by Thomas Melo
Tyler lifted his hand into the air so that his parents could see them, even though he knew they already did. Not quite subconsciously, he supposed he waved in hopes that Lilith would take this as the proverbial starter-gun to begin exhibiting her best behavior for his parents. He didn’t care very much about her behavior when they were alone, which was at times, questionable. She trained him not to care, (oh, yes she did) but at the same time, he was still aware enough to know that she had to put on a manner-fueled show when it came to his parents.
Tyler was not one for conflict or confrontation, which will become the most ironic caveat heard in this story further down the road (let’s go Yankees.) It gave him mild anxiety. Not just physical confrontations or conflicts like when he was living his tormented existence in elementary and middle school at the hands of pre-pubescent little “fuckers,” but even arguing was enough to make him want to flip the merciful switch that would render him invisible to the world into the ON position. Especially when he was a witness to an argument between two people he cared for.
Ray and Cindy would lock horns at times, as all married couple do at one point or another. That is a constant, not a variable. The frequency of those knock-down-drag-outs is the variable and what actually define a marriage. Tyler was happy that for the most part, the clashes he had to witness growing up, and even now, were kept to a minimum. The other school of thought may be that if he were subject to a lot of arguing that, by this point, he would think nothing of it. You know: run-of-the-mill, just another day in the life and such. But the people close to him enjoyed solid relationships for the most part and chose not to make arguing a staple, so arguments didn’t lose their bitter flavor when they actually did occur.
“Hey guys, over here!” Tyler called to his parents. They promptly waved back.
“I don’t think your parents like me,” Lilith said.
“Don’t be silly.” That was all he could say. He couldn’t elaborate and explain why it was a preposterous thing to say, because deep down, he knew she was probably right. Tyler was a smart kid and he understood that his parents made the correlation between his declining grades and his relationship with Lilith. Tyler had made the same correlation, but he couldn’t break things off with Lilith. Not only did he not want to (she had showed him many things that he was quite certain other girls around his age could not,) but he wasn’t confident in his ability to physically let the words leave his mouth. Not to mention, he tried to avoid conflict.
“Hey, long time no see, Ty,” his father joked, “Hi, Lilith. Nice to see you.” Her husband was merely being affable, but it burned her ass nonetheless.
“Hello, Ty. Hi Lilith,” Cindy joined in trying to keep her inflection identical for both greetings, and barely succeeding as she twisted her wedding band with her other hand.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Swanson. How is everything?” Lilith said.
“Oh, you know, can’t complain. Are you a fan of Italian food?”
“It does the trick,” Lilith smiled.
Cindy didn’t know why, but this answer irked her. If Cindy was honest with herself, she would realize that she was being overly censorious and looking between the lines of every statement because she didn’t care for the girl…simple as that. She had to try for her son though. What people do for their children. For crying out loud, what did she want from the girl? “Oh yes, Mr. Swanson! I just adore Italian food! Why, my grandmother used to make it every Sunday, yes she did; and let me tell you, it just stole my wool, for the love of Eve!” Now, how utterly counterfeit and quite frankly, stupid, would that have sounded? Yes, she had to try for her son, but being a woman, and therefore wired with the proper female hardware and circuitry, she wasn’t sure if she was up for such a challenge.
Lilith and the Swansons entered the restaurant and were promptly seated. About ten minutes went by before they were even greeted by their waiter. Cindy and Ray passed the time by making benign chit-chat with their son’s girlfriend, hoping that they were talking enough for their son’s liking, but careful not to speak too much and embarrass him. Tyler sat there nervous, laughing extra hard when his parents or Lilith had said something that was meant to be perceived as funny or lighthearted; just trying to maintain the armistice. It was working too, but this waiter was just the “fucking pits,” Tyler heard his father say under his breath. Ten minutes elapsed before the lazy bastard even came over to their table; and it wasn’t because the restaurant was hopping on this particular night. It was a Wednesday night, not Friday or Saturday. The waiter could be seen grab-assing with the female wait-staff and checking his phone incessantly. This did wonders for the overall mood and atmosphere of the table.
“God, I’m so thirsty. When is this guy going to take our goddamn drink orders?” Lilith complained loud enough for a couple of people around their table to turn their heads. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a point, she did; but the Swanson family was just different. They come from a long line of relatives who refused send food back that wasn’t satisfactory and they certainly wouldn’t DARE complain about service…at least not so the server could hear it.
Everyone at the table was taken aback. Ray, being the head of the family, lord of the manor, leader of the band decided to take the reigns in order to make an awkward situation…well, a bit less awkward.
“Wow, you really must be thirsty!” Mr. Swanson joked. His exterior defense mechanism aimed at blasting away awkward discomfort was fully engaged. Everyone except Lilith laughed, snatching at the elusive strands of levity that were quickly floating away around them. Cindy glanced at Tyler with an “a little rough around the edges, isn’t she?” look on her face.
The waiter took the hint though and came over to the table promptly following Lilith’s sardonic observation. After he took their orders–not just drink orders because enough time had elapsed that no one needed another indecisive glance at the menu–the uncomfortable small-talk, led by Ray Swanson commenced at the table, much to everyone’s horror. This was due to the fact that Ray had recognized that the benign remark about liking Italian food when they had arrived, coupled with Lilith’s indirect chastising of the waiter was enough to shut Cindy off, good mother or not. Hadn’t Ray been met with that irritating silence himself on enough occasions to recognize it? Yes, I think he had.
It had become an uncomfortable situation for everyone. Tyler, regardless of his suffering grades (suffering, at least, compared to what he used to produce in school) was a very perceptive young man. He understood that his parents were each impregnated with a seed of contempt for his girlfriend, which would be watered and nurtured with every misstep either Ty had made in school, or with every demonstration of Lilith’s fiery disposition.
Ray asked Lilith’s about plans after high school. His wife didn’t remove herself from the conversation. She would not be so blatant. She chimed in just enough to remind everyone she was still there; that is to say, the bare minimum.
Lilith was graduating late due to flunking gym class (as well as having to retake PIG)…a popular class for teenage girls to flunk, and for the same reason: they simply did not go. After hearing about the educational follies which kept Lilith in high school, in time to graduate with her son, Cindy couldn’t chew back the feeling of impending doom and certainty that Lilith intentionally held herself back a grade so that she could remain a fixture in her son’s life. She could never prove that to anyone, obviously, including her husband, to whom she could confide anything. So, she kept it to herself.
Tyler, sensing his mother’s lack of enthusiasm for this gathering, a gathering to which she agreed and seemed enthusiastic about when he approached her when he had arrived home from school that day, worked in tandem with his father to keep the conversation from falling into the deathly precipice of awkward silence. Nothing could be worse than that. Lilith was uncharacteristically polite, perhaps sensing her future mother-in-law’s semi-cloaked aversion to her, but not because she cared what Cindy thought of her…no way; it was because eventually, if
parents push hard enough on their children, the child eventually begins to “see reason” or at the very least, tires of the constant meddling and persuasion and finally decides that “things just aren’t working out.” The end result being the same. As some might philosophize, the end justifies the means. Dirty pool? Who cares?
Lilith’s post high school ideas were what some would call: up in the air with a twist of foolish optimism. She made it clear that her endeavor was to be “something big.” To that, Cindy gave a nearly inaudible scoff and took down a sip of water. It didn’t matter if her scoff was inaudible, for Lilith could hear a whisper from across the restaurant with the Army marching band playing right next to her if she wanted to. The scoff just persuaded her to needle a bit more. Mother-in-laws (even future ones) are notoriously hated, so why should Cindy be any different?
“Jeez, where the hell is this waiter, I’m starving,” Lilith complained, holding out both of the syllables in “starving.” She didn’t yell it, but again, like her discontent with how the drink order was handled, it was loud enough for the waiter and other patrons and employees to hear.
“Shhh! Jeez, Lilith, it’s busy here. The chef is probably just a little backed up,” Cindy lectured. Now it was awkward…for everyone. The Swansons and a couple of the other tables who were within earshot of her second outburst suddenly were stricken taciturn, with light mandolin Muzak drifting lazily from above their heads. The tables around the Swansons resumed their dinner conversation promptly after a quick assessment of the situation, but the Swanson table’s recovery time was a bit sluggish. Gone were Tyler’s hopes for a trouble-free and pleasant evening out with his father and two best gals. Tyler braced himself for the worst, as he knew that not only did Lilith absolutely despise being “shushed,” (which he had found out the hard way) but she also didn’t back down to adults because of the simple fact that they were her elders. She fired right back, guns blazing, sometimes (many times, actually) heavy-handed. If you smack Lilith with a brick, she’ll obliterate you with an entire house. She would—
“You know what, Mrs. Swanson?”
Oh, here it comes…
“You’re absolutely right. See, I used to work in the restaurant business. I did it for awhile, actually.” The Swanson family relaxed slowly but surely as she continued. It was quite comical really, seeing everyone’s shoulders deflate to relaxed positions like punctured balloons. They appeared to give off the same body English as a cat who hears the apartment door burst open precipitously, but settles in once the fine feline friend sees that it is merely the owner walking through the door after a trying day at work.
“I started out as a busser at this place called The Skolpada Inn. I used to love working there because the entire wait-staff and support staff were very chummy with one another. I was a busser for a couple of years, but the money was shit–”
The Swansons, by no means, though that a nineteen year-old girl cursing at the dinner table with their son’s parents was normal, but given the vision of how they thought the evening was going to go after Cindy momentarily lost her cool, they decided: “Shit,” “fuck,” whatever! On with your story, my dear!
“So, I took a bellhop position when it opened up. I had to wait for a position to open, but I also had to wait until I turned eighteen because you can’t serve alcohol in this tree-hugging state before that.”
Ray Swanson agreed; it was a tree-hugging state and finally someone else had the guts to say it as tactlessly as he did. How many times had he used those exact words at his monthly poker night amongst his friends, as well as at work with some sympathetic ears? Too many to count. Yes, he agreed with Lilith’s assessment, but he didn’t take pride in sharing the same political ideology as a naïve and assumingly uninformed teenager. It’s like being embroiled in a gun control debate with a partner who instead of naming the seemingly countless list of reasonable counter points, blurts out “Yeah, well, if the government comes knockin’ on my door, I’m going down blasting away!”
“I got fired from the bellhop position though.” Cindy didn’t look surprised. “I was told that I had to work on Christmas, but that’s a major holiday that my family celebrates. See, it’s only my mother and I here in New York. Christmas is the only time that I get to see my extended family. They’re all out-of-staters.”
Finally, a little humanity out of the girl. The waiter had been the perfect ice-breaker. Talk of the waiter had led to discussing Lilith’s restaurant experience, which paved the way for some talk of a little family history—which was all nonsense, by the way—which finally lead to vacations she had been on and places she had seen as a result of her and her family’s wanderlust. Yes, it was turning out to be a very insightful and informative night, regardless of the fact that very little of what she said was true. She just needed them to relax a little, and they did, as Lilith waited for her opportunity to start her little performance…well, a performance in addition to the one she had been giving.
Lilith kept the conversation moving until the food arrived, which was her goal, for when the food arrives, the conversation is kept to a minimum at the average dinner table, as people are self-conscious about speaking with their mouths greedily crammed with food. When the waiter brought their dinners, nicely placing the plates of food in front of the Swansons and almost dropping Lilith’s in front of her, to the point that the plate nearly bounced when it hit the table, he shot Lilith a cold glare after he asked if there was anything else they needed and retreated to another table he was taking care of. Lilith smiled contently at the waiter’s exasperation as she cracked her knuckles and shook her hands like a pianist preparing for their concerto.
Everyone had picked up their utensils and had gone at their dinners with zeal, as the service was quite slow and appetites had swelled. Lilith forked a piece of gnocchi, maneuvered her fingers so that she was now flimsily holding the fork between her thumb and pointer finger, as she lethargically brought it up to her mouth, looked at it for a second, and slowly put it in her mouth, deep in thought. She looked across the restaurant and spotted their waiter with the end of his sleeve tattoos coquettishly peeking out of the bottom of his shirt cuffs. He was clearing off an empty table where the patrons had left, first absentmindedly stealing a look into and then placing the check-book into the front slot of his apron. He moved on to placing all of the table’s empty glasses onto a brown drink tray. There must have been at least ten glasses precariously perched, jingling their chiming song as each step lightly vibrated the tightly packed glasses against one another.
Lilith looked at that waiter, and squinted her eyes ever so slightly, a gesture that would have remained undetected until perhaps the third loop of an instant replay.
The waiter’s tray was wobbling, the glasses listing this way and that, left, then right, and back to the left, the waiter trying desperately to find the tray’s center of gravity once again.
KER-PSSSSHHHH!
Water glasses, beer pilsners, rock glasses, wine glasses cascaded to the uncarpeted hardwood floor and smashed into thousands of pieces. Sprinklings of glass mixing in with the leavings of soda, water and alcoholic beverages wove a carpet of incandescent peril on the restaurant floor as the ceiling lights reflected off of the large and microscopic glass shards alike. The floor around the table from which the glasses came looked like a polluted and poisoned lake with white-caps.
The owner or manager rushed over to the waiter who was and earlier that evening looked to be in his mid-thirties, but now looked like a sheepish teenager, said something inaudible and crooked his pointer and middle fingers in unison in a “come-hither” gesticulation. The waiter followed the owner/manager off of the dining room floor and into the back, just as a piercing scream erupted at the Swanson’s table; it was Cindy.
Tyler was utterly startled, jumping in his seat and dropping his fork, clanging into his plate.
“What!? WHAT!?” Ray shouted at his wife with a look comprised of two-parts worry and one-part contempt on his face.
“Ugh! For the love of God!” Ray screeched in a sophomoric tone.
Tyler looked at his girlfriend, who sat there, hands clasped together, thumbs lightly tapping eachother slowly and rhythmically. Lilith just gave that signature shoulder shrug accompanied by that cold smirk, which Tyler had noticed, over time, became her trademark. “Things happen,” that shrug said. Yes, things certainly did happen.
* * *
Victor DeFazio, now former waiter of Buon Mangia, had been down on his luck. He was starting to get his life back on track after finalizing the divorce between himself and his bed-wandering wife (ex-wife) Lee-Ann. There had been false reports of felonious assaults and harassment, all of which Victor had to answer to in the form of false arrests and preposterous restraining orders. He had even lost his teaching job when the police came and took him out of Alan B. Shepard High School in handcuffs. In this contemporary and warped society, allegations were enough to not only tarnish, but destroy a man’s career.
Yes, Victor would fight the good-fight, embroiling himself in a lengthy and costly legal battle which, fortunately, he did suddenly have the time for seeing as how he was newly unemployed, but was lacking the sufficient funds to do so. He supposed he would be at the mercy of a lawyer, who would hopefully do his work pro-bono until it came time for a settlement.
A friend of his had put in a recommendation for Victor with the owner of Buon Mangia. Regardless of the fact that Victor didn’t have the required three years of restaurant experience, the owner decided to give him a shot anyway. After all, Giuseppe Fratelli, the owner of Buon Mangia, was coming up on his busy season and could use the extra help, however temporary.