La Dolce Vita
Milton S. Hershey. Richard and George Cadbury. Heinrich "Henri" Nestlé. Frank C. Mars. The names of these men have become synonymous with one thing: chocolate. They all founded what have become multinational confectionary companies.
One man whose name is not as recognizable as the others but who was still the head of a sizable chocolate empire is Emile Fournier. When compared to the previously mentioned candy men, he is a latecomer to the business but an important player nonetheless.
Emile had been born in France and was only a small child when Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated at Sarajevo, an event that triggered the First World War. Although Jean-Luc Fournier, the boy's father, survived four years of battles without serious injury, the small village in which the family lived was destroyed by German forces. Hoping to provide a good life for his family in the postwar world, Jean-Luc immigrated to America where he opened a pâtisserie in New York.
At first, the immigrants found prosperity in the New World when many wealthy New Yorkers patronized Jean-Luc's shop. As the Twenties came to an end, however, the Fourniers suffered a vicissitude of fortune brought about by the stock market crash. Although still a teenager, Emile quit school and joined his father in the bakery. Times were tough. The country was in the midst of a depression, and Jean-Luc was barely able to eke out a living. Hoping to improve his family's financial situation, Emile took a chance by learning how to make candy. His homemade chocolates proved to be the impetus his father's ailing bakery needed.
Then, just when the business was beginning to flourish again, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The world was at war once again, but this time it was Emile, not his father, who went into battle. After the armistice was signed, the returning soldier went back to work at the bakery.
"I'm so glad you're home," Agatha Childers, one of the shop's regular customers declared when she saw Emile behind the counter. "I've missed those delightful chocolate bonbons you used to make. Honestly, I don't know why you don't open a candy store."
Although Emile had thought the very same thing before the war, he forgot about his dream while serving in the Army. When more people came to the bakery hoping to purchase chocolates rather than pastries, he developed a new interest in candy making.
Then one day Mrs. Childers visited the bakery with a young family member in tow.
"This is my niece, Isabel Morley," she said. "She's visiting me from London, and I told her about your chocolates. She can't wait to try one."
Emile shyly handed the beautiful young woman a sample.
"Mmm. It's quite good," the petite brunette with the doe-like brown eyes declared after finishing it, "just as my aunt promised."
"Thank you."
"Is that all you make, though, plain chocolate?"
"Yes, however, during the holidays I sometimes add chopped nuts."
"No wonder you're still working out of a bakery then," Isabel said.
Emile was surprised and more than slightly annoyed by her critique.
"You must forgive my niece's rudeness," Agatha apologized. "She's studying business management and marketing at the university, and she thinks every businessman should aspire to be Henry Ford."
"Or, in my case, Milton Hershey," Emile joked, wanting to remain on good terms with his customer.
"You could never compete with Hershey," Isabel declared, as though deliberately trying to antagonize him.
"Don't be ridiculous," her aunt argued. "His chocolate is every bit as good as a Hershey bar. In fact, I like it better."
"I'm not denying that the taste of his chocolate is top notch. I'm saying from a business perspective that there is no market for another inexpensive candy bar. In addition to Hershey's products, there are those sold by Nestlé, M&M Mars, Peter Paul—"
"Whoa!" Emile interrupted. "Who said I want to own a big candy company in the first place?"
"Well, you should. You could do much better as a confectioner than as a baker."
Emile laughed with confusion.
"I don't get it. First you say my candy's not good enough to compete with the others then you turn around and tell me I should open my own business."
"Are you always this obtuse or haven't you heard a word I've said? Your chocolate is delicious, but the market is already flooded with mass-produced five- and ten-cent candy bars. What you need to do is target a different demographic."
"A what?"
"Let me put this in a way you'll understand: you need to sell good quality chocolates in fine stores at high prices."
"And how do you propose I do that?" he asked.
"By hiring me."
Emile Fournier not only hired Isabel Morley to help him establish his candy business, he also married her.
* * *
Russell "Rusty" Fournier, Emile's only grandson, had been expected since birth to follow in his father's and grandfather's footsteps. It was naturally assumed that he would take the helm of the family's gourmet chocolate company when his father retired. However, Rusty had no interest in running a business.
"I want to be an artist," he explained after dropping out of college. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life working for a candy company."
His parents tried to change his mind, but he remained adamant. Thankfully, there was a solution that would insure the company remained a family-run business. Rusty's older sister, Corinne, was more than willing to assume the responsibility.
"Why shouldn't I run the company when Dad steps down?" she asked her brother. "After all, a woman helped make this company what is today. If it hadn't been for Grandma Isabel, Grandpa Emile would have remained a baker. Thanks to her keen business sense, Fournier's is to chocolates what Tiffany's is to jewelry!"
Free to pursue his dream of being an artist, Rusty left New York and went to study in Paris. Sadly, the desire to paint does not necessary come with the talent needed to be successful. Not one art gallery owner would exhibit his paintings. Eventually, the young man grew tired of rejection and returned to America.
Although his parents had somewhat reluctantly supported his artistic endeavors, they were not about to let him become a wastrel. He was expected to do something with his life.
"Why don't you come work at Fournier's?" his sister asked.
"I'm not like you," he argued. "I don't want to spend my life worrying about quarterly sales reports, production figures and manufacturing costs."
"You don't have to. There are plenty of jobs for someone with your creative disposition."
"Like what?"
"There's the advertising department, for one. Product packaging, for another."
"You mean deciding whether to use emerald foil boxes with white bows or sapphire velvet-covered boxes with metallic gold ribbons?"
"If neither of those appeals to you, why not work in new product development? How our chocolates look is as important as how they taste."
"Like it really matters if we sell a round piece of candy with a crown on it or a square piece with a fleur-de-lis on it. Chocolate is chocolate."
"I was wrong," Corinne said during one of the few times in her life she became angry at her brother. "I thought you were creative when, in fact, you're just lazy."
When faced with the prospect of having his financial support cut off, Rusty took his sister's advice and accepted a position in the product development department of Fournier's. It was a move that would have a momentous impact on his life.
* * *
"That's beautiful!" Rowen Giddings exclaimed as she stared in wonder at the three-foot-high chocolate Japanese pagoda Rusty had sculpted. "But I don't see how we can package and sell such an item."
Rowen, a European-trained chocolatier, was hired by the business savvy Corinne as the person ultimately responsible for the quality and taste of Fournier's gourmet chocolates. Most recently, she had also become Rusty Fournier's wife.
"This isn't meant to become a part of our line," her husband explained. "It's a custom piece to be used at a retirement dinner being held here in New York for one of Sony's leading sales representatives."
"Since when do we do special orders?"
"This is the first, and hopefully it won't be the last."
"Does your father know about this?" Rowen asked warily.
"No, but my sister and I discussed it. She thinks it's a good idea."
Rusty's chocolate sculpture was such a success that word of his talent spread, and soon he could not keep up with the demand. Socialites, CEOs, athletes and A-list entertainers were willing to pay thousands of dollars for one of his chocolate works of art. His sculptures appeared as centerpieces at lavish weddings, celebrity birthday parties, awards dinners, charity functions and political fundraisers. He had even created a chocolate bust of Abraham Lincoln for a White House state dinner.
Along with this success came Rusty's first taste of fame. Talk show hosts as well as reporters from magazines and newspapers were anxious to interview the man who introduced haute couture chocolate to the American consumer.
"So how does it feel to be a legend in the world of confection?" asked a journalist from Newsweek.
"Like I'm king of the world!" he declared, mimicking Leonardo DiCaprio, as he sculpted a scaled version of the Titanic in dark and milk chocolates.
Unfortunately, Russell Fournier was soon to discover that like the tragic ocean liner, he was traveling through dangerous waters.
* * *
At Fournier's end-of-fiscal-year board meeting, Corinne proudly announced the company's annual sales figures. Not only was the gourmet chocolate company holding its own despite fierce competition, but the pet food, salad dressing and canned soup divisions—all the result of Corinne's attempts to diversify the corporation's holdings—were actually selling better than expected.
"So we anticipate no problems in the foreseeable future?" her father asked.
"No major ones," she replied, trying to skirt the issue.
"What is it you're not telling me?"
"The number of orders Rusty has gotten for his custom chocolate sculptures has been steadily decreasing."
"Because of the economy?"
"I don't believe so. The people who can afford to buy his creations haven't been affected by the recession."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I believe elaborate chocolate centerpieces have simply fallen out of fashion."
"And what do you suggest we do if sales continue to drop?"
"We may have to close Rusty's Fifth Avenue showroom."
"Yes, I imagine the rent on such a place is astronomical."
"I hope it doesn't come to that. Rusty will be heartbroken if it does. But, in all honesty, I feel it will take a miracle to turn the haute couture chocolate line around."
The miracle came in the form of an offer from the Creative Cooks Network.
"We want to give you your own show," the network's head of programming announced. "Our viewers will be fascinated by watching you create your masterpieces."
"I don't know," Rusty replied. "One advantage of being in a family-run business is that I'm pretty much my own boss."
"That won't change. You'll have total artistic control. All we ask is that you deliver ten hour-long episodes a year."
"What you're saying is that I can create the pieces I want to, even if I don't have a client to buy them?"
"We don't care if you sell your sculptures to wealthy celebrities or give them away to a homeless shelter. Hell, you can toss them in the dumpster when the camera stops rolling, if you want to."
Rusty saw no need to discuss the network's offer with his father or sister, or even with his wife. He accepted without asking their advice.
* * *
"Welcome to La Dolce Vita."
Rusty Fournier spoke directly to the camera as he opened a door in the television studio that featured a replica of the kitchen work area of his former Fifth Avenue showroom.
"In this episode I'm going to create London's famed Tower Bridge in chocolate. I invite you all to join me for a taste of my sweet life."
Rowen turned away from the television. She rarely watched her husband's show anymore. After one hundred episodes—ten seasons—she was frankly sick of it.
The doorbell rang, and rather than wait for the housekeeper to answer it, she went to the foyer herself. It was Corinne.
"You're not dressed yet?" her sister-in-law asked. "You'd better hurry up. We don't want to be late for the party."
"Heavens, no!" Rowen replied sarcastically. "After all, we wouldn't want to keep the cameraman waiting."
"You're not going to start that again, are you?"
Not only was Corinne Rowen's sister-in-law and employer, she was also her best friend.
"Come on, admit it," Rowen urged. "You must be tired of living in a goldfish bowl, too."
"All right. Yes. I confess there are times when I wish the show would concentrate more on Rusty's work and less on his family."
The first few seasons it was on the air La Dolce Vita was all about the chocolate. Then it slowly began to encroach upon Rusty's private life. It started with the kids' birthday parties. Next a film crew went along on family vacations. Rowen couldn't remember the last time she celebrated a holiday without having it appear on national television.
"I sometimes wonder when I turn over in my sleep, if I'll find a cameraman in bed with us."
"Still, Rusty loves it. I've never seen him happier than he is now."
"I know," Rowen said with a sigh. "Thanks to his television show, he's a well-known celebrity. Did you know he's been invited to appear on a float in this year's Macy's Thanksgiving Parade?"
"That's wonderful!" Corinne exclaimed. "He ought to get a big kick out of that."
"At least one of us will. I was hoping we'd go to New England for the holiday where I'd cook a turkey dinner, and then we could spend some quality time with the kids. Instead, we'll be performing before the cameras again."
"Welcome to La Dolce Vita!" Corinne laughed, quoting the well-known opening line of her brother's television show.
"La Dolce Vita," Rowen repeated with a sulk. "The sweet life, my ass!"
* * *
As the end of his twelfth season of La Dolce Vita neared, Russell Fournier received an unexpected visit from Milt Condit, the new head of programming for the Creative Cooks Network.
"I've been expecting to hear from you," the TV host said. "I haven't received a contract offer for next season yet."
"That's why I'm here," Milt explained.
It was obvious from his demeanor that the news was not good.
"I'm glad you stopped by because I've got some great ideas for the next few episodes," Rusty claimed, trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible. "How about Cleopatra on a royal barge? Or maybe Queen Elizabeth I? And for the Christmas show, why don't I sculpt Ebenezer Scrooge or, better yet, Bob Cratchit with Tiny Tim on his shoulders?"
Milt put his hands up and said, "They're all good ideas, but ...."
"There won't be a thirteenth season, will there?" Rusty asked softly.
"No, the show's been cancelled. However, you can finish the last two episodes of this season."
"Are the ratings that bad?"
"I've seen worse. Look, the show is good, but we want to take the network in a different direction. We want to have fewer shows showcasing exceptional talents and more how-to programs and competitions. Viewers are never going to be able to make a chocolate centerpiece like one of yours or create a cake that looks like the Palace of Versailles. They want to watch someone like Rachael Ray show them how to make a quick, tasty casserole with leftovers and a can of condensed soup."
"Yeah, I can see how that would be useful," Rusty said in a low monotone.
Although Rowen was personally delighted by news of the show's cancellation, she refrained from expressing her joy in front of her husband who was overwhelmed with disappointment.
"You should consider writing a book," she told him. "It ought to sell well. You've made a name for yourself."
Rusty brushed her suggestion aside.
"Why not offer classes in chocolate sculpture then?"
"I don't want to write, and I don't want to teach. I just want to continue doing do what I've done for the past twelve years."
The truth was that after living in the public eye for so long, Russell Fournier could not face the prospect of being removed from it.
* * *
As was usually the case when a long-running television show came to its last day of shooting, there were tears and reminiscences among the cast and crew. For the final episode, in between interviews with Rusty and his family, the chocolate artist sculpted the Statue of Liberty in green-tinted white chocolate.
"For the last scene," the director told Rusty, "I want you dressed in your tux so that the audience knows you're about to join your family for a celebration. I'm going to shoot a close-up of you looking over your studio one last time. Your final line will be 'It's a sweet life.' Then you'll turn off the lights as you cross the threshold. As the credits begin to roll over a black screen, the audience will hear the sound of the door shutting, signifying the end of the series."
"I think that's a much better ending than zooming in on the green face of your Lady Liberty chocolate sculpture," the producer said.
"So do I," the director agreed. "Whenever you're ready, Rusty, get into your tux and we'll shoot it so that you we can all go to the wrap party."
While changing, the star of the show took a few extra minutes to calm himself. He did not want to break down in tears as he filmed the last scene.
"Okay," he said when finally appeared on set. "I'm ready."
* * *
Rowen and Corinne were waiting at the restaurant with the other members of the Fournier family for Rusty to arrive.
"Where is he? He should have been here over an hour ago," Rowen said, beginning to grow impatient.
"No doubt it has been a tough day for him," Corinne replied, once again coming to her brother's defense.
"He could at least call and let us know he's going to be late."
No sooner did she speak these words than her cell phone rang.
"Hello, Mrs. Fournier, this is Liza Schiffer, the assistant producer on your husband's show."
"Yes. What can I do for you?"
"My boss asked me to call you to see if Rusty is there with you."
"No, he hasn't arrived yet. I assumed he was still at the studio. When did he leave?"
"We're not sure. No one's seen him since he filmed the last scene of the show."
"I'll be right over," Rowen said, fearful for her husband's safety.
While studio personnel searched every room in the building, family and friends contacted the police, hospitals and local bars. Rusty was nowhere to be found.
"He's not at the house," Rowen announced when she arrived at the studio.
"His car is still in the parking lot," his worried sister cried, "so he couldn't have gone far."
Eventually, with nowhere else to look, the director decided to examine the footage of the final scene, hoping there might be some clue to the star's frame of mind and subsequent disappearance.
"I want to see it, too," the star's wife insisted. "And my sister-in-law should see it as well. We know my husband better than anyone. We would best be able to detect if something was wrong with Rusty."
Rowen and Corinne stared intently at the television monitor as the final scene of the show was played back. Tears came to both women's eyes as the camera zoomed in for a close-up of the host. When he delivered his only line, there were audible sobs.
"That's not right!" the director claimed. "The correct line was 'It's a sweet life.'"
That was not, however, the words that were spoken on the playback. As the chocolate sculptor viewed his workspace for the final time, he uttered the words, "It's been a sweet life."
Insertion of the word been changed the entire meaning of the sentence.
"I can't explain why the line is changed on the playback, but that's not what he said when we filmed the scene."
Meanwhile, the tape continued to roll. Suddenly, the door opened again and the lights came back on. There was Rusty Fournier dressed in his white chef's jacket.
"Welcome to La Dolce Vita," the chocolate artist said, beaming from ear to ear like a happy child. "In this episode I'm going to sculpt a three-dimensional bust of Johannes Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring in dark, milk and white chocolate. Why don't you join me for a taste of my sweet life?"
The tape came to an end, and a blue screen appeared on the monitor. The director's face, like those of the other members of the TV crew, was as white as Rusty's jacket. Not one of them could explain how or why that final several minutes of footage appeared on the monitor when it had never been filmed in the studio.
"The last thing we shot was your husband walking out that door," the director told Rowen. "And that was the last any of us saw him."
The cameraman confirmed this account as did everyone else who was on the set at the time.
Although the police continued the search for Russell Fournier, no trace of him was ever found. Rowen waited well beyond the required seven years before having her husband declared legally dead. She then remarried and moved to New England. She never spoke of Rusty's disappearance, not even to her new husband or her children.
From time to time, however, late at night, when her family was in bed sleeping, she would turn on the television and surf through the channels. She would often stumble upon a network showing reruns of La Dolce Vita, and on several occasions, she would be fortunate enough to see a new episode featuring Rusty Fournier doing what he loved most in life.
It doesn't matter to Salem if the sculpture is a work of art or not, as long as it is chocolate!
