It didn’t take Millie long to spill the beans. Within several days of her boss telling her to cool it with Bill, she told Bill about what her boss said.
“Guess I’m gonna have to wait ‘til I’m really horny and then hit on you,” she said.
Bill noted that she was acting like a school girl. He knew it was an act because every so often she stepped out of the role and let herself be herself. She was wearing dark red this day, dark red lips, fingers and toes, and she made sure to put her knees together and set them apart, same for her feet which, despite it getting colder and colder outside, she still showed—at least for Bill—by wearing flat, open-toe slippers. She stood pigeon-toed every now and then too and looked at him with a little pout.
“I’ll wait for you to tell me when,” Bill said.
“Gonna take care of me?”
“Haven’t I been doing that?”
“No hard feelings?”
“Why should there be?”
“None on my end,” Millie said. She gave him the shy schoolgirl pose one last time. Then she said something that surprised Bill. “I think my boss is jealous,” she said.
“I think she’s smart,” said Bill. “She’s protecting you and me.”
“Maybe,” Millie said. “Anyway, I’m jumping your bones soon as I can.”
“I can’t wait,” Bill said.
As time passed everyone wondered when Caesar would play his hand, if he would play his hand. The longer Caesar was quiet, the more people wondered if he had a hand to play. One thing was sure, Caesar was not stupid and he knew the executive chef and banquet chef liked Bill. More, he knew they knew how good Bill’s work was. Then there was the whole of the Greek mafia there, and they all had taken Bill as one of theirs.
Bill wondered when he was going to meet Millie’s boss. He wondered about her and wondered what she was like. He wondered if Millie was at all near right when she said maybe her boss was jealous.
Then Bill started thinking about himself and first thought was what was there to be jealous about because as it was he still could not picture himself as handsome or desirable. Of interest, maybe he was that because he was a writer, but no one there actually knew much about him and certainly they didn’t know anything about him as a writer.
He wondered. He wondered about what Kalista had told him about the girl Caesar had whatever-he’d-done-to-her, abused, mistreated, only-Kalista-knew-what, and now he wanted to know too. Inquiring minds wanted to know. Kalista had brought it up and he decided to ask her straight out. He did so, but Kalista was standoffish at first.
One Thursday night not long after they’d had the initial conversation, Bill was standing out by Kalista drinking espresso. They’d had a very decent dinner play, a decent night business wise. All nights now were very decent as November marched quickly through to Thanksgiving. Not only were all nights decent, but the dinner service constantly went well such that Bill had proven himself to be a great hire.
Banquets were beyond busy, fully booked with no spaces and little room for the banquet crew to rest. Jimmy Banquet Chef had told his aunt that Bill was a lifesaver. Bill knew this because Kalista told him. She told him everything there was for her to tell, and continually thanked him profusely for taking care of Jimmy G.
“So tell me,” Bill said. “I want to know what kind of man he is.”
“I tell you another time,” Kalista said. “It’s long story. Not pretty one.”
Bill didn’t want to press it, but he couldn’t help himself. “When?” he asked.
“Soon,” Kalista said. “Only so you can protect yourself.”
