by C.J Duggan
Chapter Six
My burden to bear for the night was to serve two posh tourists, who spoke in clipped sentences and looked at me as if they had stepped in something nasty.
The full-figured lady sported a grey bob that was immaculately kept in place. No, really, it didn't move; there must have been a full can of hairspray on there. She was clearly highly flammable. I clasped my notepad tightly, glancing around with unease; trust Claire Henderson to think candles would make for great ambience in the dining room. The place was a giant death trap for this woman.
She smiled at me but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her husband complained about the lighting, the air conditioning, and the sound of the music filtering through the paper-thin walls of the poolroom. Their rudeness frazzled me, which was bad, as the last thing I needed was to make more mistakes as the night picked up in pace. More patrons poured through the restaurant's French doors, all sun-kissed and starving from their day in the sun. The restaurant was at full capacity, a buzzing cauldron of chaos, so when I brought out the wrong meal (because I had written down the table wrong), Rosanna started to lose it, and I quickly vacated the kitchen, slamming hard into Chris's chest.
"Whoa, Tess, slow down."
I bit my lower lip in an attempt to hide that I was upset.
"We're going to switch things up a bit, okay? Uncle Eric wants you to take over Adam's place in the kitchen for a bit. Thinks it might be for the best," he said.
Meaning I wasn't quite cutting it out front. A part of me was relieved, but another part of me was mortified that I had just been demoted, if only for the night. In other words, they thought I wasn't doing a good enough job. They would never have sent Ellie in to wash dishes, not in a million years.
"Ellie's going to take over your tables." Chris took the notepad and pen from me; another slap in the face. I nodded and solemnly turned back to the kitchen. My summer was now downgraded from hell to the pits of hell, with Melba and Rosanna.
Thanks, Adam!
I stood in front of the sink for what seemed like forever, overwhelmed by the huge pile of dirty pots and pans, and ever-increasing stack of plates. I didn't know where to begin. I tied the sodden dish apron around me, too afraid to ask if there were any rubber gloves. At least I wouldn't have to worry about being seen in my cat suit. As I waited for the sink to fill, I cast a look at my pride and joy, my meticulously French manicured nails. I had filed, shaped and coated them in preparation for my big working debut. I had always prided myself on having nice nails and thought I would put an extra-special effort into them, knowing I was to be serving customers. If I was to be incompetent, at least they could say, "Well, she had nice hands."
Nice hands that were now submerged in blisteringly hot, dirty, dishwater.
Ellie swung through the kitchen door, smiling like a Cheshire cat; she never said anything about my new position. She was too busy humming a joyful tune and spiking her docket.
"Order up!"
I unloaded a stack of dishes near the server, peeking at the docket and wondering if the little piece of paper had anything to do with her being in such fine form. A docket with several meals listed sported the heading 'The Onslow Boys' - (Poolroom). A little smiley face had been drawn into the O, and the penny dropped. Ha! Well, at least someone was having a good time.
There was much swearing and pot throwing at the peak of service. Through desperation, they had Melba take a few orders, and with Melba's people skills being what they were, it was a true sign that they were under the pump. At least I was friendly. For the most part, Melba was really a kitchenhand for Rosanna and they kind of complemented each other. What I mean by that is that Melba refused to take Rosanna's crap, so it worked.
I had created a clean space in my sodden little corner of the world; I even felt good about my achievement until I looked down at my destroyed nails, the once immaculate polish melted from the heat of the water. As I took a moment to survey the damage, the background was filled with more swearing and clattering, accompanied by the frantic dinging of the service bell, all of which I was sadly getting used to as the night wore on.
"Order up," Rosanna screamed.
Ellie was noticeably absent, which caused Rosanna to lose it big time. Before all hell broke loose, Chris burst through the kitchen door and spotted my nearly clear sink.
"You. Meals. Go. Now!" He held the door ajar, pointing to the restaurant.
"But Uncle Eric said I was to-"
"Uncle Eric is upstairs watching Touched by an Angel, so what I say goes; we need you to take the meals, now!"
I frantically untied my dish apron and smoothed down fly-away strands of hair that had curled from the steam. Before Rosanna hurled the meals across the kitchen, I grabbed them and headed through the door Chris still held open.
"Get them out of here! Get them out of here!" she screamed.
Happy to escape the mayhem and relieved I hadn't been knifed in the process, I looked at the docket that lay haphazardly on top of the chip pile on the dinner plate. It read the 'Onslow Boys'. With immense concentration, I walked two plates through the restaurant en route to the poolroom. The mystery of Ellie's disappearance was solved when I saw her taking orders for a table of twelve. She managed to glance at me as I walked by, and putting two and two together she pouted at the fact I was delivering 'her' meals.
I pressed my back against the swinging restaurant door and pushed my way through to the front bar. I had never been in the bar in peak hour on a Saturday night. Actually, I had never been in here at all until I worked here, so I wasn't entirely sure what would greet me as I walked steadily through my final barrier, a flimsy concertina partition, and into the bar. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer hit me first, followed by the loud music that flooded from the poolroom. The front bar was dominated mainly by an older clientele, enjoying the blessed happy hour. The bar aligned with an array of men in attire ranging from flannelette-covered work overalls, to stubby shorts and Blundstone boots. Foreigner's 'Urgent' blared from the speakers as I made my way gingerly through the mass of bodies. Men parted for me with lingering gazes. I smiled politely, excusing myself as I brushed by strangers, dodging and weaving with great care, holding onto the dinner with a white-knuckled intensity. I headed to the poolroom to deliver the Chicken Parma's to the smiley-faced Onslow Boys. I paused under the archway, taking in the packed, smoky poolroom. The music was twice as loud in here. Just as I summoned enough courage to yell out my order, I was drowned out by a blast of laughter and shouts as someone missed a shot on the pool table.
"That's two shots to us!" yelled a tall, muscular boy. Sean Murphy. I knew him mainly by his all-star status as the ruck-man for the Onslow Tigers. He was now looking at me with piercing baby blue eyes, a colour I had never seen before.
He flashed a smile that made my stomach flip, and as if sensing my predicament, he shouted out for me, "Grub's up! Tobias, it's your shot."
A lone figure leaning over the jukebox flipped through the song archives; he pushed his final selection before turning to grab the pool cue from Sean. I threatened to drop my plates when I noticed Tobias was Toby. The Toby! My Toby!
Our eyes locked, his brows raised in surprise, and then I realised he wasn't the only one looking at me. All of the Onslow Boys were looking at me like I was some kind of creature that had emerged from the lake. But when I caught their eyes roaming over me much like Chris's had, it made me suddenly super aware and self-conscious of my bodysuit attire.
I coughed and stammered, "Where do you want it?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised how suggestive it had sounded and mentally slapped myself.
There was a pause and a line of bemused smirks as I watched the same thought flick through their minds, before Toby broke off and headed to the pool table.
"Two shots, was it?" Toby asked.
Sean scratched his jawline and nodded. Trying not to smile.
"Just sit them down there, Tess,"
I flinched at the unexpected
voice of Chris, from behind me where he stood manning the bar, his arms crossed. He was all business, no nonsense. I latched onto the clarity and put the meals quickly on the bar.
"Thanks, Tess." Sean smiled at me as he slid a meal down the bar.
I made my exit, stressed that I had at least two more meals to deliver to them without embarrassing myself. Again.
I took the shortcut through the opposite door to head towards the kitchen; I passed Ellie who was still busy with her mammoth table. When she saw me coming from the bar, she winked and gave me the thumbs up, and I couldn't help but smile and return the gesture.
I carried the meals back the same way and avoided the front bar all together. When I reached the Onslow Boys, I didn't need to ask whose meals I was holding. Toby and another boy, Stan, I think his name was, had pulled their bar stools next to Sean and a boy they'd nicknamed Ringer. I placed the meals carefully before Toby and Stan who both said, "Thanks." My heart did a little flip.
"Hey, Tess, is there any salt and pepper?" Sean asked.
"Oh ? uh, I'll get some." I made a silent prayer that I wasn't blushing at such a simple question. I snuck back to the restaurant and grabbed a set. Quickstepping back into the poolroom, I passed them to Sean's outstretched hand upon my return.
He watched me intently. "What's your last name, Tess?"
Before I could answer, Toby spoke for me. "McGee," he said. He glanced up from his meal, confident about his answer and motioning for Sean to pass the salt.
He knew my name?
"Ahh, McGee, eh? Your parents own the Rose Caf? in Perry? That McGee?" Sean pressed.
"Ah, yeah, Jeff and Jenny McGee."
"Best pies in town," Ringer added with a mouth full of chips.
They all nodded.
"Thanks! I'll make sure I tell her the Onslow Boys approve."
Sean frowned as if what I just said confused him and Ringer, Toby and Stan looked equally confused as they eyed each other.
Sean swallowed. "The Onslow Boys?"
In that very moment I knew I had gone bright red; the Onslow Boys was Ellie's nickname for them. Not a common one everyone used.
"Oh, nothing," I stammered. "It was just something that was written on the docket, so I could find you."
Oh help!
Sean munched on a chip thoughtfully. "Let me see."
I cringed and reached for the crumpled order I had shoved in my apron from the plate. Sean took it from me.
His smile broadened. "The Onslow Boys."
"Don't forget the smiley face," added Stan, who peered over Sean's shoulder.
I felt like such a child. Sean handed the docket back to me.
"That's pretty cool. Boys, it would appear we have a new status; we now represent the entire town."
"That's a frightening thought," Chris added, as he appeared in the bar. He had a habit of appearing out of nowhere.
"Surely we could have been called the Onslow Men?" Ringer puffed his chest out.
"No, I think boys is appropriate for the likes of you lot," Chris said.
They all broke out with laughter. Stan threw a chip at Chris and the verbal onslaught continued. Chris gave me a 'back to work' look that made me scurry to action. I locked eyes briefly with Toby who seemed to be the only one not overly amused by the personal jokes being flung around.
I ducked into the alcove between the poolroom and dining room hall, stealing a moment to catch my breath. I had managed to see Toby twice in one week and he knew my name, not just my first name but my whole name.
He actually knew my name.
So? I thought to myself. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone's name, it was no big deal.
I couldn't help but press myself closer to the partition; I strained to overhear their voices that were mixed with laughter.
"So what do you think?" posed Ringer.
"What do I think?" said Sean.
"Yeah."
"I think she makes me want to drink Guinness," Sean said. That had them all laughing.
Guinness? I looked down in horror to see that exact word blatantly advertised across my chest.
"Easy, Tiger," Chris said.
"Whose shot is it?" added Toby, and the fray was broken with more trash talk about one another's pool skills. Mortified, I ran back to the kitchen with my head swimming in all that was the Onslow Boys and Toby Morrison, who knew my name.
By eleven o'clock, it was just Ellie and I left in the kitchen, washing all of Rosanna's pots and equipment.
"Chefs don't do dishes," Rosanna had said as she smugly made her way out of the kitchen.
We glared after her, the same thought no doubt crossing both our minds.
Chef? Pa-lease!
Rosanna had pretty much trashed the kitchen. Remnants of greasy food spattered on the work bench, spoons, pots, dishes, sodden tea towels and an overflowing rubbish bin. I could only imagine that this was a reflection of what inside her mind was like. Chaos. We were on the homeward stretch, wiping down the benches, both clearly exhausted by a long, hard night. When Chris walked in with a new set of dirty dishes he dumped in the sink, I dragged myself over to refill it with water.
"Leave it, Tess," Chris said, "you've done enough, come and have your knock-off drink."
We dragged ourselves into the main bar, pulling up the spare seats next to Rosanna who was devouring a smoke, and Melba who sipped on a vodka and tonic. Chris plonked two ice cold Cokes on the small table before us which we gratefully skulled in unison.
"Thirsty work, girls?" bellowed Sean, who appeared out of the poolroom making his way towards the gents.
I nearly choked on a bit of ice at the unexpected comment, which Melba and Rosanna thought was hilarious. They slapped their palms on the table with fits of cackling laughter.
"Don't worry love, Seany-boy has that effect on all the girls." Rosanna knocked my chair with her foot as she wriggled her pencil thin eyebrows in a 'hubba-hubba' motion.
"And he's really nice, too," added Ellie, dreamily.
"Ha! It's the nice ones you have to worry about," Melba said.
Our conversation was getting more and more bizarre in a really dysfunctional way; it was like a bonding session of sorts. And as Sean reappeared and walked back towards the poolroom, we all tipped our heads sideways, watching, in appreciation of such fineness.
Chris worked on drawing the blinds, switching off the main lights and deadbolting all the doors.
"Time for everyone to head home by the looks of it," I sighed.
"Oh, honey," Rosanna said, "they're just booting up, the night doesn't kick off till now." She butted out her cigarette.
"How so?" asked Ellie.
"They're doing a lock-in."
"What's that?"
"It's the lurks and perks of being mates with the nephew of the publican." Rosanna stood, hooking her handbag over her bony shoulder.
"Dropping me off, Melbs?"
Melba swallowed the last of her gin, slapping her hand on the table.
"Let's go. See you girls tomorrow at eleven. Don't be late."
Chris unbolted the back door and let them out. My shoulders drooped, my body unclenched. I saw Ellie do it, too. For the first time that whole night, Ellie and I collectively relaxed.
She leaned towards me. "So what do you think of Sean?"
What I wanted to say (but didn't dare - not here) was, 'what do you think of Toby?'
"He seems nice, friendly enough." I shrugged. "I don't really know him."
"Hmm, I would like to, though," Ellie said. "I mean, seriously!" She had that glazed look in her eyes as she stared towards the poolroom.
Chris collected ashtrays and rolled up bar mats, hovering over us in a not-too-subtle gesture for us to get a move on. We skulled the last of our drinks and gathered our handbags. We were both exhausted and obviously not invited to the lock-in anyway. In order to get out the front we had to make our way directly past the poolroom, where a very merry Stan was shuffling to K.C and the Suns
hine Band's 'Get Down Tonight'.
"Who put this on?" complained Ringer.
"Random," they all said at once. But the Boys sounded unconvinced, casting dubious glances at Stan who mysteriously knew all the words as he pointed to no one in particular.
Ellie and I couldn't help but laugh.
"Don't encourage him," said Chris, who couldn't contain his own smile.
"He's trying to psyche me out," Toby said as he concentrated on potting the black ball. He did, with ease.
He shook Sean's hand, who had now spotted us waiting for Chris to un-deadbolt the front door.
"So the 'Perry Girls' are off, then?"
"Perry Girls?" repeated Ellie.
He shrugged. "Seemed only fair to return the title."
She thought for a moment, and smiled. "'Perry Girls'. I like it."
Sean walked over and shook Ellie's hand, then mine.
"For services rendered in the line of duty." He smiled.
Next thing we knew, we were ushered over to Ringer who shook our hands and was fighting not to fall asleep at the bar.
"It couldn't have been an easy job, having that knucklehead order you around." He tilted his head towards Chris. "He's drunk with power, ya know?" Ringer winked.
"Watch it, Ringo, let's not forget who the gatekeeper is here," Chris said in mock seriousness.
Ringer shook his head. "See what I mean?"
And then there I was. Standing in front of Toby, who held his hand out to me. I placed my hand into his and memorised the pressure, the feel, the length of one-two-three shakes and then it was over all too soon. But he did look at my hand for a mere moment, his brow furrowed.
Oh God, was he looking at my nails? My mangy, chipped, dishpan hands?
Ellie didn't get past Stan who was still shaking her hand in a way that threatened to dislocate her shoulder.
"Come on, Chris, can we keep them?" whined Stan.
Ellie laughed and looked at Chris with the same forlorn plea in her eyes.
"I think the girls have better things to do than hang out with a bunch of derelicts like us."
The truth was, Ellie's dad would be waiting down the road to take us to our childhood bedrooms for us to curl up in our jammies in bed. It had been a long day, and I had felt exhausted, but I was suddenly wide awake, standing next to Toby.
Chris opened the front door, as if the matter was non-negotiable. This was obviously a boys-only gathering.
"Eleven am start, ladies."
With that, we were ushered outside and the door closed behind us. Standing in muted darkness, only small slithers of light streamed beyond the cracks of the window blind, the echoes of muffled laughter sounding from inside.
We started the trek down the hill towards the brake lights of Ellie's dad's car when Ellie asked, "So what do you think of Stan?"
I laughed. How things could change in an instant with Ellie.
I didn't answer. Instead, in the relative privacy of the nighttime track, I said, "That's funny, because I was just going to ask what you thought of Toby."
