The serving crew began to trickle in about 10 a.m., but Faye didn't notice. She had retreated back downstairs to hunt for a promised pair of sneakers. As she entered the bedroom, she ran straight into one of Jet's 'girls'.
The young woman seemed surprised, and slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, miss…I was just trying to take a nap."
"No, no…" Faye tried to set the girl at ease. "Mak told me that I could get some shoes in here."
"Oh…maybe she meant storage? I didn't see any shoes when I came in."
Faye shrugged. Mak hadn't sent her this way at all; she was simply trying to find a place to brood over her suspicions. "I guess so. What's your name?"
"I'm…Hannah," the girl said hesitantly.
Faye gave her a quick glance. Despite her outfit, which showed at least four times as much skin as it actually covered, this girl seemed quite shy and naïve. Most likely as a result of her silky brown hair, light green eyes and cherubic face. Very pretty. She extended her hand. "I'm Faye."
"Nice to meet you," Hannah said with a sheepish smile. "I wasn't making too much noise, was I? Did Big Poppa send you down here?"
Faye pretended ignorance. "No, why would he do that?"
"Oh, you must be new. I'm one of Big Poppa's girls. He lets us sleep in this room if we're not feeling too good, and he lets us order food with a discount."
"What do you mean, his 'girl'?"
Hannah's cheeks burned. "Um…he just…takes care of us, you know?" Her eyes clearly begged not to be pressed for a more detailed description, and Faye obliged, asking a related question. "How did you become his girl?"
"Well…he saw me on 9th and Thrushgrove Street one night, when it was really cold, and he just came up to me and asked me if I had eaten that day. And I thought he was a pimp, cuz he was…" Here Hannah blushed again. "…he was real smooth, you know? And then he brought me here, and let me order a free dinner. I thought for sure he was gonna want some. But he told me that he just wanted me to get something to eat." She stopped speaking for a moment and played with her well-lacquered nails. "He was so nice…I asked him if I could keep hanging around, cuz I was scared, you know? It's hard on the streets. Some of those guys are really bad. And he said I could as long as I didn't try to do any business in the restaurant."
Faye rocked back and forth. "Business…you mean, picking up guys, right?"
Hannah bit into her lip. Obviously, she hadn't quite accepted what she was doing as legitimate. "I…I just…it's so hard to get through college, you know? I'm the first person in my family to go. My parents didn't know that it would cost this much. They do what they can, but books and food add up after a while…" She looked at Faye with a small blaze of fire in her eyes. "But when I'm a doctor, I can forget about all of this. I can go wherever I want and never remember these days again."
Faye smiled at this singular hope. She had felt it keenly herself, and not all that long ago. Hers, however, had withered and died without so much as a fairy-tale ending to show for it. She encouraged Hannah nonetheless. "Well, hang in there, then."
Those pale green eyes shone, and Faye finally understood a little more where Jet was coming from. It really wasn't that hard to be nice.
She did indeed find a pair of skid-proof sneakers in one of the storage rooms, and as she was putting them on, Mak came marching down the hall. "Oh, Faye. You gonna work?"
"Yeah," Faye answered.
"All right, sounds good. You ever waited tables?"
"No."
"Well…no biggie. We got a lot of good servers here that can help train you. Unless you'd rather host or help out with the bar?"
"I'll host."
"Cool. All you need to know to host are our specials for the day, and where to seat people. Don't pile every customer in one server's section, that's a real good way to get 'em pissed off with you. Try to rotate and use the seating chart, it'll help. Today's soup is sliced beef and carrots, today's special is a dozen oysters for three wulongs. Don't worry, it's prolly written on the hostess stand already." Mak continued to rattle off various instructions as they proceeded to the large wooden podium near the door. "And this is Candy. Candy, Faye." The two women shook hands and Mak turned to leave. "She'll be working with you for the morning shift, Candy, so train her good, 'kay?"
"Sure," this new girl answered as her manager left. Faye gave her a good once-over. Deep chestnut brown hair, cut stylishly in layers that fell gracefully over caramel skin. Light hazel eyes. And just why in hell why was she suddenly so interested in the appearance of every female in this place? She dropped her gaze guiltily.
The morning passed without any major hassle, and close to three Candy said, "It's almost time for the night crew. I'm gonna order something and get outta here, and you should too." She strolled towards the bar, where Jet stood chatting lazily with some customers. He looked up immediately upon seeing them approach. "You two want lunch?"
"Sure," Candy said immediately. "Grilled seabass sandwich, no onions, side of remoulade."
"Girl, please." Jet rang her order in with the distracted air that suited experienced servers so very well. "You eat the same thing every shift. Aren't you ever going to eat something besides fish?"
"Can't afford filet mignon and rack of lamb on my paycheck," she snapped, prompting laughter from the regulars.
"At least get some oysters."
"I hate oysters."
"Try the soup, Candy. Bet you'll like it. I swear."
"No way," she sassed and headed for the kitchen. Jet smiled, amused by her antics. "Want some lunch, Faye?"
She ordered a dozen oysters steamed well and sat down at a cocktail table to await their appearance. As soon as he could break away from the chattering patrons, Jet emerged from behind the bar and went into the kitchen. She noticed this out of the corner of her eye as she toyed with a sugar packet.
A stoneware dish was placed in front of her shortly enough, holding twelve oysters that were obviously fresh from the steamer. Jet seated himself across from her. "How's your shift so far? Wanna switch over to the bar area?"
She gulped down a plump oyster. "Okay, and no, in that order."
"Ah, but you see, that wasn't really a question. We already have enough hostesses for the night. I actually do need you to help me in the bar."
She eyed him silently.
"My back-up bartender called in. Normally I wouldn't care, but it's oyster night."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I can't leave the bar to get anything when I run out. It'll be too busy. I need a back-up to run food to the cocktails and keep things stocked."
"A go-fer."
"Pretty much. Will you help me out, my dear?"
Other than having a ridiculous case of pride, there was no legitimate reason for her to say no. All the same, she was slow in answering, but Jet seemed satisfied. "Take your time and eat. You don't have to be back on the clock until 5."
Jet was right, once again; the night crowd was substantial, drawn by the prospect of cold beer and fresh seafood. Faye took notes on what they had sold out of ("86," he had explained), and what items needed regular replenishment: the cream base that provided bulk for the foamy drinks, domestic bottles of beer, because they were on sale, the more popular liqueurs, and of course ice. Suitably prepared, she occupied the rest of her time by running food after making a quick mental note of the order of the cocktail tables. To be sure, she made a few mistakes. A family of five with small children found themselves the surprised recipients of fifty hot wings and two pitchers of beer; an elderly couple clearly missing most of their teeth was brought two pounds of shell-on crab. But on the whole, people were understanding and very tolerant of her errors, and she felt as though she was progressing quite well. Jet was as calm as she had ever seen him, handling multiple drink and food orders with aplomb. He seemed to be quite in his element as he mixed and poured with ease.
As the evening toiled on, the clientele changed. Just as she asked a server what time it was and was informed "10:45", a group of ten young men showed up. They looked as if the majority of them had just turned 21, and a few of them appeared to be semi-drunk already. Most of them stared pretty hard at her. And for the first time in ages, Faye Valentine actually felt some level of vague discomfort as eyes crawled on her skin.
A hand on her shoulder nearly made her jump. Jet was leaning across the bar to get her attention. "Faye, would you mind getting that table's order? You don't have to take any orders for anything besides drinks and appetizers. I've just got my hands full for the moment."
She agreed before she realized that she had actually said yes. Cursing her inattention, she walked over to the noisy group and asked them for their orders. As expected, they wanted yet more beer. She began to card them, and the one closest to her said as he flashed a driver's license, "Hey, mama, I'm old enough to show you a good time, ain't I?"
Ignoring the catcalls and her own flaming cheeks, she continued on requesting ID from all ten before stuffing her notepad back in her apron. As she turned, she heard wolf-whistles, and again, those indistinct but unpleasant shivers went up her spine.
She stalked over to the nearest terminal and punched up an order for four pitchers of Miller Lite, drumming the fingers of her left hand against the lacquered wood while she waited for the confirmation screen.
"Those guys treatin' you shitty?"
Faye turned to see Mak. "Yeah."
"If you don't feel good about a table, Faye, you don't ever have to take them, even if they're in your section. You want me to handle 'em?"
"No." Faye snatched up her ticket as it printed with a whine. "I…just…"
Mak clapped her on her shoulder reassuringly. "Gotcha. Look, I'm right here if you need anything."
She walked away to check on the hostess stand, and for a moment, Faye hated her utterly, her poise, her calm, her charm. But just as quickly, the moment of piercing envy passed and she found herself standing on the left side of the bar, waiting on four pitchers of beer and ten mugs.
They came, and she went, reluctantly heading to the table. The guys were watching the game, but all eyes were turned on her as she drew nearer. She set her serving table down, and as she was distributing beer and mugs, a hand caressed the back of her thigh. She jumped back and dropped the fourth pitcher on the table, glaring angrily at the inebriated man. "What the hell is your problem?"
"Come on, baby," he said with a self-assured air. "You know you want some of this, don't –"
His sentence ended abruptly as a looming shadow fell over him. Jet glowered down at him. "Tony, haven't I told you before to keep your hands to yourself?"
The man sat back, trying to save face. "Hey, man. I'm just playing with her. Ain't nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Play somewhere else," Jet snapped. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Tony looked flustered. His friends grew quiet, wondering what he would do. Faye stood by, until a hand plucking her elbow got her attention. She turned, even as Mak was pulling her away to the safety of the bar. "Getting' a little hot over there?"
"I think Jet's kicking that guy out," Faye said in a low voice.
"Yeah, he probably is. Tony thinks he's such hot stuff cuz his daddy owns two expensive complexes over in Neon. Jet's been threatening to ban him a lot lately."
"If he's rich, what's he doing in here?"
"He comes in here a lot cuz he's cheap as all hell, and he gives the servers a real hard time and tips like shit. He's gotten his lights punched out more than once. 'Bout a week ago he came in here and got in a fight and got his ass kicked, and he was tryin' to sue us because of it."
Faye scowled. "Why?"
"Jet was standing right there and didn't do nothing 'bout it. He says we were negligent. Problem was he started the fight. Anyway…" She stopped speaking as Tony muscled his way out, still trying to deflect embarrassment by telling his entourage that he didn't really want to eat here anyway. "Well, that's that. Go in the back and have a piece of key lime pie or something."
Obediently, Faye went, and tried to sort out how she felt while sitting against the shelf that held all of the to-go boxes. Was she mad? Oh hell yes. Humiliated? A little. But mostly, she felt powerless. It really stunk, this whole lack-of-confidence stuff.
"You all right?"
A familiar bald pate was peeking around the serving door. She mustered a tiny smile. "Yeah."
"The last hour's usually not real busy, you can knock off for the night if you want."
It only took her a moment to decide. "I'm not a complete invalid yet, Jet. I need practice, not babying."
"Relax, please. I'm not the bad guy here. I'm only trying to help." He looked at her for a few moments more, but when no answer came, he shook his head and let the door swing shut again. Walking back behind the bar, he began to remove errant beer mugs and dunk them in the hot water wash.
"She all right?"
He didn't look up at Mak. "She's pissed. I think she resents it when I try to help."
"She ain't got no problem with your help. Thing is, sometimes you mistake help with carryin'."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Please, fool, you ain't stupid. You know what I mean. You mean well, but you wanna help folks so bad that you forget that they still gotta do it themselves, and you gotta stand back and watch, even if that means they screw up."
He stopped washing glasses, which was good; he had inadvertently washed the same one five times. "Why do all the women in my life say the same damn thing?"
"Cuz you ain't got it yet."
A grin began to break through the scowl. "Fine. While I learn my lesson, why don't you go run the labor report. We've got scheduling to do tonight."
"There ain't no 'we'. That's all you."
"Oh, but I can't. I have to break down the bar and check the front of the house out and make sure they didn't skip out on deep cleaning, remember?"
Mak sucked her teeth. "And why you so eager to do it tonight? You never wanted to do it before." She picked up a few pieces of ice and cocked her arm threateningly. "I think I'm bein' suckered."
"I've accused you of many things, but never stupidity. You're being suckered." He dodged as the melting ice flakes flew his way and walked off laughing, good humor completely restored.
Author's Notes:
1. So very sorry for how long this took. I had the idea in place, I knew exactly where I wanted it to go, and somehow I couldn't do it. Okay, that's not true. I actually had work to do. In a restaurant. That serves seafood. Surprise, surprise, surprise.
2. Chapter title is courtesy of the immortal Billy Joel; the scene where patrons are forcibly removed from an eating establishment is inspired by the video for "Meet Virginia" by Train.
And the promised Jet/Faye still has not manifested itself, even though it was supposed to this very chapter. But since the chapter ended just a little differently that I originally thought it would, the loving is postponed. Hopefully for not as long, though.
Is it already time for Chapter Five? My, my…
