A Peculiar Set up

“Cherry!”

My manager's voice boomed over the clang and chatter from the kitchen crew. It didn’t take him long to figure out where I ran off too once the rush died down. After a night of being berated by high society folks It was nice to find a (semi) quiet place to unwind.

“Cherry!” he hollard again, only this time he was closer.

“Jack!” I yelled back twice as enthusiastic as I reluctantly stood from the bags of flower and made my way out of the back storage area.

He gave me a stern look, he’s only been a manager for a few weeks and in true restaurant fashion I need to bust his chops a little. He was a scrawny guy, he came from a different restaurant, a more casual one and to be able to rub elbows with the entitled people that come into this place you need to have thick skin. They are the masters of the backhanded compliment and they’ll insult you with a smile on their face and a victim complex hiding in the background just in case you feel like standing up for yourself. Truth be told I don’t know if he’s gonna make it, he looked like he’s aged ten years since his first day, his hair was ruffled and his face had a layer of sweat on it that I am fairly certain is just a permanent feature now.

“I need you to take a table, I-”

“Not happening,” I tried to brush past him

His arm flew out blocking my maneuver, “I wasn’t asking, the closers are swamped and this guy asked for you.”

He held my gaze, he was nervous, but he stayed strong. “Fine but you’re buying me dinner.”

“Done. Table five.”

He lowered his arm and allowed me to slip past him. I stopped by the bar and grabbed a glass of Merlot. The only person to ever request me was an old timer named Bob. He and his late wife Linda used to come in all the time, after she passed his visits became few and far between but he still made a point to stop in and say hi to me every now and again. Always drinking a glass of Merlot, which he hates, but it was Linda’s favorite so he would power through in her honor.

Table five was on the back end of the restaurant, in a row of booths with large backs to create a more private dining experience. Bob and Linda loved sitting back there, “Forty years of marriage and he hasn’t grown tired of listening to me talk.” Linda would always joke. Bob would always smile and nod his head, until she turned her head and then he’d give me the “Yeah right” face, which she would always catch. Forty years together and they banterd like a couple of newlyweds. When Linda passed it’s like she took a piece of Bob with her, he still came in and listened to whatever was going on in my life and offered words of wisdom when needed but the light was gone.

I made my way over to the table, he must be back in the booth because I couldn’t see him. Without hesitation I slid across the red leather booth like I own the damn thing and carefully placed down the glass of Merlot, only to be met with a pair of dark eyes that most definitely did not belong to Bob. I felt all color leave my face as I awkwardly started to scramble to my feet, the leather squeaking the soundtrack to my embarrassment.

“I am so sorry sir, I thought you were” -I straightened my apron- “Nevermind, may I grab you something to drink?”

“It seems like you already have.”

A smirk threatened to break his stoic expression as he grabbed the glass and brought it to his lips. He took a modest sip of the wine before placing the glass down, his strong jaw flexed slightly with what I could only imagine was disgust.

“Well that’s no good.”

“I know, I’m sorry I’d be happy to grab you something else.” I spoke eagerly trying to seem like I had a semblance of proper serving etiquette.

“Is it customary to give all of your customers a bad glass of Merlot?”

He gently intertwined his fingers and placed them on the table in front of him. His chestnut eyebrows furrowed as he watched me squirm under his scrutiny. The silence seemed eternal as I racked my brain for a proper response to that question. I was used to the judgmental looks and comments from the wealthy people that often came in here but for some reason my game was completely thrown with this guy.

“Well, I thought you were someone else. Again, I apologize. What can I get for you to drink, sir?”

“Brandy, neat.”

Before he could utter another word I spun around and went straight to the bar. What is this guy's problem? There is no way I have ever served him before, I am sure I would have remembered a face like that. And if his good looks didn’t do it his abrasive personality would have done the trick.

“Hey Chase, can I get a brandy neat for Mr. Tall, dark, and rude over there.” I leaned on the well and graciously rubbed my hands over my face.

“Mr. Delicious have a bad attitude?” Chase purred as he slid the Collins glass of amber liquid toward me.

“Just your run of the mill brooding businessman who likes to squash those beneath him for sport.”

I plastered a fake smile on my face before taking the glass and heading back to the shark tank. I heard Chase let out a giggle as I walked away. He and I started together a few years ago and we have been partners in crime since. If it wasn’t for him I would have quit before I even made it out of training. Mr. Delicious was looking over the menu when I returned. I placed the glass on the table and he didn’t skip a beat picking it up and taking a swig.

“What is this?”

“A brandy, neat.” I smiled.

“Did you make this in a prison toilet?”

“Gives it that real salt of the earth taste, don’t you think?”

Horror. That is the only word I have to describe the twisted look that must have come over my face. The words came out before my brain had the good sense to stop them. Of all the backhanded comments I have taken over the years that was not even the worst one. So why was I losing my composure with this guy. He gently placed the menu down, crossed his arms over his broad chest and just sat back and looked at me.

“Are you ready to order?” I went on as if nothing happened.

Silence.

“Care to join me?”

“Very funny, will you be ordering soon or can I go finish my cut work?”

Alright I guess all bets are off. I’ve already dug my grave and I may as well lie in it.

“I am serious, join me. My grandfather thinks the world of you and seems to think you and I may hit it off.” He mused.

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes, Robert White.”

“Oh Bob, you didn’t” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ll need to finish up and clock out.” I looked up to find him staring at me.

“I’ve got time.” He flashed me a seemingly genuine smile.

So, for Bob, I finished my work and joined his grandson for a meal. He introduced himself as Alistar White and after the customary mocking of my stripper name the evening wasn’t that bad. We talked about Bob and Linda. It turns out Bob wasn’t doing so well, he had to retire and move into an assisted living facility. Alistar assured me it was the nicest one money could buy and I promised I’d go for a visit on my next day off. He told me he followed in Bob’s footsteps unlike his dad who was in some oldies rock cover band and had no interest in running the legacy that is Black and White Publishing.

After Linda passed Bob was much more reserved, his visits were often silent, until I started filling them with the petty drama of the day. Whether that be something a customer did or one of the new hires being a total moron. He would listen for a while but before he left he’d hit me with the ol’, “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover Cher, you never know what those pages really hold.” And in this case it’s safe to say he was right. Beneath Alistar’s arrogant outer shell was a man who was under a lot of pressure carrying on the family legacy, as an added bonus he had a fairly decent sense of humor as well.

It wasn’t until we polished off a bottle of Linda’s favorite bottle of merlot that I realized that everyone else had come and gone and we were the last ones in the restaurant. The other servers glared over from the bar, far too nervous to come and interrupt us for fear of a lashing from the important business man. But clearly ready to get the heck out of there.

“We’d better get going.” I said reluctantly.

“I suppose you’re right.”

He slowly slid from the booth and straightened his blazer before offering me a hand out of the booth. I took it and I expected him to let go once I was up but he didn’t. After a curt nod to Jack and the closing staff he led me out of the restaurant. I looked back and mouthed a ‘what the hell’ to Chase, who was grinning ear to ear before stepping out into the brisk fall air.

“Well, until next time Cherry Pie.”

“Very original.” I laughed trying to pull my hand back, but not before he could place a kiss on the back like we were in some kind of old time romance movie.

And that was it. He stepped off the curb, unlocked his little black sports car and flashed me one more of those award winning smiles before disappearing into the night. I stood there for what felt like forever before finally making my way back inside to spill my guts to Chase.

Until next time Alistar White.