And Then There Was You
Page 17
“It’s nothing. There’s no such thing as the Derringer delivery. But he doesn’t know that. He’s only been there three months. And who can he ask? I was the last of the old employees, and he just got rid of me. He’s replaced the whole kitchen staff, too. The only one still hanging on is Raul, and he just comes in to do maintenance a few times a week. He doesn’t deal with deliveries, so he won’t be any help.”
Lake snickered. “I can’t believe you did that!”
Neither did Cole, who usually didn’t think so fast on his feet. “I knew Mr. Pelancor wouldn’t ask me what it was. He’d hate how it makes him look inexperienced. Now he has to come in on his day off to wait around for an imaginary delivery of an imaginary product that the restaurant desperately needs.”
Lake’s snickers turned into a roar of appreciative laughter. “Beautifully wicked.”
“Thank you.”
“It kills me that that little prick made you call him Mr. Pelancor when he’s younger than you! What’s his first name?”
“Wendell. Laney called him Wendell the Weasel behind his back until she got canned.” Cole stopped in the last foot of dry sand to watch another wave spill. He missed caustic, foul-mouthed, tattooed Laney, who had trained him when he was promoted to server. He missed all of the people that he’d worked with for so long.
“Wendell the Weasel is going to have to call the Big Boss and ask,” Lake said.
“Which he won’t, because he’ll look stupid.” Harvey Drake, who owned 7/20, was currently on a month-long cruise halfway across the planet with his wife. Their cell service was spotty at best. Cole hadn’t remembered that fact until now. It made his parting shot even more stinging. If the general manager did call, the Drakes were most likely out of reach.
The crashing of the next wave sobered him. “Lake, what am I going to do? The rent goes up two hundred bucks in August and we’re barely making it as it is. I’ve been using my credit card to get from month to month.” He hated using the credit card. Hated it. He was making the bare minimum of payments and at that rate, he would finally pay it off when he was ten years in the grave.
“You’ll find something,” Lake said firmly.
“Does your agency need another intern?”
“Not at the moment. You’d be miserable here, Cole. My hours are shitty. My pay is shitty-”
“Not that shitty,” Cole argued. Lake wore nice threads and drove a good car, not to mention lived in a fantastic apartment in downtown Los Angeles.
“Yes, it’s shitty,” Lake disagreed. “I’m too embarrassed to tell you what I make. And my coworkers are shitty. The pile of scripts on my desk are worse than shitty, only outmatched by the heaps of shitty fan mail. I was going to read this letter to you, but you have bigger problems. Aren’t there any restaurants hiring around there? Restaurants are always hiring. People need to eat.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t places I want to work.” The owner of Leafhopper was infamous for the tirades he unloaded upon his hapless staff; the crew at Danny’s Burgers was happier, but the tips would be half of what Cole brought in at 7/20, which catered to tourists who preferred finer dining.
And wherever he went, he would be starting from the bottom. The worst stations during the worst shifts.
“You’ll find something,” Lake repeated. “Just slap on that cute smile of yours and scruff up your hair. It looks cute when it’s tousled.”
“I have to find it fast. Like yesterday.”
“Then why are you hanging around to talk to me, lazy ass? Go, go, GO. Keep me posted. I’ll read you this letter from the lovelorn fan next time. It’s in rhyme.” Lake hung up.
Putting away his phone, Cole turned away from the sea. There were restaurants everywhere in this area, and some had to be hiring. He would find a job. He had to find a job.
There was no time like now. He squared his shoulders and walked home.
Sugar Rush