by Don Aker
In the last few years, though, Ethan had come to doubt whether his old man was sure of anything. Most of the time, he just seemed caught up in making sure everyone thought he was. And as far as loving the law, Ethan wondered now whether it was the legal profession he loved or the attention it brought him. People were always telling Ethan about seeing news clips of his father, reporters interviewing him about a case he’d just won or a suit he’d just filed. And now he was running for a seat in the provincial government. Christ!
“Break’s over, numbnuts.”
He turned to see Ike glaring at him through the screen in the kitchen door and stifled a groan. What was that thought he’d had a few minutes ago? People had to love something they put that much time into, didn’t they? That clearly wasn’t the case when you worked at The Chow Down. He pulled himself to his feet and headed back inside.
Chapter 9
“Coming over tonight?”
Hearing Allie’s voice on the phone ask that question usually made his legs weak, and any other time he’d be heading over to her place in a second. But not this time.
“I’m beat, Allie,” he yawned, the rocking motion of the bus making him even drowsier. “I’m just on my way home now. We got slammed at the diner and it didn’t let up all day. I’d be lousy company.”
“Really?” she asked, and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. “You owe me, Ethan Palmer. When you didn’t call last night, I got stuck taking Bethany and her friends to see that new werewolf movie.” Allie’s younger sister was infatuated with all things werewolf. She and her friends had read a series of novels about werewolf dudes falling for human chicks, and now that Hollywood was churning out film adaptations, the girls were in tween heaven.
“Was it that bad?”
“You have no idea,” moaned Allie. “They’re all the same. Werewolf-guy loves her, can’t have her but can’t live without her, yadda-yadda.”
“But did you like it?” Ethan teased.
“The drive home was even worse. Bethany and her friends gave play-by-plays of every scene in the book that the director left out.”
“I feel your pain, babe.”
“You can make it up to me, you know,” she said.
“I can?”
“My aunt’s leaving on a cruise tomorrow, and my parents are going over to her place tonight to say goodbye. Bethany, too. I’ll have the house all to myself.” She paused for dramatic effect, then added, “For hours.”
His exhaustion vanished. “I’ll be right over.”
By the time he’d gotten off at the next stop, taken a transfer to Coburg, and walked the two blocks from there to Allie’s house, the effect of Ethan’s second day at The Chow Down had resurrected itself and multiplied. When Allie let him in, he was in the middle of a yawn that rivalled the surface area of the Fontaines’ front door. “Wow. Sorry,” he said, embarrassed, and then yawned again.
Allie looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re sure this isn’t because you were out partying with Pete all last night?”
“We weren’t out all night. I had to get up for work this morning.” He yawned a third time. Loudly. “Jeez,” he said, embarrassed all over again.
“Maybe you should go wash your face off with cold water or something,” said Allie.
“Right.” He walked down the hallway to the powder room—Mrs. Fontaine’s name for the closet tucked under the staircase where she and Allie’s dad had recently installed a small vanity and dual-flush toilet—and ran the water for a moment, cupping it in his hands and splashing some on his face. After a solid minute of this, he turned off the tap, picked up the towel—an expensive microfibre in a decorator colour that he was sure Jillian would have recognized but that, to him, looked like Electric Lime—and dried his hands and face. Peering into the mirror, he was surprised to see how drawn his face looked. Another of his father’s favourite Ann Almighty sayings was Hard work never killed anyone. Maybe not, but it sure made you look like shit.
“You hungry?” Allie asked when he came out.
He was starving. “What do you have?”
She opened the fridge to reveal a platter of cold chicken and bowls of leftover potato and pasta salads. “And for dessert,” she offered breathily through pouty lips, “moi.”
He looked at her, his desire for food a sudden second to another longing. “You sure about this?” Although their relationship had grown increasingly physical since they’d begun going steady, Allie had drawn a line in the sand that he’d never pressured her to cross.
Smiling, she reached out and drew him toward her, her lips meeting his, her slim fingers moving through his dark hair. “I’m sure,” she whispered when she finally pulled away.
His pulse pounding in his ears, Ethan murmured, “Okay if I have dessert first?”
Afterwards, while Ethan was inhaling cold chicken at the kitchen table, Allie asked him about The Chow Down. “So you survived a second day. What’s it like there?”
He swallowed a mouthful and washed it down with milk. “It’s a job,” he said.
“What about the people you work with? Anyone interesting?”
“Lil, the woman who hired me, she’s a character. Someone you’d see in a country music video.”
“What’s she look like?”
Ethan shared his first impression of Lil as a perfect match for their physics teacher.
“So I don’t have to worry about losing you to a sexy co-worker, huh?”
Laughing, he shook his head.
“Any other servers?”
“Another part-timer, but I haven’t met her. She’s on when I’m not.”
“Not much of a staff for a restaurant.”
“It’s not much of a restaurant. Just a hole-in-the-wall diner. Other than us there’s just a couple guys in the kitchen. The cook and an assistant named Rake.”
“Rake?”
“You’d have to see him.”
Allie smiled. “What’s the cook’s name?”
“Ike Turner,” he said, spooning more potato salad onto his plate.
Allie laughed. “Seriously? Ike Turner?”
Ethan stiffened. “You know him?”
“You’ve never heard the name before?” she asked.
“Should I?” Ethan’s earlier cage-fighter impression surfaced again. “He famous or something?”
“Ike Turner used to be half of Ike and Tina Turner.”
“Ike’s married?” asked Ethan. He thought about the tattoo he’d seen, the heart with the name Mike in it. Of course, there was also that tat with the blonde. Was the guy bisexual?
Allie sighed. “The Ike I’m talking about is dead. He and Tina were one of the hottest R & B duos in the ‘60s and ‘70s.”
Ethan’s mind conjured an image of Ike at The Chow Down belting out the blues, and he shook his head. There’s weird, and then there’s weird.
“So what’s your Ike like?” Allie asked.
“A helluva guy. Real prince.” He hoped she didn’t detect the irony in his voice.
Seeming to sense a sore spot, she changed the subject. “Tips any better today?”
“Actually, they were.”
“How much did you make?”
Ethan pushed his chair back from the table. “After I paid for the linguine I threw on the floor—” Holding up his hands, he said, “Don’t ask,” then continued, “I made almost sixty bucks.”
“That’s great!”
“And that’s not counting my hourly pay, which is going straight into my car account.”
“What about your tips?”
“Those will, too, but not today’s.”
“Why not?”
He grinned. “Pete told me Ragged Ending’s performing at the Pier next month.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “So I picked these up on the way home.”
Allie squealed. “Ragged Ending? Ethan, I love Ragged Ending!” She threw her arms around him.
“Hey, I may not know much about ‘60s R & B
, but I know what my girl likes.” Actually, Pete was the one who’d reminded him that Allie was a big fan of the group, but she didn’t need to know that. After all, he’d bought the tickets, right?
She kissed him, her tongue tangling with his, then glanced down at her watch. “I think there’s still time for another helping of dessert if you’re interested.”
He was interested.
Chapter 10
“I won’t keep you long,” said Ms. Moore.
Ethan hoped she meant it. Lil had called him that morning to tell him Jeannie, the other part-timer, couldn’t make it that afternoon, and could he fill in. Even after yesterday’s gruelling shift, he’d jumped at the chance for more work, but Moore-or-Less had cornered him after last class and asked him to stay behind. Only a handful of students remained in the hallway, the clang of locker doors putting exclamation points on the end of the school day.
“I spoke to your father on the weekend,” said the teacher.
His eyes on the wall clock behind her, Ethan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He could only imagine how Ike would react to him walking in late. “Yeah, he told me you did.” Fortunately, he hadn’t seen his father since their “conversation” the morning before. Ethan had gotten back from Allie’s late, and his old man had left the house today before Ethan was out of bed—”An early meeting with his new media consultant,” Raye told him over breakfast. Raye had been characteristically blasé about their father’s decision to run for public office, which she’d learned about the night he accepted the nomination. “It is what it is,” she’d said. Ethan had begun to wonder if there was anything that could possibly upset his sister.
The teacher opened her record book. “You’re a much better student than your current performance indicates, Ethan.”
Performance. He hated how adults threw that word around, like the whole world was a stage. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he recalled a line from a play his class had read the previous year—As You Like It or some other damn thing by Shakespeare—and he grinned.
Moore-or-Less raised her eyebrows. “You find this amusing?” she asked, disapproval hardening her voice.
“Sorry,” he said. “My mind was somewhere else.”
The teacher sighed. “And therein lies the problem, Ethan. Being somewhere else.” She held up the note he’d left with her sub the previous Friday. “I’m pretty good at spotting forgeries, especially when they contain misspellings.” She pointed to a word—”For future reference, absence doesn’t have two s’s”—then crumpled the paper and dropped it into the recycling bin. “I could have gone directly to the principal about this, you know. He takes a dim view of students who forge letters from parents.”
Ethan sobered. “I appreciate that,” he told her, glancing at the clock again. “It won’t happen again. I promise.” Are we done here?
“This meeting isn’t about your skipping school or forging notes, Ethan.”
Ethan suppressed a frustrated sigh.
“Even when you’re here, you’re not. It’s like nothing matters to you. Nothing’s all that important.”
Ethan groaned inwardly. Christ, she’s channelling my old man. He wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to agree or disagree, and he couldn’t take the chance of being wrong and prolonging her lecture. “I’ll try harder, Ms. Moore. You’ll see.”
She took off her glasses, a hideous orange and green pair that looked more like abstract art than eyewear, and laid them on her desk.
“What is it you want, Ethan?” the teacher asked. “Really want?”
To get the hell out of here. “Same stuff everyone wants.”
“And what would that be?”
Ethan fought a flare of annoyance, tried to keep his voice light. “You know, a good job, nice home, two point four kids, stuff like that.”
She stared at him. “That’s crap and you know it.”
Ethan’s eyes widened.
“People who really want those things,” continued the teacher, “have a plan to make them happen. I don’t believe you’re thinking beyond the next five minutes.”
Ethan looked at the second hand making another sweep of the clock. You got that right. “So,” he said, his mind manufacturing images of Ike berating him at full volume, “I’ll make a plan.”
“Well, that’s just wonderful,” Ms. Moore said, her voice thick with sarcasm.
Ethan felt his face grow warm. “What do you want me to say?”
“That’s the point, Ethan. You’re always trying to feed people the easy answer instead of thinking things through.” She reached for her glasses and put them back on. “Which is why I’m giving you an assignment.”
Ethan shifted on the balls of his feet. “I already wrote it down in class.”
“No,” she said. “This is a different one.”
Great. More work on top of everything else.
“You’ll have until the end of the semester to complete it.”
Ethan nearly grunted his exasperation. Must be one hell of an assignment if it takes three months. “What do I have to do?”
“Find out what’s important, Ethan.”
He blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“To you. Find out what’s really important to you.”
“This a joke or something?” he asked.
“Far from it.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “You can keep doing for me in class what you’ve done since the beginning of the school year—that bare minimum you’re so fond of. I know there’s not much I can do at this point to change that.” She looked up at him again. “But by the end of the semester, I want you to produce something honest for me. Something you really and truly believe. Tell me what’s important to you.”
“How long does it have to be?”
She smiled, but Ethan saw no warmth in her face. “For once in your life, Ethan, don’t focus on the bottom line.”
“How much is it worth?”
She turned to look out the window. “Far more than I can ever tell you.”
Puzzled, he waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. He glanced at the clock again. “Look, Ms. Moore, I have to—”
“Go,” she said. “You’re already halfway there anyway.”
He left her still staring out the window.
“Where the hell you been?” snarled Ike.
Hanging his jacket on the peg by the kitchen door, Ethan replied, “I had to meet one of my teachers after school. She wants me to—”
“You get your ass here on time or leave it the hell home for good.”
Clenching his jaws to keep from saying more, Ethan headed toward the dining area.
“I didn’t hear you,” Ike growled.
Ethan stopped in the doorway. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay what?”
“I’ll get my ass here on time.”
“Make goddamn sure you do.”
Lil clucked sympathetically as Ethan came out of the kitchen and began clearing a table just vacated by a guy in a green jacket with White Glove Movers lettered on the back. Although it was in Lil’s section, he didn’t mind helping her out. Besides, he hadn’t forgotten Ike’s mantra: You don’t walk away from a mess.
“Don’t take it personally,” Lil said.
“How else should I take it?” he muttered. “I got here as soon as I could, okay? Maybe the Incredible Hulk could cut me a break once in a while.” He shrugged. “I guess a guy like him has never needed one.”
She reached for the mover’s dirty dishes that Ethan was stacking on one side of the table. “Ike’s had his share ‘a troubles,” she said.
“Poor him. Looks like he could handle whatever comes at him.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “I think you remind him of somebody.”
“Who?”
Lil opened her mouth to say something else, but just then the bell above the door rang and a short old man in baggy pants and a threadbare sweater entered.
“Afternoon, Lil,” he replied, taking a seat in a booth and nodding at Ethan.
“Boots,” said Lil, “meet Ethan Palmer. He took over for Selena. Ethan, this is Boots McLaughlin.”
Ethan stuck out his hand and the little man took it. His hand in Ethan’s felt papery and frail, and Ethan was careful not to grip it too hard.
“Nice to meet you,” said Boots.
“Same here,” said Ethan.
“You’ve got big shoes to fill.”
Ethan winked at Lil. “I’ve heard that’s not all I have to fill.”
The little man chuckled. “A sense of humour. I like that. It’ll come in handy around this place,” he said, nodding elaborately toward the kitchen, and Ethan immediately warmed to the old guy.
“What can I get you?” asked Ethan.
“He’ll have the Western Sandwich,” said Lil. “No tomato.”
“That right?” Ethan asked.
Boots nodded.
“And,” added Lil, “take off twenty-five cents because of the tomato.”
Ethan turned to her, surprised, and she shot him a look that told him she was serious. “Anything to drink with that?” he asked Boots.
“Just water,” the little man said.
“Shouldn’t take too long,” said Ethan. “I’ll be right back with your water.”
“No rush,” Boots said. “I’m in no hurry.”
Later, after Boots had paid his bill and left, Ethan began clearing the table and was surprised to see the old guy hadn’t left him a tip. “Jeez,” he muttered under his breath as Lil walked by.
She stopped. “Anything wrong?”
“That old guy seemed nice enough.”
“He is nice,” she said.
“To you maybe.” He nodded at the table. “A tip on a Western Sandwich minus the tomato wouldn’t’ve killed him.”
Lil pointed to a small rectangular piece of paper beside the empty water glass. “Boots always tips,” she said.