there. He worries enough as it is.”
That was the beauty of Gabrielle. If there was a line between a hand up and a hand out, she never crossed it.
Living without furniture was bearable, but living without decent food was not. I craved home-cooked meals. After cereal for dinner the second night in a row, I decided that a home cooked meal would be my mission for the week. In order to do that, I was going to have to come up with a way of equipping the kitchen.
No one noticed the empty backpack I was carrying when I arrived at work that morning. The people I worked with barely noticed me at all half the time – except Paolo, who took great delight in berating me at the front door for being three minutes late for my shift.
Offloading my bag in the cloakroom, I headed into the dining room to start work, grabbing Phoebe’s egg white omelette off the servery on my way past.
I chatted to her for a short minute before heading to the Swanstons’ table to greet them. We were in the midst of the fifty-one-years-of-marriage conversation when from the corner of my eye I saw Elvis walk in.
I rushed over to him, steering him away from Paolo by linking my arm through his. “There’s a table for you near the window.”
I didn’t dare look back at Paolo. Stealing his moment of glory by denying him his meet-and-greet was huge no-no.
“You’re very keen this morning,” noted Elvis.
“I take my job very seriously.”
He chuckled darkly. “No, you don’t.”
Releasing my grip, I pointed to the table I’d reserved for him and handed him a menu. I couldn’t have cared less about his order that morning. I had a plan, and Elvis was my unwitting accomplice.
“I need your help.” I sounded desperate, like I was about to ask him for a kidney. I rushed through the plan I’d hatched on the short walk in to work. Elvis didn’t say anything for a long time, giving me a look I’d seen a million times before but never from him. He thought I was as unhinged as my plan.
“You’re going to steal pots and pans?”
“Not steal, borrow,” I clarified. “And I need you to keep Paolo distracted while I do it.”
“Priscilla, I’ll lend you some money. Go and buy some new pans.”
He reached for his wallet and I grabbed his arm to stop him. Elvis glanced across at Paolo, put his wallet back in his pocket and straightened up.
“No, I don’t want to buy them. I just want to borrow them and then I’ll return them when I’m done. Will you help me?”
“You’re never going to make employee of the month. You know that, right?”
I had more chance of winning a Nobel Prize than making employee of the month. My record was less than exemplary, and Elvis had been privy to every one of my indiscretions thus far.
“Please, Elvis?” I pouted a little.
“Who else have you mentioned this absurd scheme to?”
I shrugged. “Just Marvin, my door man.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re a poor, struggling waitress and yet you live in a building with a doorman?”
“Look, will you help me or not?”
He sighed. “Fine. Go, do your thing. I’ll keep your manager busy.”
He raised his hand, looked at Paolo and clicked his fingers. Paolo scuttled across the floor, weaving in and out of tables like a plump penguin.
“Go,” whispered Elvis.
I slipped away, confident that my partner in crime could buy me the time I needed. I’d gambled a lot by implicating Elvis. He could have thrown me to the wolves at any moment, but for some reason I trusted him.
I was like a ghost in the kitchen. No one raised an eyebrow when I retrieved my bag from the cloakroom and snuck into the adjacent storeroom.
It was a treasure-trove of goodies. I took a small skillet and the only saucepan small enough to fit into my bag. Glancing around the dimly lit, windowless room, I sighed wistfully. There was any amount of food in there. I could have made a hundred meals just from the groceries I could source from the storeroom. But I took nothing else.
That was the beauty of Gabrielle. If there was a line between a hand up and a hand out, she never crossed it.
Living without furniture was bearable, but living without decent food was not. I craved home-cooked meals. After cereal for dinner the second night in a row, I decided that a home cooked meal would be my mission for the week. In order to do that, I was going to have to come up with a way of equipping the kitchen.
No one noticed the empty backpack I was carrying when I arrived at work that morning. The people I worked with barely noticed me at all half the time – except Paolo, who took great delight in berating me at the front door for being three minutes late for my shift.
Offloading my bag in the cloakroom, I headed into the dining room to start work, grabbing Phoebe’s egg white omelette off the servery on my way past.
I chatted to her for a short minute before heading to the Swanstons’ table to greet them. We were in the midst of the fifty-one-years-of-marriage conversation when from the corner of my eye I saw Elvis walk in.
I rushed over to him, steering him away from Paolo by linking my arm through his. “There’s a table for you near the window.”
I didn’t dare look back at Paolo. Stealing his moment of glory by denying him his meet-and-greet was huge no-no.
“You’re very keen this morning,” noted Elvis.
“I take my job very seriously.”
He chuckled darkly. “No, you don’t.”
Releasing my grip, I pointed to the table I’d reserved for him and handed him a menu. I couldn’t have cared less about his order that morning. I had a plan, and Elvis was my unwitting accomplice.
“I need your help.” I sounded desperate, like I was about to ask him for a kidney. I rushed through the plan I’d hatched on the short walk in to work. Elvis didn’t say anything for a long time, giving me a look I’d seen a million times before but never from him. He thought I was as unhinged as my plan.
“You’re going to steal pots and pans?”
“Not steal, borrow,” I clarified. “And I need you to keep Paolo distracted while I do it.”
“Priscilla, I’ll lend you some money. Go and buy some new pans.”
He reached for his wallet and I grabbed his arm to stop him. Elvis glanced across at Paolo, put his wallet back in his pocket and straightened up.
“No, I don’t want to buy them. I just want to borrow them and then I’ll return them when I’m done. Will you help me?”
“You’re never going to make employee of the month. You know that, right?”
I had more chance of winning a Nobel Prize than making employee of the month. My record was less than exemplary, and Elvis had been privy to every one of my indiscretions thus far.
“Please, Elvis?” I pouted a little.
“Who else have you mentioned this absurd scheme to?”
I shrugged. “Just Marvin, my door man.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re a poor, struggling waitress and yet you live in a building with a doorman?”
“Look, will you help me or not?”
He sighed. “Fine. Go, do your thing. I’ll keep your manager busy.”
He raised his hand, looked at Paolo and clicked his fingers. Paolo scuttled across the floor, weaving in and out of tables like a plump penguin.
“Go,” whispered Elvis.
I slipped away, confident that my partner in crime could buy me the time I needed. I’d gambled a lot by implicating Elvis. He could have thrown me to the wolves at any moment, but for some reason I trusted him.
I was like a ghost in the kitchen. No one raised an eyebrow when I retrieved my bag from the cloakroom and snuck into the adjacent storeroom.
It was a treasure-trove of goodies. I took a small skillet and the only saucepan small enough to fit into my bag. Glancing around the dimly lit, windowless room, I sighed wistfully. There was any amount of food in there. I could have made a hundred meals just from the groceries I could source from the storeroom. But I took nothing else.
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