by Paige Toon
Actually, Cristina said this morning’s argument wasn’t really an argument: the two men were discussing football. Italians often sound like they’re angry when they’re simply having an animated conversation, I’ve discovered.
It’s all very different to the life I had at home where my room was so quiet and dark that I could’ve heard a pin drop.
Not that I slept well there. The slightest noise had me bounding from bed with worry about what trouble Nan might be getting herself into.
As I’m packing up my laptop, I spy Stefano sniggering to Cristina nearby.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ I ask.
‘We’re waiting for the fireworks to start,’ Stefano replies, casting a look over his shoulder at Susanna.
She’s behind the bar with Alessandro and although she has her back to us, there’s something coquettish about her body language. Alessandro is cleaning out the coffee machine while she watches. I think he’s listening to something she’s saying because he nods occasionally, although he doesn’t look at her.
‘What fireworks?’ I ask with confusion.
Teresa flies through the door in her usual hurricane-like manner and Stefano looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust.
Teresa’s eyes make a sweep of the room, coming to a stop at the sight of Susanna and Alessandro behind the bar. Susanna stiffens and her smile freezes in place. Teresa looks away again and begins her usual arriving-to-work routine, checking the reservations book and twisting her hair up into a bun and securing it with a pencil. She doesn’t acknowledge any of us, but her eyes are flashing with even more annoyance than usual.
It’s like watching a soap opera. If only there were subtitles.
‘I can’t believe I was on holiday when it happened!’ Stefano mourns loudly when I follow him and Cristina into the stockroom-cum-office-cum-cluttered-little-cupboard-space at the rear of the restaurant.
‘When what happened?’ I ask, barely managing to squeeze into the tiny room.
‘When Alessandro and Susanna got it on,’ he replies, making rude gestures with his hands.
Cristina makes a noise of disapproval. ‘You don’t know for sure that they did it,’ she brushes him off, before saying to me, ‘Susanna has been all over Alessandro since the day he arrived.’
‘Since the day Alessandro arrived? From where?’
‘From his latest travels.’
‘But what’s the deal with Teresa?’
‘Teresa is so last summer,’ Stefano replies gleefully, waving at me in a mock dismissive, highly camp manner.
‘Alessandro slept with Teresa last year?’ I ask with surprise.
‘And the rest,’ Stefano replies slyly.
What? This is an unexpected revelation.
Cristina makes that same noise of disapproval again. ‘Too much gossip is bad for you, Stefano. Your cheeks have gone pink. What shall we listen to tonight?’
As they argue over which music to play on the sound system, my gut twists unpleasantly.
And there was me thinking I was getting to know Alessandro.
I come out of the stockroom and look over at him. He’s polishing glasses behind the bar. Susanna is in the kitchen – I can hear her chatting away merrily to Maria and Antonio – and Teresa is setting tables, putting down knives and forks with such intent that each piece of cutlery hits the wooden table with a clunk.
Loud – and I mean loud – rave music fills the room and Stefano bursts into the restaurant area, fist pumping the air and enthusiastically marching across the floor beside the bar. Cristina follows him, laughing, and the two of us stand side by side in hysterics as Alessandro throws his hands up in outrage and shouts something that none of us can hear.
Giulio went out a while ago – I don’t think anyone would attempt to get away with this sort of behaviour if he were around, but then again, I’m surprised Stefano is being this ballsy with Alessandro.
I glance at Alessandro to see that he’s stopped shouting and is now staring resignedly at Stefano. His lips twitch at the sight of him trying to get Teresa to dance.
Blimey, he’s managed to get her to crack a smile.
Susanna comes out of the kitchen and erupts into peals of laughter. Stefano, spying a potential new dancing partner, bounds up the stairs from the lower level to the top and gyrates past the bar in the direction of Susanna.
Alessandro flicks his ear with the cloth he was using to polish glasses.
‘Ow!’ Stefano exclaims, clutching his head.
I can’t hear him, but I can read his lips.
The music abruptly cuts off and I look to my left to see that Cristina is no longer beside me.
As Stefano protests loudly, the music changes to ‘A Little Respect’ by Erasure, the volume reduced considerably.
Stefano’s irritation endures only a couple of seconds before he shrugs and begins to nod his head along to the music. The first customers walk through the door as Cristina reappears beside me.
‘That broke the tension,’ she mutters, watching Teresa greet the customers with her brightest smile. ‘For now.’
As the restaurant fills up and the orders pile in, I sit at the bar, feeling like a spare part.
Alessandro is preoccupied dealing with multiple drinks orders, so I pick up the cloth he was using and continue to polish the glasses he was doing earlier. When he turns around and sees me doing this, he looks surprised.
‘I’m happy to help, you know,’ I tell him.
Everyone else is flat out and I’ve been sitting here, sipping the red wine that Giulio poured for me earlier. I could go back to the apartment, but the thought of being alone tonight makes me feel, well, lonely.
I’d offer to help out in the kitchen, but I’d only get in the way. Too many cooks and definitely not enough room. And I can’t serve tables as I don’t speak Italian. Not yet, anyway.
‘Maybe I can help you with the coffees later?’ I ask Alessandro as I polish. He taught me how to work the machine earlier.
He eyes me thoughtfully as he makes a couple of Aperol Spritzes.
I reckon he could probably prepare most drinks blindfolded.
‘You’re bored?’ he asks.
‘A bit.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why are you apologising?’ I’ve appreciated him taking me under his wing since I arrived in Rome, but I do want to learn to fly soon.
Next week, I plan to venture into the city centre to check out the sights in daylight. I’m petrified at the thought of trying to work out the public transport system, but it’s all part of the adventure, I keep telling myself.
‘Perhaps on Monday you could go to Tivoli to meet some of Giulio’s family?’ Alessandro suggests.
‘Aren’t they your family too?’
He shrugs and returns his attention to the drinks, but his nostrils flare.
Have I upset him?
Susanna comes over to collect her drinks order, saying something coy to Alessandro. I think she’s asking him to get a move on and she’s doing it rather flirtatiously, but his expression remains impassive.
Susanna smiles at me and winks as he pours a glass of beer from the tap. He doesn’t look at her as he places it on the tray. She picks up the tray and, in what seems like slow motion, turns and crashes straight into Teresa.
Glasses go flying, smashing into smithereens on the floor. Both Teresa and Susanna get soaked, and the whole restaurant falls silent at the commotion.
Along with every other pair of eyes in the room, I watch the two women stare at each other in shock.
And then Teresa lets rip.
She begins screaming a tirade of abuse at Susanna and, a moment later, Susanna starts to give as good as she gets.
I’m aghast, seeing this go down in front of the customers, so I can’t imagine how Alessandro feels. He’s frozen, regarding them both with horror.
Giulio comes out of the kitchen with a similar expression on his face, but to my surprise it’s Stefano who jumps
to the rescue, ushering both Susanna and Teresa out the back.
Cristina appears with a mop and a broom and I slip off my stool immediately to help her clear up the mess. I hear Giulio mutter a few angry words to Alessandro and glance up to see him striding in the direction of the kitchen, shoving the door open with menace. Cristina breathes in sharply and, after some awkward tittering from the tables, people return to the business of eating and drinking.
When I straighten up, Alessandro is still standing behind the bar, looking shell-shocked.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask him tentatively.
He comes to his senses, nodding tersely and getting on with redoing the drinks order.
‘Which table is it for?’ I ask when I’ve returned to the bar after discarding the broken glass and putting away the cleaning supplies.
‘Table 4.’ He nods at a table by the window.
I pick up the completed order and deliver it to the table.
The people sitting there are two middle-aged couples, and I’m glad to discover that they’re American.
‘What were the waitresses arguing about?’ they ask me conspiratorially when they realise I speak English.
‘I wish I knew,’ I reply with a smile.
Stefano is at the bar when I return, saying something about Susanna to Alessandro.
‘Teresa?’ Alessandro asks him.
Teresa reappears, shooting daggers at Alessandro as she returns to work.
Stefano follows her lead.
Alessandro seems defeated. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I get on with polishing glasses, but when Susanna doesn’t return and a harassed-looking Cristina is flagged down by yet another of Susanna’s customers, I can’t stay quiet.
‘Has Susanna left?’ I ask Alessandro.
‘Yes,’ he replies wearily, and then a family of five walk through the door: two adults and three young children.
I can hear the mother speaking English and an idea comes to me.
‘I could serve the English-speaking tables if you like?’
Alessandro looks hopeful. ‘You could?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you!’ He breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Put them on Table 1 at the bottom of the stairs. If you could also take over Tables 4 and 6, which is the one in the middle,’ he says, pointing it out, ‘I’ll let Teresa know.’
Without delay, I hurry over to the door to welcome the family, grabbing a pen, notepad and menus from the stash beside the till.
‘Are you Australian?’ the mother asks me as I settle them and mention the fixed-price deal for the children. I’ve overheard the drill.
‘I am,’ I reply with a smile. ‘Where are you guys from?’
‘Britain,’ she replies.
‘Awesome. When did you arrive?’
As we chat, I notice Teresa returning from the Americans at Table 4. She halts in her steps and stares at me.
‘Can I get you a drink right away or should I give you a few minutes?’ I ask, feeling Teresa’s eyes boring into the side of my face.
‘Ooh, I’d love an Aperol Spritz,’ the mum says.
‘Great choice,’ I reply, turning to smile at the dad and trying not to be put off by Teresa’s death stare.
‘I’ll have a beer, please. Which Italian ones do you have?’
I reel off the ones I’ve noticed in the fridge and on tap, hoping something will appeal.
He chooses a Peroni Gran Riserva, plus peach juice for the kids.
Teresa is at the bar having a full-on hissy fit. It doesn’t take a genius to know what she and Alessandro are arguing about, albeit in low tones so the customers can’t hear. I place my drinks order at the bottom of Alessandro’s pile and hurry past them to the stockroom to grab myself an apron. When I come back, Teresa has returned to work.
‘That didn’t go down too well?’ I ask Alessandro, who sighs and shakes his head.
He’s having a bad night.
‘Americans give the best tips,’ Cristina explains, materialising at my side. ‘And Brits tip better than Italians,’ she adds.
‘She can have the tips, I don’t care,’ I reply with a shrug.
‘No, she will not,’ Alessandro interjects sharply.
‘That American table at least,’ I reply, trying to reason with him. ‘And surely Table 6,’ I add, even though they’re still studying their menus, so all she’s done is take them to their table.
‘They’re your tables. End of discussion.’
I don’t have time to argue with him, we’ll sort it out later.
Antonio calls from the serving hatch and Alessandro jerks his head in his direction. ‘Table 4.’
I hurry over, take the garlic bread and calamari to the Americans and then return to the kitchen for the rest of their starters. There’s no way I’m going to attempt to carry more than two plates at a time without practice.
Afterwards, I pay Table 6 a visit and take their order.
Chapter 16
The next couple of hours fly by. There’s so much to remember. I’ve never waitressed before, but I end up doing six tables that are dotted around the room, including serving two additional British families and an American couple who come in.
My head is full to bursting. Every time I walk through the restaurant area, someone calls out for something: glasses of water, fresh cutlery, drinks. Sometimes I understand the Italian and am happy to help out with small requests like refilling water carafes, but often I have to apologise and seek out their server – I do this cringingly if that server happens to be Teresa.
We’re supposed to open bottles of wine at the table using a one-handed corkscrew, but I’ve found this contraption impossible to master. When Teresa saw me struggling on my first attempt, she actually laughed, enjoying my mortification. Luckily, Stefano stepped in and opened the bottle for me, doing it with a smile and flourish. He’s done the rest of my bottles since in the same amiable manner. I’ll have to practise at home in case I need to help out again.
The Americans are the first to finish up. They pay in cash and leave an enormous tip. I don’t know what to do with it.
‘Please put at least some of that in Teresa’s tin,’ I implore Alessandro, placing the plate with the money in front of him.
The servers all have tip tins with names on them, under the bar.
He shakes his head at me and tsks. I give him a beseeching look over my shoulder as I hurry back to my tables and, from his expression, he seems to be coming around.
I might not love the girl, but I don’t want to make an enemy of her.
Unfortunately, I think I’m too late for that. Teresa’s smile that she reserves for customers drops off her face as she passes me on the stairs. I hear her whisper something under her breath and I know that it’s hateful.
My heart sinks. I’m not used to animosity.
Soon I’m down to one table. The others in the restaurant are finishing up as well. When my last customers settle their bill, I take my tip to Alessandro and place it on the bar.
He nods at the stool opposite. ‘Sit down, I’ll get you a drink.’
I do as he says, the soles of my feet stinging as I revel in the feeling of finally being able to take a breather. I check my watch and see that it’s almost midnight. Oddly, I don’t feel tired. I seem to have got my second wind.
‘I’ll take you home soon,’ Alessandro promises as Cristina appears with her tip plate.
‘Can we tempt you to come out with us instead?’ she asks me hopefully as Alessandro calls out ‘Grazie, arrivederci’ to the last of the customers.
‘Yes! Come!’ Stefano cries, joining us. ‘Give her a shot or something,’ he urges Alessandro.
Alessandro looks at him and then at me. I don’t know why I’m not putting this idea to bed – bed is certainly where I thought I was headed – but I’m strangely flattered to be asked to join them.
Alessandro, noticing me hesitating, lines up some shot glasses. Stefano claps with glee as Alessandro r
eaches for a bottle of something yellow in frosted glass.
‘Teresa!’ he calls, pouring alcohol into the line of glasses.
She looks over, but turns up her nose.
Alessandro mutters something under his breath and picks up his glass. We all follow suit, chinking them together before knocking them back.
Eesh! That was strong.
Alessandro smiles at the look on my face. ‘Another?’ he asks.
‘Yes!’ Stefano cries on my behalf.
I shrug and nod, so he pours a second round.
After that, we set about cleaning the restaurant. Stefano whacks on some loud music and tries to get me to dance with him.
I didn’t have many friends my own age in Coober Pedy – it had been that way my whole life. A combination of being a shy child and some of the other girls coming across as overly dominant made me withdraw into my shell.
Louise was my only friend at school, but she lacked confidence too. In time, we each grew into our own skin, but when she moved away, I was left out on a limb.
Cristina and Stefano are a dominant pairing, but I’m no longer daunted by strong personalities. Even Teresa I can handle, although I might not enjoy being the unfair recipient of her hostility.
The idea of becoming part of Stefano and Cristina’s gang is appealing. It’s probably about time I had some friends my own age. I feel a prickle of guilt as I think this, though I know the crowd back home wouldn’t hold it against me.
*
I wasn’t aware of this until about five minutes ago, but every service ends with pizza for the staff. Alessandro pours glasses of red wine, while Stefano and I wait by the serving hatch.
‘So, are you coming?’ Stefano asks me.
‘Yes, I think I will.’
‘Excellent!’
My feet are still stinging, but the couple of shots I’ve had have helped. I reckon I could manage some dancing.
We carry the pizzas to the bar top as Teresa marches out of the stockroom with her bag slung over her shoulder. She goes straight to Alessandro, demanding something or other of him. He opens the cash register to pay her, I suppose, and gets her tip tin out from beneath the bar.
