Main Course

Note, this story was originally published on the Reedsy web site and garnered no traction. So, see what you think...

Lewis could not believe what he was hearing as he looked past the menu.

“As you know, we do need a lot of hands on deck, and you have been the most qualified candidate we have interviewed in many moons.” Mr. Peltham, of the grey owlish eyebrows, surprisingly youthful upper body and bearded smile, was looking over the menu as he explained his decision. “This will come with a great deal of responsibilities; maybe things that you have not considered before, but…there are compensations.”

This was the right place for such a change in his life. The restaurant, off of a small cul-de-sac that he had never seen on his trips to work, was quiet, closed for everyone except the trio he was now a part of, and had the most elegant atmosphere (fine china, silver cutlery, fireplace near the entrance, staff all attendant and waiting). Lewis was hearing the words of his boss – soon to be a closer partner – and forming thoughts in his mind: a new car, office and his own staff; promises of bonuses and extra vacation time at private resorts; the chance to travel and…

Did he say something about compensation?

“Mr. Millar? Are you with us?”

Mr. Peltham never seemed to be too far from Mr. Jeffords, their Dan, a real rat-like man who had an overbite, smiled too much and made a point of wearing those over-sized cuff-links he said were a gift from his wife (poor woman, thought Lewis; married to a rodent). He wanted to call him by his first name as soon as he began the job.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I just wanted to let it all settle in my mind.”

“Happens every time, doesn’t it, Dan? They get the numbers and the promises and wonder if we have lost our minds. Plenty of people have done the same. You remember when you came on board, right, Jeffords?” The waiter brought out their appetizers as Mr. Peltham smiled at a private memory. “You should share that one with him.”

“Oh, sir. Pete. Not over our soup and salad.”

Lewis was glad he ordered the salad, just like his generous boss (no chance of it getting too cold as he waited). This was going to be interesting.

“We are all big boys here. Tell it.”

A waiter, after bringing out and sliding a small bowl of sweet and sour soup onto Mr. Jeffords plate, moved discreetly behind a curtain and waited. This seemed to be some sort of a signal for Dan to begin.

“I threw up.”

Lewis could not stop his laughter, spilling a little of the whisky on himself. Mr. Peltham was very pleased by this.

“See, we are all big boys. Go on, Dan.”

“There isn’t much to tell. I was already working for the company for a while when they said we were going out for dinner. And I was in a restaurant, much like this one, when they told me Mr. Peltham was coming.” Again, that smile, so inappropriate somehow. “I thought that I was going to be arrested for something; instead, I get promoted…and I get sick.”

“As the proverbial dog!” Mr. Peltham returned to his drink and let the ice cubes sing through the remains of the Jameson (the waiter looked through the curtain, thinking this was a signal for another drink; he was waved off). “You see, Millar. You are in good company.”

They all laughed at this, Dan being the loudest. “It’s a rite of passage!”

“Exactly! Something we all have to go through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pete! And Dan.”

“Right…”

And then they went after their appetizers with gusto.

The salads were great; the drinks even better. The one thing that Lewis wanted to know, before the main course was brought out, was the hours.

“Standard 9-to-5 routine. Nothing too difficult for someone in your position.” Mr. Jeffords was prepared with that speech.

“Hold on just one minute, Dan.” Mr. Peltham looked past the bottle of whisky and stared hard at Lewis (there were flecks of something gold in those irises; the candlelight brought them out). “Let’s be honest about this, Mr. Millar…Lewis. You will have a few late nights, maybe some weekend work. Nothing too distracting. You have a wife, right?” The ice clinked in his glass.

“Girlfriend.” How did they know…?

“Pete. We are all family now. How would she feel about that?”

Now he felt Mr. Jeffords’ eyes on him. The rat was almost grinning.

“She knows that I have to work long hours already…just like her.”

“A nurse…” Jeffords was grinning. “A very demanding job.”

“Impressive.” Mr. Peltham put his glass aside. “And don’t feel uncomfortable about what we know about your family. I know everything that I need to know about the people who work for me. Dan shared his own embarrassing tale and I better get mine out now.”

Lewis could see some of the waiters now gathered by the same curtain. They seemed to be waiting for some other cue that he could not grasp at first, but now…

“When I started the business, I did not have much money to my name. Barely a penny to touch my wallet, as my dad would say. But I saved, watched those pennies grow, and worked until I got what I wanted. Or at least what I thought I wanted. My Laura…”

Mr. Jeffords spilled the remains of the now cold soup on his napkin in his lap. “Sir, maybe this is not the right place…”

“When else can I share this story? Take it easy, Dan, and watch your lap.”

Jeffords wiped his mouth and stared at his bowl and spoon.

“Laura was my greatest coach. And she worked harder than I ever could. Lovely woman. Gentler than gentleness. Maybe that was the problem…”

“Sir…”

“Oh, quiet, Jeffords. We are all big boys here. Lewis,” he picked up the bottle, disappointed at how quickly it had emptied, “she had a breakdown.”

Lewis had a slight thought about this being a test: the alcohol; the embarrassing stories; the staff at beck and call. Jeffords was not laughing, or smiling; barely making eye contact right now (a good thing?). He could not imagine what they wanted him to say.

“Pete, I really am…I am sorry…”

The old man seemed to break out of a spell.

“Lewis, Lewis, Lewis…I am so glad that we brought you on board. You hear someone say a thing like ‘breakdown’ and most people usually shut down. But you actually speak. And you say that you are sorry. Bit of a cliché, but I admire your nerves. You even called me Pete. Well done.”

Lewis just looked at the old man.

“Anyway, as I said, Laura was a wonderful woman. High school sweetheart, if you can believe it. And she was a worker, let me tell you. I had to fight to keep up with her sometimes. And with all of that, she was still kind and generous. She could not stand to know that someone was going hungry while we were doing so well. She could not let pain go by without doing something about it. She could not let what the rest of us ignore be untouched.”

Dan nodded to the wait staff and looked back at the menu. They must have planned this, thought Lewis. This must be a story that they share with all of the new recruits…and all the new promotions. Was any of it really? Dan was pointing at something from two separate parts of the menu and a man with a white jacket and comb over went back to his team.

“And that is what ruined her. All that love inside her and so many places for it to do some good. She just let it all out of her and then…” Mr. Peltham touched the side of his head with his right ring finger (a beautiful garnet set in brass) and tapped at his temple. It did not seem to be an insult at all, but Lewis felt awkward seeing it at the end of that story.

The whisky was doing its job.

“Did she…I mean, did she pass away from your success…?”

Lewis wished he had some way of swallowing his last question.

They were both staring at him now. He could hear some noises from the kitchen and finally another car passing on the side road near the restaurant. And then it became very quiet again.

“Lewis…”

“Dan, again stop…it is a fair question. I should not be so vague about these things, but after sharing this story so many times already, I just…” He looked at his glass again. “We really should have some more during our meal.” He snapped his fingers, and the empty bottle was replaced. “No need to pour it out. We’ll be our own waiters now.” The staff member slipped away.

“Sir, maybe you should…”

“Cut back? That’s what they always say.” Mr. Peltham opened the bottle and pour out three fingers for each of them. Lewis wondered if he could drink Jameson without ice.

“This is supposed to be a celebration. We have a new member of the team. Everything is changing…”

Lewis looked at Dan looking at Pete and wanted to call his girlfriend right now.

“And the food is here.”

They did not speak as the waiters placed their meals in front of them. Lewis did not even bother to ask how they knew what he wanted for dinner (duck confit with roasted asparagus and carrots; chocolate mousse and espressos for their dessert).

Mr. Peltham was drunk, but he was a controlled drinker. Would that be a problem? It was a well-done steak and steamed potatoes for him.

Mr. Jeffords was too controlled; too hard for Lewis to read. It was a very large lobster bisque for him.

The wait staff was all arranged by the curtains, awaiting some other signal. It was strange that he was expecting one, too.

At least the food was perfect, but he had a thought at the back of his mind and could not let it drop…

Lewis wondered what his story was going to be.

*

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