to tell the story much like he had with Rich. Bryan broke in and said, "You mentioned the hashtag #HearthstoneHell. Behind us, we have a stream that includes that disgusting picture and the posts tagged with it. To date, there are over 5,000, most of which are demeaning, cruel, and some are downright threatening. Our audience can also find this on my personal Facebook page and our homepage at the show."

Max swallowed hard.

"But, do you have any comments on what has become a crusade by some under the hashtag #HelpHearthstone?" Bryan asked.

"Well, I don't know much about it as I have been—"

"Are you trying to say you don't know what is happening out there over the last day?" Bryan said with a surprising chuckle. "You have become somewhat of an anti-hero, Max. People have been posting feverishly in your defense, singing your praises for standing up against your aggressors. So much so that the hashtag has almost as many tags as the other. There are a lot of people that look up to you for telling your story. What do you think about that?"

"I don't know what to say, Bryan. I am still digesting all of this, but I am here because my business is all but ruined due to the cruel and unrelenting attacks by another. It is too late for me, but I am here to help someone else avoid the same fate if I am able," Max said sincerely. "Your producer called me yesterday, and since then, I have been preparing for this moment. I have not had the time to call my wife back let alone check Facebook, so, no I don't know what is happening, but if you are suggesting I am a hero for standing up against a criminal, I have to push back. I think anybody with any sort of character would do exactly what I am doing now if given the chance to save another from a similar fate."

"Sounds like a hero to me," Bryan said to the crowd. "What do you think?" The crowd responded with a thunderous applause.

"Thank you Bryan, but I would ask that you save that title for someone more deserving," Max said, annoyed. Bryan and the crowd responded with another round of applause and supportive cheers.

The interview concluded with Bryan pumping Max's arm up and down like he had just met a rock star. "Thank you for sharing your story with us, Max. We wish you all the best at Hearthstone."

The lights dimmed, the segment was over, and Bryan said, "Great job, Max. You are a natural. Tell me something, you really didn't know about the other hashtag?" Bryan asked.

"No," Max had decided he did not like Bryan and did not want to prolong the conversation, so he turned off into the green room to collect his things. "Thank you for letting me come in."

It was all too much to handle. Max had not been prepared for the role of hero. He was barely able to handle restaurant owner, or husband, or even dog owner. Hero was too heavy of a cross to bear. After he left the television studio, he decided to walk to the train station to clear his head. He had a couple of hours before his train was due to depart, so he decided to stop to get coffee at a little place off of 7th Ave. "Can I have a coffee? Cream and sugar, please," Max asked.

Another man sat next to him at the bar. "Hey Charlie, can I get a pils?"

Max changed his mind immediately. "I'll have that too, Charlie. Skip the coffee"

Max and the stranger at the bar shared completely meaningless conversation about football, weather, and beer for an hour. The conversation lingered on each topic and had no final destination. He could have never explained how therapeutic the nonsensical chatter was for Max, so when it was time to go, he simply pushed away from the bar and said, "Nice talking to you."

When he got settled on the train, Max still had a little buzz from the beer. He thought he was finally lubricated enough to see what was being posted on social media, so he grabbed his phone and swiped it open. He went straight to Facebook and was immediately overwhelmed with the amount of activity. His page had jump to over 15,000 likes, with people from all over the states. Everyone from hate-filled, anti-chicken eaters to countless young women and some men that claimed to be having an affair with Max or at least a crush posted on his wall. There was even one attractive cougar from the Midwest that offered up a marriage proposal. "Don't these people have anything better to do?" he said quietly.

The story of Hearthstone had taken on a life of its own. Sitting on the train, by himself, he felt that it was like they were talking about another guy and another restaurant somewhere in another town. His mind was tired, and he couldn't think about it for another minute. The only thing to do was to go to the bar.

By the time the train came to a stop in Albany, Max had to hang on to the walls to get off the car. Even with the support of the railing, Max felt like he could have been swallowed up by the platform gap. It was then he decided it would be prudent to top off his buzz in the little gin mill across the street from the station and take a cab home.

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Chapter 9

"The point of revenge is not in the completion but in the process."

-Park Chan-Wook

Damen hadn't slept in weeks. He would fade in and out of a deeper consciousness but never truly slept. As if watching Max on his local station yesterday wasn't enough, seeing him this morning on the national morning show was too much to take. This guy was like a grease fire. Every time Damen threw water on him, he just spread. Max was the talk of the town and more popular than ever. Last night, after the local piece aired, there was a constant chatter about it at the bar. The asshole must have an angel on his shoulder. I am going to knock the little winged prick off if it kills me, thought Damen as the conversations drifted into the pickup window.

The speculation about who might be perpetrating these crimes was intense. At one point, Tony came behind the line, a move that drove Damen crazy, and then spoke, another action that Damen couldn't handle without homicidal thoughts. "The rumor is you are behind these things, Damen," Tony said. "I am going to assume they are just rumors because if they are true, you cannot work here anymore."

"Tony, I would be a fool to be in the middle of this. I don't want anything to do with the guy. The last thing I would do is waste my time setting up online accounts. I don't even have a Facebook page. Everyone knows how we feel about each other, but believe me, I do not want the heat," Damen said.

Tony accepted the explanation, but much like those that had come before him, he was beginning to develop disturbing trends and didn't trust that Damen was telling the truth. For now, he would tolerate it because he was not prepared to have a cookless kitchen.

Finding a final solution turned into a sick and fanatical obsession. Killing him was an option but not ideal. If he was dead, how would he ever make him suffer the way he should? That would not do. He toyed with ways to destroy Max once and for all as he prepared the pretzel dough for his signature rolls. He kneaded it hard and fast, transferring some of his anger onto the dough, but it was only enough to stay sane, at least from the outside. Finally, he let the dough rest and went on to the soups and the other prep. It was an hour later when he turned back to the mix. Even though it was dangerous to work with, the key to the pretzel crust was a lye bath. It was one of the few things he did at the club that he was proud of, and he couldn't bring himself to shortcut it. He grabbed plastic gloves and dipped each roll into the lye mixture and set it on a tray. He was careful not to splash the caustic liquid on his skin, as he knew first hand that the base burn hurt like hell.

As he swirled the small ball of dough around the bowl, his mind drifted into a darker and darker place. His body responded to his frustration by involuntarily swirling the ball of dough faster and faster as the mixture began to lap over the bowl. "Ahh, shit!" Damen yelped as he ripped off the glove. In his maniacal trance, he managed to splash the liquid up and into the glove, where it started to burn. The pain was intense, as if his skin was going to fall off. He rinsed it feverishly under the water and it finally subsided. "Damn, that hurts," he said to himself. After he inspected his wounds, he finished the project and poured the rest of the solution down the sink. He threw the dishes in the washer, and as he placed the bottle of lye back in the protective bag, he couldn't help but notice the red skull and crossbones. He stared at it queerly for what seemed like forever, his mind reeling with possibility. Sometimes, it just takes a simple cue to spark an idea. In Damen's case, it sparked a wildfire.

When the kitchen was ready for dinner, Damen grabbed his phone and texted Amy. "Hey sexy, miss you," he said. She was surprised by the text because she hadn't heard from him since his last day at Hearthstone. She didn't respond. She couldn't, but even though she didn't answer him, she was aroused by the message. To Amy, Damen was like a wild tiger, exciting and strong...and dangerous. He was a perfectly irresistible vice for someone like her. She knew better than to pursue him.

It was early in her shift. As she set up her bar, she couldn't help but think about the text. She was relieved when the first customer arrived and she could focus on something other than her phone. Damen knew how he affected Amy, and even though he did not hear back from her, he felt sure that he was on her mind. She was too easy to manipulate to be fun, but in this instance, her fallibility would prove to be exceedingly helpful in what was turning out to be a brilliant plan, even for Damen. He was patient. The end of the evening would come soon enough. For now, he would consider small details and prepare.

Max was content to sit at the dark corner of the bar a little longer before he reclaimed his life. He watched himself being replayed on the local news channel. He was completely detached from who he saw on the screen. Where Bryan saw a hero, Max only saw a tired, sad man who was finally beaten. He should have been revitalized by the likes, favorites, and stars on social media, but he was only wary of it. The same swarm that was coming to his aid now were those that picked his flesh clean last month. There is no loyalty beyond the moment. Max was convinced the collective could turn on him again with another post from Ken or Damen or some other unhappy soul. Anyone without a conscious could turn the mob as easily as manipulating a spigot.

After several hours of nurturing his stupor, the bartender kindly offered Max a cab instead of a drink. He accepted. The ride from the train station was long, and the cab smelled like an ashtray baking on an old radiator. He was hot and queasy, and he was grateful when the cab turned into the parking lot. Although he couldn't quite deduce the impact to his business, he noticed the lot was packed, especially this early in the evening. He fumbled for the fare and handed over a ball of cash to the driver, who was less than amused. When the transaction was complete, Max poured himself out of the backseat and gave an almost inaudible "Thank you." The moment the door clicked shut, the driver drove away, leaving Max, a rumpled mess, to find himself safely into the cabin.

A rush of home smell hit Max in the face as he opened the door. Gunther trailed close behind. He was happy to have his human back, even in the compromised condition he was in. Max stumbled his way to the back of the house and let the dog out the back door of the cottage. The view from the back of the building was a stark contrast to the view from the front. From the front all you could see was the back of Hearthstone. In the back, it looked out over a field of hay that shone like a rainbow of harvest colors as the sun set behind it. His blurred vision added to the watercolor effect of the scene. When Gunther was done and back in the house, Max collapsed on the couch. Immediately, his world began to turn like a horror flick fun house. "I drank too much." Gunther didn't need to be told.

Each time he shut his eyes, it felt as if his body got caught up in a whirling dervish that moved faster and faster until Max knew the inevitable was about to happen. With one more sickening spin, Max jumped up and ran into the bathroom, violently unleashing the evil that lay inside him. Gunther could only sit and watch as Max hurled and heaved everything into the bowl that he had consumed in what felt like the last month of his life. When he was done, he lay on the cool, hard bathroom floor. The tile acted like a massive cold compress on Max's abused body. Although he would have preferred the couch, the dog lay down with a groan and curled up like a 150 lb house cat. Within minutes, Max found his way over to Gunther, using him as a body pillow, and was snoring like a sumo wrestler.

The restaurant at the club closed earlier than most. The rush on a golf course hits hard at dusk then dissipates quickly. That suited Damen just fine. He had things to do. He quickly and thoroughly finished closing down the kitchen and made his way to the door before Tony could catch him in a conversation. That fucking guy can talk forever, Damen thought.

He moved quickly across the parking lot and jumped into his car before anyone else could catch him. Once he was moving, he relaxed a little and turned on the radio. It was still too early to start, so he stopped by the drugstore and picked up a six-pack of Saranac Black Forest to keep him company while he waited. He drove around a while with a beer between his legs and listening to classic rock. On happier days, he would have done this for fun. Tonight, it was a stall tactic.

After a couple of hours, it was time to assess the status of the scene, so he made his way to Hearthstone. From a vantage point in the lot across the street, Damen could see several customers still lingering in the tavern. Ugh, they could be there all night, he thought. He had one more beer, so he sipped it slowly, not knowing how long he might have to make it last.

While he waited for the bar to empty, Damen pulled around back to look for Max's car. My lucky day, he thought. That asshole is still in the city. Probably cutting a movie deal. Max out of town does make the job easier, albeit less exciting. Minutes turned into an hour. At exactly 10:50, the last customer wandered out into the parking lot. That was Damen's cue. He drove around to the front of the restaurant, parked the car, and headed in. "Hey, sexy," said Damen.

"Damen, hey, um, Damen, you can't be here. If Max finds out, I'm dead," Amy said.

"I know. I will only stay for one. I just can't get you off my mind," Damen said.

"I know. I think about you all the time too. But, you really hurt me Damen. And, you hurt a lot of people around here."

"Sometimes my temper gets the best of me. Do you have a small beer you can spare back there. I promise I will drink it quick."

"Just one. Then you are really going to have to leave."

"OK, fair enough." Damen sat down at the bar, and Amy poured him a short one. She was visibly uncomfortable with Damen's presence, and he loved it. "How is it going here at Hearthstone?"

"Fine. It's a job. Kurt is doing well, but I wish you two could have worked it out," Amy said.

"I know. It just wasn't meant to be. Plus, we are doing great things at the club. We are really pushing the envelope. It is a better fit for me," Damen lied. "I'll be right back. I just have to use the men's room."

After a six-pack, he did have to piss, but he had other things to do while he was in there. After he took care of business, he surveyed the room and fixated on the small window near the sinks. He leaned against the porcelain, turned the lock on the window, and wedged a pen cap in the track to give himself a head start from the outside. It was all too easy. With access established, he went back to finish his beer.

He had done what he needed to do. He could have left then, but that was not his style. The act itself was so easy and quick, but he liked to savor the process of revenge. He sat down and sipped his beer. "Are you seeing anyone?" Damen asked boldly.

"Yes. He is a nice guy, and he treats me like a princess," Amy said.

"I think about you a lot. Maybe we could go out for a drink, just to talk," Damen pursued.

"I don't know."

"Come sit next to me for a minute and then I will go," Damen coaxed. She complied, hoping, but not too much, that he was telling the truth.

She came around the bar and glided onto a stool next to Damen. She was a good-looking girl with long, dark hair and a body that could stop traffic. Her little shift dress landed mid-thigh and was like an invitation to flirt with what was under it. Damen had no intention of calling her for a drink. When this night was over, he wasn't even sure if he would stay in town. Why would he? Hearthstone would be done, and he had nothing keeping him there. But for right now, she was a darling, timid little bird that Damen wanted. "I can smell your hair. You always smell so good."

Amy smiled weakly. "Damen, I really think you should go. I have some side work to do and then I am meeting my boyfriend in Troy," she said.

"Amy, when I get next to you, you are too much to resist. I have stayed away because I cannot keep my hands off of you when you are near me." He reached over with only his fingers and touched her face softly; he was sure not to lean into her in order to coax her to him. She revealed her vulnerability completely by dropping her cheek in his hand. In response, he conformed it to the shape of her face. His palm was big and warm, and his touch was enough to put her nerves on end. He could have bent her over right there and taken her like an animal and he knew it.

He pulled his hand away and took a sip of his beer. "So what's your plan here at Hearthstone? Tony is looking for a waitress if you are interested." He could have been reciting War and Peace, but Amy had stopped processing the meaning of the spoken word. With one touch from Damen, her body was left wanting more, and all senses were on standby for any cue of the next possibility. As if he could read her mind, he swung his legs over to her side of the stool. His hand brushed over her bare knees, and they were left staring at each other. "So, what do you think?"

"About what?" Amy asked.

"About coming to the club." He had full access to her beautiful legs, which were now crossed. From where he was sitting, the little dress draped over the dark recess to conceal the vanishing point, but he knew it was right there, inches away, and he teased himself with the idea of getting to it.

"I don't know. Things are working out OK here," Amy said.

Using the very tip of his fingers, he traced the hemline of her dress across her legs. She shivered just a little but didn't try to stop him. His crotch grew as he watched her subtle reaction. "You really should go," Amy said as she looked down at his fingers. He pushed the delicate fabric up slowly to expose even more tantalizing flesh. To his delight, she unfolded her legs. She was so easy. She offered no resistance. It wasn't even a challenge.

Amy was burning for Damen. She tried to remain calm, but her body was held by an invisible beam that would not let her pull away. She heard herself say, "You really should go," like it was coming from somewhere else. She really didn't mean it. She wanted him so bad she could image him pushing up her dress and pulling down her panties to get at her. She could almost feel him inside her again. She longed to feel him push himself deep into her. She yearned to be carried away to the point of ecstasy with him, feeling every spasm. She ached to feel the warmth as he gave into his instincts. She didn't care about the consequences.

Damen pulled his hand away and straightened her dress. "You're right. I should go. It is getting late and you have a date," he said in a playful tone. She was not the destination for the evening. He had to stay focused, but she was fun to tease. It was enough for Damen to imagine Amy, all worked up, attacking her boyfriend and thinking about him as her boyfriend laid into her. "If you want, we can get together for a drink next week," he said, with no intention to follow up.

Stupefied, Amy couldn't even move. The passion that had consumed her moments ago turned quickly into shame and embarrassment. Damen bent down for a hug, and although she reciprocated, she felt nauseous. "OK, maybe," she said shyly.

With a quick goodbye, Damen was gone. A crooked little grin found its way onto his face, knowing what he did to Amy. "Stupid girl," he said under his breath. He took his car around the corner to the back of the municipal lot. There wasn't a soul in sight, and the night was crisp but very pleasant. The sky was clear, and the stars shone bright in the country sky. Damen, still worked up from the game with Amy, decided to help himself while he waited. It would have been more pleasant with Amy, but then he would have had to deal with her afterward. This was a better way to go, and after he was done, his mind was sharp and ready for what he had to do next.

Max regained consciousness well after dark. He was stiff from lying on the floor but otherwise felt pretty good, considering what he had put himself through. The details were a bit hazy, but he thought puking up the poison he worked all day to consume was probably the best thing that could happen. "Come on bud. Let's find a snack." Gunther followed Max to the kitchen and they both stared into the fridge. By now, Hearthstone was closed, so the pair was forced to get creative with what was in the fridge. Max scored a piece of smoked salmon, still shrink-wrapped, and some capers. "Perfect," he said. He grabbed the fish, capers, and a sleeve of crackers and shared the meal with Gunther.

After the meal and a cup of tea, Max was feeling almost human. He had slept for hours, so he wasn't ready to go back to bed. He had successfully avoided the phone and social media and wasn't sure if he could handle that either. The activity choices were quickly narrowing, so he opted for some television. After an episode of Law and Order, he was bored with that too. "Let's take a walk over and look at the number," Max said to Gunther. The dog responded with a long and disapproving moan. "OK, you can stay here, big baby." Max slipped on his shoes and pulled on a sweatshirt. He made his way toward the door, and as he shut it behind him, he heard a soft whimper from the other side. When he opened the door, Gunther was standing there like a jilted girlfriend. "Come on you goof."

Max and Gunther walked across the parking lot to the back door. Max grappled with the key in the dark, and after what seemed like forever, finally got the door open. He and Gunther came into the kitchen, locking the door behind them. Max walked into the small office and gathered up the paperwork. The pair then headed out to the tavern. On their way through the dining room, Gunther circled the fireplace and found his favorite spot. "You want a fire?" There were still embers, so when Max threw on some kindling, it went up immediately. He threw on a couple of logs for Gunther and made his way to the tavern to look over the numbers.

A beer crossed his mind until he actually smelled it. He opted for a soda, flipped on the TV, and grabbed the stack of papers. He sifted through the receipts and bills and finally opened the sales log. He was pleasantly surprised to see the number had leapfrogged the week before. "Huh" fell out of his mouth. "Tragedy is a good look for me."

Damen pulled into the lot across the street. There wasn't a car in the lot at Hearthstone, and he didn't want to raise any eyebrows from passing troopers. He jumped out of the car with a small backpack and found his way to the back of the restaurant. He came up to the bathroom window and could see the crack of light where he had propped it open. The window was higher than the rest in the building, so he had to drag a brick over to use as a lift. He hoisted himself up and into the window and dangled his legs on the other side until they made contact with the sink.

Max thought he heard something at the back of the building, but when he walked through the dining room, Gunther hadn't budged, so he figured it was the TV and went back to his perch at the bar.

Damen stepped in the sink and then onto the floor. The room was dark, so he waited for his eyes to adjust. Once he could make out the structures in the room, he moved across the floor and opened the door. The bathrooms were down the hall from the kitchen, both in the back of the house, so Damen easily missed the activity in the tavern. He made his way into the kitchen and flicked on the light in the storeroom. He walked into the cooler and found the pot of beet borscht soup. There was always a pot of it in the house. It was amazing to Damen how customers would come in just for that slop. The only thing good about the nasty dish was the sour cream on top.

Max began to pack up the papers and reports. It was late, and his day was finally catching up with him, so it was time to head home. Gunther heard the movement from the tavern and sauntered out to meet Max. "Ready buddy?" Instead of going back through the kitchen, Max decided to leave out the front. He thought it was a good habit to exit the way his customers did so he could experience Hearthstone the way they did. It helped him manage the experience and stay on top of potential issues in the front of the house. He unlocked the door and held it for the dog, then shut and locked it behind him. The pair walked along the sidewalk toward the parking lot and the cottage. In his periphery, Max noticed a car in the other lot. It was unusual but not unheard of for a patron to err on the conservative side and catch a ride with a friend, especially when a novice beer drinker gets ahold of a triple bock or two. "Come on slow poke." Gunther kept looking behind and slowing down as he walked away. When they rounded the corner to the back of the building, a sliver of light shot across the back of the parking lot. "Damn, did I do that?" Max asked rhetorically. "OK, this will just take a second pal. You've seen the electric bill."

Damen opened up the container of lye and shook the white powder over the pot of stew. He had no idea if the corrosive alkaline would change the taste of the soup, but it wouldn't matter much. By the time they swallowed even one spoonful, the customer would have bigger things to worry about. "Serves them right for eating this shit in the first place," Damen said. He didn't know how much would wreak the intended havoc, so he opted to add the better part of the bottle before he stirred it in. It didn't seem to change the color or texture of the wretched mélange, so he was satisfied with his work and walked to the back of the storage room to get his backpack and collect his things.

Max opened the back door just as he saw the light break as if someone had passed in front of the source. Until that moment, he thought when people said, "The hairs on the back of my neck stood up," that it was just an expression. It wasn't just the hairs on the back of his neck. He could feel every single follicle on his body as he passed through the door. He knew things were not right but didn't yet know how wrong they were. In hindsight, he may have made another choice, but at that moment, it seemed like a good idea to push through the door and meet the trouble head on. He took one step into the back room only to nearly run into Damen, who was walking straight toward him. The two men stood frozen, each sizing up their options.

"Hey Max. Thought you were still in the city," Damen said.

"Damen, you shouldn't be here," Max said too calmly.

"Oh, I know, but you know, I left a few recipes in the book that I could really use over at the club," Damen said as if it were a normal day.

"I'm calling the police right now." With those words, a wild stream of images flew in front of Damen's eyes. MyTable, Guy Doxin, jail....

Max reached for his phone and swiped it open. Just then, Damen grabbed the pot of polluted soup and threw it at Max. The thick, slimy red soup clung to Max like mud. His phone was covered in the goop, rendering it useless. Damen made a dash for the door, but Gunther made a run at him, pushing him back into the building and into the pool of slimy stew. The two men wrestled violently, both covered in the mix. If they weren't dead set on killing each other, the scene could have looked like an exhibition mud-wrestling match. Gunther remained an obstacle in front of the door and towered over the two men rolling around in front of him. He was prepared to pounce but could not decide who was friend or foe in the wriggling mess.

Damen broke from Max's grip, and each scrambled to what could have been a tie-up stance. "You aren't sending me to jail you little fuck," Damen said.

"You aren't leaving here unless it is in the back of a squad car, asshole," Max retorted.

Damen dodged to one side and lost his footing in the soup, and Max lunged on him again. He connected with a strong kidney punch but could not stop him from breaking free. It was like trying to wrangle an angry greased pig. At that moment, Max's skin started to burn. It was as if there were tiny little fire ants crawling around in his sweatshirt. Damen was feeling the effects of the chemical too. With a quick glance to the prep table and the empty bottle of lye, Max turned to Damen and said, "What did you do?!"

As the caustic sludge took hold of their skin, they were now fighting a common enemy. They both stripped down, and while still trying to subdue Damen, Max ripped off his shirt to expose his skin, which was already showing signs of scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life. Fueled by the culmination of physical and emotional pain that Damen had caused, Max came at him with a vengeance that took Damen off guard. With his head tucked into his shoulders, Max barreled toward Damen and caught him around the waist, carrying him across the room until he landed on a rack of kitchen tools. Both men and pots hit the floor, but Damen, now on full defensive, scrambled away from Max, only to land on top of the grease bucket, coating himself with another layer of slime. "I don't know why you chose me to fuck with, but it is over tonight," Max seethed.

"You don't deserve this place, you talentless little scumbag. I put you on the map and then you fuck me?! That is not how this story is going to be written."

"You put me on the map? You are delusional. You, through your own narcissistic, sadistic, maniacal shit, have destroyed yourself. Look at you man. You are serving hot dogs out of a sandwich unit. You are a fucking loser, man!"

It was Damen's turn to come at Max. He couldn't get any footing to do serious damage, but the two clawed at each other like bulls in rut. Max caught his ground and charged at Damen again, pushing him against the kitchen door, and the two spilled out into the dining room.

"Have you seen your reviews? You are a laughing stock—a running joke," Damen taunted.

"Look around. Where the fuck do you think you are? You are standing in my domain, you fucking diner cook," Max rebutted.

They clashed again, knocking over tables and partitions in their wake. Within minutes, the dining room was unrecognizable but for the fireplace that still flickered with flames from Gunther's nap less than an hour ago.

They were feeling the strain of the confrontation as each stopped to catch their breath. "You aren't leaving Damen," Max said defiantly.

"Oh, I'm leaving Max," Damen said calmly.

Damen picked up a chair and careened toward Max. He caught him in the left temple with the leg of the chair, knocking him to the ground. It was a fortunate miss for Damen because Max landed on the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was out cold.

The room screeched to a halt, and the air was suddenly still. The only sound that could be heard was Damen's labored breath. He stood there surveying his destruction, savoring the moment as he considered the final act. It was his to end, but he didn't have all night to debate a plan of action. Max was beginning to moan. The minute he was conscious, Damen knew Max would find a way to bury him. He would have much preferred to see Max suffer through the shame and embarrassment of maiming and perhaps even killing some of his loyal customers, but although the goal stays the same, sometimes you have to adjust your plan based on a change in the situation. He would destroy Max, but this time it would be final.

As Max's moans became more defined, Damen knew the time to act was now. He grabbed the poker from the fireplace and raised it above his head. It would have to be clean. He could not leave the job half finished. Besides, he didn't want to watch him wiggle and squirm as the life left his body. He wanted it over.

All of his focus was on his target as he took aim, so he did not notice the crosshairs on his own forehead. From the kitchen, Gunther came barreling toward his mark. The dog flew across the room, unhindered by the chairs and overturned tables, reaching Damen in seconds. He was not going to accept anything other than victory, and he was willing to give his life to get it. Like a lion, he lunged at Damen's neck, knocking both of them to the floor. Damen tried to back away from the huge animal, but he was no match for his natural strength, agility, and skill. Gunther regrouped and came at Damen again, who was now lame and startled. He ripped at his face and hands, taking chunks of skin and meat with each swipe. He was crazed with a basic instinct to protect. If Max was coherent, he would have tried to stop the slaughter but he could only moan in pain as he regained consciousness. Gunther grabbed and ripped and pulled and pushed at Damen's disfigured frame. He was surely dead already, but his body had not yet caught up with his condition as he gave one last attempt to save himself by hobbling to his feet. Before he could regain his balance, his aggressor dealt a deciding blow by plowing him into the fireplace and on top of the flame. His body, covered in grease, ignited immediately. He flailed wildly on top of the hearth and convulsed out onto the floor where he was like a wick, lighting partitions, drapes and furniture on fire until the room was ablaze.

Max opened his eyes in time to witness the horror happening in front of him. In his stupor, the fireplace took on an almost anthropomorphic quality. He thought it was almost like the heart of Hearthstone, the place that had brought comfort and solace to so many, had kept it's immense destructive power dormant, waiting to protect it's master if ever the need arose. And when the time was finally right, it fulfilled its duty by enrobing the enemy in flames that he could not escape.

As the fire rippled across the room, Max began to understand the gravity of the situation, and dreamy mysticism about inanimate objects gave way to grave reality. Max struggled to his feet and called for Gunther, who was still fixated on Damen writhing on the floor. He was all but dead. Even if he could have saved him, Max would reflect years later, he wasn't sure he would. His only job now was to get him and his dog out of the fiery cave. "Gunther, NOW!" Max yelled over the flames. Gunther snapped from his trance and trotted across the room that would soon be impassable. They both ran for the tavern and out the door, hurling themselves into the parking lot. By now, the flames had consumed every chair, every table, every menu and every picture that had preserved the memories of Hearthstone. From the parking lot, the scene took on an eerie, surreal hue. As the building burned, it cast a light out into the darkness that created an unnatural aura around the surrounding trees. If it weren't his life that were burning in front of him, Max thought it might be beautiful.

The parking lot was empty. Although he could hear the sirens in the distance, he was still alone with the spectacle. For only a moment, he stood still, feeling the heat on his face. And for that instant, he felt liberated. It was over—completely over. There was nothing to negotiate, nothing to try to rebuild, nothing to sell at an auction. There was just a funeral pyre for his past and pursuer. Thanks to Damen and his undeterred quest to destroy him, Max would wake up tomorrow with an altered destiny, never to reclaim the life he had yesterday. As Hearthstone burned to the ground, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean—like it never happened.

Unlike Damen, Max would wake up tomorrow. He would work again, love again and laugh again. But the experience of Hearthstone had changed him. He would move on, but on another, some would say, less exceptional man's path. His seemingly unending resilience had an end indeed. After Hearthstone, he would be the topic of conversation of every social media platform. His name would be heard at the Creekside bar as the patrons speculated what his future might hold. He would be the biggest news in town - for a while. But, it was soon enough that the ashes of Hearthstone were buried under snow and another name would take his place at the bar. Max was relieved to leave the bitter war of social scrutiny to someone else.

For Max, the experience of life was utterly and completely different. What seemed to fit like a second skin a short time ago felt like a pair of shoes two sizes too small. The months that followed the fire, he and Viv were busy with the litany of details that comes with closing a business, but after the monotony of life became the norm, they found themselves strangers. The obvious conclusion left them both depleted. The order of life has a way of finding it's original path. For Max, his fate was corrected in the form of a new life, a new love and new dreams that took years to unfold but proved to be even richer than those that he once had – it was the path that was always meant to be his.

Fate was determined to bring Max and Damen together. Perhaps, although Max had the makings of what some would define as a great man, it wasn't his divine decree. Perhaps Damen was a sort of celestial arbitrator sent to fix the flaw in the higher order. To that end, he achieved that goal. With fate on his side and the power of the collective at his command, he built a campaign of destruction. He leveraged our willingness to believe in the failure of another to avoid the discomfort of experiencing the apparent success of another. We are all in peril of falling prey to a bully-culture where each and every show of individuality, by ones that are indeed brighter than the rest, is shamed into nothingness and mercilessly shut down by the herd. It is superficial social peace fueled by envy, force, and fear, one in which there is no freedom of expression out of concern for retribution.

In our comparison-soaked culture, it's hard to avoid looking around at what other people are doing and judge ourselves against it. It is tempting to slip into a habit of envy, comparison, and collective punishment. Given our preoccupation with the success or failure of others, one could deduce that admiration and envy are responses that point us toward what we value most. So, would we not be better served as a society to turn inwards, to face the heart of the matter: our own desires and fears? If the quality of taking risks is admirable, dare more greatly. If one's self-assuredness is an attractive trait, take pride in your strengths and champion them.

Heed this: envying someone's successes, gifts, or particular brand of radiance to the point of working to destroy it only lowers the bar with which you and your children will be judged. Instead, be inspired to embody the qualities we admire and express them in your own unique way. With this as a backbone to our culture, we can bring richness to the human condition that will lift us all to a higher place.

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