Chapter Nine – Food For Thought

Alex sighed loudly as she wrote down an order and handed it to the girl who was hovering beside her. "Two rump steaks, both medium, and a side of onion rings," she read to her. The girl – a doe eyed little thing that had only been working there a month or so – nodded and headed to the kitchen. Alex sighed again and blew upwards, making her fringe move. The room was hot, undoubtedly because it was filled with the noise and closeness of lots of bodies, all talking at once, eating, and clanging their metal cutlery on their plates. The restaurant she worked at was popular and renowned within Maryland for its "Saturday Stack of Sticky" Meal – or 'Triple S' to the staff that worked there called it – and tonight was heaving with customers who had come for that very dish. They'd sent out twenty five already and it was only eight o'clock. The plate of meats, all drenched in a homemade sticky BBQ sauce, turned Alex's stomach and she was almost relieved when someone didn't order it.

She'd been working there for over a year and a half, working her way up from dishwasher to one of the head waitresses – a position that was just below the manager. A lot of the girls tended to look up to her, as not many people stuck the job out; it was hard work, and certainly not glamorous at first, so lasting as long as she did was nothing shorted of admirable.

The restaurant itself – Gutsy Pete's - was a one off, family run business in the centre of Maryland that had been there as far back as Alex could remember, and she'd lived in Baltimore since she was three years old. On the outside it looked fairly plain; the brick walls and large parking lot gave no clue of the interior, though the bright neon sign above the doorway did something for the charm. Inside was a different matter. It was large, and there were tiny alcoves all around where you could easily tuck yourself into, away from others. Similarly there were booths and tables in the open, and tonight a birthday party of prepubescent children were laughing and singing on a row of tables in the centre of the main floor space. The walls, and this was Alex's favourite part, were covered in memorabilia; baseball, movie posters, even dancers – all areas of culture and sport combining to showcase the best history had to offer. It was gaudy, yet charming.

It was exactly the sort of place she loved, and it was exactly the sort of place everyone at MSA hated.

No one she knew at the school knew she worked there apart from Jane who sometimes washed up, but she often heard the richer kids belittling the place. She wasn't ashamed; in fact she'd been honoured to be taken on. Peter Kinski, the man who owned it, mostly hired his own family members to give a close knit atmosphere, but he'd gradually given other people a chance, and Alex had been one of the first. But while she wasn't desperate to fit in with her peers at school, she wasn't particularly enamoured with the idea of making herself a sitting duck for their taunting.

"Alex," Frankie Holland, a blonde haired waitress who liked to chew gum called out, "Janette says to tell you there's no more of the special ribs."

Alex scrawled it down on the shortages list and nodded. "Thanks Frankie – what's it like in there?" She was referring to the kitchen which, in comparison to the sweaty heat of the eating area, could feel like a fiery furnace, and one of the chefs, Antonio, was known for his terrible temperament, making it an even more heated. On more than one occasion, there'd had been incidents where kitchen utensils and equipment had flown across the room at high speed, leaving the poor waitress on the receiving end very little time to duck or flit out of the way. Alex had gotten quite good at it, and once she had picked the cheese grater and thrown it back, much to the Italian's surprise. It all made for a difficult environment.

Frankie shrugged and huffed. "It's warm in there naturally but everyone's keeping their heads down. No fights yet, touchwood," the girl joked, showing two fingers crossed and heading back inside the kitchen area through a white swing door. Alex laughed to herself, and turned her attention back to a group of customers heading towards her.

"Hi, excuse me," said the woman who leant forward on the desk with a sheepish grin. "We know you're busy and we haven't booked, but I was wondering if you've got a table for four." She had a distinctly Southern drawl – clearly not from around here – but her smile was genuine and her eyes earnest. The two young boys and their father looked hopeful, and Alex didn't feel like breaking any children's hearts tonight. Trying hard not to look at the woman's sweater (adorned with a large cartoon owl), and glancing at the seating plans, she smiled. There were a few tables still to come but they were only a four, and a lot of her sector wasn't filled. She had gotten good at knowing what numbers the kitchen staff could handle and what they couldn't.

"We have room but just to let you know there could be a wait," she explained, glancing down the names. "I'll set you up on Table nineteen...it's quieter in that area," she said over the noise. "Follow me," she added with a big smile, her best waitress face, and manoeuvred out from behind the desk area and gesturing for the woman and her family to follow her.

Alex got them set up comfortably, took their drinks order and headed to the bar. Moira Kinski, Peter's wife and one of the funniest people Alex knew, was taking the bottle cap off of a beer for a customer with a nonchalant flair that she had mastered after years of bar tending. The women, who had a hair of dishevelled curls, dyed a faded red, and a glistening nose stud, glanced at Alex with a crooked grin and looked at the paper pad in Alex's hand.

"That for me?" she asked.

"Yes," Alex smiled. "Two diet cokes, no ice, no lemon, a Bud, and an orange juice and lemonade. Please," she added gratefully. The woman got straight to work. Moira tended to run the people side of things at Gutsy Pete's – Peter was adverse to the general public, and spent most of his time in the upstairs apartment, looking over the books and doing the staff wage slips. He was a nice guy, very amicable, but painfully shy and he only braved the public when it was necessary, such as the Annual Gutsy Pete's Maryland Bonanza, which was a huge fair each year that thousands of the city's inhabitants came to. Moira, now she was more adapted to people; friendly, funny and she didn't suffer fools gladly.

"Remind me what area you're working tonight?" Moira asked, putting the drinks on a tray. Each waitress had a set of tables she would serve that evening. Some areas were easier than others and that was why they rotated.

"The ninth," Alex said, taking the tray but not before sliding her pen into her bun where she knew it would stay.

"Well, you have a booking coming in five minutes, so be here to greet them," Moira reminded her, looking at the books. Alex nodded and took the drinks to her table.

XXXXX

Five minutes later and having braved the kitchen and Antonio's wrath as she took an order to them, she was out front again, handling bills. Time seemed to drag at work, and though it had felt like half an hour had passed, she knew it hadn't. Seeing the door open out of the corner of her eye, she headed to the front desk with a fresh smile.

"Good evening, and welcome to Gutsy Pete's," she started, glancing up at the first member or the party; a small child with his hands on the edge of the desk as he tried to pull his tiny face up to look at her. He was grinning wildly and jumping.

"Alex! Alex! Alex!" Chase cried out excitedly. "You work here? That is so cool! Now you can be at my birthday party!"

Alex swallowed hard, trying to smile. If Chase was here, that meant...

Sure enough, there he was, glowering behind his parents, hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking very out of place. He spotted her and seemed to pause with a confused frown before looking at the restaurant and not saying a word. It was definitely him, and not some apparition due to stress. Blake Collins, at Gutsy Pete's. This must be the only junk food intake he was going to have all year, and she was going to witness it.

On the other hand, she was going to have to pander to his every whim for the next two hours or so.

"Hi...Chase...Mr and Mrs Collins...Blake," she added, barely glancing at him though she could see his shocked look out of the corner of her eye. "Birthday party huh?"

"Yes. Chase wanted to come here to celebrate, so here we are," Frances smiled, although he smiled was a little strained. Alex nodded, understanding. This was not the sort of place Frances would have chosen, given the choice. Her eldest son seemed to share that discomfort. Or perhaps he didn't enjoy eating out.

"Blake never mentioned you worked here," Clive said with a slight frown.

"Blake didn't know," his son murmured, looking to his dance partner with an inquisitive expression.

"Well, I'll be your server for the evening," Alex said briskly, taking some menus and avoiding it the discussion. "If you'd like to follow me, I'll take you to your table."

They all followed her through the myriad of people – Chase rabbiting excitedly about what presents he'd gotten and what school had been like. By the time they'd made it to the table and each of the Collins was taking their seat, Alex knew that Chase had gotten a new dance bag, a cassette player, a cassette tape of good songs to practice his ballet to, some clothes, a packet of gum from Sammi Andrews in his class, and he'd gotten to be in charge of the recess milk trolley.

Handing out the menus and taking their drinks order, Alex smiled and said she'd give them time to make up their mind (though she didn't know what they'd be interested in – it was diner food, and they would probably have a coronary just from looking over what they had to offer) and headed back to the bar.

"Who is that?" Frankie asked as she wrote out someone's bill for them. She was looking at the Blake. Alex followed her gaze and frowned.

"Oh that's Blake Collins – he goes to my school," she replied. Frankie and the rest of the girls that worked there went to a local high school. Normal school as they called it, which was true enough.

"Is he single?" the blonde girl asked looking again.

"Yeah," Alex snorted. "He's my dance partner."

"What? He's in your sector, and you get to dance with him?" Frankie sighed. "You get all the luck."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew him."

Frankie looked at her dubiously, tapping her pen on the pad. "I dunno. He's seriously hot."

"Yeah, but he's also an asshole sometimes," Alex laughed quietly as she prepared to head back with the drinks.

"I could put up with it," Frankie sighed. "Could you, Kelly?" she asked another waitress who was meandering behind the bar, doing odd jobs. Kelly was an older girl, and related to Moira somehow.

"Could I what?" she repeated in a bored voice.

"Alex here says that older guy on table fourteen is a bit of an ass, but I said I could put up with it, for a face like that." Kelly took an inconspicuous look at Blake – who was listening to Chase talk about something - and let out a low whistle.

"I'll say. He could be Mussolini."

Alex groaned and rolled her eyes. "You guys are deplorable. Stop mooning over him; he's not a piece of meat. Besides, he's not that good looking."

The girls stared at her.

"Well, he's a little good looking, obviously," Alex admitted.

"I think someone's in denial," Frankie crooned, pinching Alex's cheek and walking away before the girl could object. Kelly shrugged, pulled the full bag of trash out of the garbage can and walked away as she tied a knot in it. Alex frowned and picked up the tray. She was not in denial.

"Here we are," she said a little too cheerily as she put the tray down. "Three orange juices and a chocolate milkshake," she smiled, winking at the small child.

"Oh boy!" Chase gushed, pulling the tall glass towards him and taking a big sip with the straw. He gasped as he finished and looked up at his waitress.

"I forgot to say! There's a new film coming out called Jumanji, and Mom said maybe I can go see it," Chase said shuffling on the leather seat of the booth.

"I'd like to see that, it's supposed to be very funny," Alex said, bent over to speak to him. "A little scary though."

"You want to see it too? Maybe Blake could take you," Chase commented innocently. Blake coughed as he took a sip of his drink and ended up spluttering as if the drink had gone down the wrong hole. He glowered at his brother, and Clive shook his head.

"Out of the mouths of babes," he muttered. Frances nudged him.

"Clive..."

"Are you ready to order?" Alex asked very quickly, and in a voice far too high.

"I'll have the Buckle Buster Cheeseburger," Chase said first, still lisping.

Alex jotted it down. "Wow, you think you'll manage all that?"

"Chase is a bottomless pit," Blake said dryly, barely smiling.

"And Clive and I will both have the...Ivy League Fillet Steaks, both medium rare please," Francis said kindly. "And instead of onion rings and fries with ours, can we have a Caesar salad? Obviously no chicken," the woman added, looking over her glasses. "And not too much dressing, if at all possible.

"That's fine, no problem," Alex said, making note of it clearly and finally, she glanced at Blake, acknowledging his presence. "What can I get you?"

"I'm not that hungry..." he started, looking at the menu with a frown. Chase sat up on his knees and pulled on Alex's arm, ignoring his mother's hissed 'sit down!'

"Blake will have a Buckle Buster Cheeseburger too Alex," Chase said quickly. Alex raised an eyebrow and looked at each of their faces.

"He will?" she said slowly, very unsure.

"Yeah! Yeah! Blake has to do as I say because it's my birthday. It's a Collins family rule." Chase looked very mischievous as he explained it. "That's why we came here. That's why Dad had to make pancakes today. And that's why Blake is going to have a Buckle Buster Cheeseburger."

"Is that so?" Alex laughed, looking at Blake as if for confirmation. The boy sighed and nodded.

"Yes. I'll be having the...Buckle Buster Cheeseburger," he said unsurely as he looked over the menu.

"With extra pickles!"

"Chase," Blake hissed at his brother's exclamation. "I hate pickles. You're the one that likes pickle. You always take mine."

The young boy blinked at him with such a quiet defiance that Blake seemed to grit his teeth and close his eyes slowly. "Extra pickle," he added quietly and begrudgingly.

Alex nodded, not writing that part down to try and save Blake some discomfort, jotted down the rest of the order and assured them it wouldn't be long. Brushing past several waitresses waiting at the till to sort out their table's bills, she headed into the kitchen. Hot, sticky, and even noisier than out the front, Alex immediately felt woozy and longed for the open restaurant. Janette, one of the chefs who worked there, glanced at her and the slip in her hand.

"Alright then," she said, in a New York twang, "Wotcha got for me?"

XXXXX

Blake wandered over to the bar, where Alex was working, writing something out and concentrating so hard she didn't notice him approaching her. When he did put his forearms across the bar and cleared his throat, her face shot up. She looked at him with a weak smile, once she'd realised who it was.

"Can I get you something?" she asked. She was doing pretty well at the whole waitress thing, he had to admit; she hadn't crossed any boundaries just because she knew him. He had no doubt she was treating them the same as she would any table - politely and efficiently. She looked very different tonight, but then Blake supposed they were mostly used to seeing each other in dance gear, as opposed to casual clothes, or the uniform she was wearing now. She'd still got her hair tied back in an askew bun, with tendrils hanging loose either side, as she always did. The only marked difference was the pen she had sticking out of it, which he'd seen her pull out as she'd served other tables.

"A refill of chocolate milkshake for the stomach with legs," he said, glancing at Chase. "He drank it all before the burger came and now he's thirsty."

Alex smiled, pulling a milkshake glass from the shelf and placing it under the machine. "That's usually the way with kids."

"Hmmm, yes. And Chase has gluttony down to an art." Blake paused thoughtfully. "So...you didn't mention you worked here."

Alex shrugged. "I didn't think to. Is it a big deal?"

"No, no. Of course not," Blake said, though he wasn't sure what it had to do with him. In fact, in some bizarre twist of fate, having Alex there had made the evening a little more bearable. He didn't enjoy going out with his parents - what seventeen year old boy did - but Alex understood Chase well, and could make the boy laugh, and although he knew full well Frances and Clive would have probably preferred a quiet night in, even they seemed to have relaxed with a waitress they knew. His Mom hadn't stopped raving about her since she'd been over – about how nice it was that Blake had a partner who was serious about dance as opposed to some of the 'wishy washy pathetic excuses for prima's that hovered around him'. His Dad seemed excited a girl had paid him any sort of attention.

He had to keep checking himself; she wasn't under scrutiny for a potential girlfriend – they were partners.

Alex produced the milkshake, which now had cream on top, with a flourish and grinned. "There you go. I'll add it to the bill," she told him as he went to pull some dollars from his pocket. "And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Well, it's going well. Chase has a history of indecent exposure in public places, but I guess the night is still young," Blake said dryly. To his surprise Alex laughed, and he had to smile too.

"How's the burger?" she asked, moving a salt shaker that sat on the bar absent mindedly.

Her eyes were teasing so he raised an eyebrow and looked at her as if to say 'what do you think?'

"I'm sure it's one of your signature dishes," he assured her. "But I'm not really a burger man."

"No, I'd have put you down as a salmon kind of guy but it's nice that you would do that for Chase."

He shrugged. "You heard him. Tradition. And...thanks for leaving out the pickles," he added softly. He paused and leaned a little closer to her. "Would you do me a favour though?"

"Sure," Alex replied instantly, feeling the curiosity rise in her chest. He smiled weakly again - he had known she wouldn't begrudge him.

"Whatever Chase orders for dessert, would you mind sticking a candle in it or something?" he asked, looking a little weary.

"I would have anyway – it's something we do here if it's a birthday," she said with a frown, glancing at Chase. "Do you mind if I ask why he doesn't have a cake? Or do you have one? Because, you know, plenty of people bring their cakes here - I'll take it out to the kitchen..."

He raised a hand to stop her. "I don't have a cake. Do you honestly think my parents would allow pancakes for breakfast, then burgers and cake in one night? He's lucky he's getting an ice cream. This is the one day of the year he gets to eat exactly what he wants," Blake explained in a low voice, "and he's still not allowed a slice of cake. He'll be straight back on his nutrition plan tomorrow." He seemed slightly bitter in Alex's eyes, but he blinked and any resentment seemed to dwindle.

"Then why is he even allowed dessert?" Alex asked with a frown.

"Dessert is one plate, and a cake is several," Blake said, checking to see what his parents were doing. "Too much temptation for us." His tone was blank and matter of fact. That was the norm in the Collins house; if you wanted to be a great dancer you had to make sacrifices. And Frances and Clive wanted Chase and Blake to be great. "Cake and ice cream are not conducive with strong and healthy dancers."

"Ah," Alex nodded.

"So, do you think you could do that?" he asked again very quietly, and suddenly Alex became very aware that she wasn't the only person behind the bar. Frankie stood to her left, pouring a beer, and eyeing her curiously. For a brief moment it had felt as if it were only her and Blake in the entire restaurant.

"Of course," she said finally, looking away. "Er, yeah. You'd better take this," she added, gesturing to the milkshake.

"Oh. Ok. Thanks. I'll...speak to you later," he said, looking Frankie who was staring at them, and turning on his heels, he headed back to the table. Alex exhaled quietly, knowing she had work to do but finding it a little difficult to pull her gaze and her focus from Blake Collins. He was a lot deeper, and certainly more troubled than she'd ever realised.

"Earth to Alex," Frankie hissed in her ear, making Alex bat her away. "Oh...he's just my dance partner...he's a real asshole...blah blah blah," the girl teased, mimicking Alex. "You could have said if you just wanted him to yourself."

"I..." Alex started, but checked herself, knowing she was blushing. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Come on girl," Frankie pleaded. "You can tell me..."

Alex paused and adopted her waitress smile. "I have a work to do, excuse me," she simply said, brushing past an exasperated Frankie and headed to the kitchen.

XXXXX

"Thank you so much for this evening Alex," Frances said taking the girl's hand and clasping it between her own, as they were leaving. "Against all odds, I've had a wonderful night."

Alex wasn't sure how to responded, but laughed nervously. "That's...ok – as long as Chase had a good time." She looked at him but he was dead on his feet, with none of his usual vigour as he clung onto his brother with his thumb in his mouth. Blake sighed and picked him up, resting him on his hip and letting his brother bury is head into his shoulder.

"And the candle in his dessert was such a nice touch," Frances cooed. Alex smiled, exchanging a glance with Blake.

"Actually that was..."

"A very kind thought," Blake interrupted. "Mom, Dad, we need to get him home. He's exhausted." And sure enough, soft snores could be heard from the boy.

His parents nodded, and Alex noted, not for the first time, that Blake seemed to have a handle of authority over everyone in his life. "We'll get the car if you want to stay here in the warm," Clive said to his son. Blake nodded, and watched as his parents said their final goodbyes to Alex and pushed the door open to the restaurant to leave.

"Oh Alex," Frances said, as if suddenly remembering. "Our house is open to you – come any time you feel like."

Alex blinked and smiled, nodding politely. Frances seemed pleased with herself and with that, left. Alex let out a low whistle and smiled at Blake.

"Well, you got the Frances Collins seal of approval," Blake said quietly, as his mouth was to Chase's sleeping head. "And that's not easy to obtain. You must have done something right in your short acquaintance."

"I don't think I deserve it – why did you make out it was my idea with the candle?" she frowned. The restaurant was slowing down – only a few tables were left – and she didn't feel as if she had to rush away. He shrugged carefully.

"You said you would have done it anyway," he said dismissively. "Besides, with my Mom, you need all the help you can get. I figure our little arrangement has left its trial period and I'll be dancing with you for the long run, so, it helps to have my mother on your side. I'd hate for her to suddenly disapprove when I've made up my mind to stick with you." Alex opened her mouth speak but found words failed and instead she smiled lamely.

"If you're ok with that," he added, with a slight smirk. She shrugged.

"It works for me. I'm too lazy to find another partner now," she sighed.

Blake looked at her reproachfully. "Yeah. Right. I'll...see you Monday," he said finally looking out the glass doors and seeing the headlights of his parent's car. "Take care."

"And you," she found herself saying dumbly. She watched him put the boy in the car, and then climb in himself, staring after the car as it drove away. She frowned to herself as she finalised some of the remaining tables' bills and drummed the pen on the pad. Alex was troubled, and couldn't explain why. But something deep within her was unsettled to the point of which she got on with her final jobs in a strange sort of daze, and even on drove home. It wasn't until she climbed into bed, and pulled the sheets over her and really forced herself to think about it, that she realised that it had been Blake. She had misjudged him; he wasn't the man she thought he was.

And, Alex thought smiling as she turned to look at the ceiling, she found herself quite liking him.