Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 12)

 Chapter 12

Revenge

As expected Friday night and not an empty seat in the restaurant, the tables set, the glasses polished, and the silverware shone. It was to be another night, like any other, but after all this time Bill still always excited when he knew that the restaurant would be full. Bill acted like a six-year-old on Halloween morning, already ready for the tricks to start, for the moment that he could get his candy. He bounced around the kitchen more than usual, hyped up, but helping none the less. He would calm as soon as the first ticket came in, but right now he was hopped up on coke (the kind you snort up your nose) and coffee. 

 Kimber and I finally got to talk. It went better than I had expected; I explained that I had had some sort of episode, like I did with the phone awhile back. I lied and told her I couldn’t remember what had happened really, that I only snapped out of it when the other guy grabbed me. She seemed to accept this explanation but insisted that I talk to a therapist about it and find out what was going on. I would have agreed to anything for her, I was just so happy that I hadn’t ruined our friendship.

We wiped the counter tops down; the kitchen was half open, is important that it always looked clean before we started service. A lot of the guests like to have a look in, or say hi or some even thanked us. We also got the rare tip every once in a while. The best was when someone sent a pitcher of beer to the kitchen. It didn’t happen that often, but when it did we were all grateful. 

Tonight, was the usual team, Gustavo on the dish and pizzas, I ran the cold the kitchen, Tom on sauté and Bill on the grill. Ollie was downstairs doing prep. He would jump up here when or if we needed him. But usually he stayed downstairs with his prep list. Somebody had to get everything ready for the next pounding. 

Goose had really been giving Ollie a lot of shit lately. I don’t know why, but I think the Mexican really hated him. He could speak nearly perfect English, but with Ollie he only spoke Spanish. It drove Ollie up the wall. On this Friday night, Ollie had had enough. 

The pizza station always buzzed. There was always dough to make, crust to pre-bake, cheese to cut. For a while we even pulled our own Mozzarella. But the product that we could buy was by far superior to what we had made. So, it was back to the normal stuff. Our pizzas were special; there was no thick crust, no pepperoni or sausage or black olive pizza, and for sure no Hawaii pizza. Why anyone would put pineapple on pizza is beyond me. I think that they should be tarred and feathered. We had a Prosciutto pizza with fresh arugula and a drizzle of balsamic reduction. We also had a clam and garlic pizza, but my favorite was the white anchovy with chili and smoked mozzarella. The selection wasn’t big, it also changed a lot with the seasons, and it was always a lot of work.

This Friday Ollie had taken a lot of shit from Goose. They had to prep together in the basement. Every time Ollie bent down, Goose would shove Ollie’s face towards his cock and tell him to suck it in Spanish. Of course, Ollie would try to fight back but he was no match for Goose, he outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. I thought that eventually he would give up, but he always fought back. We could hear them arguing over our own noise in the kitchen. 

So, there we deep into service, Friday night and getting fucked more or less. It seemed everyone was there, standing room only. We were in the middle of dinner service, Gustavo ran down the stairs to get more of his pre-baked crusts, where Ollie was working. I have no idea what he said, but it pissed Ollie off. He raged. We could hear him yelling up in the kitchen over all the noise of the pots, pans, dish machine and the hum of the exhaust fan. A few guests even turned their heads. 

Gustavo came back into the kitchen laughing. Bill shook his head. He knew that Ollie would complain to him after service, but all he would say is: man up. 

Eventually Tom yelled down to Ollie to come up and help. We were deep in the shit. It was taking too long to get the food out of the kitchen. We needed another pair of hands. Ollie ran up the stairs and jumped onto my station. We pushed the starters out with Tom as fast as we could. As soon as we finished Ollie went to help Bill and Gustavo on the pizza and grill station, they were truly slammed. 

He helped Bill with the polenta and the mash and then turned to Goose to help him with the pizzas. Goose’s brow covered in sweat as he swore in Spanish under his breath. He didn’t know which pizzas to make anymore. Ollie started spreading the sauce on the crusts and dotting them with cheese. Goose was finishing them. That’s when all hell broke loose. 

Gustavo bent to retrieve more arugula from the lowboy, and Ollie lifted his apron and draped it over Goose’s head. Goose screamed like a little girl that touched a spider in the dark. What none of us had known was Ollie had been working with his cock and balls hanging out of his pants. He had been waiting for the moment that Goose would bend over in front of him to exact his revenge.

Ollie howled with laughter. He had grabbed the back of Goose’s head and shoved it straight towards his dick. Goose’s face smashed into Ollie’s balls. Gustavo’s hands were full; he couldn’t fight back without dropping nothing. He tried to pull his head back to no avail. Ollie had saved all of his rage, and at that moment he was stronger than all of us.

Bill, Tom, and I roiled with laughter. Gustavo finally got off his knees; his brown face was almost purple with anger. He dropped the arugula on the station and bounded towards Ollie, who had retreated to the dish station to put everything back in its place. Bill stepped between them. Tears streamed down his face as he squealed. 

“Goose, stop.” He demanded. 

“El jodido imbécil metió su polla en mi cara,” Goose screamed in Spanish.

“I don’t fucking care. You have given him so much shit of the last year. Drop it. Wash your face and get back to work.”

I had already jumped on the pizza station. Ollie was still snickering by the dish station. 

“You,” Bill glared at Ollie “Put your needle dick away and wash your hands.”

A small smile splayed across Bill’s face. He was proud that he had finally stood up for himself. The rest of the service went by without incident. At the end, Ollie brought Goose a beer. They toasted and cleaned up together without another word. Ollie gained a bit more respect that day from everyone.

Later that night we all ended up at the Cat again. Bill and Trish were at the booth in the back-holding court. As always, he was the life of the party, cracking jokes, buying drinks, flirting (even though Trish was there). The Cat was full by the time we had arrived. We pushed ourselves up to the bar, Kimber to my left and Tom on the right. We ordered our drinks from the new cute bartender. I didn’t catch her name, but I would find out; an ass like that I need in my life. I asked about Callie, if anyone had heard from her. No one had.

The drinks flowed as usual. I was happy to get my mind off all the shit that was going down. I felt that Kimber making me promise to go back to the doctor was an actual relief. She said she would come with me. 

That I was still hearing the phone ring sometimes was disturbing, then the incident at Tanglewood. Even after I had unplugged my phone from the wall, I still heard it. I wasn’t sleeping well. I felt as if I was out every night. It was as if I would fall asleep just before dawn every morning and sleep for maybe an hour or two. 

The music blared; it was a mix of alternative, grunge, 80s rock and classic rock. The alcohol went down easier than usual. It rounded the edges away. The haze of smoke and warming feeling from my throat and stomach was comforting. It meant I could forget about everything for a while. 

Kimber lightly bounced to the music. She swayed, she was gorgeous. Maybe not in the way Trish was, but she had an airy, luminous light about her. Her smile brighter than the sun, her eyes trusting and deep, she shimmered. As she smiled at me, I felt it. 

We danced together next to the bar, or maybe we danced next to each other. I suppose it depends on which one of us you asked. Tom rolled his eyes. The Cat wasn’t his bar; Tom was the third wheel, and he knew it. He only came here because the rest of us did. Preferring to go get high somewhere and chill out. Bill watched us from his booth, I could feel his icy stare piercing my skin. 

“What’s Bill’s problem?” I asked Tom.

“Um, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you fucked his girl.” He almost yelled over the noise and music.

Kimber giggled. She still thought it was funny, that I had thought that Trish wanted more. I looked at her with my eyebrows raised and head turned.

“You should have come to me before Trish. I would have treated you right,” she flirted with me. 

“Oh, really?” I asked, smirking at her.

“Don’t even think of it, buster,” she was slurring already. “I don’t want Trish’s sloppy seconds.” She and Tom both laughed. 

“What the hell are you laughing at?” I griped at Tom. 

He shrugged his shoulders and danced with Kimber. I sipped my whiskey sour and tried to not look upset. 

She moved with elegant grace, her body swayed to the music. It was mesmerizing. I that moment I wished that I hadn’t fallen for Trish. If I could have, I would have gone back in time and had noticed Kimber first. I knew that it would take all the charm that I could muster to get Kimber to think of me of anything more than just a friend. But that is what she had become the last few weeks, a friend and a good friend at that. One that cared for me and I cared for her. 

Trisha sauntered up to the bar, shaking her hips for Bill as she walked away. She loved the attention that she got being Bill’s girlfriend. Suddenly it mattered what she thought, not just that she had a great ass. She did, but that is beside the point. At least that’s what she thought, the truth being no one really cared what she thought. The fact was they cared what Bill thought, and they tolerated her. I realized that she is a mere shell of a person, a great ass and tits but nothing in between. She had no real thought for herself, not like sometime best friend. Kimber could talk to you about anything. It seemed she knew so much. But not only that, she cared what you thought as well. 

Trish ordered a Cosmopolitan; she thought she was Carrie from Sex in the City. She didn’t realize that this isn’t Manhattan, and she isn’t Sarah Jessica Parker. The cute bar girl rolled her eyes; I caught her attention at that moment and smiled at her. I dramatically rolled my eyes as well. She smiled again. That was my opening, I was in, Kimber forgotten in a flash.

“Tom,” I called him over. “What was the bar girl’s name, again?”

“Are you fucking serious? You forgot?” he laughed.

“Come on, man, before she comes back.”

“Sam. Her name is Sam.”

“I am not falling for your shit.” 

“Suit yourself.” He smiled to himself.

She walked back to us. 

“Can I get you guys something?” she asked. 

“Yeah, can I get another Stella, Sam?” he asked. 

“Sure, it’s Tom, right?” she replied.

“Yep,” He smirked at me with a cocky smile, one dreadlock hanging in front of his face.

“For you?” she turned and asked me.

“Another one of these.” I held my glass up.

“Sure thing, Mikey.” She turned her back to make my drink. She had a great ass. 

“You should trust me sometimes.” He took his beer and turned his back.

Kimber had watched our exchange. Looking at me surprised, I just shrugged my shoulders. She didn’t want sloppy seconds, that’s what she had said. She stared, not saying anything, but I could see that it upset her. Sam was back with my drink; she handed it to me with a cocktail napkin and gave me a smile. 

She had written her number on it. I pocketed it. Kimber turned her back.

“Hey you said you didn’t want sloppy seconds.” I said.

“Sometimes, what someone says and what they mean are two different things. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

She set her drink down on the bar and walked away. Sam watched her, hell we all watched her. She was angry, drunk and sexy as hell. I tried to call out to her, but she had stormed off.

“Your girlfriend is pissed at you.” Sam said as I turned and sat at the bar.

“She’s not my girlfriend. We work together.”

“Ah, I see.” She said with a smile. 

“Hey Sam,” the other bartender called out. “You can blow him later, how about we do some work now.”

She laughed. “Sounds good to me,” she said.