Yesterday's News

by Kajsa Ingemarsson

  “Do you get many dinner guests?”

  “Not those who eat. It’s mostly beer in the evenings.”

  Agnes looked askance at the old codgers in the corner. She could just imagine what kind of guests dominated the place. “Have you got a rolling schedule, then, between lunches and evenings?”

  “No. You work from ten thirty to two thirty and then from six to ten thirty.”

  “And so you’re free between two thirty and six?” Agnes looked inquiringly at Micke. She was used to bad schedules, it wasn’t that, it was just that this seemed unusually terrible.

  “Yes. Is there a problem? Most of those working here live nearby.”

  “No, no, I’m sure it’ll be fine.…” It would take half an hour to get home and half an hour to get back again. She’d have to travel for two hours a day to get between Aspudden and Skärholmen.

  “Otherwise it’s fairly straightforward. At lunchtime you pretty much have to stand at the register. The customers get their food from the hatch there.” He pointed at a serving hatch beside the register. “And you have to clear the tables, too, of course. And make sure that there’s cutlery in the boxes, serviettes, salt and pepper, and stuff. And pour drinks. There’s quite a lot of beer sold at lunchtime, too.” Agnes nodded. She wasn’t surprised. “In the evenings we do table service. We usually have two house specials, a pasta and a plain.”

  “No à la carte?”

  “No, we’ve stopped that. People still just wanted what was cheapest.”

  He stopped talking and looked her up and down. “You don’t usually get much in the way of tips, but as you know that’s up to you, too. A good waitress knows how it works.” He winked. “So, whaddayasay? Interested?”

  “Sure,” Agnes lied. Working at Pasta King had nothing to do with being interested. “And the pay?”

  “Oh, yeah, right.…” Micke shifted in his seat. “That’s something that we can sort out in different ways.…” Agnes knew what was coming, it wasn’t the first time she’d been offered cash-in-hand work. She didn’t like it. Sure, when she was younger it would’ve been cool, money straight into the pocket. But now, well, she’d grown up, and no longer considered health insurance and pension points unimportant. Micke seemed to detect her reluctance, because he quickly changed tack. “We don’t have to pay you fully in cash, we can do fifty- fifty. What do you say? But that’ll mean nothing extra for overtime.”

  “I’d get that if I got paid in cash, you mean?”

  “I’d be able to add a thousand a month.”

  He leaned back and smiled. He was clearly feeling generous. Agnes could see a gold tooth glinting in his upper jaw.

  “I reckon I’d still like to take as much as I can above board,” she said nervously. She found talking money uncomfortable. Micke looked put out.

  “Sure, it’s up to you. Ten and half thousand kronor a month, in that case. Plus tips, of course.” Agnes nodded. It wasn’t much, but at least it would cover her living costs. She supposed she’d have to eat at work.

  “And then we deduct five hundred a month for staff meals,” added Micke, as if reading her mind. Agnes faltered.

  “And what if I took a little in cash?”

  “Then we can say seven on paper and three in the hand.”

  Agnes made a rough calculation. That gave her a few hundred more, but it was a bad settlement on her part. She squirmed. Talking money made her feel awkward. Especially dodgy money. “OK,” she said at last. Rather end it all here and then take it up again in a month or so.

  They stood up and Micke showed Agnes around. She greeted the chef in the ridiculous hat. He didn’t seem to speak any Swedish, but he smiled amiably as he stood there peeling onions. Apart from the kitchen there was nothing much to see. A little staff restroom where she could get changed, and an office in which a computer sat humming away.

  They said goodbye to each other and Micke said that he’d look forward to seeing her the next day. Just as she was leaving, he wondered if she couldn’t start that very evening. Agnes made up some excuse about being busy. Micke looked put out again, but that was his problem. She needed an evening to psyche herself up. And in truth she wasn’t in that much of a hurry to start working at Pasta King.

  Agnes didn’t get off at Aspudden. She thought she might as well take the opportunity to go to the labor exchange. Tell them that she’d gotten a job. She might as well get it over with.

  The center was teeming with people. Agnes took a line number, found herself twentieth in line. She saw a long wait ahead of her, and almost regretted going there. It would’ve been easier just to call. Though on the other hand, you never knew. The telephone waits for places like this could be endless. And sitting for an hour with a synthesizer rendition of Bridge over Troubled Water in her ear wasn’t much of a laugh either.

  She walked over to the notice board that stood at one end of the rectangular room. On it were flyers from different trade unions and universities. If she was to believe the flyers, education and training were the gateway to a job, and union membership the only way to keep yourself in one. Maybe there was something in that. There were times when Agnes regretted dropping out of her studies so quickly. Cavorting around in the restaurant business instead of going for a proper education. But the older she got, the sillier it felt to sit at a desk again. She’d have to opt for a career where she was instead.

  From Le Bateau Bleu to Pasta King. It didn’t seem to be heading in the right direction.

  What she really dreamt of was opening her own place one day. Her own restaurant. There was little she didn’t know about running your own restaurant. Well, there was all the financial stuff. But that was something you could study in some night class.

  Sometimes she lay in bed at night fantasizing about finding the perfect place and getting started. Nights when she’d been too jittery after work to fall asleep she’d planned entire menus and designed interiors with everything from untreated concrete to draped velvet. She always kept it to herself, though, it seemed too predictable. Everyone in the restaurant business dreamed about opening up on their own. It was often just a lot of talk. She didn’t want to be one of the multitude who just went on about their “own project” that never came to fruition. Besides, financially speaking it was totally unrealistic. The money she’d put aside during the good years had gone towards the apartment in which she now lived. She’d emptied her account, and if Pasta King didn’t yield more in tips than the owner had promised, it would be a long, long time before she scraped together fresh capital.

  “Agnes?” She spun round. At first, she didn’t recognize the man standing there. He had short, well-groomed hair, an oilskin coat over his suit, and a neatly knotted tie. Then he smiled and Agnes shot him a grin.

  “Kalle! I didn’t recognize you. God, you look so… dapper!” She embraced him.

  “I know, I almost feel like apologizing, but I guess you shouldn’t have to do that when you’ve finally got your act together a bit.”

  “No way, you look great!” She looked wonderingly around her, as if she’d just remembered where they were. “What are you doing here? Are you also… I mean, are you unemployed?”

  “No, quite the opposite actually. I figured that a labor exchange didn’t just arrange work but workers, too. But maybe I was wrong?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Anyway, how’s it going with you? How do you like working at Le Bateau Bleu?”

  Agnes looked at the floor. Kalle frowned. “That was where you were going to start working, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. But, it.…” She hesitated. Oh, what the hell, she could tell Kalle. “It didn’t work out. I got fired.”

  “You’re joking! What happened?” Agnes gave a brief rundown of the cellar incident. Kalle looked shocked. “A Château Pétrus 1990, well there’s a thing.…” He paused for a few seconds. “What can I say? It was a pity he didn’t have any more. You could’ve smashed one over monsieur Cabrol’s head, too. And another between the legs.”
Kalle shook his head. “I really hope that you didn’t take it personally. I mean, you knew his reputation, didn’t you.”

  “Yes, I know, but.…” Agnes went silent. Sure she’d known Gérard’s reputation, but the idea that she’d become one of his victims hadn’t seemed likely. If he’d wanted a sex kitten, he’d hardly have gone and employed string-bean Edin, now, would he? It wasn’t as if she lacked charm, but she’d never have thought that it’d work on someone who never lifted his eyes above a woman’s décolletage. She’d been genuinely surprised when he started flirting with her, but it wasn’t until that evening in the cellar that she finally grasped his true intentions.

  Kalle stroked her arm. “When did this happen?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “Poor you, it must’ve been awful.”

  “It was.” Tears almost started welling up in Agnes’s eyes. It had been awful, and it could still give her nightmares.

  “Haven’t you thought about reporting him?”

  “No way!” Agnes looked up in fright, blinking away her tears. “It’s all in the past, now. Anyway, what good would it do? Please, can we not talk about this?”

  “No, sure.…” Kalle looked uncertain and Agnes quickly changed the subject.

  “I’ve just gotten a new job. I’m here to report it.”

  “But that’s great. Congratulations.” Kalle was patently unhappy with the response.

  “What about you, are you still at Picnic’s?”

  “No.” Kalle brightened. “I quit a month ago. I’m going it alone.”

  “Alone! That’s fantastic!”

  “I know. I’ve just been down the bank to sign the last few papers.”

  “Right, that explains the smart image.… Did it go well?”

  “Yeah sure, sometimes even I have to admit that it’s not such a bad thing being called Reuterswärd.”

  “You didn’t go straight to daddy?”

  “Oh, no. No, I haven’t done that since I was seventeen. I’ll never be that desperate to have to go begging money off him.” He laughed.

  “But tell me more. What kind of place is it you’re going to open?”

  “It’s.… But, hey, listen. Have you got time to go and grab a coffee instead? This is a total downer here.” He gestured around himself. Agnes had to agree.

  “I’d love to!” There were still fourteen numbers ahead of her. She could call instead. “But didn’t you come here to do something?”

  “Yeah, but it’ll be alright. They’ve probably got some online service. And anyway, this place gives me the creeps.”

  They crossed the street and entered a little café. They didn’t do caffe latte, just bog- standard coffee in porcelain cups. They sat down with their cups at a little table.

  “So anyway, the restaurant thing’s a long story.” Kalle plopped in a lump of sugar and stirred. “Do you remember Steffy, Stefan Hedberg?”

  “The tennis player?”

  “No!” Kalle laughed. “Stefan Hedberg, not Edberg. He was the chef at Picnic’s for a bit. You must have worked together a couple of weeks before you quit.”

  “Yes, right, Stefan, of course I remember him. The redhead.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, we’d decided ages ago to open something together. So when we found this place in town on Skånegatan, we decided to go for it. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. This was about four months ago, roughly. Just after you’d left. Then we worked our balls off sorting out the financing and the paperwork and all that and when everything was in order he suddenly decided to pull out.”

  “No!”

  “Yeah, he got cold feet, thought the loan was scary and stuff. So when an old workmate asked him to go down to the west coast and start working as a head chef at a celebrity restaurant in Tylösand, he said yes.”

  “What a nasty thing to do.”

  “That’s pretty much what I thought, too. It took all the energy in the world, and a posh surname, to persuade the bank to give me the loan anyway. That’s what got sorted today.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. But all my plans have gone to pot. Not only has Steffy skipped and I’ve got to find a new chef, he took his girlfriend, who was going to work for us, with him, too. So all I’ve got now is a place and a whole bunch of ideas. You can get an ulcer for less than that. The restaurant’s ticking away money, so I have to open as soon as I can.”

  “But if you haven’t even got a chef.…”

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s not as gloomy as it might seem. I’ve got a few strings I can start to pull, tips that I’ve been given, and a few ex-workmates that I can ask. I’ve got quite a good contact network, thank God, that’s one of the advantages of having been in the business for so long.” Agnes nodded in agreement. That was often how things worked. “I thought about advertising for wait staff, that’s what I went to the job center for.” He stopped talking and looked inquiringly at Agnes. “I wouldn’t be able to entice you over, would I?” Agnes took a sip of her coffee. Kalle shifted his gaze. “No, of course not, how stupid of me. You’ve just taken a job. Where, by the way?” Agnes sighed.

  “You’re not going to believe it:”

  “That bad, is it?”

  “Worse.”

  “The pub at the Central Station?”

  Agnes gave a laugh. “In the same league.” She told him about Pasta King and her interview with the owner earlier that day.

  “Come on, you don’t have to take a crap job like that! You’re much too good!”

  “Don’t forget I’m in quarantine at the moment. Gérard’s put the evil eye on me.”

  “It’ll pass. The restaurant business might be tough, but it’s got a bad memory. You’ll be back on track in six months. With a great set of references from Pasta King in Skärholmen to boot!” Kalle chuckled.

  “Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you.…”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just think it’s so unreasonable. Please, can’t I just ask you to consider coming and working for me? I’d really like that.”

  “Well.…” The idea was appealing. She liked Kalle. Her stint at Picnic with Kalle running the kitchen had been one of the most enjoyable jobs she’d had. It was a good offer, but far too risky. She needed a job now. Her money had run out and she had a mortgage to pay off.

  “When do you reckon things’ll get going?”

  “As soon as possible, but I guess it’ll take about a month. The place isn’t ready yet, even though most of it’s already been fixed up. At least the big stuff – it needed a new ventilation system and there was damp in the kitchen. So that’s all been seen to, but the actual dining area still needs doing. And, as I said, the staff.…” He looked beseechingly at her. “Please.… There won’t be any head waitress position, the restaurant’s too small for that, but I can promise you responsibility for the dining room. You can help plan the menu, too. You were pretty good at that if I remember correctly.”

  Agnes felt a little embarrassed. It had never been part of her job to plan menus, that was up to the head chef and the other chefs, but sometimes she couldn’t help giving a tip here and there on different dishes. She was interested in food, often cooked at home and loved to experiment. At times with excellent results; at others with slightly less success. It had even happened a few times that her compositions, plus or minus one or two ingredients, had ended up on the menus. She’d even considered being a chef for a while, but kitchen work was so tiring and heavy that she gave up the idea. Kalle’s offer was tempting.

  “Well.…” she said again slowly.

  “You don’t have to decide now. Say you’ll come down to the restaurant tomorrow and have a look.”

  “I’m starting my new job tomorrow.…”

  “Come on the weekend, then. I’m there almost round the clock these days trying to get things sorted. Just give me a call beforehand.” Agnes nodded.

  “OK.”

  “I’d better head off, I’ve got to meet one of the workmen ther
e in a few minutes.” He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down a cell phone number and the address on Skånegatan. He then gave her a hug and they parted outside the café. Just as he was about to turn and hurry off into the gray afternoon haze, he took her hand.

  “See you later, OK?” He looked searchingly at her with a little smile.

  “Of course,” she said finally. It wouldn’t do any harm to look the place over, at least.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE FIRST WEEK AT PASTA KING was exactly as Agnes had imagined. During lunchtimes, she stood at the register selling overcooked pasta in floury sauces to office workers who compensated for their stodgy fodder with mountains of oily cabbage coleslaw from the buffet. In the evenings she served beer and the leftovers of the overcooked pasta from lunch, renamed as “The Dinner Special.” She worked alongside a young girl, Rosita, who always raked in more of the pathetic tips offered by the clientele. Maybe it was because she was faster, friendlier, and better. But maybe it was because her skirt was twice as short as Alice’s. And her heels twice as high. She guessed that was what Micke meant when he said “a good waitress knows how it works.”

  She gritted her teeth. Pasta King was not what she’d dreamed of, but at least it was a job. In her situation, she couldn’t afford to be picky. Sometimes, she thought about Kalle and his restaurant. It would’ve been fun to go in with him, but it was too risky. After all, it hadn’t even opened yet. If, that is, he’d ever make it that far. It wouldn’t be the first time a restaurant had to close down before it had even opened. Overly optimistic owners who had underestimated the costs of an approved grease separator and an extra staff bathroom. She hoped that that wasn’t the case for Kalle; he had, after all, run a restaurant before. Granted, not under the watchful eye of Swedish health and safety officials, but the regulations in Greece shouldn’t be all that different.

  Kalle had left home at the age of twenty, leaving a half-completed economics degree and an extremely disappointed father behind him. Sture Reuterswärd had had high hopes for Kalle. He was to follow in his footsteps at the bank, just like his elder brother, and eventually take over as bank director. The whole family was in agreement about that – except for Kalle. To escape the pressure, he’d fled to Greece, where he stayed for a few years. He established himself on Paros, and opened what according to himself was the legendary restaurant Cantina Freedom. Reading between the lines, Agnes had understood that at times the restaurant was more Freedom than Cantina.