The Boys of Summer

by C. J. Duggan

  The thought had never even occurred to me that Adam wouldn’t be okay to work the next night, which I guess it probably should have since he had a broken arm and everything. I called him after I spoke to Ellie; we chatted about how much trouble he was in and if he was in any pain. It all seemed so normal, so natural. So when “see you tomorrow night” was met with awkward silence from Adam, a newfound dread swept over me.

  “You are going to work tomorrow night, right?”

  More silence.

  “Adam?”

  “I’m sorry, Tess, I won’t be able to.”

  I sat up straight on my bed, alarm settling in.

  “Sunday?”

  “Tess, how can I wash dishes with a plaster cast?”

  “I don’t know! Rubber gloves? Surely there must be something else you can do?”

  Adam sighed. “It’s not just that. Mum and Dad are pretty pissed at me. They think I broke my arm because I was drinking. They went on and on about it. Not to mention Mum’s ruined sheets.”

  “Pfft, I told you,” I groaned.

  “Anyway, they don’t have a great deal of trust in me; they say I have to earn it back. And they don’t exactly want me surrounded by alcohol at the hotel.”

  My silence echoed down the phone. “So? When will you come back to work?”

  “I’m not going to, Tess. I’m not allowed.” I could hear the regret in his voice.

  But that did little to appease me. “What?! What do you mean you’re not working?”

  “Mum and Dad are sending me to my nan’s house in the city. They said that it will do me good to get out of Onslow, but I know that they just want me to be a slave to my nan.”

  “How long for?”

  “Until my cast comes off – six weeks.”

  “Six weeks! Adam, that’s the whole summer holidays!”

  “I know, I know,” he said, “believe me, I know.”

  I should have felt sorry for him, a whole hot summer imprisoned at his nan’s house. Unable to go swimming in the lake, hanging out with friends, working at the Onslow Hotel that he had looked forward to all semester. All his summer plans gone, just like that. I should have felt sorry for him. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel any ounce of pity except for myself.

  This was not what had been sold to me as a summer we would ‘never forget’. “You, me and McGee,” he had said. Now I was stuck in a job every weekend for the whole summer. Without Adam, it wouldn’t be the same. Adam was like the buffer, always there to cling to when Ellie would wander off with some new boy. Adam was always there to make me laugh, or vandalise a locker for me in the name of revenge. He was my anchor, how could I do it without him?

  Who would give me sympathetic looks every time I came into the kitchen with a complaint? Who would punch me in the arm after our shift and promise it would be better tomorrow, even if it was a total lie? I felt lost. My hands clenched the phone with a white-knuckled intensity. My heart sank with the thought of walking into the Onslow Hotel tomorrow without him.

  And then the anger set in.

  “Well, I am so glad I did you a favour. I really fancy whittling my summer weekends away in a pub infused with cigarette smoke and rude tourists.”

  “Tess, I’m sorry. This blows, I know. Believe me – I would give anything to be there. The thought of taking my nan grocery shopping while she counts out her change at the cash register in five-cent pieces does nothing for me.”

  Again, I had no pity. I would happily trade places, but my days of doing Adam Henderson any favours were over. Never again!

  “Yeah, well, you have fun with that! I’ll think of you with your sweet nan sipping cups of tea, while I get abused and have to dodge a frying pan from crazy Rosanna.”

  “Te…”

  I slammed down the phone, cutting him off. “Not interested.” I glared at the receiver.

  ***

  “Poor Adam,” Ellie puffed as we made our way slowly up Coronary Hill.

  “Mmm,” I replied.

  “Come on, Tess, he didn’t break his arm on purpose.”

  “Didn’t he?” I gave her a pointed look. I knew I was sulking and being unreasonable, but Adam’s words echoed in my memory: “The worst is over, it’s all downhill from here”.

  How ironic, I thought, as I physically made my way up the hill to my impending doom.

  My heart clenched as I looked over Lake Onslow. It was dotted with locals and tourists lapping up the remainder of the dimming sun. They would stay out for as long as the mozzie repellant lasted. It was a beautiful balmy evening, perfect for enjoying the breeze that flowed off the lake on a summer’s night. Instead, I was about to enter the Onslow Hotel, which was like a giant tomb to me.

  Ellie and I decided to mix it up. Instead of entering the restaurant via the beer garden out back we walked through the front bar entrance. It was five o’clock, so the place was deserted save for the odd widowed drunk that had been propped up at the bar surrounded by empty chip packets and pot glasses for what looked like a rather productive day. Chris gave us a curt nod as we made our way through the front bar to the restaurant.

  “How’s Adam?” Ellie asked.

  “He’ll live.” Chris took the empty beer glass from his patron as a sign of being done – that, and the old fella had nodded off at the bar.

  “Time for a taxi, Ned, before the riff raff get here,” Chris yelled, jolting Ned from his slumber.

  “Taxi!” the old guy shouted.

  Ellie and I exchanged glances and couldn’t help but giggle as we walked through to the restaurant.

  Melba was wiping down tables. “You’re late!”

  I looked at the clock on the wall; it was two minutes past five.

  “We were just …”

  “Loitering in the bar, I know what you young ’uns are like, but I have news for you – there’ll be no jumping on the bar or table top dancing or breaking bones on my watch, ya hear?”

  Oh goody! Another reason to hate us even more.

  Melba gave us directions to prep the dining room before meals started at six. We busied ourselves to further avoid her wrath and gave each other the odd smirk as we settled into our work. It was then that Chris walked through the partition, weaving his way through tables and chairs towards us.

  “Melba, is it possible that you are looking younger every time I see you?”

  Melba scoffed, “Oh, you, quit it.” She waved him away and quickly gathered up the extra tablecloths to carry back to the kitchen, a ruby red blush creeping up her neck and cheeks. My incredulous stare turned from Melba’s retreating figure to Chris, who looked at me.

  And there it was, that Henderson charm.

  “What?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  His face melted back to stone. “We have a promotion going on this weekend, for the Irish Festival.”

  “Ooh, to be sure, to be sure,” crooned Ellie as she sidled up next to Chris, who all of a sudden looked uneasy. He took a subtle step back.

  “You’re to wear these as the uniform tonight.”

  “A uniform?” pouted Ellie.

  “It’s only for the weekend.” Chris chucked us both unnervingly small black tops, which I held up against my torso with a gulp. Before I could question the size, Chris was gone.

  “Come on, let’s get changed before Mad Melba returns.”

  I had thought I looked summery with my leggings, ballerina flats and a long, flowy, dusty pink top.

  That was before. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the ladies’ toilets, my mouth gaping open in horror. I had literally poured myself into what there was of the tight, black top with the Guinness logo on my chest.

  “I can’t go out there like this,” I said. My voice shook.

  Ellie stepped out from the cubicle tucking her top into her non-offensive skirt.

  “What’s the problem?” She froze when she caught sight of me.

  “Wow!” Ellie’s eyes widened.

  I grimaced. “I look li
ke I’m in a cat suit.” Turning to the mirror, I tried to pull down the stretchy top but it infuriatingly drifted upwards.

  “You look hot, Tess!”

  I chewed on my lower lip, trying not to get upset.

  “Can you please go ask Chris if there is another size? Something bigger?”

  Ellie had to shake herself from her daze as her gaze looked over me. “Ah, Tess, I don’t think–”

  “Ellie, please!”

  I paced the toilets, waiting for Ellie to return waving a XXXL top in her hand. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

  “Tess, seriously, you look fine. In fact, you look smoking-hot fine!”

  I didn’t want to be ‘smoking-hot fine’; I wanted to be blend-into-the-wall fine.

  Ellie grabbed my hand. “Come on, we can’t stay in here forever. Chris said we were going to be flat out tonight so we better get to it.”

  Perfect.

  “Oh, wait.” Ellie pulled me up, and all but yanked my arm out of my socket.

  “What?”

  Without a word Ellie yanked the elastic from my hair and ruffled it up.

  “Ellie!”

  “Just trust me,” she said.

  I took a deep breath and stood still. She ran her fingers through my hair and folded up the top half with the band, for a messy half-up half-down look, before fixing my fringe to frame my face.

  “Much better!” She smiled.

  We came out just in time for a staff meeting. Chris’s words were cut off abruptly when he saw us join the group. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he took in my apparel. Not in disgust or mockery, but the way a guy checks out a girl. The way boys usually looked over Ellie. He coughed, cleared his throat and refocused on his clipboard. I felt the heat flood my cheeks as I quickly sat down in an attempt to hide myself behind a table. I sat next to Melba who didn’t give me the same look of appreciation. She was looking at me in more of a ‘You look like a whore’ way.

  We were given our battle stations speech; what our roles were to be, and what was expected of us for the night. The Irish band would be setting up in the beer garden, and the restaurant was fully booked. My heart beat faster as I recounted my disastrous first shift. It hadn’t exactly boosted my confidence (especially now that I looked like a ninja). Ellie was jigging her leg like she always did when she was excited.

  For what time remained before the expected arrival of our first booking, I took it upon myself to memorise the dinner specials, taking note of any vegetarian selections. I tested my pen for ink, dated the order pad accordingly and, before I knew it, the six o’clock rush had begun.

  I fumbled and stuttered at my first table, but luckily they were a family of locals. Ken and Wendy Martin and their three adorable kids. They were patient and kind, and helped ease my nerves. I took their order without drama and spiked it proudly on the kitchen spike.

  “Order up!”

  “Well, look at you,” crooned the usually foul-tempered cook, Rosanna. She smiled at me, her demeanour disturbingly friendly. But I knew this was the calm before the storm.

  “Twirl for me.” She circled her finger in the air in a spinning motion, giving a wolf whistle of appreciation.

  “You’ll be breaking all the boys’ hearts, Tess.”

  I cringed. “I don’t know about that,” I said, and quickly retreated from the kitchen, running straight into Ellie.

  She pulled me into the alcove where the high chairs were kept.

  “Oh my God, Tess! You should see who just came through the front door.”

  Before I could ask, she let out a squeal. “I’m going to take their order,” she said, and disappeared.

  Okey dokey, there was either a celebrity in the bar (in Onslow?), or a hot boy. My money was on the latter and my suspicions were confirmed by the distant hum of the jukebox, which meant that the poolroom was in use.

  My friendly family table continued to be everything true and lovely, which almost made up for my next table … almost.

  Chapter Six

  My burden to bear for the night was to serve two posh tourists, who spoke in clipped sentences and looked at me as if they had stepped in something nasty.

  The full-figured lady sported a grey bob that was immaculately kept in place. No, really, it didn’t move; there must have been a full can of hairspray on there. She was clearly highly flammable. I clasped my notepad tightly, glancing around with unease; trust Claire Henderson to think candles would make for great ambience in the dining room. The place was a giant death trap for this woman.

  She smiled at me but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her husband complained about the lighting, the air conditioning, and the sound of the music filtering through the paper-thin walls of the poolroom. Their rudeness frazzled me, which was bad, as the last thing I needed was to make more mistakes as the night picked up in pace. More patrons poured through the restaurant’s French doors, all sun-kissed and starving from their day in the sun. The restaurant was at full capacity, a buzzing cauldron of chaos, so when I brought out the wrong meal (because I had written down the table wrong), Rosanna started to lose it, and I quickly vacated the kitchen, slamming hard into Chris’s chest.

  “Whoa, Tess, slow down.”

  I bit my lower lip in an attempt to hide that I was upset.

  “We’re going to switch things up a bit, okay? Uncle Eric wants you to take over Adam’s place in the kitchen for a bit. Thinks it might be for the best,” he said.

  Meaning I wasn’t quite cutting it out front. A part of me was relieved, but another part of me was mortified that I had just been demoted, if only for the night. In other words, they thought I wasn’t doing a good enough job. They would never have sent Ellie in to wash dishes, not in a million years.

  “Ellie’s going to take over your tables.” Chris took the notepad and pen from me; another slap in the face. I nodded and solemnly turned back to the kitchen. My summer was now downgraded from hell to the pits of hell, with Melba and Rosanna.

  Thanks, Adam!

  I stood in front of the sink for what seemed like forever, overwhelmed by the huge pile of dirty pots and pans, and ever-increasing stack of plates. I didn’t know where to begin. I tied the sodden dish apron around me, too afraid to ask if there were any rubber gloves. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about being seen in my cat suit. As I waited for the sink to fill, I cast a look at my pride and joy, my meticulously French manicured nails. I had filed, shaped and coated them in preparation for my big working debut. I had always prided myself on having nice nails and thought I would put an extra-special effort into them, knowing I was to be serving customers. If I was to be incompetent, at least they could say, “Well, she had nice hands.”

  Nice hands that were now submerged in blisteringly hot, dirty, dishwater.

  Ellie swung through the kitchen door, smiling like a Cheshire cat; she never said anything about my new position. She was too busy humming a joyful tune and spiking her docket.

  “Order up!”

  I unloaded a stack of dishes near the server, peeking at the docket and wondering if the little piece of paper had anything to do with her being in such fine form. A docket with several meals listed sported the heading ‘The Onslow Boys’ – (Poolroom). A little smiley face had been drawn into the O, and the penny dropped. Ha! Well, at least someone was having a good time.

  There was much swearing and pot throwing at the peak of service. Through desperation, they had Melba take a few orders, and with Melba’s people skills being what they were, it was a true sign that they were under the pump. At least I was friendly. For the most part, Melba was really a kitchenhand for Rosanna and they kind of complemented each other. What I mean by that is that Melba refused to take Rosanna’s crap, so it worked.

  I had created a clean space in my sodden little corner of the world; I even felt good about my achievement until I looked down at my destroyed nails, the once immaculate polish melted from the heat of the water. As I took a moment to survey the damage, the background was filled
with more swearing and clattering, accompanied by the frantic dinging of the service bell, all of which I was sadly getting used to as the night wore on.

  “Order up,” Rosanna screamed.

  Ellie was noticeably absent, which caused Rosanna to lose it big time. Before all hell broke loose, Chris burst through the kitchen door and spotted my nearly clear sink.

  “You. Meals. Go. Now!” He held the door ajar, pointing to the restaurant.

  “But Uncle Eric said I was to–”

  “Uncle Eric is upstairs watching Touched by an Angel, so what I say goes; we need you to take the meals, now!”

  I frantically untied my dish apron and smoothed down fly-away strands of hair that had curled from the steam. Before Rosanna hurled the meals across the kitchen, I grabbed them and headed through the door Chris still held open.

  “Get them out of here! Get them out of here!” she screamed.

  Happy to escape the mayhem and relieved I hadn’t been knifed in the process, I looked at the docket that lay haphazardly on top of the chip pile on the dinner plate. It read the ‘Onslow Boys’. With immense concentration, I walked two plates through the restaurant en route to the poolroom. The mystery of Ellie’s disappearance was solved when I saw her taking orders for a table of twelve. She managed to glance at me as I walked by, and putting two and two together she pouted at the fact I was delivering ‘her’ meals.

  I pressed my back against the swinging restaurant door and pushed my way through to the front bar. I had never been in the bar in peak hour on a Saturday night. Actually, I had never been in here at all until I worked here, so I wasn’t entirely sure what would greet me as I walked steadily through my final barrier, a flimsy concertina partition, and into the bar. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer hit me first, followed by the loud music that flooded from the poolroom. The front bar was dominated mainly by an older clientele, enjoying the blessed happy hour. The bar aligned with an array of men in attire ranging from flannelette-covered work overalls, to stubby shorts and Blundstone boots. Foreigner’s ‘Urgent’ blared from the speakers as I made my way gingerly through the mass of bodies. Men parted for me with lingering gazes. I smiled politely, excusing myself as I brushed by strangers, dodging and weaving with great care, holding onto the dinner with a white-knuckled intensity. I headed to the poolroom to deliver the Chicken Parma’s to the smiley-faced Onslow Boys. I paused under the archway, taking in the packed, smoky poolroom. The music was twice as loud in here. Just as I summoned enough courage to yell out my order, I was drowned out by a blast of laughter and shouts as someone missed a shot on the pool table.