The Rescue

by Izzy Daniels

  1

  Emmaline

  “So then the dillweed tells us the group project will be fifty percent of our final grade. No one even likes group projects.” Jack slumps a little lower in his chair, looking defeated.

  “Professor Dillweed likes them,” I say distractedly. I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to finish my assigned reading before I have get to work in time for the lunch rush. My yellow highlighter pauses as I glance up at my best friend. His eyes are narrowed on me. He doesn’t seem to appreciate my humor so I stick my tongue out at him, because I’m mature like that.

  “I bet Batman doesn’t have to do group projects,” he sighs. “Even better we’ve been assigned a partner like it’s kindergarten. I’m getting something with bacon, want a refill?” Jack stands up, snatching my oversized university mug, and heads off before I even answer. Being friends for seven years has its perks; He knows the answer is always ‘yes’ to coffee. I put the cap back on the highlighter and slip it into the front pocket of my ancient messenger bag. By the time Jack sits down with his bacon-y bagel and my coffee, I’m all packed and ready to give him my full attention.

  “I’m feeling better already,” he says before taking a giant bite. I grin at him because his enjoyment of the simple things is one of his best qualities. His eyes are closed in his cheesy bacon bliss as I reach for my mug to take a sip. Hot liquid gets stuck in my throat as Jack starts moaning with pleasure, quite loudly. I start to laugh and I end up making a sound that’s a cross between choking and snorting. It’s absurd and alarmingly loud. That’s when I notice there are more than a few pairs of eyes on us in the university’s cafe. My cheeks go pink and I begin to thoroughly inspect my fingernails while trying to hide behind my ponytail. I could try to shush him, but it usually just eggs him on. Making me uncomfortable is his favorite hobby, as if embarrassing me enough will help cure me of my crippling shyness. I suppose it balances out though because I make him suffer in my own way; He is the guinea pig for all of my culinary creations. I love to try new recipes and sometimes what I produce is on the wrong side of edible.

  “I can leave you two alone, Sally, Harry’s got to get to work, anyway. Come by for a pie when you’re all done,” I tell Jack, quietly pushing my chair in and throwing my bag over my shoulder. I wait while he chugs most of his orange juice and wipes his face with a napkin. He gives me his best innocent grin.

  “Definitely, but it’ll be closer to six tonight because I have to meet up with my partner in the library. Wah. See you, Em.” Jack tips the rest of the juice into his face and gives me a wave while I walk the few steps out of the cafe. The Coffee Beanery, where Jack and I meet up after morning classes a few days a week, is located in the middle of campus. The late morning Virginia sun is brutal and I’m forced to walk blindly as I dig my sunglasses out of my bag. For those living off-campus, parking is a always nightmare, but necessary. It takes my sensible canvas sneakers nearly ten minutes to get me to my car and before I’m even inside my tiny sedan, there is a war going on for my spot. Admittedly, it is in the the third row, which is like finding gold at the end of a rainbow for students stuck circling the enormous parking lot for twenty minutes.

  It’s almost 11:00 a.m by the time I make it to Giorgio’s Pizza and Pasta. It’s slow right now but picks up quickly in the next forty-five minutes. I park behind the building and kick off my shoes. I am already wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt so all I have to do is throw on my non-skid shoes and my white button up blouse. I redo my ponytail to make sure it’s secure before I slip my magnetic name tag on the left side just above my chest. I push through the kitchen’s back entrance to grab my apron hanging in the office but Joe isn’t in there like usual. Joe is my boss. His father is the Giorgio. Since Joe took over running the place, taking care of all the day to day work, Giorgio almost never comes in anymore. Joe is very dedicated to his dad and the restaurant, which I admire completely. I walk past the large walk-in freezer and around a short wall where I find him stirring an enormous pot of sauce. He does the majority of the cooking here as the head chef, but his sous chef, Marcus, is almost as talented.

  “Good morning, Joe. Smells great!” I breathe in the familiar scent of garlic, onions, and fresh tomato. He gives me a warm smile and touches his cheek to mine for a quick kiss. He always greets people like that, even strangers. It’s definitely part of his Italian charm.

  “Ah, bella! Do you not take a day off? Before I forget, your order for salsiccia is in the box.”

  I throw him a smile as I turn and hurry back toward the walk-in, the ‘box’ as he calls it. I can hear his pleasant chuckle at my abrupt departure. The actual box is pushed over toward the corner and a thrill of excitement goes through me at the thought of trying a new recipe, which is my favorite. A full inspection will have to wait, because I really need to start some prep work. At that thought, I turn around to the sink right outside the walk-in and wash up. Then I step back in and fill my arms to the brim with lemons to slice and heads of lettuce to wash and prepare for salads. I carefully make my way through the crowded kitchen and up to my station in the front part, just before you get to the doors that lead to the dining area. It is equipped with everything I need: a small refrigerator, knives, a washing area, extra cups for dressings, and storage bins for everything. After the lettuce and lemons, I refill the bins with grape tomatoes, onions, and shredded parmesan cheese. I make a few side salads and cover them with plastic wrap and pile them in the fridge. Those would be gone by noon and I would have to start making them to order.

  I have been doing this sort of prep work for the restaurant since I walked in here almost five years ago. These tasks have become mindless, pure second nature to me. Which means I get to daydream about my new recipe until it’s time to go out to the dining room, with a smile plastered on my face. When I push through the swinging double doors, I wave a quick hello to Bonnie, who happens to be seating an elderly couple in my section. Bonnie is a sweetheart but a bit of an oversharer. She’s in her late fifties and has been working at Giorgio’s for over fifteen years. She’s a very efficient server though; all of her customers get what they need before they even knew it was needed. It’s amazing, really. All the while telling you about her bunions and her grandkids’ bowel irregularities. Jack thinks it’s hilarious and is always encouraging her to tell him more. I do adore her, I just try very hard not to get any mental images when she talks. My fake smile widens as I grab a pen and order pad from my apron and head over to my two top. Showtime .

  “Good afternoon, my name is Emmaline and I’ll be your server today...”

  ---

  The lunch rush passes quickly and is nearing an end by 1:30 p.m. One of the two busboys recently hired, Galvin I think, gets in around then and helps me clear the tables and wash the dishes before dinner. After my last table pays their bill, I drop into a booth with a slice of cheese pizza. Usually this is the only time of day that I don’t have tables to wait on, so I also use the time to get work done. I roll clean silverware into red cloth dinner napkins. We use paper napkins at lunch but we break out the cloth napkins for dinner. After I roll up about a hundred sets and finish my slice, I fill up my water bottle and grab my school work from my bag. Time to finish that reading for Business and Public law until I get a table.

  Jack and I started our sophomore year at our local university two weeks ago, at the end of August. The only thing I have ever wanted is to have my own restaurant. That means a major in Business Management. Jack has a head for numbers and is interested in business administration, so he’s majoring in Managerial Accounting while getting a minor in Marketing. Those picks seems like they would clash with his personality but he is very analytical. I would think most people perceive him as a laid back surfer dude based on his appearance. He has an
athletic swimmers build from years on the school swim team and he wears worn out cargo shorts, t-shirts, and low top black chucks. He also has dirty blonde curls that fall just below his ears, usually in utter disarray. He’s definitely the annoying older brother I never wanted, which has exactly the disadvantages you would expect. I’ve seen him pick his nose and look at it. I’ve heard every fart joke in the book. I’ve even been pranked by his fake poop creations. Though I can appreciate that he is a good looking guy, there’s absolutely no hope for us romantically. He had a semi-serious girlfriend in high school but she moved across the country for college and they broke it off right before she left. As for me, I haven’t done much dating. I haven’t dated at all to be perfectly honest. I moved here when I was twelve to live with my Uncle Robert and I have honestly spent more time interested in school work and cookbooks than in having or maintaining a social life. So, despite being nineteen, I wouldn’t know how to start dating even if I wanted to. I have more important things to think about right now, anyway. Like chapter nine and my half finished notes.

  I manage to get about an hour of school work finished before it’s time to replenish my section. This simply requires mundane tasks like topping off the grated cheese and hot pepper shakers, refilling the ketchup bottles, and stocking ice and straws at the soda fountain. I go through and double check each booth, their seats, and the tables to make sure they’re clean and customer ready. As I set out the rolled silverware, I also light the small lanterns on each table. I have to rewrite the Specials Board. On Tuesdays we have a Family Special that draws in a pretty decent crowd. It’s one platter and it’s different every Tuesday but you get a ton of food on one big plate and pay half price. I grab the board and my secret stash of markers and start writing it out. Pecan-Crusted Chicken on a bed of fresh spinach, gorgonzola, roma tomatoes, applewood smoked bacon, red onions and a vinaigrette. Families tend to get the platter but then also add the smaller sides of pasta dishes. Younger kids really love our spaghetti and meatballs.

  Around 4:00 p.m the bar starts filling up with some of our regulars. The bar is set to the back right of the restaurant in a wide U shape. Despite having a full bar, we rarely have any trouble with people getting rowdy. They used to hit on Suzanna, our regular bartender, but after time and time again refusing the passes of a few off-duty construction workers they just began leaving her alone. On Tuesdays we have two more servers come in for the dinner crowd. Amanda is a little older than me and Brian is still in high school but they are both pretty new to serving. They always split the eight tables on the left side of the restaurant because they tend to be less busy than the booths.

  Amanda carries fashion magazines and gossips about celebrities constantly, but will just as soon talk to you about politics and her environmental concerns. Usually, I have no idea what she’s talking about with regards to fashion or what’s happening in the celebrity dating scene. Amanda dreams of becoming a celebrity makeup artist and usually uses her face as a canvas. She’s actually really talented. When she comes in to grab her paycheck she looks like she just stepped off the front page of one of her magazines. She usually wears super tight jeans, trendy low-cut blouses, and scary high wedge sandals while her highlighted locks are curled with expert precision. It’s highly intimidating when she begs to give me a makeover, but I don’t wear makeup often and it would just be a waste on me. I let Jack’s mom put some on me for senior prom and I felt preposterous and washed it all off the minute I got home. My skin and hair are pale, so everything just makes me look clownish. Plus, if she tried to make me wear shoes with heels I would likely break my neck, or someone else’s.

  Now Brian is a bit of a mystery. He is also extremely shy so we have never exchanged more than a few words, all regarding an immediate work situation. We barely ever make eye contact because we’re so mutually shy. He’s on the taller side but a bit scrawny, like the rest of him needs to catch up to his summer growth spurt. When I overhear him at his tables, he sounds polite and friendly, but never really says more than necessary. Not very chatty, so the opposite of Amanda. I fall somewhere in between. The regulars that want to chat definitely sit in Bonnie or Amanda’s section. As Brian and Amanda arrive, so do the early birds and it’s time to get back to work. I compel my cheeks to smile and fish my pen out again.

  2

  Brooke

  When I first heard Professor Alcott announce that our Principles of Marketing class would have a group project, I stifled a groan. Others didn’t bother with the stifling. Like the gigantic mess of a guy sitting in the back. Turns out that mess is my partner, Jack. We decided to meet up later in the library, and when I saw him lumbering through the computers with his holey cargo shorts and his ratty t-shirt that read Make Bacon Not War , I resigned myself to having to do the entire project by myself. How does anyone need to be that tall anyway? Now we’re almost a half hour into our discussion about the project, and I have to say I’m more than a little surprised. He’s way more intelligent than I expected and he is actually willing to do the work. I actually get the feeling that he’s more concerned I’m going to flake on him. Madness.

  The project consists of a twenty page paper and powerpoint presentation focused on creating a marketing plan for the development of a new business using the techniques we learn in class. Together, we went over the syllabus to write out the specific techniques that Professor Alcott will be looking for in the project. We also talked about what experience we have with real life applications of marketing or marketing that has stood out to us. Now, we’re discussing business ideas.

  “What if we made a food truck that put bacon on everything. Bacon wrapped hot dogs, chicken and bacon quesadillas, deep fried bacon…” Jack trailed off looking into the distance, seemingly fantasizing about bacon.

  “Right, well, solid idea, partner. But how about something a little broader? And with slightly less bacon?” Shutting down that train right now. Sure I like bacon, but not as the sole premise of a business model. My mind is racing but I can’t settle on just one idea. Jack suddenly leans forward with a wide smile.

  “Do you like Italian food?”

  “I’d marry and have a ton of gay babies with Italian food,” I joke. Oh, right. I’m gay . This probably isn’t news to anyone who knows any lesbian stereotypes and then spots me from a distance. I have black hair, shortly cut on the sides and longer on top that I push over to the right side. Additionally, I have a few facial piercings and plenty of tattoos. To top it off, I occasionally wear flannel and my men’s boxers sometimes peek over my pants, not on purpose most of the time. None of those are necessarily particular to lesbian women, but men seem to instinctively know that I don’t play for their team. Or they’re afraid I’ll kick them in the nuts with my combat boots. I’m pretty okay with that either way.

  “Awesome, I’ve got the best idea,” Jack exclaims. “Grab your stuff, we’re going to dinner.” I cringe as he shoves his papers haphazardly into his backpack. He’s already to the door and I’m still thinking about forcing him to give me his backpack so I can organize it. “Let’s go, lady lover, I’m already starving. I’ll drive and tell you about my idea on the way.” I roll my eyes at his impatience and I very neatly and slowly put away my syllabus and pen. I’d really like to draw out his suffering, but I’m pretty hungry too.

  Finally, he parks in front of Giorgio’s Pizza and Pasta and I find myself agreeing with his idea to do a plan for a small Italian restaurant. He seems really excited about it because his best friend really wants to open one after college. He talks about her with such reverence that I can hardly tell him no. I haven’t got any better ideas anyhow. It’s only six o’clock but I can really go for a giant plate of pasta. When we step inside, I notice it’s more crowded than I expected. There are several families occupying the tables. An older lady with fluffy gray hair greets Jack with a smile and a hug.

  “Heya hunny, how are you?” She says more than asks. “I tell ya, these old joints are aching today. Who’s this one?” She th
rows a thumb in my direction as if I can’t see or hear her.

  “Oh, Bonnie, this is my partner in crime, Brooke,” Jack says. “Don’t be alarmed by her appearance, she comes in peace. Have you been taking your glucosamine?” My eyebrows raise at his comment, usually people are less inclined to mention my appearance. I am finding Jack surprisingly refreshing.

  “Yes, yes, I’m taking those things but my gas pains have been keeping me awake at night. Anyway, seat yourselves in Emma’s section. I’ve gotta put on some coffee.” She pushes menus into his hands and hobbles over to the back of the restaurant. Jack motions for me to follow him and he walks around the hostess area, to the left side of the restaurant and over to an open booth. I take a minute to look around the place. I’ve passed it a few times driving to the university but never ventured inside. The floors and half the walls are done in darker faux wood, the top half of the walls are painted tomato red, and the booths and tables are stained darker wood, but they’re real and sturdy. The booth cushions are black which compliments all of the black framed art lining the walls. Some of them are photographs of Italy and some look to be handpainted still lifes of grapes and bottles of wine. The lighting is nice, not too bright and not too dark, with adorable tiny lanterns on each table. That’s when I notice the blonde refilling a water glass a few booths down.

  I mostly just see hair at this point, but I catch a brief glimpse of her profile. Cute . Her hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail but the waves of it fall down most of her back. I lean ever so slightly out of the booth so I can check her out. She’s on the petite side, she can’t be more than five foot tall and slim figured. She’s wearing dark black pants with her white button up tucked into them. Her apron is tied tightly about her hips but I get a little glance at her backside curves. Very nice . Jack clears his throat and I glance over at him. He’s wearing a raised eyebrow and I realize I may have been a bit obvious in my checking out. Oops . I give him a shrug.