Beverly thought that was quite a story. Bill assured her it was the truth and nothing but, as best as he could tell it. No exaggeration, no lies, just what it was.
Then he told Beverly—he couldn’t say why—the story of his father and his Uncle Maxwell meeting up stateside after the war, after his father had recovered, before their discharges. His uncle had been an aerial gunner in the Air Force. They met up, went on a three-day bender, went AWOL for three days. The private stripe was because his father was busted down to a PFC for those three days AWOL.
Beverly looked down to her feet before she said anything about herself, then she said, maybe a bit too forced, that he’d gotten her pregnant and they’d decided not to have an abortion.
Abortions back then were illegal and it would have had to have been a back-alley one and they were expensive and dangerous. He’d offered to pay for it and go with her when she went to have it, but as she told it to Bill she just couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t do it, said she didn’t want to have a kid but she didn’t want to have an abortion.
Well, Beverly told Bill, at least he did the right thing and asked her to marry him. She was a dope, she said, because she was dumb enough to do it.
Bill stopped her there and told her about Jenny, all about Jenny, Pam’s cousin, and Jenny’s boyfriend Peter.
He told the story of the party Pam and he had and how that day Pam’s cousin Jenny had a back-alley abortion. There was another cousin, Nina, who came up to him at the party and told him that Jenny was laying in his and Pam’s bed, that she was bleeding pretty badly, that she’d had an abortion that day and had been trying to keep it quiet but that wasn’t gonna work cause the cat was out of the bag and now she needed help.
It was a tough night. The party went on and once when Pam was in the kitchen, doing double duty as it were, kind of putting out snacks to keep the party going and getting wet cloths to soothe Jenny with, he walked into the kitchen to find Peter hitting on Pam. Peter had moved behind the counter and was trying to feel her ass and kiss her at the same time. To her credit, Pam was pushing him away and telling him to go away and leave her alone.
Bill’s walking in was enough to stop Peter from what he was doing but Peter didn’t have any shame or guilt about it. He just kind of shrugged his shoulders and walked out.
Wow! That was Beverly’s reaction. Then she asked if that were all there was, and Bill went on to tell her the rest. First part was him and Peter sitting on the living room sofa together after the party was over. They smoked a joint and drank a beer. Peter never apologized and Bill didn’t say anything, wasn’t any reason to fight about it, especially not then while Jenny lay in the bedroom near-dying.
She did near-die, Bill said. But they finally reached the doctor and he told them how to position her and to best help stop the bleeding. He’d given her antibiotics and pain killers, so he said to get the bleeding under control and put her to sleep.
Peter finally went home alone. Jenny did recover. Jenny and Peter stayed together, but that wasn’t the end of the kitchen episode. When Jenny was alright, Pam told her all about it, about what Peter did, about how could anyone do something like that when his girlfriend was laying in the bedroom in such bad shape.
Jenny said yeah to that. Jenny was a spiteful girl.
By Peter Weiss
So they sat and they talked and they held hands while they talked.
“Why’d you get married?” Beverly asked.
“I wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular,” Bill said.
He told the story of Pam, his one live-with girlfriend, and then the barren years with only two encounters, very far apart. He told about how he abandoned Pam because it was getting too serious, or maybe because he was getting restless, or maybe because he was getting afraid. Maybe he was afraid she’d leave him or not like him after awhile.
He told the story of the cold, snowy winter night some of the guys he knew wanted to go to a party, about his having a car and them asking him if he’d drive. Deciding to go, to drive, something that had not been in his plans, had not even been what he wanted, was one of those existential decisions, one of those moments he had to reason to a what-the-hell decision, one of those things out there that didn’t matter in any way in the course of his life. He’d go. He’d have a few beers, smoke a joint… He’d drive them home and come home.
He sat in the corner most of the night. He was wearing his father’s WWII army coat, one of those long khaki-green wool overcoats, this one double-breasted with all brass buttons and his father’s final PFC stripe. Big highlight was the Big Red 1, his father’s infantry unit.
He had taken the coat off and had it on his lap. He was careful not to drop ash on it when they passed around the joints, and he didn’t drink but one beer, this because he was driving.
She asked him if he wanted to dance, this girl that would eventually become his wife. She was a dancer, a dance major at the University, in the University Dance Company. He said he didn’t dance, which was true because he had no rhythm and he was a terrible dancer, not to mention the fact that he was shy and very inhibited.
She said okay and sat down by him, took her turn in the joint rotation and passed it to him, took a sip of his beer without asking if it was okay.
Then she went off to dance.
He sat awhile, never moved from the spot he was in. He watched what was going on, watched the dancers dance, would find out that this was a dance party being held by one of the UDC members, so of course there were a lot of dancers there. There were lots of drama majors too, aspiring actors. He didn’t know, but he was willing to bet he was the only poet, the only writer there.
He told Beverly how at getting-time-to-go time his friends came over with her and one other girl and asked if they could drive the girls home. Bill didn’t want to but he didn’t want to be a spoil sport, so against his desires he said yes. She made sure to sit next to him in the front seat, sandwiched in like he’d been sandwiched by Rosie and Edelgarde just the other night.
Instead of going home, they went to Denny’s because they wanted to get something to eat, his friends did. Bill didn’t want to. The snow was getting worse and he didn’t want to be out in it. But he was a team player and went along with them. One of the boys wanted to pick up that other girl.
He had a whopping two dollars and fifteen cents in his pocket. Out of nowhere, and just because, he told her he was having coffee and she could have anything she wanted up to a dollar ninety-five.
And that’s how they met, really met.
After the coffee she helped him on with his coat, said no one had ever offered her all they had before and asked him if she could come over to his place for little while. She had a roommate and the roommate had a boyfriend and he would probably still be there so if she could hang out a bit that would be great.
They made out and petted, but she didn’t stay. Four days later she showed up on his door step and said she was moving in.
By Peter Weiss
The rest of the week was very busy both in banquets and parties and in The Falstaff Room. Bill worked long, hard hours and did not have much time between finishing on banquets and setting up for his dinner service. Because The Falstaff Room was consistently busy now, the setup involved making sure they had enough of everything to cover what they could sell.
Caesar stayed away from Bill. Jo Ann did not mention his having said anything further to her about anything regarding his dislike for the new cook. Rosie and Edelgarde were just plain happy. They were happy they’d had that moment in the car with Bill. They were happy they were making money, lots of money, and they were happy that Caesar was himself busy such that he mostly left them alone.
Given how busy it was, the week went quickly. There wasn’t much time for encounters with any of the girls, and overall Bill was happy about this. He much preferred to be the one to initiate things, and generally he was not one to initiate things there. He much preferred for work to be uncomplicated and no more stressful than the demands of the job. The extracurricular stuff, well, he could have passed it all up if it left him alone, and he would have if he could have.
He did have one moment in the clandestine stairwell with Beverly. They had a lunch break together, nearly an hour. Bill saw she was wearing an extra earring in her left ear when he saw her that morning, and when they crossed paths they uttered a time with an if-possible attached to it. The if-possible had worked out.
It wasn’t what Bill wanted, but it did save him from Millie. Millie had been extremely quiet since their last encounter. Bill did not know if that were good or bad and he didn’t particularly care except that bad would create a mess and messes were not good to have at work. Messes were not good to have anywhere. They happened in and of themselves—the situation with Caesar had the potential to be a mess—without Bill doing anything at all.
Stuff happened.
Millie was content. Bill would learn this next time he saw her, next time they had a moment to talk. Meanwhile not seeing her that way was a good thing for him.
Beverly kissed Bill soon as he got there. She was waiting. She had been waiting, she said, since her party ended early and they were able to clear away all the food and dishes quickly.
“What’s up?” Bill asked after they’d kissed.
“Busy busy. Working just about all the time for the next month and more. You?”
“Same deal.”
“That’s it?”
“You tell me.”
“I’m just about ready,” Beverly said.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means just about.” She smiled at Bill and blushed red.
“I’m tired,” Bill said. “It’s good to just sit and rest.”
“That’s true. I’m on that big one later. When you start setting up for The Falstaff Room I’m gonna be setting up lots of tables for that banquet.”
“I hope you’ll make money.”
“Oh, for sure.” She was sitting next to Bill on the same step and turned slightly to face him. “Listen,” she said, “you can have me if you want me.”
“Well that’s about the best invitation, the warmest and most enthusiastic I’ve ever had.”
“That bad, huh?’
“Beyond bad. And you’re not getting away with it either. You’re not putting it on me. This is on you. You want to get down, I’m with it. You want to be friends and talk about marriage and all that great stuff, I’m down with that too. Just let me know.”
Bill took a moment and looked at her. “Listen, I’d do you in a flash. If I were single and you were single and we ran across each other, I’d be attracted and make a move. So that should tell you about your appeal. The rest is on you. Whatever you want will be okay.”
By Peter Weiss
Rosie and Edelgarde were in one car. Bill found they had pulled next to his car on the loading dock, so when he met up with them, they agreed that he would follow them to that little place he and Rosie had visited which was on his way home.
Bill parked behind Rosie’s car and made his way up to them. He was planning to stand outside the car on the driver’s side so he could just do a quick talk but Rosie invited him into the car. He started to get into the back and she quickly said “Not there stupid.” So he walked around and as he was going to get in, Edelgarde slid out and made it so he sat in the front between them.
“What’s up?” Edelgarde asked.
Bill laid it straight out. All he wanted them to do was to keep talking to Caesar, not about him but about how good the business was and how well the food was going out. He didn’t want them to promote him or push him to Caesar, just to let Caesar know how well things were going. He wanted them to let Caesar know that the food was good and the service was on time and it was consistently so.
Of course they told him it was no problem. They told him they were happy to do what they could for him. They even said if it would put Caesar in his place—something they said was a long time coming—that would be so much the better.
At first as they talked it seemed all business. Bill was glad for that though he couldn’t help but feel Rosie on one side of him and Edelgarde on the other. He could smell them, their perfumes, and he could feel their breaths somewhat as they spoke. He was glad they were getting through what he wanted to, and he was glad they were doing it away from the hotel.
But then Rosie put her hand on his thigh on one side, and Eddie, seeing what Rosie had done, put her hand on his other thigh.
Bill was stuck between them.
“I need to be getting home,” he said.
Edelgarde kissed him first. She leaned forward in front of him as he sat and put her lips to his. It was a full kiss, not a shy kiss, a familiar kiss, one where she was sure of him and what she was doing.
As Edelgarde kissed him, Rosie moved her hand more onto him and she leaned in and put her lips by theirs so that Edelgarde stopped kissing him and kissed her. Then they all kissed.
“Have a good time with Millie today?” Rosie asked.
“What?” Bill said.
“You heard her,” Edelgarde said.
Both of their hands were on him now and he responded because he couldn’t help himself.
“Spill the beans,” Rosie said. “We already know.”
“What do you know?” Bill asked.
“Millie was happy to tell us. So we’ve all told each other everything.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bill said.
“We don’t care,” Edelgarde said. She took one of his hands and led it to her. As she did this, Rosie took his other hand and led it to her.
“But you got to pay for our…” Rosie started but she stopped herself.
“Your what?” Bill asked.
“That was a wrong thing to say,” Rosie said. “What I meant was we don’t care what you do and who you do it with. If you want to be with us, great. And no matter what, we’ll support you against Caesar.”
Edelgarde kissed him again and made herself accessible to his hand. Rosie led his hand where she wanted it.
“You don’t have to stay here now if you don’t want to,” Edelgarde said. “We just thought we’d use the opportunity.”
Bill didn’t say anything. He didn’t hurry out of the car either.
By Peter Weiss
Biden is unfit to be president.
Now wait a minute all you cultist lefties and socialists. I know the thought you’re thinking before you’ve read any further is: And Trump is? Or, What about Trump?
Hello. Not talking about Trump. Talking about Biden. Not gonna talk about his dirty dealings, how his family has gotten rich in every country he was in charge of as VP. Not gonna talk about his racist statements, his racist record, his failure to produce anything of real significance as a senator. Not even gonna talk about his mumbling and bumbling or his old-age stuff, you know, not knowing where he is or what day it is, etc. Not even gonna talk about how he’s the classic dirty old man.
Nope this is just about his temperament.
So the other day he was on his bicycle and Peter Doocy asked him if he’d picked his VP yet and he quickly said yes. Then Doocy asked him who it was and he said “You.”
Nasty. Just plain nasty. And for no reason.
Think of all the times he’s called someone a dog-faced liar or a lying pony soldier or told them not to vote for him or invited them behind the high school bleachers (where he’d probably get his feeble ass kicked).
Is this the temperament anyone wants in a President? Think about it.
Oh, well, I know, you cultist non-thinkers won’t, but…think about it. His singular response to being challenged in thought is to lash out nastily. His one response to being asked a question other than what he’s prepared for is to lash out nastily.
They say he’s a nice guy. Who says that?
Really, is just plain nasty for no apparent reason other than simple defensiveness and lack of ability to think on the spot what you want in a president?
Joe Biden: just plain nasty.
By Peter Weiss
Bill didn’t waste any time putting his plan into action. Tuesday morning, first thing when he saw Jimmy Banquet Chef, he told him what Jo Ann had said. The banquet chef listened and after hearing Bill out told him not to worry. He also told him not to bother telling the chef, that he would do so.
On his break before the setup for The Falstaff Room he saw Millie for a bit and told her too. He and Millie did not have any real time together and they wouldn’t have much time together for the rest of the week because of the way their schedules worked out, but they did talk and Millie told him she would relate it to her boss. Millie, same as the banquet chef did, made sure to tell Bill not to worry, that no matter what Caesar did, Bill would be okay. Millie told him that her boss was looking forward to meeting Bill, that she’d told Millie she was going to surprise Bill one day but that she didn’t know how just yet.
The final part of his plan was a talk with his girls. He made sure to have it away from the room, even away from Kalista’s station. He caught Jo Ann first since she was first in and he got her while she was still in her civvies and just heading out to the room to do the initial set up before she changed into her uniform.
It was a simple plan, nothing much they had to do except collectively speak to Caesar and let him know how happy they were with the new cook. Bill told her he was mobilizing his forces, so to speak, making sure that no matter what Caesar did, his people were ready to stand behind him, to make sure that Caesar would not be able to hurt him.
Jo Ann was agreeable. She said not only did she like Bill and like the fact that he was a good cook, but that what Caesar was plotting was not a nice thing to do to anyone. It was mean and it was spiteful. After all, she told Bill, she’d seen him be nice to Caesar to start and Caesar was the one who was not nice from the get-go, the one who was mean-spirited.
Bill met up with Rosie and Eddie after work. He managed to tell them that he wanted to speak to them and asked if they would meet him in the parking lot. Of course they said yes. They said it would be their pleasure.
The dinner service was busy. As it seemed, the dinner service showed no signs of slowing down, only showed signs of continually increasing in numbers. They did well over a hundred, over a hundred-fifty. Jimmy G wasn’t all that happy since he didn’t have much time to be goofing off, to be flitting around the main kitchen and hanging out with his family. He didn’t even have much time to be sitting out by his aunt. He had to work, straight through just about, but the one saving grace of that was the night went quickly.
As far as Bill could tell, it went quite smoothly too. They sold good food, not much in the way of hamburgers or chopped steaks until late in the evening when young couples came in for a late, lighter meal, something toward the effect of diner food only much fancier. Caesar stayed to himself, away from the kitchen and from Bill. Jimmy Banquet Chef came around a couple of times and made sure to tell Caesar that he was happy for him because the business was picking up thanks to the new cook. He made sure to get Caesar where Bill and Jimmy G could hear the conversation, right by the service counter, and to tell him that the chef was verily pleased with the way the room was running and how the new cook, now not all that new, was working out.
By Peter Weiss
The dinner service went well. For a Monday they were unusually busy, did over a hundred-twenty covers. Over a hundred was becoming the norm. This was a good thing. Bill and Jimmy G finished up at 12:30 and punched out at 1:00.
Rosie and Edelgarde were quiet all night. They did not come around Bill much except for business.
Jo Ann was ever herself. She was crazy-happy, had bounce in her step. While she was waiting for her dinner, she came up close to the counter on her side.
“Caesar gave them a real scolding,” she whispered to Bill. “Told them he’d fire them if they didn’t stay away from you.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bill said.
“He really hates you.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“You bet.”
“He didn’t start with you?”
“Honestly, he wants me to set you up.”
“How?
“Say you harassed me, touched me where I didn’t want to be touched.”
“No shit?” Bill said.
“No shit,” said Jo Ann.”
“You gonna do it?”
“If I didn’t like you, I might think about it. As it is, I wouldn’t even consider it.”
“How’s he going to take that?”
“I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. He’s gonna try something.”
“Yeah. But how’s he gonna take what you told him?”
“He didn’t like it, but he took it. He will try something else.”
Bill went home thinking about this. Two courses of action went through his mind. One part of him told him to make peace with Caesar. He envisioned it like a weaker dog turning belly-up or baring its neck. The other part of him told him there’d be no peace with someone like Caesar. Someone like Caesar regarded any conciliatory attempt as weakness, as a green light to push ahead. He went home knowing he had to nip it now, before he could do anything.
As he showered he thought about the tough in the workhouse. He remembered (he would remember it all his life) that moment the tough approached him, when he asked him why he was in there. Bill told him assault and battery, and when the tough asked him if he’d beat up his wife, Bill had said no, a cop. That had stopped the tough cold.
There was only one way to stop a bully. You had to face him and stand up to him. You had to let him know that even if you couldn’t beat him, you would make it hard for him such that it would not be worth his while to mess with you.
Of course that’s what Bill had to do. He knew this sure as he knew each day the sun came up whether you could see it or not. He knew he had to formulate and execute a plan as soon as possible and that meant immediately since he now knew that Caesar was working at getting him.
It would involve a preemptive strike with all the girls.
Bill realized that his best bet was to have them all agree to talk to Caesar about how they were happy with Bill’s performance and how they wanted to do everything they could to make sure he would stay. This would upset Caesar, but it would let him know where they stood. It could be innocent enough as to look just like they were concerned for the room and the business and of course for their tips.
The plan would also involve talking with the banquet chef and letting him know what Jo Ann had said about what Caesar wanted her to do. Jimmy Banquet Chef would then take that to the chef and if nothing else it would be on record.
Finally, Bill would talk to Millie. Millie could, if she’d been being honest with him, talk to her boss and her boss could do whatever she might to insure that Caesar, for whatever he had in mind, couldn’t get away with it.
It was just like the soap operas on TV.
By Peter Weiss
They spent the whole hour together. If either of them was looking for relaxation, whether or not it was relaxation depended upon how you defined the word. Clinton’s “it depends upon what the meaning of is is” was still twenty-something years away.
Millie did most of the work and she did it while Bill sat there in that broad, plush arm chair.
One thing they did was kiss a lot. No way they could say after this encounter that they were not familiar with each other’s kisses and kissing, that they were not familiar with each other’s tongue. No way they could say after this encounter they were not familiar with each other.
Bill discovered that Millie liked kissing, that she liked using her tongue, that she had a somewhat unusually long tongue, one that curved up slightly at its end. He also discovered that she was not shy about putting it anywhere and did so freely after they had cleared the air about neither of them having any sexually transmitted diseases. She was even more free and more eager to do and try things with Bill after Bill told her he was game for whatever she wanted.
“Whatever?”
“Anything,” Bill said. “You want it, go for it.”
“Anything?” Millie queried.
That’s when Bill started leading her to things she might not have done on her own, at least not without knowing Bill better than she did at this moment. As he led her to things, he didn’t ask if it were alright with her or if she liked it. He led her to it and left her with it, for her to do with it as she did.
And she did. He gave her the work and she went to work.
Of course he worked too and they figured out how to maneuver in the chair so they could both do the work they wanted.
Because they were both young and agile, it was relatively easy to position themselves and to change positions at will. And they did. Millie moved one way and settled herself. Then she moved another way and settled herself. Because she was thin and he was thin, they could actually fit side by side in the chair, the two of them.
Millie cooed like a happy bird. She flitted and strutted her wings. She made sure Bill addressed all the spots on her she wanted addressed, and after the initial hesitancy caused by where they were and who they were to each other, she broke down and began telling Bill all her secrets about what drove her crazy.
Hearing what drove her crazy, Bill went right to it. He discovered that she was a wild and wet one. He used her wetness to make it easy for his fingers to penetrate everywhere, and first peak for her was caused by his fingers. She stood before him, facing away from him. He leaned forward in the chair.
His fingers found the spot she liked. He knew this because she said so. “There, there. Don’t move from there.”
He didn’t. As he worked there, his other finger found another there, and he kissed her all around from behind as he tended to her.
Good thing she was standing up. When she shuttered and shook, she sprayed his fingers abundantly with her fluid.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Holy Jesus.”
Bill sat back in the chair and took a breather.
“I’d be embarrassed if we were like dating or something,” Millie said.
“Little late to be embarrassed,” Bill said.
“I guess,” Millie said. “You’re not?”
“Why should I be? I got something I should be embarrassed about?”
“I think you’re just fine,” Millie said.
“You are too,” said Bill.
“Good.” Totally naked, Millie faced Bill and kissed him, a wet, sloppy kiss. Then she turned away from him and proceeded to sit down on him.
“Lap dance,” she said.
By Peter Weiss
“You owe me a show,” Millie said after she led Bill into her room. Having made sure no one saw them go in, she locked the door behind them and had Bill sit down.
Besides the folding chairs, there was furniture now, one full sofa and two matching chairs, all of it big, broad and neatly upholstered.
Bill made himself comfortable in the armchair Millie showed him to.
“My boss put this here just recently,” Millie said. “They re-did some rooms upstairs so she took it. She said we might as well be comfortable.”
Bill didn’t say anything. He bounced in the chair as if testing it and settled himself deep into it.
“Plush, right?” Millie said. “She stays over sometimes. If they don’t have a room or it’s really last-minute, she can sleep here.”
“I could fall asleep right now,” Bill said.
“My boss will protect us you know.”
“Why?
“Why you think?”
“I’m only here a few weeks. How would I know?”
“It goes way high up.”
“What does?”
“What do you think? It.”
“And it is…?”
“Fooling around, stupid.”
“How high?” Bill asked.
“How high is up?” Millie stood right in front of Bill, right before him. “And it goes in all directions too.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Bill said. “Who?”
“It’s like spy stuff. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I want to know everything,” Bill said.
“You owe me a show,” Millie said. “Time to give it up.”
Before Bill could do anything, before he even attempted to or made any pretense to do so, Millie lifted her dress. Bill saw that she was completely naked underneath and she was by no means shy about letting him see her, front and back, everywhere and everything. She turned. She bent over. She spread. She teased. She touched herself everywhere.
Bill couldn’t help being a young man at the top of his man-game. He couldn’t help getting so roused that he could have wet himself. It took all his will power to hold himself back.
As he watched her, it dawned on him that Millie liked showing off, that maybe she was an exhibitionist.
“You like giving shows, don’t you?” he asked.
“Only for you.”
“That for real?”
“What you mean?”
“I mean is that the truth?”
“You inspire me,” Millie said. “I like showing myself to you. I like you seeing me. Don’t you like it?”
“Sure I do.”
“Good,” Millie said. She let the uniform dress fall into place then unbuttoned it top to bottom so it stood completely open. “I’ve never done it before,” she said, “give shows, I mean.”
She moved forward and did her best to straddle him in the big chair. She offered him her breasts to do with as he would, but she led the way for what she wanted by moving them close as she could get to his mouth.”
Bill did what any man would have done. As he tended to the breasts, he reached his hand between her legs and let his fingers find the places he wanted to touch. Those thoughts he’d walked away with earlier in the morning came back to him, orneriness, mischievousness.
“What if your boss comes in?” Bill asked. “She must have a key.”
“Course she does,” Millie said. “Truth? If she came in and found us like this, she’d probably sit down and watch and then maybe play with herself or join in with us to get played with.”
“You think?”
“I know,” Millie said. “I know it for sure.”
“How you know?”
“If I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, I wouldn’t be doing this, not here, not like this. Believe me.”
Bill’s fingers found all her places they wanted to find. While they did, Millie opened his fly and set him free. She fixed it so she had her own show going on while he touched her.
By Peter Weiss
He could not shake the notions. The image of Millie flashing him stuck in his mind as he worked. He thought about her, Millie, and he thought about Norma and Marie, especially Marie because she was freaky-deaky. Then he thought about Jenny, Pam’s cousin, and that seemed so long, long ago. Jenny was getting revenge. Revenge sex was wild.
Revenge sex caused him to think about his lovely banquet waitress and her husband who was not cheating but having an affair. Mother Mary, Bill thought. She would have been an affair if Bill had been married at the time. Because he wasn’t, he was just cheating on his fiancé. How messed up was that?
Well, he thought, I never asked to be working in kitchens. I never asked for most of the stuff that’s happened to me. Then he remembered his father. He remembered being taught, mostly, never to ask for anything.
They only had one party, not even two hundred people. It was a nice one, prime rib, baked potato and asparagus. The rest of the week and the following week were booked full, and after that the holiday season would be in full swing. There was no let-up in sight.
Since it was a slow day and since they had some time, Jimmy Banquet Chef and Bill sat in the chef’s office and arranged time off for them both. Bill would be off every other Sunday and would come in later two days per week if the banquet schedule allowed it. Later meant noon or so. The banquet chef would take off Mondays, every other one, and Bill would be in early on those days to cover for him where the executive chef couldn’t.
It was all good on paper. It looked good on paper. But very often what looked good on paper didn’t work out that way.
The prime rib prep was easy. Along with Victor they knocked it out in no time. Then came the asparagus. They made sure the vegetable people took care of that and the baked potatoes. Only when the party for the evening was all ready to go into the oven did they start on the ones for the next day.
Wednesday had a breakfast banquet. This one was a little more deluxe, eggs Florentine with home fries and a fruit salad. Then there were two lunches and one big dinner. Altogether, on paper it was a hard day from start to finish. Beverly would be in for sure, Bill thought as he looked at the day on paper. Maybe she’d be there all day.
So they worked. They worked happily, the three of them. They worked together and were becoming a team in the sense that they were beginning to understand what each of them was doing and what had yet to be done. Like with his Falstaff Room partner, Jimmy G, Bill was learning to anticipate what was next and to go to it as the others were working on what they were working on.
By one-thirty, when it was time for them to take a lunch break, they had everything ready for the day and for the next day and they had already started on Wednesday. They would have taken lunch earlier, but the banquet chef decided they should work through so as to get as much done as possible. Beginning tomorrow, he would have a full work crew, regular banquet cooks who would be working full time until the holiday season was over. Bill had met most of them, but he would get to know them better now.
“We’re gonna have a good season,” the banquet chef said. “The hotel is gonna make a lot of money, and we are too, well you guys are since you’re hourly.”
“You’re not?” Bill asked.
“He’s not hourly,” Victor said. “But he’ll make money cause gets a piece of the pie.”
