by Thom Whalen
* * *
I have to admit that eavesdropping is one of my least attractive qualities. But I don’t do it to gain advantage over anybody. I’m curious about people so I simply can’t resist hearing what they say when they don’t know that I’m listening.
More than once, I’ve heard just enough to cause me grief. You’d think I’d have learned to keep my curiosity on a short leash but I’m a slow learner about some things.
I was prepping onions when Mrs. Everett arrived for the day.
Randal cornered her in the office as soon as she arrived. I’d never seen him looking agitated before, not during the busiest lunch when orders were flying onto the wheel, not even when he was all but being accused of murder, so I was intrigued by his ill-disguised eagerness to talk to her.
I figured that it was about time someone wiped down the fridge racks. They hadn’t been cleaned since I’d begun working at Elsa’s Grill. Was it my fault that the fridge happened to be right around the corner from the office door?
“…need another assistant cook as soon as possible,” Randal was saying when I opened the fridge, damp rag in hand.
“If you think so,” Mrs. Everett replied.
“I’ll go through the applications after lunch.”
“A couple of high school students came around last week looking for summer work,” she said. “It won’t be hard to find someone.”
That was the end of their conversation. Randal ignored me as he walked back to the grill.
He wanted to replace me. That was obvious. I was the only cook here besides him and, if he were replacing himself, he wouldn’t be considering high school students who were only available for the summer.
I couldn’t figure out why I should be replaced. I was doing a good job. I was working hard and I was reliable. I had never been late for work and had never missed a single day.
It couldn’t be my job performance, so it had to be the police interrogation this afternoon. Maybe Randal didn’t want anyone around who knew that the police suspected that he had murdered Billy Paul.
That wasn’t fair. He was the one who had forced me to come and listen. Now he wanted to fire me for having been there?
I reviewed what he had said to Chief Albertson and was struck by a new idea. Maybe Randal wanted to get rid of me because I’d heard him talk about Vietnam. Maybe he hadn’t expected the conversation to go in that direction and he was taken by surprise.
Maybe there was some secret about his military service that I hadn’t picked up on. Albertson had mentioned that he might have spent time in the brig and Randal hadn’t denied it. Was that the secret?
Even if that were true, it still wasn’t fair. It wasn’t my fault that the chief had asked him about ‘Nam. I didn’t deserve to be fired because of that.
It was hard enough to muster much enthusiasm for this job at the best of times. Impossible when I kept thinking about the pile of applications sitting in the office drawer. Who was in that pile?
I’d seen guys apply for work. I hadn’t seen anybody impressive. Mostly, they’d wander in during lunch, sleep still in their eyes, and ask to see the manager. Gwen would have them fill out a form and then she’d chuck it on the order counter where we would brush it aside. When lunch was over, if it hadn’t been accidentally dropped in the trash or been soaked to illegibility by grease, Randal would throw it on top of the stack in the drawer.
“Hey, C.B., where’s my meatloaf?” Gwen asked. It was her first order of the day and she didn’t have anything better to do than bug me.
The meatloaf was usually a fast order but it was early in the day and I was still reheating the mashed potatoes from the previous evening. I could have taken a scoop out and warmed it separately, but this morning, the pot was almost up to heat so I couldn’t be bothered. The difference was only a matter of a couple of minutes. Or maybe five.
She was still calling me C.B. so she could wait for it.
“It’ll be ready when it’s ready,” I said.
Gwen looked at me in shock. It was the first time that I’d been anything less than polite to her.
“Customer’s waiting.” She was probably thinking about her tip.
I didn’t get tips so why should I care? “Who eats meatloaf for breakfast? She can wait.”
It wasn’t really breakfast time. We didn’t serve food until eleven so our first meal was lunch. But a lot of people preferred an omelet or eggs and bacon if it wasn’t noon yet. Meatloaf was a rare order this early in the day. Probably a tourist.
“What’s up with you this morning?” she asked. “You been hanging around Randal too long?”
I just looked at her.
After a minute, she said, “Let me know when it’s ready,” and turned away.
I never guessed that I could stare down Gwen. But I didn’t feel that I’d won any victory. My only prize was that she left me alone for once.
As the day wore on, I began to notice a change in the climate. The frostier my attitude toward Gwen, the warmer she treated me. Between the end of lunch and the end of the day, I don’t think she called me C.B. even once. And she smiled at me a bit. A couple of times she even said please.
I barely recognized her.
It was spooky.
Katie, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice my funk. She gave me as many bright, shiny, meaningless smiles as ever. But there was no more real warmth than on any other day. When her shift ended, I didn’t bother wishing her good-bye, as had become my custom.
I was sure that my chill didn’t make any noticeable difference in her life.
