Troy arrived before Karen. He was warmly greeted by Deborah (“Hello, Mr. Campbell! Welcome back. Would you like to be seated, or will you wait here for your guest?”) and he opted to sit in the lounge, where he had the best view of Karen approaching him. She wore a gray suit with a short skirt, and her legs made him want her more than food certainly, even more than his cocktail. Karen in turn was looking at Troy and wondering.

Deborah watched them discreetly from her standing desk. She thought they were a handsome couple: he with his silver hair and firm body and she with her streaky blonde beauty. It had gotten to where Deborah thought about sex often, fantasized about Jorge the dishwasher, speculated even about men she saw on the street. She was fascinated with the energy between Troy Campbell and his friend.

Jake was the only one of the four not thinking about sex. He was doing his job in the understaffed kitchen, too agitated to notice the cockroach that slid with the dressing onto the salad he was preparing for Mr. Campbell’s date. Mixed green for her: Caesar for him. Jake set the plates on the counter and turned to attend to the fish and chicken he had on the grill, whisper-yelling at his assistant to check the pizzas in the wood oven.

Dressing-dazzled, the roach evaded Karen’s every fork stab. It lay comatose on a bit of frisee, beneath a twisted leaf of arugula, near the far edge of her plate, and by the time she got there her desire for salad had been assuaged, at least enough to eschew frisee, which she didn’t particularly like anyway. She pushed her plate away and the roach rested unseen on its far edge; when Paco tried to clear the salad plates Troy stopped him, because he was annoyed at how long it was taking for their entrees to arrive, and he thought leaving the plate would emphasize the problem. So the roach had time to wake up. Instead of riding down the disposal with the greens and the grease, the cockroach was permitted the necessary minutes to test-breathe breathe move-a-bit okay move-more, move-the-lettuce.

Karen let Troy hold her hand after his shy proposition. She was looking sideways at him with a smile, so at first she didn’t see the lettuce wobble. It was Troy in fact, swinging his eyes away from her for a second to gauge if anyone would notice before he put his other hand in her lap, whose glance skimmed the salad plates and picked up the moving arugula.

“Oh for chrissakes…” he started with a disgusted tone. The hand that wanted to caress Karen’s inner thigh forked the lettuce aside instead, exposing the roused roach. Karen emitted a little shriek.

Deborah was there in a moment, and Jake wasn’t far behind. Of course they comped the meal, but that wasn’t enough for Jake. He insisted on writing out a certificate for a complementary dinner for two. He used the occasion to introduce himself to Mr. Campbell. He took a moment to explain that with an infusion of capital, Jake would be able to add staff, clean more, open every night for dinner instead of just weekends, pay a return on a man’s investment.

Troy didn’t buy the investment concept, but he did note that Karen’s eyes sparkled at him during the conversation. He thought it might be convenient to have a bistro where he could get a meal any time. Where they could. He agreed to become a partner in the place.

Jake brought the salad plates into the kitchen. Before handing them over to Jorge, he opened the back door and shook a clump of frisee and arugula onto the stoop. Emerging from its soggy shelter, the cockroach slowly skittered off the concrete and into the brown garden dirt.