Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  “You two look amazing! I love it!” Mary Frances startled me as she ran up from behind and ran her fingers along my bald scalp. “And how are my two favorite pieces of bread doing?”

  “Bread?” I asked, curious, but pretty sure the answer would have some sort of sexual connotation.

  “Cuz I would love to be the meat in that sandwich,” Mary Frances winked at Twisty as she side bumped me with her hip.

  “Fran, you are a dirty, dirty girl,” I said, trying my

  best to act like her flirtation had little effect.

  “You know there is nothing between me and Drew, Frannypants. But I’m always down for an open face sandwich.” Twisty giggled, knowing full well she was filling my head with images I would not easily be able to exorcise.

  “You two are killin’ me,” I moaned. “What are you doing here anyway, Fran? I thought today was your day off.”

  “Oh Drewby, I love that you have my schedule memorized.” She pinched my cheek affectionately. “Such a good little stalker. But I came in for Becky. She called me last minute to see if I could work her shift.”

  “Oh? And what’s wrong with Becky?” I asked all too knowingly. Becky Morgan was a little older than the rest of us and frequently had to take time off of work due to excessive bruising she would experience as a result of being married to an abusive asshole.

  “Did she fall down some stairs? Maybe slip in the bath again?” Twisty recounted some of Becky’s more popular excuses. Becky was a sweet girl, aged way beyond her years from stress. She had gotten pregnant young and with no family around to help, decided to marry her baby’s father, Troy, even though he showed some signs of having a bit of a temper. It wasn’t until after their union at the Justice of the Peace that his true colors were revealed.

  “I don’t even ask anymore,” Mary Frances answered. “I just ask if either of you two are working. That’s all I need to know” She flashed us both a devilish grin and slowly walked away, her fingers trailing on my shoulder in her wake.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not totally gay, but for Fran I would certainly consider it,” Twisty remarked as we watched Mary Frances and her goddess-like ass head back to the kitchen.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not gay either,” I simply stated, mesmerized by Fran’s assets. “As a matter of fact, I think that is the cure for homosexuality among men.”

  “Don’t get Phil around her then,” Twisty warned. “He wouldn’t be nearly as cute if he liked girls. He’s my little homo.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised. “So, you know what I was saying about not wanting to be a hero?”

  “I dunno, Drew. That conversation was so long ago, I doubt my puny girl brain can think back that far.” Twisty laughed as we made our way to the hostess stand.

  “Well, for guys like Troy, I would reconsider that stance,” I said.

  “Oh my god! How awesome would it be to just kick his ass? You should totally do it!” Twisty’s excitement was indeed genuine.

  “And then what? Becky has nowhere to go. It’s not like I can kill the guy.” I reluctantly welcomed reality into the conversation. “One man can’t change the world, babe. All I can do is try my best to keep my world stable. The others around me just gotta do the same.” I hated to sound heartless, because the truth was, I would have loved to ride in on my white horse and pummel Troy within an inch of his life. Unfortunately, all that would accomplish would be pissing off Troy and, eventually, him taking it out on Becky.

  “It’s just that kinda thing infuriates me.” Although Twisty was mostly smiles and silliness, there truly was a passionate person within her. I always loved to see that come out.

  “Well, if ya ever wanna borrow the suit…” I offered, half jokingly.

  “Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a social worker out of high school?” Twisty asked me, leading the conversation away from the violent turn it was taking.

  “I don’t think so,” I admitted “but then again, a lot of the time when you are talking I am sorta just zoning out staring at your boobs.”

  “You’re a dick!” She swatted me across the arm. “But

  they are pretty nice, aren’t they?” She stopped our stroll for a moment to do a quick little jiggle. Sadly, under the starched white oxford and black vest there wasn’t much to see.

  “So back to you being a social worker,” I attempted to regain focus. “Why didn’t you ever do it? Then you would be the hero amongst our little group, not me.”

  “Have you seen how much college costs, lately? There’s no way I could afford it. And have you seen how much social workers get paid?” She said dismally. “I mean, why would I spend a hundred grand to get a degree that allows me to make the same amount of money I make waiting tables?

  “Well, you’ll have the money now,” I said optimistically.

  “Whatta you mean?” She looked at me, puzzled.

  “What? Did you honestly think you weren’t getting paid for all your hard work? Babe, we are a team. Once Moxie’s bills are covered we split everything fifty-fifty-fifty-fifty.”

  “That’s a lot of fifties,” she observed.

  “Yeah, I was never really good at math,” I said as we stepped behind the Captain’s Table to check the evening’s floor plan.

  “Hi Drew.” Amanda, the part time hostess, purred as we entered her domain, completely ignoring Twisty. “Love your hair.”

  “Hi Amanda.” Twisty snidely greeted the young girl. “It’s great to see you too!”

  “Oh, hi Christy,” Amanda responded politely, obviously paying her no mind.

  “It’s Twis…oh, never mind.” Twisty realized the futility of correcting her.

  “Hey Amanda. Thanks” I put a hand on her back as I leaned in to look at the stations we had been assigned for the evening. “Where am I tonight?” I didn’t seem to be scheduled anywhere.

  “Oh, Mayor’s in tonight. I’ve got the bussers setting you up in The Port Room.”

  “Ugh,” was all the enthusiasm I could muster. “Why Port?” I asked. Typically we put the mayor in Starboard where he and all his buddies could smoke cigars and raise a ruckus. The Port was reserved for more elegant dinner parties.

  “It’s family night,” Amanda informed me. “Mrs. Whitney has already called three times to make sure the room will be ready, the glasses will all be polished and that the busboys that come into the room are not filthy and stinking to high heaven like they were last time.” Amanda did a rather dead on impression of the Mayor’s wife as she reenacted the phone conversations between the two of them.

  “I fucking hate her,” I groaned as I pulled my apron from my back pocket and wrapped it around my waist.

  “Need some help with that?” the hostess cooed. Amanda was undeniably cute in that underage blond schoolgirl kind of way. While I knew she was of legal age, I felt she was just too young for me no matter how much interest was shown on her part. Our flirtation was simply kept alive to assure me prime seating during my shifts. Twisty told me I was confusing the young girl with the signals I sent out, and she may have been right. However, I never had an empty chair in my station and if there was ever a party of businessmen looking to blow the company’s budget on mediocre, overpriced seafood, I was going to be their server. Twisty did not believe in kissing the asses at the hostess stand and that is why any single man or woman strolling in with a book looking to enjoy a shrimp cocktail found themselves in Twisty’s station. It did not help that she was so close with me. All the girls that worked the door hated Twisty.

  “Jesus Christ!” Twisty was losing her patience as I allowed Amanda to tie my apron behind me. “Is there a woman here besides me that doesn’t want to fuck you?”

  “Geez Christy. Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Amanda attacked while finishing a tight bow.

  “It’s Twis… Oh, never mind.” Again, she realized how pointless it was to correct Amanda. “Don’t we have a shift meeting to get to?” She grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the hostess des
k.

  “See ya later, hun.” I waved to my teenage admirer as Twisty forcibly removed me.

  “Oh, and Amanda,” Twisty pointed in the direction of the young hostess, “If I get any one tops tonight, I will personally stab you in the stomach with the sharpest knife I can find. And trust me, in that kitchen, they have some pretty sharp knives.” Amanda was stunned, but responsive.

  “Ummm… Okay,” was all the young girl could say as we left her alone.

  “Wow, Miss Bailey,” I said as I trailed behind Twisty, still hand in hand. “Dontcha think you were a little harsh on that poor thing?”

  “Yeah, probably,” she said, stopping in her tracks in front of the open kitchen. “It just makes me crazy to see those hostesses throwing themselves at you.” From her tone, it seemed we were about to have a very serious, and poorly timed, conversation regarding our relationship.

  “Why?” I asked, lost for words.

  “I dunno,” she told me, still holding my hand, “I guess I just get a little jealous.” She pulled herself closer, looking up at me with her beautiful auburn eyes accented by her dark, luscious lashes.

  “You…you do?” I said after taking a big gulp of the saliva that had been pooling in my mouth.

  “Maybe.” I could feel her chest heaving against me as she wrapped an arm around my waist. The heat of her breath warmed my chin, sending chills down my spine. “Maybe I just want you for myself. Is that so wrong?” Her voice was practically a whisper as her plump lips came even closer to mine.

  “Ummm… No…I guess not,” I was muttering in a shocked stupor. Her hand began to stroke the back of my pants, sliding a finger or two underneath the waistline, tickling the small of my back.

  “Good.” Her words danced off her lips and onto mine, as there was less than an inch between them. “You know why?” Her question came out like a hushed lullaby, penetrating my every nerve. I shivered uncontrollably.

  “Ummm… Why?” All my concerns about dating Twisty melted away at that exact moment. She slid her hand up my chest, making her way up to my jaw. Caressing my chin between her thumb and index finger, she pulled me even closer.

  “Because you are my bitch, buddy.” She pinched my chin hard enough to make me yelp, ending it with a sharp and painful twist. “Don’t you forget that, little boy.” She immediately dropped her hand from my face and skipped to the main dining room. Witnessing the entire exchange, the line cooks all applauded and whistled as I stood alone, turned on and humiliatingly turned down.

  “C’mon!” She motioned from at least a dozen paces ahead. “Shift meeting, dummy!” I needed a hundred cold showers at that very moment. Listening to DeeDee rattle on about boats and teamwork was the last thing on my mind. Begrudgingly, and maybe walking a bit awkwardly from lingering excitement, I dragged myself to the meeting.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Amanda shuffled the mayor’s party into the Port Room at six-thirty sharp. Mayor Whitney was dressed in his typical frumpy tweed sport coat with his tie pulled down and cocked severely off-center. He never had the appearance of an influential or powerful man, but he carried himself with an attitude that constantly reminded people that with one phone call he could make someone disappear. On family night he never made any attempt to look nicer, but his demeanor was always a bit more polite and he made strong efforts to silence any off-color comments.

  Mrs. Whitney, on the other hand, used all her resources to make sure she reeked of money. If the citizens of Cross ever wondered where their tax dollars were going, they only needed to look at Katherine Whitney’s ensembles, of which I had never seen her wear the same thing twice. In all fairness, the taxpayers may have not paid for her clothes. Mayor Whitney had plenty of alternative cash flow in the form of bribes, kickbacks and incentives that may have financed her shopping sprees. Katherine strutted into the room with her nose turned up, obviously already unhappy with something in the room. I couldn’t make out what venom she was spitting into Amanda’s ear, but I was sure I would hear it soon enough.

  Mathers Jr. lurked in behind the twelve other guests, looking as uncomfortable as ever. He was dressed impeccably in a three button, navy blue wool suit, with his sandy blond hair slicked back, almost appearing plastic. While the mayor’s son was a classically good-looking young man, I never heard any of Tully’s female staff refer to him in a flattering manner. His icy stare and rigid posture made him oddly intimidating. Twisty had joked once that she thought he was gay, but I truthfully couldn’t see him showing interest in anyone but himself. I imagined him being very alone, but not lonely. Generally, I kept my distance because he just gave me the creeps.

  “Drew! Trying out a new do, are ya?” Mayor Whitney bellowed as he made himself comfortable at the head of the table. Mrs. Whitney rolled her eyes out of disgust for her husband’s boisterous display of kindness towards the help. Mayor Whitney was a jackass, of that there was no doubt. However, he always remained cordial to me, if for no other reason than to keep me as a loyal confidant. “I like it!” He hollered from across the room, pounding his hand on the table. It would have seemed odd receiving a compliment from the mayor, but I knew the comment was not meant to flatter me, but more to irritate his wife.

  “Thank you, sir,” I politely replied while filling water glasses. The guests all found their seats and the service began. Katherine had pre-arranged appetizers, so as I rounded the table for drink orders the food runners entered with the starters. Mrs. Whitney had made it clear over the phone that food was to be on the table as soon as they were seated. The dinners were not a joy for anyone, so the mayor’s wife made no attempt to drag out the process. The mayor ordered his typical MGD with a scotch sidecar, while Mrs. Whitney perused the wine list, trying to give the appearance to her guests that she knew what she was doing when ordering for the table. In reality she was just randomly pointing to the most expensive bottles, making no attempt to pronounce their names. Most of the guests agreed to partake in the wine when it came. However, Mathers Jr. had a heartier taste that night.

  “What is your most expensive cognac?” He asked in a whisper.

  “That would be our Remy Martin Louis the Thirteenth,” I said, “but I am required to inform you that the cost is three hundred and fifty dollars an ounce, sir.”

  “It’s only money. Bring me that,” he ordered flippantly. His words jarred me, almost sending me into a frozen stupor. It wasn’t the fact that he had just authorized me to order a shot of alcohol that would cost almost four hundred dollars after gratuity. It was the familiarity of the words he chose to use. It was the fact that the previous night a thin, poised, sandy blonde haired young man had told me “It’s only money” in the same serene, condescending tone. Keeping my cool, I finished up the drink orders and excused myself from the party.

  The moment I closed the door to the private room I sprinted across the main dining area. Twisty was leaning against the drink station with a few other servers monitoring an almost completely vacant dining room.

  “C’mere!” I grabbed Twisty by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen without another word.

  “What the eff, man?” She pulled herself from my grip once we made it through the double doors, smoothing the sleeve of her oxford. I looked frantically in all directions to assure no one else was listening in.

  “You are not going to fucking believe this!” I used every ounce of restraint to keep my voice down.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” She was obviously still confused and a little irritated by my abrupt and forceful greeting.

  “Benji Carver. He’s fucking here!” I practically yelled a whisper inches from her face.

  “What? Where?” Twisty immediately forgave me and gave me her full attention.

  “He’s the fucking mayor’s kid!” I deliriously pointed out to the dining room. “Fucking Junior Whitney is the goddamn Blueboy!”

  “Holy…” She was stunned. “How do you know?”

  “Trust me. There isn’t a second about last ni
ght that isn’t burned into my brain. They are the same guy. I am positive!” I assured her.

  “Do you think he recognized you?” She asked with concern.

  “No. He gave me as little notice as he normally does. But he ordered a shot of Louis Tres, so I have a hunch he’s celebrating something tonight,” I told her.

  “Well be careful. I’d recommend keeping the talking to a minimum,” she suggested.

  “Yeah. I’m not too worried. He seems too involved in himself during these dinners to notice anything around him,” I said. “But I’ll be careful.”

  Twisty was still letting the information sink in as she shook her head. “This is nuts,” she said.

  “Tell me about it. Well, I better go get some drinks. Hate to piss off the mayor.” I kissed Twisty on top off her stubbled head and strode to the door on the opposite side of the kitchen, leading to the service bar.

  Pushing open the door I saw Dawn behind the bar, Randy’s replacement for the evening.

  “Hey gorgeous,” I greeted her as I placed my tray on the counter. Dawn was one of the Rod N’ Reel’s three bartenders. Unlike most bartenders that come through Tully’s, she had never been a waitress. Much to the disappointment of the servers who had wanted to be promoted, Dawn got hired two years earlier after leaving a job at a ritzy Chicago nightclub that had closed down. While it was typically Tully’s policy to promote from within, it was Dawn’s experience that ultimately won her the job. And by experience, I mean her breasts. Dawn was undeniably gorgeous, but it was truly her huge chest on an Amazonian frame that caught the eye of Jerry Lee, our general manager. He had a thing for longhaired brunettes, as was evident in much of our female wait staff. I never found myself too attracted to women almost as tall as I am, but I flirted with Dawn simply for the sport of it. I, as well as the rest of the male employees at Tully’s, was totally out of her league.

  “Hey Drew. Whatta ya need?” She was never much for returning my flirtation or even making small talk.

  “MGD, Saphire and tonic, Glenlivet up, dirty Grey