Circus in a Shot Glass

by Beth Overmyer

  There was a short pause on Mum’s end. “Yes, I know, Ardal. We’ve talked about you taking an extra semester. I think it’s just fine.”

  “Yes, well . . .” I took to sorting coasters by colors. Red, white, blue. Blue, red, white. “I’m going to change majors.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No, I’m—Mum, I am going to cooking school. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ardal

  2003

  I returned to the little Italian restaurant from the night of my epiphany. They were hiring, and I wanted real kitchen experience before starting culinary school. So I started low. I began as a dishwasher but swiftly climbed my way up to busboy and then to waiter when the holiday-help had begun to trickle away.

  New Year’s Eve was my first night on the floor. I had the menu memorized, though my boss, Toni, kept telling me I needed to learn how to say “pasta” the right way.

  “Paaah-sta,” she said. “You say it after me. Paaah-sta.”

  “Pasta.”

  She rolled her Italian eyes and threw up her dishwater-wrinkled hands. “You keep saying the A like ‘apple.’ But is not. Is softer A. Is pasta. Is . . . what you call your father, no? Pa. Paaah-sta.”

  “Pasta.”

  Her lip twitched. “Just say noodles, yes?” Toni whipped me with her dishtowel and returned to the kitchen muttering Italian obscenities.

  I turned to look at the rest of the wait-staff. “Don’t worry about it,” one of them said.

  “Worry about it,” said another.

  I went back to running the menu over in my head. “Tonight, our specials are chicken parmesan served over a bed of linguine pas—noodles.” I jumped when the bell over the door tinkled but kept to my silent recitations. “Ravioli di cremini, which consists of five cheese-stuffed raviolis smothered in a creamy mushroom sauce.”

  “What about the sides?” I could imagine Toni asking me.

  “For the holiday, we have a special treat: pancetta rolls filled with—”

  “Hey, stop your pacing, Air-del,” Toni said from behind the pick-up window. “You will hit that head of yours on the ceiling.”

  “Sorry.”

  She laughed, one short burst of sound. “Don’t be sorry. Just stop. And say paaah-sta.”

  “Right.”

  The restaurant had opened ten minutes ago, and patrons were arriving in small clusters. My tables would be filled last, since I was the newest addition to the wait-staff. To occupy my time and hands, I moved behind the counter and rolled eating utensils in napkins. It was mindless work. By the time my first customers arrived, I had wrapped enough utensils for a small army.

  Pad and pen in hand, I hustled to the table in the far corner and rambled off a greeting and the night’s specials list. When I got to the wines, one of the businessmen cleared his throat to stop my spiel.

  “I’ll have the ravioli di cremini, easy on the sauce.”

  “Excellent choice, sir. My favorite,” I said, writing like a maniac. “And for you, sir?” The door opened, rushing in a wash of cool air. I made the mistake of turning my attention to the entrance, and almost dropped my pad of paper. It was her, the girl I’d chased after.

  She wore her reddish brown hair down in crazy curls and had on a deep green mini dress. Perhaps she had sewn it herself . . . I wondered. She was seated at a table in a corner by herself, and as I took down the remaining orders, my gaze wandered her way.

  Ernesto, the only waiter over thirty, was up at the pass when I turned in my table’s order. She was at his table.

  I leaned in and murmured my request: “Ernesto, please switch tables with me.”

  The cranky fifty-something shot lead into my soul with one glare. “You kidding me? Toni would eat my hide.” He turned in his order as well and went for the water pitcher.

  I was on his heels, thinking fast. “I’ll give you all of my tips tonight.”

  That made him pause. “All of them? On a holiday? Hmm . . . Still wouldn’t be worth my job.”

  “Tell Toni I bullied you. Anything. I’ll work weekends for you, just—”

  “Bullied me, eh?” Ernesto laughed. “All right, all right. I will let you wait on le petite belle . . . for your tips. I like weekends, so you needn’t worry there.”

  “Thank you!” I pulled out my pad of paper and ran over to her table . . . where a man was sitting down opposite her. To say I was crushed would be an understatement. Why had I been so rash? As Mum had said after I informed her of my career-change: “Don’t leap before you look.” The thought of abandoning Ernesto’s and my deal crossed my mind, but I knew it wouldn’t be fair to him. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Hello, welcome to Toni’s Italian Bistro. May I start you off with something to drink?” I was so daft! I’d forgotten to list off the specials and the wine list.

  The young woman blushed and retreated behind her menu. Great. She remembered me as a stalker. I’d find myself lucky if she didn’t warn her beau and skip out of there on her wary way.

  The man with her, a shorter bloke with a thinning hair line, squinted up at me. “You faking that? Take lessons?”

  I felt my brows shoot heavenward. What was he talking about, and why did he look so smug? Perhaps he knew what I was thinking about his dinner date. “Er, come again?”

  “I was asking how long have you been taking acting lessons. Your accent is a bit . . . well, pretty good. But you almost sound too American.”

  I blinked. “Um . . .”

  I was amused to find her menu shaking; she was laughing at him. “He’ll have the chicken di cremini, a side salad—hold the dressing, please—and a glass of iced tea.”

  “Kid, I can order for myself.” He scanned down the menu muttering . . . and ordered the chicken di cremini, a side salad—hold the dressing—and a glass of iced tea.

  Kid? Who calls a woman that? I scribbled down his order, tempted to add “extra dressing” to his salad, but green does not become me. I was jealous. But why? I didn’t even know this woman. She owed me nothing. “And what might I get for you, miss?”

  She set her menu down on the table, scanning the inner first page, biting her lower lip. “Um, what would you recommend?”

  I blinked away my surprise as she chanced a glance at me. “Well, uh—everything here is good.”

  She nodded. “Agreed. I’ve tried almost every dish—except for the fish.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Anything new?”

  “Kid, he’s got a buttload of customers queueing up.” He gave me a sardonic smile at the word “queueing.” Did he think I was faking my accent?

  “There’s no rush,” I said. There were people looking around for their waiter—me—and I knew I was going to get a good verbal thrashing, if the expression on Toni’s face was anything to judge by.

  The young woman quirked a small smile. I gripped my pad of paper tighter.

  “There is a new dish.” What was I saying? We didn’t have any new dishes…unless you counted the one I had pushed Toni for. I’d made it in the kitchen earlier and nearly got my hide handed to me for “stealing ingredients.”

  Her eyes locked onto mine for a moment, and I almost snapped my pen in half. “Oh. Can I have that?”

  Her date cleared his throat. “He didn’t even tell you what it is.”

  The blush crept up to her hairline, and I held a grimace in check. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s wonderful . . . unless it’s fish.”

  We both chuckled. The balding man rolled his eyes.

  “The glazed pork chop, then.” I scribbled that down, praying they’d let me whip up a quick batch. “And what would you like to drink, miss?”

  The man she was with cut in. “She’ll have iced tea, too.”

  I ignored him, keeping my eyes on her, pen hovering. “Miss?”

  She seemed to like my attention, smiling at me . . . I winked, and she laughed. Was I flirting with her in front of her beau? App
alled with my own behavior, I cleared my throat and asked again.

  “I’ll have a diet pop, please, with extra ice.”

  “Good idea to skip the booze,” the man said.

  She shot him a glare, which I pretended not to see.

  “I’ll put your order right in.” I almost bowed at the waist—almost. Would’ve looked a right fool if I had. With a spring in my step, I rushed for the kitchen and handed in my order. I was about to wait on my other tables, but Toni stopped me.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is this?” She held up the order, a glint of malice in her eye.

  I cleared my throat and tried to buy myself time by taking the order back from her and studying it for a good ten seconds. “Uh, one of the patrons asked . . .” No, I was not a liar nor a coward. I screwed my courage to the sticking place and spilled out the truth.

  Toni let out a dark chuckle. “The customer is always right.”

  I sighed in relief. “So you’ll make it?”

  “I was left little choice. This is not over yet, Air-del. You are on probation.” She shook her finger at me and tottered back to the kitchen, her obscenities filling the air.

  Grateful to still have my job, I brought the woman her diet soda…forgetting her date’s iced tea, which I got after waiting on three other tables. “I’m so sorry about that.” I set the beverage down in front of him, and he made a face.

  “I don’t like lemon.”

  “Sir?”

  “Give me another. This time, no lemon. And could you maybe put some hustle on it? I’m parched.” His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked around the room, bored.

  I nodded. Could this evening get any worse? I brought a table their freshly-baked breadsticks smothered in butter and sprinkled in Italian herbs and some grated Romano, rushed out their drinks, and replaced the rude gentleman’s iced tea for one without lemon. His date wasn’t there. “Your order should be out shortly.” I started to move away, but he caught me by the elbow.

  “How much caffeine is in this?” The man jerked his head in the direction of the beverage.

  He must be joking. “Sir?”

  “Could you check on the caffeine content? I don’t want to be up all night.”

  Not be up all night on New Year’s Eve? Hmm. I met his gaze, and sure enough, he was giving me the evil eye, his lips curling into a sadistic smile. My shoulders tightened, and I did my best to sound polite. “Right. I’ll be back with that information shortly.”

  His smirk deepened and he leaned back in his chair. “And bring some regular sugar. There’s only the pink stuff here. I’m allergic to aspartame.”

  Not knowing what aspartame might be, I spun around and was about to make my way to kitchen but wound up hitting my head on a low-hanging chandelier I had thus far managed to avoid. Stars burst in front of my eyes, but I steadied myself, cleared my vision, and kept on course.

  The other tables wanted refills on their drinks and breadsticks, so I took care of those first before asking about the tea’s caffeine content.

  The looks I received were incredulous. “You’re pulling our legs,” said Ernesto.

  I shook my head. “No, he wants to know.” I jerked my head over my shoulder just as my order came up.

  Ernesto laughed without humor and made a face. “Well, don’t ask Toni right now. She’s none too happy with you at the moment.”

  “Right.” I collected the burning-hot plates with two serving towels and hurried them over to the rude man and his date. Fortunately, she had returned. Maybe he wouldn’t give me a further hard time in front of his girlfriend. “Careful, they’re hot.” And I knocked over her drink . . . right into her lap. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

  “Clumsy oaf,” the man said, not moving an inch to help his date.

  “It’s all right,” the young woman said, like this was an everyday occurrence. She took the serving towel from me, and our fingers brushed, shocking us both with static electricity.

  “I am so sorry,” I said again.

  She laughed, a nervous sound, sopping up the mess from her lap. Other tables turned to stare, some muttering, others summoning me for dessert menus.

  Cringing, I watched her finish cleaning up, hoping the soda didn’t stain and that her dress wasn’t dry clean only. “Do you need another towel?”

  She handed me back the soaked-through one and shook her head. “Should be fine. Thanks.”

  “My sugar?” said her date. “And did you find out about the caffeine content in the tea?”

  She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “He’s just giving you a hard time. He used to wait tables, too.”

  “Air-dal!”

  I winced. “Sorry. I’ll be back if you need anything.”

  Toni was waiting for me by the kitchen, hands on her hips, never a good sign. “Stop flirting with the patrons and get on with the other tables. Their orders are up and getting cold.”

  “Sorry, Toni. Yes, Toni.” I rushed out two hot plates, only to set them in front of the wrong guests, which earned me two scowls. The next table got their four plates, and I was getting ready to take drink orders from a new table when I remembered the balding man’s request for regular sugar. But when I returned with handfuls of the white packets, he ordered a glass of red wine instead.

  She gave him a dirty look, and I felt miserable. I was ruining their date—something I should feel worse about—and all my tables were demanding things at the same time, Toni was still furious with me, and I dropped and broke three glasses. Not the best way to start out my first night on the floor. My chances of advancing to cook shrank into a grain of sand before my eyes.

  Soon my tables were finishing their meals and asking for their checks, which I totaled up at the till. The last table to leave before the midnight rush was the table with the balding man and the woman who would probably never dine here again, thanks to me. She left first with purpose, and he left me a two-dollar tip . . . on a thirty-nine-dollar ticket.

  I took the tip over to Ernesto, who blinked at me.

  “You’re joking, right? Come on, Ardal, don’t hold out on me.”

  I told him about the table and everything I’d screwed up.

  He listened and nodded. “Typical first day, kid. Don’t sweat it.” He pocketed the two-dollars and the rest of the tips I had managed to collect and deliver to him. Things were slowing down in the restaurant, the clock eking closer and closer to the new year. I thought he was going to go back to the kitchen and chum around with Toni, but he surprised me by nudging me in the ribs. “You didn’t happen to get her name, did you?”

  I paused for a moment before going back to grating more cheese for a salad. “What? Whose name?”

  He laughed. “You know who. Was she worth it?” He nudged me again; my ribs were going to be sore in the morning. “Was it worth trading tables and giving up your tips?”

  I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled. “She had a date.”

  Ernesto let out a loud breath and patted my shoulder. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  We were quiet for a moment, watching people chatting and drinking and making merry. Ernesto reached back into his apron and pulled out the wad of cash I’d just given him. “Go find her.”

  “Ern?” one of the cooks called from behind the window. “Did table five want sauce on the side? I can’t read your handwriting here.”

  Ernesto held up a finger for her to wait and said to me, “Go to le petite belle, buy her dessert.”

  I was already shaking my head. “She left and she had a date.”

  Impatient, he huffed. “So what? Find her. And I bet you tomorrow night’s tips baldy wasn’t any boyfriend of hers—or at least won’t be for long.” He winked at me, grabbed my hand, and tucked the bills in my palm. “I’ll cover for you. Go. Find her. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  I didn’t need telling twice. After whipping off my apron and stowing it behind the counter, I raced out the door. Toni still wasn’t happy with me, and the patrons who
were staring at me didn’t seem to think much of me, either. There were loads of people around, all mucking about and getting in my path. Where had the girl gotten to? The crowd had swallowed her.

  Someone tugged at my elbow. “Hey.”

  I looked down, hopeful. Unfortunately it was Toni, and she was scowling. “Where do you get off, bossing around my kitchen, hmm?” For someone so small, she was intimidating.

  “Toni, I am—”

  “Don’t you ‘Toni’ me, Air-del. You made me appear like a fool in front of my staff, passing off that ticket with your dish on it.”

  I flinched. “I didn’t mean—”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t interrupt.” She pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and leaned against the building. “You’ve got a lot to learn, son.” Her smoke wafted up into the air in blue tendrils.

  I was reminded of dragons of myth, of fire-eaters at the circus. I shivered.

  “It doesn’t matter how good the dish was—and it was good. You can’t do this kind of thing to me and not expect consequences.” Smoke blew out of her nose. “And trading tables with a senior staff member?”

  I grimaced. “Please don’t get mad at Ernesto. I bullied him into it.”

  She snorted. “Sure you did. No, Ernesto’s not in trouble. But you’re—”

  “Fired.”

  She laughed. “Back to dishwashing.” She pointed at me with the lit end of her cigarette, ash dribbling onto the pavement. “You need humility in the kitchen. But you also need confidence. It’s a balance. Respect. You need to respect the food, the patrons, your managers.” Her eyebrows wriggled up and down to emphasize her point. “I threw you onto the floor too soon. But Mama Toni will not be taken advantage of or made to play the fool.” Puff, puff, puff. “Yes, you’ll be back to washing dishes. I’m rather disappointed.” And with that parting jab, she stomped out her cigarette and went back inside.

  I took a few minutes before following her. It was a hard hit to my pride as a chef and as a worker. Back to washing dishes? What was I going to tell Mum? She would insist I return to my regular studies. And I couldn’t stomach the thought of pursuing a career I had no interest in. It would kill me; slowly but surely it would suck the life right out of me.