If you find yourself going through Hell, you may want to keep going. If you can.
Art by Byron Rempel
The collar scratched his neck. He tried to look professional, but he knew his tuxedo shirt and pants looked every inch the thrift store finds they were. He couldn’t help being broke. The landlord doesn’t care if you’re out of work or not. It was a job when he needed it, so there he was, in a white-as-it-was-gonna-get shirt and tie, trying to look like he knew what he was doing.
“Edward,” intoned the elderly maître d'. “We must address your wardrobe.” Eddie, reminding himself of eviction notices, forced a smile.
“Of course. I’ll be sure to take care of things as soon as possible.” The old man nodded and motioned the newest busboy into the dining room. The banquettes were a deep red, shiny from wear in the seat area. The waiters were preparing their carts for table-side service. They each glanced at him, then returned to their duties.
The maître d' showed Eddie around, explained his duties (We will not tolerate any lollygagging, Sir…), and left him in the care of Charles, the head bus boy.
“What were you in for?” The man, introduced as Charles, motioned towards Eddie’s poorly-fitted shoes.
‘Wha’, me? Nah. I just needed a job. Winter’s slow for day laborers.” Charlie nodded and patting his pocket, nodded towards the back door. They stood in the alleyway, the air in front of their faces visible due in equal parts to the frigid cold and cigarette smoke.
“So, you ever do this sort of thing before?”
“Food joints? Yea. Not a fancy place like this, though.” Charlie nodded at this.
“It’s not hard. Follow me. You’ll get it in no time. Get the dishes off the table and into the back. As long as they don’t notice you, you’re good.’ Eddie felt a little better about this.
“What about the head guy?”
“Oh, Lurch? This place has been around for a long long time. He was here before it was. I think he’ll outlive it, too. Just stay out of his sights.” Eddie nodded at this. Charlie looked at his watch. “Yea, let’s get back in there.”
The night wasn’t especially busy, and Eddie did his best to get in and out of the dining room without being noticed. He removed the plates after each course, poured the water as Charlie had showed him, and replaced the butter dishes without incident. Charlie seemed satisfied and even the old man only scowled at Eddie as he put on his coat at the end of the night.
The next shift passed much as the first had. Something didn’t seem right, however.
“Is there something wrong with this place, or is it just me?” Eddie hopped from foot to foot as he tried to keep warm during his smoke break. “This place is like a mausoleum.” Charlie laughed at this.
“I know, right? This place, you don’t get foodies taking pictures of their Coq au Vin. You’ve heard of an old man’s bar? When this is an old man’s dining establishment. They come in, and they don’t even know if their dead or not…” They tossed their cigarettes into the gutter and went back inside. Eddie tried to keep a straight face as he looked out over the dining room and the elderly men with their over-made up wives and girlfriends.
“Eat up, Old-Timer,” he said quietly to a regular, sitting at the table with one of his “nieces.” He was about to refill the glasses when the front door blew open.
“Antoine, darling!” A woman’s voice boomed through the dining room. Everyone looked up at the dark-haired woman. She gave the normally unflappable head waiter a warm embrace and two air kisses in the Continental fashion. She then swept into the main room as waiters flew to make sure her table was ready.
“Who the …”
“Angelica D’Morts. He father owns this place. If you’re going to screw up, don’t do it in front of her.” Smoothing out his shirt and hair, Charles, stepped in to the main dining room.
“Charlie, darling,” Angelica adjusted the bus boy’s tie and caressed his cheek. “We can’t have you like this. You need a woman to take care of you.” Antoine rushed towards her.
“Ms D’Morts, your table is ready. The chef has prepared your favorites.”
“Of course he has. Tell me, Antoine, who is this young man you have here. I haven’t seen him before, surely.”
The maître d' scowled at this. “Madame, he’s only the busboy. I didn’t want to trouble you or your father.”
“Naughty Antoine. You’ve been holding out on me.” The woman patted the banquette next to her. “Come here, young man. We haven’t been introduced.” Eddie looked around, not knowing what to do. Charlie looked annoyed, but said nothing.
“Madame,” said Antoine, “I am so sorry. He has his duties.”
“I decide who does what here, Antoine.” Reluctantly, Eddie did a clumsy half bow and slid in next to the owner’s daughter. The diners, silent since the entrance of the woman, slowly turned their attentions back to their meals.
“So Eddie, how do you like it here? Are they treating you well?”
“You know me?” He felt stupid as soon as he asked. She laughed, not unkindly.
“You work for me. Of course I know you. Father is very impressed by your credentials.” Eddie barely held back a snort. “Oh, don’t be modest. You come very highly recommended.”
He didn’t know what to make of this. No one asked for references, so he never gave any. He wondered who she could be talking about. While this was going on, she pulled out a small flask from her bag. “The vintage here is superb, but try some of this.” Wordlessly, Charlie placed two empty glasses on the table. Eddie looked up at him, but he was halfway to the kitchen already.
Antoine approached the table. “Please. Madame. Are you sure?” Angelica scowled at this. Eddie could almost detect an animal-like growl. Trying to remain calm, he started to get up.
“I’m very sorry, Ma’am, I don’t think this is a good idea.” A firm hand held his flat to the table. “Lady, I don’t care who you are I won’t…” Eddie turned to look the woman in the eye. It was if a switch went off in his head. Unable to control himself, he took his seat.
“That’s much better,” Angelica purred. “I am sorry I upset you. I assure you, everything is fine. Please, join me in a cocktail.” She poured the liquor from the flask into the glasses. Unable to stop himself, Eddie took the glass and drank. With each drop, it felt like brimstone, like the fires of hell were being poured down his throat.
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t scream. He drank. And drank. And when he’d drained his glass, he looked around to see a room full of phantoms.
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