Panora {#Watty2016}

Chapter 5: Pan and the Millers

Present day:

"Sammy, hurry up, we don't want to be late."

"I'm hurrying, mama."

"Not fast enough, sweetheart, mama's got to get to work."

Pan stood at the bottom of the stairs of their home, putting on a long black trench coat. It was already 7:45. Sam had to get to school by eight and she had to get ready for the dinner that was being hosted at the fine dining restaurant she managed. Putting pearl earrings in her ear she went to the full body mirror and inspected herself. Bright green eyes stared back at her as she pulled at her long sleeved, knee length black pencil dress and buttoned up her trench coat, tying a small belt around her waist. A pearl colored cashmere scarf neatly tied around her neck and smart, six inch heels on her feet completed her look. She looked as the manager of an upscale five star restaurant in New York should look; elegant, smart, and professional.

Just as she finish inspecting herself, a six year old Sammy finally came down.

Pan sighed, looking at his untied boot laces, and bent down to tie them. He had insisted before that he was a big boy and did not need her to tie them, but he sometimes forgot, or as Pan knew, pretended he did. She fixed the issue by letting him know that even big boys needed help once in awhile and he gave in without complaint.

Picking up her bag, she held his hand and led him to the front door.

"Remember to give Miss Rodriguez that letter, okay?" she reminded him locking the door.

Five minutes later they arrived at Sammy's school. Seeing him to the gate, she reminded the guard of the same thing she did every day.

"How are you today, Rob?"

"Certainly, Miss Marks." He smiled.

"Thank you, Rob." Her lips curved up into subtle smile before looking at her watch to see that she was running late.

With a quick dash to her car she was back on the highway.

If the man in the car in front of her would so much as glance into his rearview mirror, he would have seen the death glare Pan was giving him and rightfully so. He drove like he got his driving license as a gift card for Christmas and it was really trying her nerves. Honking her horn, Pan looked at her watch. If she was so much as three minutes late, chaos would descend on her crew. By the time she finally arrived at the restaurant, she was late by five.

Pan took off her shades, locked her car door, and slung her bag on her shoulder. When she stepped in the front door of La Figaro she met a war zone. Her maître d', Pier, stood in the middle of the dining room with wine red napkins in his hands, shouting furiously at the head decorator.

"How can you do something so stupide?! Thiz-iz-a-black-tie-event. What are we going to do with all the red napkins, sir, tell me?"

"Don't shout at me, I don't know! I made a mistake, sue me," Donatello the designer screamed back.

Behind them, her head Italian chef was screaming at the top of his lungs. "Where is the linguine? Who touch it?! Did you touch it?" His wrath was directed at his sou chef.

Mary, usually a nice, quiet girl, was not today. Her kind face was flushed red in anger. "How could you accuse me of that?! I got in at the same time as you and you know it." Her voice a loud hiss.

"So where it go?! I did not touch it," he replied

Just as she thought it was bad enough, Murphy, the head waiter came barreling from the back store room.