“I’m not too happy,” Tommy said to Mary who still stood on the line.
“Even drunk like he is, he’s one of the best we ever trained,” Mary said. “You give him a few more months he be as good as Yulie.”
“And fall-down drunk like him too,” Tommy said. Then, “And don’t think I don’t know you’re all high too. Smoking that stupid stuff in the deep freeze.”
Mary looked to her feet. “I got things to do in the back,” she said. “I’ll step in if you need me.” She quickly walked off the line.
Bill and Henry Lee were doing the service without Mr. Jim. Mr. Jim had gone to a doctor’s appointment and Tommy had not called over to the west for a cook. Ordinarily he preferred to have a three-man line. It was more efficient and assured them, as much as they could ever be assured, of not running behind.
Bill dropped a basket of fries when he saw the Top just about ready. Next he plated the roast beef he’d sliced. It took mashed potatoes and gravy. He scooped out a mashed potatoes portion with the ice cream scooper they used then formed a pocket in the rounded scoop with the bottom of the gravy ladle. He ladled gravy into the pocket, ladled some gravy atop the meat and set the plate up under the warmer light. The plate was picture-perfect.
Next he tapped the fryer basket handle so he could see the fries easily. He waited that extra moment to make the fries perfectly golden then lifted the basket and shook it vigorously to get the grease off. When Henry Lee plated the steak, he plated the fries and set the plate up next to the roast beef. Tommy rang the bell. He sipped his coffee.
Bill and Henry Lee stepped off the line and went out into the hall. Bea followed since there were no orders. She sat, as she always did, on the lettuce cases, the top of the top case already rounded with her imprint. Bill sat lower down on a metal milk case. Henry Lee lit a cigarette and stood by the door.
“We need more bourbon,” he said.
“I ain’t driving,” Bill said. “At least not till after I eat. I’m too drunk.”
“Send one of your little bimbos,” Henry Lee said.
Bea chuckled, her throaty laugh. She sat, as usual, with her legs spread wide so the air could get up there, so Bill could see up there. She liked when Bill looked and Bill liked to look, especially when she wasn’t wearing underwear, which was sometimes. Today she was just sweaty. Bill and Henry Lee were sweaty too. The kitchen was hot, always hot, winter and summer.
“Close them legs, you old hussy,” Henry Lee said. “He messed up enough already.”
Bea, ever herself, spread her legs wider and reached up there. She moved the panties aside slightly and scratched herself just about inside. “It’s itchy,” she said. She looked straight at Bill.
Bill, crazy drunk and high, stood up and started over to her. He had it in his mind to reach up there and scratch her itch. He’d already satisfied it this morning, so now was just fool around time. He was about to do what he planned when they all heard that familiar word come from out of Tommy’s mouth. “Ordering,” they heard him call.
Like good soldiers, they immediately returned to their places in the kitchen. Bea quickly set up salads she had left prepared in her ice box and started making more. Henry Lee and Bill listened as Tommy went through the stack of orders he now held in his hands.
“A Top medium-rare with two roast beef dinners,” he said. “A Super and a Bleu. Two roast beef dinners solo. A pickerel, a fried shrimp and two hamburgers rare. Put fries on one of those roast beefs. Two burgers medium, a Top and a burger both medium-well and a fried shrimp…”
“Anyone down there working?” Tommy called from the stairs. They all heard it and they all started out of the meat room.
“Don’t forget the prime rib,” Mary said.
Bill came up last with the rib. He took himself another long drink of bourbon before he went up and he knew it was only by the grace of God that he didn’t fall down. Unsteadily, weaving, he carried up the rib. Then he carried pans from the back to the line. Mary didn’t allow him to carry any hot liquids. She drew him a coffee, fixed it the way he liked it and made sure he drank it before he stepped on the line. She’d done that for Yulie countless times, her heart crying on the inside. Her heart was not crying now, but almost because she knew she was gonna give Bill a good piece of it. She also knew she was heading for a broken heart because sure as God made rain, the boy was gonna leave one day and that would be that.
“I’ll fix you another coffee,” Mary told him after he finished the first one and before he stepped on the line for the lunch service.
“Get me a beer.”
“You had enough. You got to do dinner too, and close.”
“SSDD. I do it every day. So what’s another one? But not so long ago I was crying for a job, any damn job.” Bill reached for Mary. She did not rebuff him or step away. She stepped close to him, kissed his cheek.
“You really like me?” she whispered in his ear.
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“You ain’t messing with my mind?”
“Why would I?”
“Ordering,” Tommy called out.
Bill stepped away and walked to the line from the fryer side, the side closest to Bea’s station and the entrance to the side dining room. His eyes met Bea’s. She leered at him.
“A Top medium-rare and a roast beef lunch,” Tommy called out.
Mary walked to the coffee urn and drew Bill a mug of java. She walked behind Bea and pinched her arm on her way back to the line. “Boy’s so drunk he can hardly stand,” she said.
“He’s still cute.”
“He is, isn’t he? He reminds me of Yulie.”
“That why you sweet on him?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I’m all messed up.”
“Yeah,” Bea said. “You are. Robert would tell you to check out your mind.”
“Ain’t my mind that needs checking out,” Mary said.
“I’m still getting it when I can,” Bea said.
“It’s a free country,” Mary said.
She walked to the line and left Bill’s coffee on the side of the steam table where he wouldn’t spill it. She stood on the line a moment and watched them work. Bill was already slicing the roast beef for the platter he was about to make. Henry Lee was cooking the Top. He had greased the grill and cooked off some hamburgs and some Bleus, the oval shaped hamburgers stuffed with Bleu cheese. In the course of his kitchen career Bill would discover some things he did not care to eat. Bleus were one of them.
“You okay?” she asked Bill.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“The boy can hardly stand up,” Tommy said. “And you aren’t doing him any favors by encouraging him, either.”
“No,” Mary said. “I don’t think I am.”
“It’s not up to her,” Bill said without looking up from what he was doing.
Tommy shook his head in scorn then went to get a coffee for himself. “You aren’t helping any too,” Tommy said to Bea when he was at the coffee urn by her station. Bea sat reading the racing page in the newspaper.
“I didn’t do anything,” Bea said.
“I know,” Tommy said. “ You’re all just one happy family.” He walked back to the line carrying his coffee and waited for the next orders.
How stupid are we?
Talking about America, there seems to be no limit to the depth of our stupidity, the depth of the pit of stupidity we have fallen into. It’s rather amazing actually. Think about it. When the Soviet Union collapsed and the Berlin wall came down, the United States was the only world power. In the thirty years since then we have allowed Russia to regain its world-power status and we have allowed China to become a world power. China’s economy has overtaken ours and just recently, for the first time ever, the dollar is no longer the world currency.
So how stupid are we? Well, how stupid can you be?
The war on poverty has been going on for fifty-two years, since 1965. We’ve poured twenty-three billion dollars into it. That’s 23,000,000,000. For that money there has been no real noticeable change in the poverty rate and no real change in the demographics of the people in poverty. Yet we continue down the same road. Stupid?
As regards education, we spend more per capita than any other country and yet we rank a whopping twenty-seventh in the world in education. Now that’s a big bang for the buck. Furthermore, segregation was outlawed in 1954 and yet our schools are becoming more and more segregated. The rate at which segregation is occurring continues to increase.
Stupid?
It gets better. There are those who fought against segregation who now insist they have a right to their own spaces, or they insist that whites not be allowed into certain spaces. Well then…
Stupid? You bet
Just as stupid and actually most dangerous to our society is the disregard shown for logic and facts. Replacing logic and facts are feelings and subjectivity. The gender identity laws exemplify this. But that raises a controversial issue and God forbid that should happen. So let’s put it this way. Mr. X doesn’t have any cash and can’t buy that five-dollar super mochaccino he wants because he left his wallet in his Porsche. He feels poor. He identifies with poor people at that moment. In accordance with the gender identity rules, he is poor. He identifies himself as poor, ergo, by the new rules, he is poor. If that happened on April 15th, Mr. X should be eligible for not paying taxes and even getting an earned income credit.
Stupid? Beyond stupid. How stupid can we be?
Let’s see. Remember “you have to sign it to see what’s in it?” Stupid? Well, what’s even more stupid is that she’s still in office and the head of her party. She’s not stupid. She didn’t have to read it because she doesn’t have to deal with it. She and her cronies voted themselves an exception so they could stay on the government congressional plan. That’s the Cadillac of Cadillacs plan.
Stupid? Not them! Us. More than half of them are millionaires And they way their positions work, they don’t really have to pay for anything. Our tax dollars pay for everything. Or, they’re having a great, self-enriching time on our dime. So how stupid can we be?
Russia. Russia’s goal is to create chaos here in America. Well, look at what our media has been pushing for the last eight months or so. Look at what the party of opposition has done. How stupid are we as a people and as a nation? Haven’t we played right into Putin’s hands? Stupid.
Well, aren’t we stupid for allowing all this to go on? Aren’t we more stupid for continuing to fund it?
Finally, as the liberals push left toward the welfare state and socialism, history tells us that capitalism and the free market pay for the bulk of all charity work done throughout the world. It also tells us that no socialist government thus far has ever managed to succeed. Why would we push toward that which we know will fail?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Really, how stupid are we? Pretty damn stupid.
Bill went down the line to see what needed to be brought over from the back. Mary had set up the steam table, filled it with the needed water, placed the inserts into their slots. He saw the oven with the towel wrapped around the handle and instinctively opened it to see what was inside.
“That round is ready,” Mary said. “After you take it out you can get me a rib from downstairs.”
Bill said okay and took up two kitchen towels to grasp the handles of the roasting pan. He set the pan on the stovetop and made sure it was secure. Satisfied, he walked past Mary to head down for the rib. He did not say anything to her. His not saying anything must have irked her because she snapped at him. “Ain’t you got nothing to say?”
“Yeah I got something to say. I’m getting high while I’m downstairs. You want to chill out, come down.”
“Screw you,” Mary said.
Fighting with his fiance was bad enough, Bill thought, but having the same crap at work was the pits. He couldn’t imagine what he’d done and he wanted to ask but there wasn’t any point to it while she was still in a foul mood. So he kept quiet and went down.
Bill was surprised when Mary joined him in the deep freeze. Henry Lee was already done smoking. He’d gotten high first in case Tommy came down. That was not likely, but it happened occasionally. Not that he would do anything. Say something, yeah, but do something, not likely. The meals needed to go up and if he fired one, they’d all threaten to leave. Even if they didn’t make the threat, Robert would intercede. He was running numbers for the owner, why he was in the workhouse and how Bill ended up meeting him in the first place, and he was taking the owner to the Upper Room too. So he had pull, real pull.
While Bill was with Mary, he couldn’t feel her up. The deep-freeze mitts made it useless to try. So, puff puff pass, they finished a joint and Bill lit a second one–he had to pull off the mitts to do that–so Mary could catch up. He didn’t say anything. She told him she was mad and he could just keep away from her for all she cared. He shrugged it off.
Out of the deep freeze, Bill filled his coffee mug with bourbon and drank it down like soda pop. He handed the bottle to Henry Lee who passed it to Mary. She took a dainty sip and turned to head on up. Bill reached out and pulled her to him so he could grind himself on her butt. He was so high and drunk that he didn’t care whether she liked it or not. He didn’t care that Henry Lee saw. He was so gone he didn’t care about anything and he decided, one of those crazy thoughts, that he would pop acid the next day.
“Goddamn it, you let me go, boy.”
“You give me some.”
“You go to hell.”
“After I get me some.”
“Bea wasn’t enough?”
“She don’t mean nothing.”
“And I do?”
“Yes.”
“What do I mean?”
“What you think?”
“Tell me.”
Bill, still grinding on her, leaned in and licked her ear. Then he laughed.
“Screw you, stupid,” Mary said.
“I really like you,” Bill said leaning in close again and trying to whisper.
“Really?”
“You bet,” Bill said.
Coming Now In About Another Month:
The Ghost Writer, Rose’s Story: A Look At The Worlds We Hide
A problem. Mary liking him was a problem. Him liking Mary was a bigger problem. It was complicated.
Money was no longer a problem. Bill and his wife-to-be could pay the rent. A car was no longer a problem. They had gotten a cool, sporty-yet-practical car. Bill’s only problems were his police record and his extra-curricular activities, both self-inflicted wounds.
Bea wanted Bill more when she discovered Mary was keen on him. Bill was forbidden fruit, young, thin and highly energetic, not to mention exotic, the only white boy she’d ever tasted. She enjoyed his being only twenty. That age on boys was just perfect for anything and everything she could want. She was in her mid forties, in an already twenty-five year marriage, not getting much at home. Young and strange stuff made for ecstasy. She looked at Bill and licked her chops. She looked at him and she was creamy down there, ready for action.
“I do like the boy,” Mary finally admitted one day. “He’s not just a piece of meat.”
“Yeah, he is,” Bea said. “And a good one at that. And I like him too. I like him in the morning and in the afternoon. I like him wherever he puts it, and I let him put it anywhere he can think of. I ain’t had this much fun since I was his age when my mister was still treating me like a princess. But I didn’t know what I was doing back then. Now, it’s anything and everything goes and oh so much fun.”
“Well you ain’t me,” Mary said. “I don’t work like that.”
“Damn, girl, you should try it. Take your head out your ass and your heart out the situation. Get your rocks off and be happy.”
“If I could I would.”
“I’m taking what I want and what I can get.”
With that said that day, Mary went back to her station. Bill came up from the meat room a bit later. He’d been cutting meat with Henry Lee. He went directly to where Mary was and reached for her, but she pushed him off. “You want a piece of ass go to the salad station,” she told him.
Bill shook his head. “What’d I do?”
“You came here.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Lord have mercy,” Mary said.
“You can have a piece of ass,” Bea said. Apparently she’d heard the exchange of words. “I got to go downstairs anyway.”
Bill, a bit confounded, drew himself a coffee and headed back for the stairs. Mary sulked, called Bea a bitch under her breath. She watched Bea traipse after him downstairs.
Bill didn’t want Bea. He wanted Mary. That was the problem. He should never have wanted her for anything other than sex and he shouldn’t have even wanted her for that. It was the being-young curse.
Back in the meat room, he took a long swig of the bourbon he and Henry Lee were drinking. Then he drank half his coffee and filled the mug to the rim with bourbon so he had some strong coffee to drink. He had just begun cutting steaks again when Bea came into the meat room and asked him to help her get something from a high shelf in the storeroom.
“Go get some,” Henry Lee said.
Bill followed Bea into the storeroom. As soon as they were both inside, she closed and blocked the door. She reached for him, fondled him, dropped to her knees.
Twenty minutes later, back in the meat room, Bill gulped down the remainder of his coffee. He filled the mug with straight bourbon and finished it off too. He was drunk by the time he and Henry Lee began carrying up meat trays for the service.
Coming Now In About Another Month:
The Ghost Writer, Rose’s Story: A Look At The Worlds We Hide
Mary and Bill sat on the sofa in the small living room at the Upper Room. Mary had poured them drinks. Bill rolled a joint making sure not to spill any. As soon as the joint was ready, he lit it, puffed twice then passed it along. Mary took it from him and puffed for awhile before passing it back.
They did not speak much. Mary wanted to tell him that she didn’t have much more cooking to teach him, that she thought he had learned quickly and thoroughly. She wanted to tell him to watch out for Bea. The more he advanced, the more he challenged her position. It didn’t matter that they were still fraternizing. She wanted to talk about that too, to tell him to stop. But while she might tell him the other things, she’d never tell him that. She liked him, goddamn it. She liked him and she was feeling possessive of him, even jealous. She knew she’d never let that out either.
They had not undressed yet. Mary had already made the bed with sheets she brought, like she always did. Then she fixed her makeup in the bathroom. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress, and the bottom two too, so as they sat getting high Bill could see a good piece of cleavage and most of her thighs. Mary liked him looking. His interest in her turned her on. Being turned on and having the itch scratched was something new to her.
This time she wore a white-white dress to contrast with her dark-dark skin. She wore black, open-toe high heels, her toenails, fingernails and lips done in a deep purple. Underneath, she’d worn black, black bra, black panties. She wore no stockings.
“You look good,” Bill said when the joint was done. He rolled another joint and offered it to Mary. She declined, saying they could have it later. Bill put it on the table and reached for her. She moved close, next to him. He kissed her once then helped her lay down on the sofa. He lay with her and for a long time they kissed. He purposefully didn’t touch her and didn’t let her touch him. Finally, he asked what she was feeling.
“You first, Billy boy.”
“Contentment,” Bill said.
“Excitement,” Mary said. “I want you to, to…I can’t even say it.”
“Why?”
“Cause I’m shy.”
“You shy or you scared?”
Mary flushed full red over her dark-chocolate face. “Both,” she said.
“Good,” Bill said. “Honesty.”
“I’m always honest with you,” Mary said.
“Yeah. When you say something.” Bill leaned in and nibbled on Mary’s earlobe. Then he whispered softly in her ear all the things he was going to do to her. He gave a full, detailed description, held nothing back, was not vulgar about it in any way. He made it as sensual and erotic as his English major’s mind could create.
Mary flushed full red over her black again and Bill simply looked at her, watched her blush, enjoyed teasing and cajoling her into imagining what was to come and how pleasant it might be. Then he began doing precisely what he said he would. He was slow and gentle in all his movements, deliberate with the placement of his touches and his kisses. He discovered immediately that Mary was already in a place he wanted her to be, a place she’d never been before, or at least that’s what she would tell him. He discovered that he did not have to work hard to accomplish his end, and he was pleased with himself. Soft kisses strategically placed and brief touches, just teases really as they lay on the couch, were enough to cause Mary to moan with pleasure.
He liked her too. It wasn’t like with Bea or Norma or Eleanor or Alfreda. It meant something with Mary, and that was…
Coming Now In About Another Month:
The Ghost Writer, Rose’s Story: A Look At The Worlds We Hide
