More Than One Way to Be a Girl

by Dyan Sheldon

  Our basement at home is just a bare concrete space where the boiler, my workbench and a lot of cobwebs live. The basement of the Inn – which was enormous, of course – was partitioned off into a warren of rooms and sections that a colony of rabbits would have felt at home in. I tried several doors before I found one that was already slightly ajar, and behind it was the janitor’s office. The janitor himself was sitting in an old armchair in one corner, asleep and snoring peacefully. I almost hated to disturb him.

  I poked my head through the opening and knocked gently. I knocked not so gently the next time. “Abel?” He snuffled like my cat Gertie when she gets grass up her nose. “Hello? Abel?” With every word, I took a step inside and increased my volume. “Abel? I’m really sorry to bother you, but Mr Schonblatt’s having a fit…” I went over and gave him a poke. “Abel?” I shook him. “Abel, you have to get up. Mr Schonblatt needs you.” I shook him harder, despite the fact that by then I was close enough to him to know that he wasn’t going to wake up any time soon; I could smell the whisky. Apparently, it had been a mistake to put him in charge of the marquees – especially the one with the bar. I tried a few more times to rouse him, and when that didn’t work, I went to get Mr Schonblatt.

  Just as in the kitchen, all the doors and windows had been opened in the dining room – which at least gave the illusion of making it cooler. A few people had taken their plates out to the patio, but most of them had stayed where they were. The bride and groom were still at their table in the corner between the two rooms, behind the dripping swan. The bride had turned her chair so she had her back to the groom and was fanning herself with a menu. The groom had taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, and was leaning over the bride’s shoulder, trying to talk to her, but it was hard to tell if she was listening or not; there were tears in her eyes.

  I guessed that the reason the guests hadn’t abandoned the dining rooms was because of the drama unfolding centre stage. Mr Schonblatt was holding up his arms and trying to reassure everyone that things were under control. Mr Bagley stood near him – so angry he was red as a boiled lobster and the veins at his temples were throbbing – arguing, gesticulating and bellowing orders. ZiZi was between the two men – either trying to keep them apart or trying to calm them, it wasn’t clear which.

  ZiZi looked really glad to see me. “Loretta!”

  Mr Schonblatt looked really glad to see me, too. In my experience, people in real life don’t exclaim the way they do in old novels, they speak. But Mr Schonblatt for definite exclaimed when he saw me hurrying towards him. “Thank God! You found him? Is he on the job?”

  Mr Bagley must have remembered who dumped the canapés on him earlier because he didn’t look glad to see me, but that didn’t stop him from having something to say. “Is this the janitor we’re talking about?” he demanded. “What’s he doing about this infernal heat?”

  I decided to lead with the good news and nodded. “I did find him. You were right, Mr Schonblatt, he was in the basement. In his office.”

  “And? What did he say? Did he look at the unit? Does he think he can fix it?”

  I was trying to ignore Mr Bagley and only address Mr Schonblatt, but Mr Bagley is the sort of man who assumes that anyone talking must be talking to him. Before I could answer Mr Schonblatt, Mr Bagley took over.

  “Presumably, he’s already on the job,” said Mr Bagley. “Did he give you any idea of how long it’s going to take? Is he sure he can handle it?”

  Both the men were glaring at me. That didn’t make it any easier to say what I had to say. I turned to ZiZi. “I’m afraid the janitor’s not going to be able to do anything about the air conditioning right now,” I informed her. “There’s a little problem.”

  ZiZi didn’t say anything but her eyes got bigger and her mouth got smaller.

  Mr Schonblatt said, “What are you talking about?

  Mr Bagley said, “I should have known a place like this wouldn’t employ someone capable of dealing with emergencies.”

  I glanced at ZiZi again, for moral support, and then turned to Mr Schonblatt. “I did find him – but, as I said, I’m afraid there’s a problem. It—”

  “Of course there’s a problem,” Mr Bagley interrupted. “Problems are the only things you people get right. You should mention it in your advertising.”

  From the other end of a very long, dark tunnel, Mr Schonblatt said, “And what precisely is the problem?”

  It’s a strange aspect of human behaviour, but sometimes, people who go ballistic over little things – like a badly folded napkin or a misaligned fork – remain calm in the face of a real disaster. Mr Schonblatt took the news that Abel was passed out drunk with uncharacteristic equanimity.

  He breathed very slowly and deeply. “All right,” said Mr Schonblatt. “That’s not an insurmountable problem. It can be solved. We’ll just have to sober him up, won’t we?”

  “I’m going to sue,” threatened Mr Bagley. “You mark my words. This is my daughter’s wedding reception. I’m not going to let you get away with this fiasco.”

  Mr Schonblatt ignored him. “One of the other girls can hold the fort in here for the next five minutes. You two,” he said to me and ZiZi, “come with me.”

  ZiZi and I followed him out of the restaurant. As the three of us marched through the kitchen, he shouted, “Somebody bring us a pot of very strong, hot coffee. Right away!”

  Mr Schonblatt’s estimate of returning to the dining rooms in five minutes was a little optimistic. He shouted at Abel, but Abel didn’t stir. He shook Abel, but Abel kept on snoring. He pulled Abel to his feet, and Abel fell back in his chair. “God help us,” muttered Mr Schonblatt. “He’s one step away from a coma.”

  ZiZi tried the gentle, feminine approach. “Abel, do you know where you are?” she coaxed. “Do you know what day this is? Do you think you could take a look at the air conditioner?”

  If Abel was one step away from a coma, it was a very small step.

  Gabriel arrived with the coffee. He glanced nervously from me to ZiZi to Mr Schonblatt, but then he saw Abel. He gave a low whistle. “Oh, brother. This doesn’t look good.”

  “Thank you for your professional opinion,” snapped Mr Schonblatt. “Now put down that pot and help me get him to his feet. Let’s see if we can walk him enough to get some coffee down him.” He turned to ZiZi. “That’ll be your job.”

  “But Mr Schonblatt,” said ZiZi, “even if he wakes up, he’s not really going to be in any shape to—”

  “Don’t argue with me. Just do as you’re told.”

  “Right.” ZiZi’s mouth smiled. “I’ll do as I’m told.”

  While Gabriel and Mr Schonblatt were trying to make Abel stand, ZiZi sidled over to me. “Do something,” she whispered. “You can fix the air conditioner. Get us out of here.”

  “He’s not going to like it if I interfere,” I whispered back.

  She gave me a withering look. “Like I care, right?”

  I could see an orderly shelf of manuals on the workshop side of the office. There was bound to be one for the air conditioner, if I needed it; I had done this sort of thing before.

  “You know, Mr Schonblatt,” I said as, defeated, he and Gabe dropped Abel back in his chair. “It may not be anything major that’s wrong. It’s usually nothing more than that the filter needs cleaning.”

  Mr Schonblatt didn’t bother to glance my way. “It doesn’t matter what the problem is if we don’t have anyone to fix it.”

  “I might be able to get it going.” More able than Abel, that was for certain.

  Mr Schonblatt turned so quickly he knocked into ZiZi, standing at the ready with the pot in her hand. “You? We don’t have enough problems right now?”

  “I have cleaned filters before, Mr Schonblatt. Maybe not this exact model, but I’ve worked on commercial systems; I doubt that this is very different from them.”

  “Absolutely not. I can’t have some girl monkeying around with the air conditioning.�
�

  ZiZi put the cup down with a bang. “She’s not some girl, Mr Schonblatt,” said ZiZi. “Loretta happens to be a terrific mechanic.”

  “It’s true,” chipped in Gabe. “She can repair just about anything. One time, my car wouldn’t start and Loretta—”

  “Is there something wrong with everyone’s hearing?” shouted Mr Schonblatt. “I said no. It’s out of the question.”

  I summoned every bit of cute-girl leverage I had. I said, “But Mr Schonblatt. What can it hurt if I try? If I just look at the filter? I swear, if it looks okay, I won’t touch it.” I implored him with my sweetest smile. “The swan is melting, Mr Schonblatt. Mr Bagley’s melting, too.” The mention of Mr Bagley made him wince; the way things were going, the only map the Old Clipper Inn was going to get on was one of places not to go. I pointed to the slumped body in the chair. “There’s no way he’s going to be fit to do anything until tomorrow, and you know it. Don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

  “No,” said Mr Schonblatt. “I do not think it’s worth a try. You heard Mr Bagley. He wants to sue us! Mr Bagley’s an important man. He has powerful friends. What do you think he’ll do if you set his daughter’s wedding on fire or blow us all up?”

  “Are you saying you’d trust a drunken man to fix the air conditioning before you’d trust me? Because I’m a girl? You can’t be serious.”

  He gestured to Gabriel. “I’d trust this boy with the earring sooner than you.”

  Gabe took a step backwards. “Not me. I’m useless at things like this.”

  I tried one more time. “Please, Mr Schonblatt, you must see how—”

  “No! Don’t touch a thing or it’ll be your parents being sued. You stay here with him” – he nodded to Gabriel – “and try to bring Abel round. You,” he said to ZiZi, “come back upstairs with me. You can do damage control.” He turned back to me. “I just need to make an announcement, so don’t get any ideas – I’m coming right back.”

  I could hardly wait.

  ZiZi

  Sometimes you just have to upset people (especially if they’re really upsetting you)

  “You’re making a big mistake,” I said as I followed Mr Schonblatt up the stairs. “She can solve the problem in about five minutes and get Mr Bagley off your back.”

  “The only thing I want off my back right now is you,” he snapped.

  As we reached the top, one of the kitchen guys went by, carrying a box from the pantry. He’d left the pantry door open but I could see the key in the lock on the outside. I don’t know what came over me. It really had been a long day, and this wasn’t the fairy tale I thought it would be. And I guess the little bit of romance and love I’d been clinging to had started melting along with everything else. Plus, I was fed up. I’d been badgered and patronized and ignored all afternoon by one man or another and I was pretty tired of it by then. Anyway, I don’t know why or where it came from, but I suddenly had this idea. I didn’t think about it. I just did it. I stopped outside the pantry and said, “Wait! Mr Schonblatt! What’s that?”

  “For God’s sake, now what?” But he stopped and looked over.

  “In there!” I pointed. “There’s something in the pantry.”

  A person not so fixed on controlling things probably would’ve ignored me and walked on. Mr Schonblatt had already passed me, but he came back. “Of course there’s something in the pantry. It would be remarkable if there wasn’t something in it.” He stopped in the doorway and peered in. “What am I looking at?”

  “There!” I pointed past him. “At the back. It could be a person. Is there someone asleep in there?” That was a stroke of genius; someone asleep in the pantry was the kind of thing that could make him forget Mr Bagley for at least a second.

  He took a few steps in. “I don’t see anyone. Where’s the light?”

  “It’s over on the right.” While he was looking for the light, I shut the door behind him and turned the key. He didn’t start banging right away. He was probably too surprised. I looked around. Everybody was looking at me. “Just leave him there for ten minutes,” I begged. “Just till the air conditioning’s fixed.”

  I’d never seen the chef smile before. “Leave who where?”

  I ran back to the cellar to tell Loretta what I’d done and then I went back to the restaurant. We were ready to serve the main course, but Mr Bagley had stopped that from happening. He was waiting for me. By then, he was about the size of King Kong.

  “Where have you been?” he boomed. “Where’s Schonblatt? What the hell is going on?”

  “Everything’s under control,” I assured him. “Mr Schonblatt’s seeing to the air conditioner. It’ll be back on in just a few minutes.”

  He didn’t believe me. “I’ve heard that before.” He wanted everyone to go outside. “I haven’t paid all this money to watch my guests keel over from heatstroke and dehydration,” said Mr Bagley. He wanted more tables and chairs put on the patio and on the lawn. Like we just had to wave a finger and the furniture would all float outside without anything spilling or falling off.

  Except for the guests who had already fled, everybody was standing around watching and listening to me and Mr Bagley. And even though I was trying really hard to keep my back to him, I knew Dillon Blackstock and his camera were recording the whole thing for the YouTube audience. You couldn’t expect him to pass this up. It was social commentary gone straight into the stratosphere of awe! So because the eyes of the Old Clipper Inn (and possibly the rest of the world) were on me, I was trying to be as polite and reasonable as someone who had just shut her boss in the pantry could be expected to be. I said, “I know it’s pretty hot in here, Mr Bagley.” In case he thought that waitresses don’t sweat. “But I don’t really think we can just move everything into the garden. And there isn’t any need. Mr Schonblatt said—”

  He loomed over me like a tank over a toy car. “Mr Schonblatt isn’t here. It doesn’t matter what he said.”

  It mattered to me.

  “He isn’t here because he’s getting the air conditioner fixed. So if you could just be patient for a little longer…” Like he even knew what patience is.

  “I don’t need the incompetence of the management made worse by the stupidity of the staff.”

  And I didn’t need the nightmare that the dream wedding had turned into made worse by the arrogance of the bride’s father.

  “I’m just trying to be realistic, Mr Bagley. It seems to me that everything will be back to normal way before we get everything outside, and then we’ll just have to bring it all back in.”

  His lips curled. “Oh, is that how it seems to you?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Don’t argue with me, honey,” said Mr Bagley. “Put that little butt of yours in gear and start moving the tables.”

  Was it “honey”? Was it “little butt”? Was it just his negative attitude? Maybe it was just that tiny streams of sweat were running down his face, making him seem almost human and not a superior, if unpleasant, life form. Made him seem like a person. Like I’m a person. And the other sweating, exhausted waitresses were persons too.

  “No.” I stood up really straight. (If only I had on heels!) “It’s not my fault or Mr Schonblatt’s fault or anybody else’s fault that the air conditioner’s not working.” I took a step forward. “So let me tell you what you can do, Mr Bagley.” I took another step forward. “You can stop talking to me like that, that’s what you can do. I am not your servant. And I am not a stupid girl. And I am totally not your honey.” All the while I talked, I kept walking towards him. “So if you want the tables outside so badly, you can move them yourself.”

  And that’s when Mr Bagley fell into what was left of the swan, bringing the whole table down.

  Nothing happened for about half a second. It was like everything just stopped. Breathing. Hearts beating. Earth turning. Everything. Like the fairy tale this wedding was in was the one where the bad fairy casts a spell on everyone for not inviting her to the part
y. And then, just as I heard the air conditioner kick in, Mrs Bagley screamed, “Donald!” and the new Mrs Schreiber screamed, “Daddy!” I’m sure it wasn’t everybody else, but a lot of people started to laugh.

  I suppose I should’ve helped Mr Bagley out of the rubble, but I didn’t even think of it. (Anyway, the groom jumped up and did that.) I was just kind of standing there. Stunned. I suppose I should’ve felt sorry for what happened, but I didn’t. I was wondering how much trouble I was going to be in when Mr Schonblatt got out of the pantry and found out about it, because he was sure to blame me. On top of everything else (like locking him in the pantry). But weirdly, I didn’t really care about that, either. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Way to go, Giselle!” I turned to see Dillon grinning at me.

  So at least two of us were happy.

  Loretta

  Things don’t go back to the way they were

  The Bagley-Schreiber reception turned out to be more of a fiasco than a fairy tale, but for definite nobody who was there was ever going to forget it. Except, maybe, Abel, since he slept through most of it. I wasn’t going to forget it, either – despite the fact that I only ever saw the swan incident on Dillon’s film.

  After ZiZi gave us the all-clear, Gabriel and I left Abel sleeping and went into mission control where the restaurant’s air-conditioning system was. United by disaster, we had our talk while I was making the repair. It may have been because it was the sort of day that invented stress, or it may have been because – according to Mr Schonblatt – I was about to blow up the Inn so, subconsciously, I knew I had nothing to lose, but I had no trouble saying what I wanted to say – and Gabe had no trouble listening.