Nicolette in the break room.
“And you know they’re going to screw me. After all that bullshit.”
“I got her to fill out a comment card.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. You can call her around four in the morning and read it back to her.”
Nicolette jumps from her chair and pumps a fist. “Unh! Yeah, son! I know someone who’s getting some late-night takeout. Get the door, it’s Domino’s, bitch!”
Manny puts a finger to his lips, and she chills. This is their secret, a breach of the rules that could get them both in trouble, but worth it. As big a pain in the ass as Nicolette is, she’s still one of his servers.
When he swings back into the bar, Dom asks if he still wants the beer nuts.
“Toss ’em,” Manny says, and has Dom run him a Diet Coke with lemon. Lunch is winding down, and he needs a shot of caffeine, especially with the day so dark. His cuffs are still damp, covering the rubber band. He takes the glass to the window and peeks between the blinds. Snow streaks past sideways as if he’s riding a train, and he wonders how it looks from the back window of his apartment—the yard that slopes down to the creek a perfect white except for the dotted line of a cat’s tracks. He imagines lying on the couch under his old Patriots sleeping bag all day tomorrow and watching the games, not even getting dressed, leaving his dishes around like he’s sick. No, he needs to be here, he needs to see Deena. If he leaves her place right after dinner he might make it back to catch the end of the late game. And that quick it will be Monday and all of this will be history.
Outside, a skinny dude in a hoodie with his hands jammed in the pouch skirts the lower edge of the lot, hunched against the wind. He ignores the stop sign and crosses the road, headed for the mall. Where the hell did he come from? Not the front door—Manny would have seen him leave—and for an instant he thinks it’s the homeless guy who gave them problems this fall, hunting for unlocked cars and climbing the fence to the dumpster. It’s only when the figure stops to let an SUV back out and the brake lights show his face that Manny recognizes Fredo.
“What the fuck.”
He clacks his glass down and hustles outside, the ball of keys banging at his hip. The ice melter’s worked, but only to the end of the walk. Three steps into the lot, his shoes fill with slush and he has to retreat. “Fredo!” he calls into the blizzard. “Fredo!” With the snow it’s hard to see, but he swears Fredo looks back once, just briefly, before going on, making straight for the bus shelter by JCPenney. “Okay,” Manny hollers, arms stretched wide as if calling him out, “you can forget about your check.”
The first thing Manny does is make sure he’s punched out, which he is.
“I don’t know,” Ty says. “He just took off his apron and left.”
“You didn’t say anything to him?”
“Like what?”
Like: Are you really that stupid, or are you purposely trying to fuck this up? Like: Who told you to do that, because it sure as hell wasn’t me. Like: Now I’m going to have to replate the whole thing, which is a waste of my fucking time.
“Did anyone try to stop him?”
Rich and Leron and Eddie look over but don’t say a word, as if this doesn’t concern them. Jacquie pushes in to refill a pitcher at the coffee station and watches them, sensing the drama.
“Fuck Frito,” Ty says. “Eddie can handle backup.”
“Aren’t you the one that told me we couldn’t do dinner with three people?” Manny asks.
“You really think we’re going to serve dinner?”
“We’re going to be open for whoever shows up.”
“Then we’ll be fine,” Ty says, “because no one’s gonna show up.”
Manny can’t dispute this, the way it’s snowing, but he won’t lose this argument either. When logic fails, a manager can always pull rank. “Someone’s going to show up, and if no one does, we’re still going to be ready for them. We’re
“And you know they’re going to screw me. After all that bullshit.”
“I got her to fill out a comment card.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. You can call her around four in the morning and read it back to her.”
Nicolette jumps from her chair and pumps a fist. “Unh! Yeah, son! I know someone who’s getting some late-night takeout. Get the door, it’s Domino’s, bitch!”
Manny puts a finger to his lips, and she chills. This is their secret, a breach of the rules that could get them both in trouble, but worth it. As big a pain in the ass as Nicolette is, she’s still one of his servers.
When he swings back into the bar, Dom asks if he still wants the beer nuts.
“Toss ’em,” Manny says, and has Dom run him a Diet Coke with lemon. Lunch is winding down, and he needs a shot of caffeine, especially with the day so dark. His cuffs are still damp, covering the rubber band. He takes the glass to the window and peeks between the blinds. Snow streaks past sideways as if he’s riding a train, and he wonders how it looks from the back window of his apartment—the yard that slopes down to the creek a perfect white except for the dotted line of a cat’s tracks. He imagines lying on the couch under his old Patriots sleeping bag all day tomorrow and watching the games, not even getting dressed, leaving his dishes around like he’s sick. No, he needs to be here, he needs to see Deena. If he leaves her place right after dinner he might make it back to catch the end of the late game. And that quick it will be Monday and all of this will be history.
Outside, a skinny dude in a hoodie with his hands jammed in the pouch skirts the lower edge of the lot, hunched against the wind. He ignores the stop sign and crosses the road, headed for the mall. Where the hell did he come from? Not the front door—Manny would have seen him leave—and for an instant he thinks it’s the homeless guy who gave them problems this fall, hunting for unlocked cars and climbing the fence to the dumpster. It’s only when the figure stops to let an SUV back out and the brake lights show his face that Manny recognizes Fredo.
“What the fuck.”
He clacks his glass down and hustles outside, the ball of keys banging at his hip. The ice melter’s worked, but only to the end of the walk. Three steps into the lot, his shoes fill with slush and he has to retreat. “Fredo!” he calls into the blizzard. “Fredo!” With the snow it’s hard to see, but he swears Fredo looks back once, just briefly, before going on, making straight for the bus shelter by JCPenney. “Okay,” Manny hollers, arms stretched wide as if calling him out, “you can forget about your check.”
The first thing Manny does is make sure he’s punched out, which he is.
“I don’t know,” Ty says. “He just took off his apron and left.”
“You didn’t say anything to him?”
“Like what?”
Like: Are you really that stupid, or are you purposely trying to fuck this up? Like: Who told you to do that, because it sure as hell wasn’t me. Like: Now I’m going to have to replate the whole thing, which is a waste of my fucking time.
“Did anyone try to stop him?”
Rich and Leron and Eddie look over but don’t say a word, as if this doesn’t concern them. Jacquie pushes in to refill a pitcher at the coffee station and watches them, sensing the drama.
“Fuck Frito,” Ty says. “Eddie can handle backup.”
“Aren’t you the one that told me we couldn’t do dinner with three people?” Manny asks.
“You really think we’re going to serve dinner?”
“We’re going to be open for whoever shows up.”
“Then we’ll be fine,” Ty says, “because no one’s gonna show up.”
Manny can’t dispute this, the way it’s snowing, but he won’t lose this argument either. When logic fails, a manager can always pull rank. “Someone’s going to show up, and if no one does, we’re still going to be ready for them. We’re
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