by T. Torrest
Even though she was separated, it wasn’t up to me to make the first move.
She had to come to me.
I met her eyes just then, before lowering my gaze to her perfect lips, inviting her to close the gap between us. When she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, I took it as a good sign. I moved half a step in her direction, fully expecting her to meet me the rest of the way, let me wrap my arms around her bare middle, pull her delectable body against my own, feel her sweet, wet skin pressed against mine, when…
“You should do pizza,” she sputtered out nervously. “There’re no good pizza places around.”
Shit.
I shook myself out of the moment, trying to play it cool as I fired back, “There are a hundred good pizza places around! This is New Jersey, in case you forgot.”
She let out with a huff. “No, I know that. But there are no good pizza places right here in the lake.”
Goddammit. I had an almost-naked Avery two feet away from me out here in this secluded lake, and we were talking about pizza, for godsakes?
I tried not to grumble as I responded, “There used to be. Right there, as a matter of fact.” I pointed behind us to my bar. “But the ovens broke down a few years back and I guess I just decided not to bother with it anymore.”
She gave a flippant shrug and replied, “You should remedy that.”
As let down as I was, the conviction in her voice actually lightened my mood. I reluctantly admitted to myself that she was adorable when she was trying to be evasive, and I was surprised to find myself smiling. “Alright, Brooks. You may just be on to something. I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was crazy-late by the time we closed up shop last night, so I was a little slow-moving as I got my day started. It was Sunday, so I cleaned out Magnum’s cage and straightened my apartment before heading downstairs.
Scott was already there, setting up for the afternoon. He’d hooked up with the town’s Barbeque Club years ago, and arranged to let those guys bring in their creations every week during football season. It was an indoor tailgate for them and a no-brainer for us. The customers knew Sundays were BYOF until the four o’ clock games, so we didn’t make any money from the restaurant until the evening. But that was fine, because we sold beers like crazy to make up for it. Ten dollar buckets. You couldn’t beat that.
I helped Scott with the folding tables, then checked in with my kitchen. Sunday mornings were always hectic back here, because Felix used that day to prep all the food for the week ahead. A couple of the guys had sauces brewing on the range, a few others were chopping endless piles of vegetables along the counters, and Felix was busy trimming a mountain of chicken breasts on the large island.
“Hey Felix. Let me ask you. How do you feel about pizza?”
He looked up from his work and answered, “It taste good?”
“No, I mean, about us adding pizza back on the menu.”
Felix gave a scratch to his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “Well, I s’pose we could. But it have to be gourmet pizza. No pepperoni.”
“I think we’d have to have pepperoni.”
“I don’t like pepperoni.”
I shook my head and snickered, “Well, then you don’t have to eat it. But a lot of other people like it, so, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“My brother do pizza.”
“What?”
Felix proceeded to wiggle his hands above his face, miming as if he were spinning a circle of dough. “Pizza. My brother. He do it.”
“Like, makes it?”
“Yes. I call him for you.”
“Wait. Hold on. I don’t even know if—”
“I call him for you.”
Well, there we go. I guessed we were going to be serving pizza again at The Westlake.
I put in the call to The Incredible Hank to see if he’d be interested in handling the repairs, and he showed up almost before the phone hit the cradle.
He was crouched down on the floor, trying to find the correct angle to check out what was doing behind the ovens. “Hey, thanks for thinking of me for this, Maniac.”
“No problem. Barry would never get his lazy ass over here on a Sunday and I figured you’d be coming in today anyway.”
“Well, I could sure use the work. Thanks.”
He started tinkering with the lines as I stood there watching. An idea entered my brain, and I was blown away that it hadn’t occurred to me before. “Hey, look, Hank. Would you maybe be interested in making this a regular thing?”
Hank stopped what he was doing, looked up at me, and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I need someone to run maintenance around here, because Barry’s prices are murdering me. And let’s face it, the guy’s a dick. If I have the excuse to get rid of him, you’d actually be doing me the favor. Fix the AC when it goes bust, clean the bathrooms and the floors every day, stuff like that. It’s not glamorous and I can’t pay you a lot, but…”
“No, I’ll take it.” The guy actually had tears in his eyes. “Thank you Zac. Thank you. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to make rent this month. There’re no jobs out there for an old codger like me. I swear, I’ve been looking. I’m ashamed to go home most days; it’s why I spend so much time here. Thank you.”
The hope in his eyes almost broke me right then and there. I knew the guy was struggling, but I didn’t realize things were going that badly for him. Why didn’t I see it before? My chest tightened, and I had some trouble getting the words out. “No, really. Thank you. I can really use the help.”
I had to get out of there. I was thisclose to turning into a bawling sap.
I excused myself, quietly instructing Felix to load Hank up with a bag of takeout whenever he was through.
I headed right for the walk-in fridge and shut the door behind me. Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers into my hair and stared up at the ceiling. My fists were still gripped on top of my head as I exhaled, trying to get a handle on my emotions.
Pussy.
By the time I finally pulled myself together, it was kickoff, and thank fuck for that, because I could sure use the distraction. The place was already hopping with my regulars, but I saw a bunch of new faces, too. Nice.
I sat down at the bar next to Avery, who was indulging in a plate of ribs. She was a mess, and the sight of her sitting there covered in barbeque sauce was enough to banish the last of my mood and have me chuckling.
I relayed my earlier conversation with Felix, and filled her in on my recent decisions. “Hank’s on the repairs as we speak,” I said, swiping some sauce off her cheek with a bar napkin.
“That’s great! Wow, you work fast.”
“So I’ve been told.” I shot her a raised eyebrow, which had her shaking her head and seizing the napkin from my hand, taking over the cleanup job for herself.
“And Felix’s brother can make the pies? That’s perfect.”
I reached over the bar and grabbed a roll of paper towels. Looked like she was going to need them. “I don’t know, Ave. A Portuguese pizza chef? Shouldn’t I hire someone Italian?”
“Don’t be so close-minded,” she fired back. “The Portuguese make an excellent pie. Haven’t you ever seen Mystic Pizza?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. It’s a great movie. Besides, Felix swears by him, and you know he loves this place almost as much as you. He wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
* * *
We decided to let the little league team be the guinea pigs for our new pizza menu. It was my idea to invite them in for a private party one Sunday morning in order to present them with a check for all the money we’d raised.
I’d already tested Horatio’s various concoctions for myself days ago, and had given him the green light—and the job—immediately after. Portuguese pizza. Who knew?
The kids filled every stool of the long bar, bellying up like old pros.
My future customers, ladies and gentlemen
.
They thought they were doing something forbidden, hanging out in a bar where grown-ups came to “drink beer.”
“Not just beer,” I shot back. When I caught the warning looks from a few parents, I pulled out the soda gun. “Stick ‘em up,” I advised Number 7, pointing the thing at his chest.
He put his hands up as I gave a quick squirt of club soda to his shirt anyway, which just had all the kids cracking up. My attack was followed by their enthusiastic, pleading requests to let them try it out, so I invited a handful of them behind the bar to teach them how to use it.
They thought it was pretty damn cool.
I served up some Roy Rogers and plain old sodas as Farrah brought out the pies, placing them on pedestals stationed along the entire bar. The kids dove in like they hadn’t eaten in days, which just made me laugh. I remembered all too well what it was like to be a ravenous, rapidly-growing ten-year-old.
The parents feasted on some pizza, too, but a few of them opted to order off the menu. No problem. We aimed to please.
Number 12’s mother polished off her Cobb, saying, “I can’t believe we’ve never been here before. I didn’t think it was this nice. And the food is fantastic!”
I thanked her, along with everyone else, for the numerous compliments that followed.
The coach was so taken with the place that he asked if I’d like to be their sponsor for next season, and of course, I agreed. And that was even before I presented him with the check! When I did, the dude’s eyes went wide, but he hadn’t seen every trick up my sleeve just yet.
I’d gone to the local sporting goods store to load up the team with some new equipment, and proudly handed over the large canvas bag stuffed to the gills. Finn helped me put together a good selection of bats and helmets, plus we’d thrown in a whole new set of catcher’s pads. Norman Sports gave me a huge discount on everything, and made sure every kid got one, too. I passed out the 20% off coupons, then had everyone put their names into a hat to raffle off the fifty-dollar gift card.
The nearby Old Barn Milk Bar supplied us with tubs of ice cream for the occasion, and Give Me Candy insisted that I shouldn’t pay for the five-pound bag of assorted treats. Both places were so excited to have been asked to be a part of things that they gave me some gift cards to use at our next event.
I guessed those business-owners already knew what it had taken me this long to figure out for myself: It felt good to give back every once in a while.
I mean, hell. I originally thought selling one-dollar beers during Norman Days was going to put me under. But as it turned out, people donated a whole lot more than they normally would because of all the money they weren’t spending on booze. It may seem stupid that we’d gone through all that trouble to raise so much money only to give it all away, but doing so gained me the favor of not only the little leaguers and their families, but numerous other citizens of this town as well.
Those same citizens had turned into new customers. A lot of them had been coming in pretty regularly since that maiden night, either hanging out at my bar or eating at my restaurant. I guessed Felix’s food had drawn them in, drug-dealer style. They’d gotten a taste, and now they were hooked.
My bottom line had improved with all those Normanites seeking their regular fix. I’d already broken even from that weekend. It had only been a couple weeks since Norman Days went down and the crowd was still going strong.
The customers weren’t the only ones with generous wallets. It seemed every business Avery or I approached was more than happy to load us up with gift certificates to their establishments, and I accepted them gratefully, socking them away for future events. Sometimes, I gave them away just for the hell of it.
Like the time one happy hour that I saw Chuckie Fabulous sitting at the end of my bar. He was a trivia fanatic, our resident Cliff Clavin, constantly spouting his wisdom about the most inconsequential topics. He’d been driving around in the same beat-up old Monte Carlo forever. The crack across the windshield showed it wasn’t because he was a classic car collector, although he’d be able to tell you everything you’d ever want to know about the subject.
A few weeks before, he’d chewed my ear off about Mythbusters. He was so enthusiastic about the damn show that I ended up watching an episode and got hooked myself.
Inspiration struck.
I gave a ring to the triangle hanging over the taps. People took notice when that thing was sounded, because normally, it meant someone was buying the house a round.
Everyone cheered, but I told them to calm down as I rifled through my donations envelope. “Don’t get too excited, people! I’m not giving away any free drinks.”
There was a collective groan as I snickered and continued, “But, I am giving away a one hundred dollar gift certificate to Lou’s Auto Body.”
I hopped up onto the bar and held it up to show the crowd, most of whom were appropriately intrigued.
“Alright. The first person who can tell me the correct answer takes home the prize.” I stood there for a pause, trying to think of a question that would be skewed in Chuckie’s favor. It had to be something obscure, but something I knew that he knew. The natives started to get restless.
“Okay. Got it. Alright, who can tell me what would happen if you dropped a penny on someone from the Empire State building?”
A few people yelled out, “It would kill them!” But when I didn’t confirm it, everyone looked at each other in confusion, consulting one another about the possible answer.
C’mon, Chuck. Please know this.
Sure enough, he popped up from his stool and announced, “Nothing! Because of the air currents!”
Everyone looked to me for confirmation.
“You are correct, sir!” The place erupted in applause as I jumped down and handed over the gift certificate, saying, “Here’s your prize. Thanks for playing.”
The guys all gave Chuckie a pat on his back, and he was smiling ear to ear as he eyed the thing proudly. He continued his answer, excitedly explaining, “Maybe it would hurt, but the air currents wouldn’t allow it to build up enough speed to even break the skin!”
It wasn’t every day that Chuck got to steal the show, so I was as happy to put him in the spotlight as I was about helping to get his car fixed.
It felt good.
I felt good.
Chapter Twenty
Avery came bounding into the bar early one night. I’d gotten pretty used to her hanging around with all the events she was always planning for the place.
We’d held a dart tournament for the town’s softball league and Avery got Norman Sports to sponsor it. We raised a couple hundred bucks and a whole new crew of customers. She planned a poker night for them the following week, and though we could only let them gamble for prizes, the night was a smashing success.
We actually ran out of Budweiser that night, and I had to send Alice out to the local Bottle King to grab some more. Avery contacted Anheuser-Busch, and they were so impressed that we’d managed to sell out of their product that they offered to sponsor our pool tournament a few weeks later. They had one of their reps deliver a bunch of customized banners with the specifics, and Avery pasted them all over the bar and around town.
A few weeks later, she devised a contest to come up with a new drink for the menu board. The deal was, you had to drink it before nominating it. We sold a lot of liquor that night. I had to call for a few cabs for the handful of guys who were too drunk to drive home, so yeah. It was a good night.
We brought a ton of new business into the bar with that one, and Avery made some good business connections.
Even on days when we didn’t have an event scheduled, it wasn’t so out of the ordinary for her to come by just to hang out. Tonight, she was here to hang out.
The happy hour crew was going strong, and every stool at the long bar was filled. So, I mixed her a cocktail, cracked myself a beer, and set us up in one of the booths. She turned her body sideways, leaning her back against the wall and l
etting her feet hang over the edge of the seat. She flipped her sandals at the ends of her toes as she said, “Let me ask you… Give me the pros and cons of being self-employed.”
She’d been focusing so much attention on my bar that she hadn’t spent too much time getting her own business off the ground. I guessed she was finally ready to dive in. Good for her.
“Well, you pretty much already know. Being self-employed just means that everything’s on you, and I’ll tell you, it’s not for everybody. There are nights when I’m so dog-tired and I still have to close out the numbers from the day’s take. There’s no use in putting it off; it’ll just be waiting for me tomorrow. I both love and hate a busy night. Love it, because I know the money’s rolling in, but hate it because that always means more paperwork for me. More numbers to tally, more credit cards to approve, more booze to order for the following weekend. Juggling the cash in order to make sure everyone gets paid isn’t any fun, either.”
“Like, your employees?”
“My employees are the least of my concerns. They get paid first, so the money’s always there. It’s the vendors that I have to be a bit more creative with.”
I couldn’t hide the proud smile that was threatening to slip into a full-blown grin.
Avery saw my battle and shook my arm. “Like how? What do you do?”
“Well,” I started in, still trying not to bust, “You know Ralph? My linen service guy?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, let’s just say he’s a bit of a sports fan.”
Her forehead scrunched as she asked, “Yeah, so?”
“Ralph works for memorabilia, is what I’m trying to say.”
“Oh my God! Really?”
“Yep. And the guy will take anything that’s seen the inside of an arena: Used ticket stubs, signed programs, socks worn during the games…”
“Zac, shut up!”
Her reaction made me laugh. “Very convenient when I don’t have the cash.”
She was appropriately impressed, but then her brows furrowed as she gnawed at her bottom lip. “But where do you get all that stuff? You’re not giving away all your private stash, are you?”
