There were too many of them. And they just kept coming.
Shelby had been regretting the choice of four inch heels since about two o’clock, and begun cursing those heels in earnest by five as that old saying “run off her feet” hit home with a vengeance.
How many people lived in East Wapaneken anyway, and why did they all want to have dinner at Tony’s? Didn’t they have homes? Didn’t they have kitchens?
Didn’t Tony know the meaning of the word reservations?
She had no clean tables, three parties unconscionably lingering over dessert, and twelve people standing in line next to the cash register, making it nearly impossible for her to open the drawer.
A party of twelve was in the small no-smoking room in the back. East Wapaneken had probably never heard of the Surgeon General’s warnings or, if they had, didn’t believe them. The party was to celebrate somebody’s seventy-fifth birthday, and they’d damn well better hurry up and eat because another party, sixteen in this one, was due in the door in less than an hour for another party for an eighty-seven year old (Tony had given the eighty-seven-year-old permission to smoke in the back room).
And it was only five o’clock!
The first day had been fun, a lark. She’d played hostess and everyone had smiled and everyone had helped her.
Now, well into her second day, she suddenly seemed to have been thrown to the sharks, everyone thinking she knew what she was doing, everyone ignoring her pleas for help.
“You’ll get the hang of it, hon.”
“Don’t seat them until we get the setup down, babe.”
“Where in Philadelphia did you say you did this?”
That last one had come from Tony just ten minutes ago, when he had stepped out of the kitchen to see her trying a loaves and fishes sort of division between tables as she ran out of menus.
She’d lifted her chin at him, told him she most certainly had time to chat if he had time to be away from the kitchen. He’d turned on his heel and shambled off, looking back at her over his shoulder in what might be called an expression of amazement. Maybe even of respect.
If there was one thing Shelby could do, it was handle the serving staff, although she doubted Tony would like to be slotted into that particular category.
But it had been her only victory.
She knew she was doing everything wrong, but she didn’t know how to do it correctly.
Tabby had told her that yesterday had been the exception, not the rule, and the only reason they hadn’t been crowded was because the high school baseball playoffs were being held up the street.
Shelby hadn’t believed her, because she’d returned to Brandy’s apartment a little after nine o’clock, too tired to shower before she fell facedown into bed, one arm around the stuffed dog, her mind and body numb with fatigue.
She hadn’t even hung up her clothes. She’d never hung up her own clothes, but this was different, because if she didn’t hang them up when she took them off then she’d have to hang them up later, probably press them first. She thought about Susie, about all the maids she’d had over the years, about how she had always left a trail of discarded clothing for them to pick up, never even thinking about it once, let alone twice. But, before she could feel too badly, she fell asleep, her nose all but buried in the pillow, and woke to find Princess sleeping on her Armani suit which was now covered in white fur.
But she had made it through her first day, and had barely even flinched when Brandy’s alarms starting going off.
Now she knew that yesterday had been a walk in the park when stacked up against the mayhem going on right now.
Well, there were two things she could do about it, weren’t there? She could either throw down the single menu she had left, stamp her feet, and shout “I quit!” or she could suck it in, or up, or whatever, and stop allowing events to dictate to her instead of the other way round.
There must have been a Taite in the army at some time, probably the Revolutionary War or something else dramatic, because somewhere deep down inside Shelby suddenly arose the belief that, yes, she had been born to command.
“Tabby,” she said as the waitress all but ran past her on the way to the kitchen, “I need you to clear table six so that we can seat some of these people.”
“Are you freaking nuts?” Tabby countered, giving a quick nod of her head in the direction of the service bar. Tabby had six kids and worked double-shifts five days a week to keep food on the table. She was known for her efficiency, but not her gracious manner. “Tell Bobby to get the stick out of his ass and do it. All he’s doing is serving drinks because you haven’t told him what else to do.”
“He’s supposed to clear off the tables? But, why isn’t he doing it?”
“Honey, you have to tell Bobby to inhale, and I’m not talkin’ weed here. He’s supposed to be bussing tables, and I’m supposed to be serving food. You, hon, are supposed to be making sure we’re all busting our humps.”
“I... I’m the manager?” Shelby asked, and suddenly her feet didn’t hurt quite so badly. She’d spent the day filling sugar, salt, and pepper containers. Surely managers didn’t do that, did they?
Tabby tried to walk past Shelby, but she stuck out a hand, grabbed her arm. “About those sugar containers...”
Tabby snorted. “Yeah, we were all wondering when you’d figure that one out. The guys do that stuff, Bobby, Tom, Pedro. Good joke, huh?”
“Hilarious,” Shelby said, and now her feet didn’t hurt at all.
She let go of Tabby’s arm, turned around slowly, with great purpose, and drew a bead on Bobby, who was leaning a hip against the service bar, sipping a glass of soda.
“Robert, clear—er—bus and set up table six, please. Then tables twelve and fourteen. Now.”
The teenager dropped his head onto his chest. “Busted. Knew it was too good to last,” he muttered, then picked up a plastic bin and headed for table six.
Shelby then made a quick circuit of the room, stopping at every table, smiling widely, asking if the patrons were enjoying their meals, asking the lingerers if they’d received their checks and if everything had been satisfactory.
It was the old heave-ho, and it was done by the master, a woman who had emptied more rooms after charity balls than young Bobby had probably had fast food burgers. Clearing Tony’s didn’t hold a match to moving a herd of tipsy revelers out of the local country club before the committee was assessed an extra fee for the use of the ballroom.
She punched numbers into the cash register, took names and how many were in the party from those milling about in the vestibule, complimented Bobby on his efficiency, and personally helped the birthday boy maneuver his walker through the crowd to the exit.
Order. That’s what was needed at Tony’s. Just some semblance of order. Someone in charge.
She could do that. She hadn’t filled a single sugar shaker without making a mess all over the table, but she could do that.
And, if Tony knew what was good for him, he’d stay in his kitchen and let her get on with it.
At six thirty the doors opened and Brandy and Gary walked in, followed closely by a familiar face, one she’d seen that afternoon, playfully casting him in the role of Excellent Adventure.
“Hi, babe,” Brandy said, winking at Shelby surreptitiously. “Look what we found wandering the halls; our new neighbor. Two B to our Two C. And, being really nice small-town types, me and Gar invited him along to dinner. Quinn Delaney’s his name. He says you told him about the apartment, right?” Then she leaned closer, whispered, “Black Irish, I’m betting, and handsome as sin. Nice work if you can get and hubba-hubba and all that.”
“Subtle, Brandy, very subtle,” Shelby hissed back at her through her professional, welcoming smile. “Mr. Delaney, how nice to see you again. I’m afraid you’re too late for the early-bird Special. ”
“My loss, I’m sure,” Quinn said, watching as a very becoming pink flush ran into Shelby’s cheeks. He suddenly had the feeling he hadn’t been “lucky” enough to bump into Brandy and Gary as he’d been singled out by them for some project they had in mind. Just as he had singled them out for his own reasons. Now, what could they have him mind for him?
Cleaning Shelby’s clock was the first answer that popped into his mind, and he deliberately squashed it.
Then he smiled. What the hell, every job should have fringe benefits.
“Yes, well, um,” Shelby said, the man’s smile doing something very strange to her insides, “if you’ll all just come this way?”