JOHN ARRIVED AT FRONTIER BEFORE ANY OF THE OTHER servers. Ed unlocked the door to let him in.
“You’re going to have Section A,” Ed said. “It’s tables one through eight, over there. Oh, and your briefcase is still behind the bar.”
“Sorry about that. I’ll take it home tonight.”
“No problem. You can start setting the room.”
John set half the tables before Nicki arrived. They nodded at each other as she passed through on her way to the stairwell to the basement. John followed her down to the storage room where the staff hung their coats. She turned, apron and order book in one hand, as he opened the door.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you know where I can find more napkins?”
Nicki pointed at a shelf opposite the coat hooks. John picked up a stack of cloth napkins, still bundled in nylon twine from the laundry, and walked to the door.
“You know,” Nicki said, tying a waitress’s apron around her hips, “the busboys will bring those up if you ask.”
“I just wanted to say thank you for taking me out last night.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously. We don’t have to discuss it again.”
It looked like Nicki wanted to say more, but before she could, John nodded and left. While he was setting the rest of the room, a young man with slicked-back black hair and a tailored suit opened the front door with his own set of keys and joined Ed and his ledgers at the bar. After a few minutes, Ed called John over.
“John, this is Claude. He and his dad own the place.”
John shook Claude’s hand, ignoring the mat of hair that covered the backs of his fingers and hand. Thick, heavy eyebrows perched above arrogant eyes.
“This is your second night?”
“Yes, my second night. I trailed last night.”
“Your English is very good.” Claude’s French accent was out of a movie. Maybe something like the Vichy collaborator police chief’s voice.
“I’m an American.”
Claude turned to Ed. “Are you sure he’s right for waiter? Maybe he’s better in the kitchen?”
“He hustles. He’s a good waiter.”
“Of course, the Orientals all work hard. But is he rude like a Chinatown waiter?”
“I’m very polite,” John said. Ed flicked him a glance as subtle as screaming shut the fuck up at him.
Claude regarded him for a moment, then said, “We will see. Carry on.”
John returned to setting up the room for service, meticulously checking the table settings and double-checking that the server’s station was properly stocked, all to ensure that he wouldn’t be caught standing still. Ed and Claude remained at the bar, Claude drinking a glass of red wine. After they opened, tables filled quickly. John’s section was half full within thirty minutes.
John was in the kitchen, placing loaves of bread in the warmer, when Nicki entered to drop an order ticket. She reached into the warmer for a loaf to slice.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I met Claude.”
“Oh.” She glanced around, then spoke quietly, “He’s a dick. Whatever he did, don’t let it get to you. He likes to give the staff a hard time.” When John returned to the dining room, Ed sat a couple in his section, near the window. The man’s back was turned to John, but based on the graying hair and posture, John guessed he was at least two decades older than the woman—a young brunette in glasses. She looked vaguely familiar. The man picked up his menu with one hand and reached across to hold the woman’s hand with the other.
John poured two glasses of water and brought them to the table. As he approached, the woman’s eyes fixed on him, trying to place him, then widened in recognition as he reached the table. It wasn’t until he set the first glass down that he caught a glimpse of the man’s face looking up from the menu.
“John?”
John nearly dropped the second glass of water.
“Geoff.” John placed the second glass of water on the table and resisted the urge to cover the waiter’s apron tied around his hips.
“You…you work here?” Geoff turned to his companion. “Do you know who this is, Susan?”
“Yes. He was still at the firm when I was a summer associate.”
Geoff looked back to John.
“John, are you our waiter?” Geoff asked again. The corners of his thin-lipped mouth quivered as he tried to restrain his mirth.
John’s face bruised with humiliation. “Yes.”
Geoff shook his head. “Jesus Christ, John. This is what you’re doing now? I don’t understand how you can show your face in public.”
“We were partners, Geoff. You’re no better than me.”
“And yet, you’ll be carrying my used plates from this table.”
John turned to Susan, whose wide eyes flitted between the two men, and said, “You know, Susan, it was dinners like this that landed me here.”
Geoff grabbed John’s wrist. “Don’t speak to her.”
John kept his arm still. “Let go of me, Geoff.”
Geoff dropped his hand, stood, and looked around the room. He saw Claude at the bar.
“Claude!” Geoff marched to the bar. John followed, weaving through tables, taking note that one table needed more bread and another a refill of their wine as he passed, even though he doubted he’d be in a position to bring them once Geoff spoke to Claude.
When Geoff reached Claude, he turned and pointed at John. “Do you know who he is?”
Several diners looked up from their tables. Their eyes followed Geoff’s pointing finger to John. Claude’s eyes narrowed at John like he was reading distant text, then he turned to Ed. Ed’s face revealed nothing. Across the room, Nicki stopped walking to the kitchen to watch.
“He killed a woman. He was tried for murder.”
John reached the bar. “I was acquitted.”
“Is this the kind of person you hire?” Geoff’s voice carried. Nearly every patron in the restaurant gawked at them. The clatter of plates in the kitchen became suddenly audible as all conversation ceased.
“Geoff,” Claude said, nervously glancing around the room, “we did not know. It is only his second day.”
Ed said nothing. John didn’t blame him.
Claude turned his head to John. “Go.”
“My coat is downstairs,” John said. He left them standing at the bar to get his coat. He left the waiter’s apron hanging on the hook in its place. When he crested the stairs back into the dining room, the hum of renewed conversations dropped, and heads turned to track him to the door. Ed stood with Nicki at the bar. He nodded at them as he passed. Claude stood at the table pouring wine for Geoff and Susan. Their eyes followed him across the room with most of the other customers.
On the street, wet, heavy snowflakes fell fast from a pigeon-gray sky. Halfway to the corner, Nicki called out for him.
“John! Your briefcase!”
He turned. She was in front of the restaurant, holding his briefcase out for him, squinting against the snow landing on her face.
“Keep it,” John said. “I don’t need it anymore.”