There was a crackle on the line, and the voice coming through the speaker was muffled. Muffled, but familiar

"T!" Yochi slapped the even-keeled caterer on the back. Eli T. wasn’t only the tour’s claim to fame; he was its very soul. Because as Yochi had been telling Binick from their very first meeting, food was the everything of everything.

“T,” Yochi said earnestly. “I hope dinner is ready, and that it has a five-digit calorie count, and that it’s being served on 24-karat gold plates. Oh, Noe did the game reserves today, he’s coming home with the appetite of a lion.”

“Are you kidding?” Eli Tannenbaum retorted. “I’ve been personally massaging his cow for the past year. I definitely hope he’s hungry.”

“Good.” Yochi drummed his fingers on his tablet. “Anyway, just making sure, you’ve got the nut-free menu for Strohman?”

“Check.”

“Staff knows to start airing wines at five today?”

“Check.”

“Are we good with the edible flowers? They didn’t wilt yet? And what about Anthony, is he feeling better? Is he on for plating tonight?”

“Check and check. The flowers have about another day, and Anthony texted me that he’ll be here at four. You can go have your coffee now, Hersko.”

“I will, T, a full 24 ounces, and a really elaborate one at that. I’m just reminding you to remind your staff to speed it up a bit between courses tonight. The fireworks show is starting at eight, and we need to give our guests time to digest those cows before the skies light up.”

“You got it, bro,” T sang.

Yochi brought his thumb up in the air. Then he tucked his tablet under his arm and moved along to the next wing of the kitchen to check in with the pastry chef. After that he sat down for a quick meeting with hotel management to once again review the Shabbos electricity plan, took a call from a guest — “What time is the second Shacharis minyan being held tomorrow? Can I reserve the davening? It’s my uncle’s yahrtzeit, I want to say Kaddish, he never had kids.” — then sat down with Binick to “quickly go over a handful of things,” which ended up taking well over an hour.

He was finally sitting down in a corner of the lobby with his coffee — yes lotus, yes cinnamon, yes whip, yes cardamom, whatever that is — when his phone rang.

Not answering. This is my break. I don’t want to hear a human voice right now.

He ignored it. He peeled back the lid of his coffee and took a sip.

But a minute later, his phone rang again. Well. Tour director responsibility. He put down his coffee cup and glanced at the screen. It said Unknown. He frowned.

Glancing wistfully at his coffee, he answered.

“Yochi?”

There was a crackle on the line, and the voice coming through the speaker was muffled. Muffled, but familiar.