Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 3)

Chapter 3

Meat and bones

The kitchen was in full swing, prep was going great. Manu Chao blared from the speakers above my head. Tom was busy prepping the gnocchi, dry roasted potatoes mixed with flour, egg and salt. Kneaded into a fluffy dough, then poached to perfection. Bill confined himself to the basement, cutting the vegetables for his signature wild boar Bolognese; he worked at the table next to the band saw. Ollie busied himself with a tempura batter for the Artichokes, that he had yet to master and I was baking an Olive oil and Viognier cake with peaches. Goose was a no show. 

Kimber and Trish prepped the dining room together; they were every man’s wet dream. Trish was Bill’s girl of the moment; at least that was the way he played it when she was around. I had yet to find out about Kimber. She was the mysterious one of the two. They seemed to be opposites. Trish was flirty and a bit of a slut. Kimber was more reserved, not shy, just more laid back. I hadn’t decided which one I liked more yet, but I knew would be happy with either in bed. If I played my cards right, I might end up with both in bed, I hoped. The pair were gorgeous, both sexy as hell. 

The restaurant was old Italy. Bare brick walls adorned with black and white photos from the Italian countryside, village festivals and scenes from alfresco dining. Teak tables and chairs specially crafted for the restaurant. The zinc patina covered bar shone. A florist from just a few doors down delivered a large flower arrangement for the bar every week and they changed it according to the seasons. Now it was a few purple hued artichokes in full bloom set regally on the corner of the bar, greeting the patrons as they entered the restaurant. 

The rest of the service team was an eclectic bunch, each with their histories and stories. They were all somehow tied together with Bill from an earlier life, a life before the restaurant took over. 

“Hey Mike,” Bill called from downstairs.

I jogged down the wooden steps, making sure not to bump my head again on the low hanging ceiling. It felt as if I was developing a horn, from all the times I had bumped it until now.  

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Did you come in and cut up the bones for the Bolognese earlier?”

Bits of bone and meat covered the concrete floor and white tiled walls. Blood dried in scraggily lines as it had run down the side of the saw. The chrome plated drain was red and brown from blood. Bill was standing next to a red butcher's container full with cut up bones ready to roast. 

“Nope, I’m scared to death of that thing. I cut myself using the meat slicer, I would probably cut off a hand if tried that. Why?”

He stared at me for a second, his eyes bore into me, searching for something. I felt he didn’t trust what I was saying; I felt naked standing in front of him. His piercing brown eyes searched for the truth. But I had told him the truth. I had never even touched a machine like that before.

“Hmm.” He shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe Tom did it. He was probably too hungover to clean the shit up. Can you take the bones upstairs, we need to roast them for the Bolognese.”

The smell of wet iron met my nose, as I hefted the red bin up and I felt as though I had déjà vu. I shook it off; I don’t believe in things like that. 

“Tell Tom, to come clean up his shit.” He yelled as I bounded up the stairs. 

My cake was cooling, I was prepping the glaze. I had made sugared sage leaves, candied peach slices and a slightly whipped soured cream to go over top. I hoped it would sell. I suppose it depends on if the wait staff wants to sell it or not. 

Trisha sauntered into the kitchen. She had legs. She had everything. And she knew it. She had been Bill’s latest conquest. They would usually disappear before service to do whatever it is two grownups do together. The problem, well I suppose on whose point of view you look at it from deciding if it is a problem or not, was she always flirted with me. I knew that Bill hated it. She knew it, too. That’s probably why she did it. But I don’t care; things like that never bothered me. It makes it all more exciting; I suppose. Not my best trait as a friend, but I have only one other driving force besides cooking and it gets me into the most trouble. Bill thought that it just stopped at the casual flirting, but what he didn't know is that we have been sleeping together since my third day on the job. 

Trish smiled at me. And set the tray of espressos down. Bill was one for tradition. At four o’clock every day we all drank and espresso with sugar, lots of sugar. Trish always brought them. It was a quick break where we all stood together and drank our caffeine kick and talked about what needed to be done. I watched Trish walk out of the kitchen, Bill caught my eye as I turned back, he did not look happy. 

Goose showed up just before dinner service. He was hungover as usual. Ollie had spent the greater part of the afternoon washing all the pots and pans until then. 

“What the fuck, Goose?” Ollie barked at him.

“Chupa mi polla” Gustavo mumbled. He never talked much, especially if he was hungover and especially never to Ollie.

The restaurant fully packed for service. Tom called out the orders and ran the Sauté station, Bill ran the grill, and the intense heat of the wood fired grill baked his face red every night. The pizza oven blazed next to him. He always smelt of sweat and a campfire. I was on salads and desserts. The kitchen was a chaotic dance, one that is dizzying if you don’t know it, but if you do, it is the loveliest, most sensual dance that ever was.  

The pot of Bolognese simmered the night away on the corner of the stove. I tossed the roasted bones into the sauce. We would cook it throughout the night and into the next day. It had become the signature dish of the restaurant. The sauce was slick with a sheen of red pigmented fat that bubbled away. 

***

We were off to the Cat after work. It was late, close to midnight; we packed the bar as usual. The bar officially closed at two, but they never kicked us out. We had a deal. We brought them food; they gave us free beers. The arrangement worked out for everyone, well everyone accept the owner of the bar, believe me we could drink. I pushed my way up to the sticky wooden bar; Allie was drawing a beer from the tap. 

“Hey Allie,” I called out over the buzz of the bar.

“It’s Callie, actually. Geez Mike, you fuck me, then forget my name.” She walked away without serving me. Tom almost fell over he laughed so hard. 

“Fuck,” I muttered to him. He continued to laugh. She brought him a beer without question and glared at me, thru her Lisa Loeb glasses. 

“Order me a beer, will you?” I said to Tom and walked to the back of the bar. That’s where Bill held court. He was the king of Barrington, and he knew it. His reign began the night he opened his restaurant. He was admired and despised by just about everyone. A successful cook, good looking, had it all. Only the inner few of his followers knew about his dark side, his abuse that he dished out on his team, the abuse he put his body through. The drugs, which he shot into his veins, and the gallons of alcohol that helped him survive the pressure that he was under. He slept odd hours and was a bastard if he was sober. He had so many problems, but we all loved him. Or better yet, we all worshipped him. He was a god among men. His failings only made us follow him more.

Beer flowed that night. We drank until the bar closed and then we kept on. All of us had to work the next day, but it didn’t matter. The music was deafening, Bush, Goo Goo Dolls, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Nirvana and the Lemonheads took turns pounding our ears. I smoked, I never smoke, my lungs ached. 

Bill held his court, and I was just one guest. We sat riveted to his stories of sex, drugs and rock-and-roll. The longer the night went on, the more outlandish they became.

“Hey, hey, Mike, tell them the story of why you were shit canned from the hotel.” Bill called over the noise. 

I tried to sheepishly look around and pretend as if I didn’t want to tell it, but the truth be told, I loved to tell it. Relishing the attention. It blew most stories out of the water.

Trish sat next to Bill, Kimber between me and her. The rest were groupies, hang-arounds from the bar, Bill’s so-called friends. More like leeches sucking the blood from their host. But it didn’t matter, now was my moment.

“So here goes,” I started.  Bill squealed with delight, laughing before I could the first word out. 

I had seen her the day before on the terrace as I brought out the hors d'oeuvre. She was impossible to miss. A beautiful creature in a sea of old withered grey-haired bitches whose pussies were old, dried out and dusted over. 

“Mike, that’s so nasty.” Kimber butted in. 

We had made a bit of eye contact, that was all. The next day I walked through the weight room on my way to hop into the shower. The water company turned off my water, again. Sometimes, I seem to have the tendency to forget to pay bills once in a while. So, I had been secretly showering down in the weight room; it was next to the staff locker room. I could come and go with no one ever realizing it. But that day had been different.

"I don't think that you are supposed to be in here." She had said to me. 

“Oh, oh, oh… This is good…” Bill interrupted.

I smiled at her. "I won't tell, if you won't." I said and walked into the men's shower room. 

She glistened in a sheen of sweat, wearing super tight spandex shorts and a sports bra with a tank top over top. She was a goddess. Just one look and I was instantly hard. 

I turned the water on in the shower. Took my clothes off and stepped in. "Ahh, shit is that cold." I said to no one. My dick was still hard.

“Ugh,” Kimber again.

The water warmed and pounded my tired body. Bill had worked us hard the night before, twelve hours straight, without an actual break. We made it back here to the Cat again after service. I was here until the bar closed but ended up alone in bed, even though I had thought that I was going home with the nerdy bartender, you guys know, the Lisa Loeb wannabe, which I had been flirting with all night. 

I shrugged my shoulders. The others smiled. 

And now I was back again in the hotel again not even five hours later. I was trying my best to ignore my massive hard on, with little success. I let the water work its magic with my sore shoulders and neck. 

My eyes were closed and mouth open as I let the water cascade over my face, into my mouth and down my chest. It was warm and relaxing. My prep list played in my head. I had so much to do to get ready for service. Sometimes I'm really not sure how we get it all done.

"Mmm." I heard and felt a hand on my chest. I jumped, opening my eyes. I had been so lost in thought; I hadn't heard her come in. She was naked. She pressed her sweat soaked body to mine.

"I won't tell, if you won't." She said with a smile. 

Bill peeled off a round of squealing laughs. His eyes squeezed shut, fighting back tears. 

The soap, the water, the bubbles slid over us. Our bodies intertwined. Our hands and mouths over each other. The intensity of it. The steam. The heat.

I pushed her against the wall and pushed myself into her. She moaned and scratched her nails down my wet back. We moved from the shower to the countertop, and that's when her husband walked in. Her wet hair and head pushed up against the mirror and I was on my knees, my face deeply planted between her legs. She pushed my head down more and moaned. I don't know how long he was there before we realized it. But she immediately jumped down and ran to him, apologizing to him the entire time. 

I had the table now; they were eating out of my hand.

He stood there, saying nothing with his hand over his heart. It looked a bit comical to me. I mean, he could have been her father and here I was standing there with half a hard on now, soaked in sweat, shower water and pussy juice. I think I laughed, and that broke his trance. He yelled in rage. His bald head turned red. She was naked in front of him, apologizing and kissing him. My dick had just been in her mouth and there she was, naked, cum breath, kissing him. He kissed her back, then turned and yelled at me. I stood there, my cock hanging at half-mast, and I laughed. He raged on.  I just shrugged my shoulders and turned and walked away. He yelled and yelled. She grabbed her clothes and walked out with him, holding his hand. I watched thru the glass doors of the weight room as they made their way to the elevators. She turned and smiled at me. 

He had just about had a heart attack when he found us going at it against the mirror. He had to have been at least twenty-five years older than her. I mean, everyone realized she was with him for his money. He was bald, overweight, late-fifties and filthy rich. She was twenty-three and drop dead gorgeous.

Bill roared with laughter, actually he squealed when he laughed. It was lease likely sound that should come from a man of Bill’s stature. It was a high-pitched squeal, much like a baby pig trying to get away from something. The rest of the group laughed at the story also, well almost everyone. Kimber was quiet.

“That is not so funny,” she said.

“Come on,” I replied. “It’s hilarious. He kissed her; he took her back, even though he saw everything.”

“Don’t you see, what’s wrong with all of that?” 

“What, that they were married? It’s not like its actual love or something. She is using him.”

“But it’s real to him.”

Kimber pushed herself away from the table and walked off. Trish gave me a look and went after her. Bill didn’t even seem to notice that they left. He was on to his next story. 

The air hung with the smell of cigarettes, stale beer, sweat and pot. I needed air, my lungs hurt. I stumbled out the back door of the bar and into the alley that connected to the restaurant. Callie was there, smoking. She hadn’t spoken to me all night; she had done her best to pretend I wasn’t there. 

The alley littered with trash and cigarette butts stunk of old garbage and piss. A chilly wind blew down the alley, not uncommon at the beginning of the summer. Déjà vu hit me again. 

“Hey Callie,” I called out. She turned and smiled. I wasn’t in the doghouse just yet. Maybe I could save it. 

I fought back the feeling of nausea. I would blow any slim chance of scoring again, if I ralphed now in front of her. 

She really looked like Lisa Loeb or maybe Natalie Imbruglia, I get those two confused. She looks like the one with the glasses. Damn, she is so cute.

“I’m sorry about before,” looking down. “I know your name, it just came out wrong.” I slurred.

“No worries,” she walked past me to go back to the bar. 

“Wait, a second,” I grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her close to me. I kissed her there in the alley, the taste of smoke on our tongues. She bit at my lip playfully, 

“You’re an ass,” she said and kissed me again.

The stiff wind blew, the lights in the alleyway flickered on and off, and the smell of urine and garbage stirred in the air. All the while, I couldn’t shake a strange feeling that we were being watched. 

Kimber walked back into the bar.