Pessie aimed for a casual tone. “If he had an opportunity, would he take it? It would mean traveling. It’s… a big job.”

Rivkie blinked wildly. “Yes! I think so! I mean, I’d have to ask him, but…”

But he would grab it.

What am I doing? This is a newbie caterer, not a real chef. The tour will never hire him. Why am I giving her false hope?

On the other hand, the tour was less than a month away. Yochi’s anxious eyes flashed through her mind, his mounting panic. The tour was at risk. If it was this or nothing — maybe?

And maybe not? Would Yochi even appreciate her getting involved? Or would he think she didn’t trust him to solve the problem on his own?

She really wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure about anything these days. It felt like she and Yochi were traveling on separate roads.

Still, there was nothing to lose. She couldn’t make things worse, right?

Maybe it would be smarter to ask Yochi first, before raising Rivkie’s hopes. But for some reason, she was wary of doing that. If it came from the Berkowitzes, she was in safer territory somehow.

Pessie straightened her back. “Listen,” she told Rivkie. “You know my husband is the director for Touring Together, right? Long story short, they don’t have a caterer for their Succos tour.”

Rivkie’s eyes widened.

“They usually work with very experienced caterers,” Pessie cautioned gently. “But if your husband wants to give it a shot…”

“He could do it,” Rivkie said with a sudden burst of confidence. “He worked with Polner for years, he knows what it takes to cater these kinds of events.”

“Tell him to call my husband. Maybe they could meet.”

“Okay! I will!”

“And now we should probably get started, huh?”

Rivkie groaned, but Pessie knew it was a fake groan. The weariness in her client’s shoulders had vanished.

Gedalya Berkowitz reminded Yochi of himself.

Which was good news and bad news.

The door had hardly closed behind the young caterer when Binick exploded. “The largest event he ever hosted was a family shabbaton for thirty couples!” He banged on his desk, causing one of the sample welcome packages to topple over. “We can’t risk the food!”

Yochi righted the Lucite box. “It wasn’t a gefilte fish and yapchik shabbaton,” he offered in Berkowitz’s defense. “It was the Rosenstein family. You saw the pictures of the Melaveh Malkah. Nothing amateur there.”

“I know, but still! We promised people Eli T. This is like… generic brand soda. Who is he anyway? Nobody heard his name.”

True, his name hadn’t been on the list of caterers Yochi had reached out to. When Berkowitz had called him, Yochi had cleared his throat, about to say no with some polite apology — “We’re working on a lead, I need to see where it’s going” type of excuse. But first he’d asked, out of curiosity, “How did you hear about this opening?”

“Your wife told my wife about it, she said I should call you,” Berkowitz had said.

Pessie?

Yochi hoped his shock hadn’t been too evident. Pessie had made an effort to rescue the tour. She was trying — for his sake. She cared.

And if she cared, the least he could do was give her effort a real chance.

Instead of apologizing, Yochi had cleared his throat — and promptly scheduled a meeting.

Binick swiveled in his seat. “We need a caterer with a reputation,” he said adamantly.

“We’ll be the ones to launch his reputation. Bill him as a new and secret star.” Yochi winked. “Look, Meir, if the food is good, our guests won’t care. And the food is good. All references confirmed that.” He propped his tablet on Binick’s desk and once again loaded the pictures Berkowitz had sent. “I like his eagerness,” he admitted. “He’s going to stretch himself to please us. He has as much to lose as we have.”

“We can’t risk the food,” Binick repeated dejectedly.

Yochi turned his tablet to Binick. Binick zoomed the picture and nudged it around the screen. “It’s okay,” he conceded. “But it’s not T. He tries too hard.”

“But T. is going to mentor him.” Eli T had offered to fly in for two days between Yom Kippur and Succos. “Berkowitz will learn on the job. I think… it’ll be all right, Meir. With Hashem’s help.”

Binick took a brownie bar out of a welcome package and broke it in half. “I have no choice but to rely on your extraordinary bitachon.”

They had no choice, period.

But… “I just thought of an idea,” Yochi said slowly.

“Let’s hear.”

“Lizman.”

“What about her?”

Yochi closed his tablet case.

“She’s out there in the industry, and she’ll be with us throughout the tour. If she brings her experience to the table, and we sort of team her up with Berkowitz…”

Binick peeled the chocolate off the top of the brownie bar. “She was going to help T. with the décor.”

“Right.”

He was quiet for a moment. “That’s a good idea, Yochonon. A pretty good idea.”

Yochi smiled.

This tour put him under such stress, it stole his appetite and his sleep. But it wasn’t anything like the stress of an IRS audit. This stress — these kinds of challenges and the headiness of dealing with them — he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 772)