Revenge of the Bully

by Scott Starkey

  As he walked away he brushed against the table, knocking Rishi’s swan napkin on its side. For the first time it actually looked real to me—a big dead duck in the middle of a plate! I gulped. This was going to be some night.

  We had just finished with the final table when the front doors swung open. Before I could stop him, Rishi stepped forward to greet a middle-aged couple. “Welcome to Mama’s. My name is Rishi. I’ll be the maître-d’ this evening . . .”

  The Boss stepped in front of him. “This busboy will fill your glass with water and keep your table clean. If he don’t, we’ll lock him in the freezer overnight.”

  The lady laughed at what she assumed was a joke.

  Over the next ten minutes, more people began to arrive. Suddenly it felt like hundreds of people were showing up at once! Willy and Cheese tried to seat everyone as fast as they could but a line was forming outside. When one man complained that he had reserved a table by the window, Cheese said, “Oh yeah? How’s about I toss you through da window?”

  While Cheese’s customer service left something to be desired, one thing was certain—I could stop worrying whether people would show up for the opening. Of course, once they tasted the cabbage spaghetti they’d probably never come back, but for now the Boss would be happy.

  A hand gripped my shoulder. It was the Boss. He was anything but happy. His face was whiter than before and his eyes were bulging. “There he is,” he whispered. “Spats Houlihan. All the way from Chicago. And he brought backup.”

  Four men and a couple of women walked in, cutting straight to the front of the line. “Is Spats Houlihan the one with the toothpick in his mouth?” I asked.

  “Use your brain!” the Boss scolded. “The one with the toothpick is Toothpick. Toothpick Tudeski. He’s Spats’s right-hand man. Real mean. Spats is the bald one with the white things over his shoes. The other two mugs with the squashed faces are a couple of tough guys from the old neighborhood. Oh no! Big Mouth is talking to them!”

  Sure enough, Big Mouth Singh had put down his pitcher of water and was busy running his mouth. The Boss and I hurried to the front of the restaurant.

  “Welcome to Mama’s!” the Boss said.

  Spats ignored the greeting and pointed at Rishi. “Who’s dis kid?”

  “Him? That’s just one of our busboys. He—”

  “He seems to know an awful lot about our operation. Says we should expand into Pittsburgh. How would he know about that? You been talking in front of him?”

  Beads of sweat covered the Boss’s forehead. “No! Nothing like that. Just a lucky guess on his part.”

  “Not so lucky for you,” Spats answered. “Makes me wonder if it was a mistake letting you take over Ohio.”

  I was beginning to see that there was nothing friendly about the Boss’s Chicago “friends.”

  Spats looked at his watch. “Are we ever going to sit or are we eating standing up?”

  Before the Boss could answer, Willy started shouting at a young couple waiting in line. “I don’t care if you just got married! You, sit at that table, and you, sit back there where we got room. See the open seat next to them brats?”

  As the woman ran crying from the restaurant the Boss pulled me aside. “Rodney, I don’t trust Willy or Cheese to wait on Spats. I’ve always thought you had smarts. A bright kid. Just tuck in your shirt and be Spats’s waiter tonight. We have to keep him happy.”

  Keep him happy? I’d hate to see him mad!

  The Boss looked at me. “Be his waiter and there’s an extra twenty in it for you. Here.”

  I was finally going to get some money from the Boss! Instead he shoved a pad and pen into my hand.

  “But—”

  “But nothing.” He turned to Spats. “Rodney will show you to your table.”

  Toothpick Tudeski stared at me and shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “He’s just a kid,” he said. “He better not mess up.”

  “That’s right,” Spats added. “I’m expecting everything to be perfect. I didn’t come all this way to get no gravy spilled on me.”

  My knees began to shake as I said, “Follow me.”

  The Boss had set up a special section for them toward the back of the restaurant. It was partially hidden by a heavy curtain and felt like a private room. We were halfway there when a girl called, “Rodney!” I turned around. All the commotion of the place and my concerns melted away. Jessica wore a light blue dress that matched her eyes. She was sitting with her parents and looked better than I’d ever seen her before. She hadn’t told me she was coming. “Rodney, you walked right by us . . .”

  I realized that Spats and his group had come to a stop, waiting for me. The Boss was watching. I looked into Jessica’s big blue eyes. “I’m busy.”

  It wasn’t exactly the response she was expecting. It wasn’t even what I meant to say. “Well!” she declared, folding her arms and turning away from me.

  Spats looked angrily at his watch again. The Boss kept jerking his head in the direction of their table. I had to say something. “Uh, Jessica, I meant—”

  “He meant good-bye,” Toothpick cut in.

  I had no choice but to continue walking them to their table. As I left I heard Jessica’s dad ask, “That’s the boy you’ve been talking about?”

  Rishi ran up to me holding a basket of bread and a pitcher of water. “Here. The Boss said it was for your table. Isn’t this fun, Rodney?”

  After finally getting Jessica to like me again I had just blown it—and six people were expecting me to serve them without making any mistakes. “Fun” was the last word on my mind.

  I handed out the menus and started to fill the water glasses. Spats, Toothpick, and the two guys with the dented faces were eyeing me suspiciously, but I wanted to look back at Jessica. I turned and was about to mouth the words, “I’m sorry.”

  “Watch it, kid!” Spats yelled. I spun around and saw in horror that I had missed his glass and splashed water all over his tie. “Dis is one hundred percent rayon!” he barked.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hooligan,” I blubbered. I reached out with a swan to blot up the liquid.

  “It’s Houlihan,” he corrected me.

  My heart was pounding. “Sorry, Mr. Hoodlum.”

  “HOULIHAN!” he screamed. Half the restaurant looked over. He swatted my hand away from his tie. “You seem pretty nervous, kid. I don’t like nervous people.”

  “Me? Nervous? I’m not nervous. I’m like this all the time. I have a, uh, medical condition. Uh, Jitteritus it’s called. Not contagious, so no worries. Inherited actually. I come from a long line of jitterers on my mother’s side. Say, how about them Bears?”

  Toothpick pointed his toothpick at me and said to Spats, “Maybe he works for the Feds and that’s why he’s nervous. We should check to make sure he’s not wearing a—”

  “Leave him alone,” one of the two women said. “He’s just a kid. And he’s a cute kid at that.” Despite all the chaos, her words made me smile and glance her way. She had long black hair, wore a lot of makeup, and was pretty. She saw me looking at her and smiled back.

  “You making eyes at my lady?” Spats spat.

  “Who, me? Eyes? Oh no, I was looking at the painting.” I pointed to a large picture of Moscow just behind the woman’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I love the way the sunlight hits the Kremlin. Anyway, let me go get some more butter for the bread. Can’t have too much butter, right?”

  “You just tell Francis that we’re hungry. I want to see what my investment tastes like. And shut that curtain so we can have some privacy!”

  I nodded, shut the curtain, and headed straight to the Boss. He was standing just outside the kitchen door and held up his hands as if to ask, “How’s it going?”

  “Well, Francis . . .”

  His eyes locked onto mine. I thoug
ht I was a goner.

  CRASH! Another dish could be heard smashing in the kitchen, followed by an “Oops!” from Josh.

  “Careful!” the Boss yelled through the swinging doors. “One more and it comes out of your salary.”

  Before he had a chance to yell at me, I grabbed some butter off a side table and rushed back to Spats, pulling the curtain behind me. Everyone was studying their menus and talking like I wasn’t even there. I took out my pad and pen and stood quietly against the wall until they were ready to order.

  “Dis is a disaster,” Spats was saying to Toothpick. “Look at this menu. Who ever heard of meatballs and sauerkraut for an appetizer?”

  “No way people are coming back to this place,” Toothpick agreed, flipping through the pages. “Tonight, sure, they’re curious . . . but Mama’s will be shut by next week and you can kiss your money good-bye.”

  Spats didn’t like that. “You can kiss him good-bye if he don’t pay me back.”

  “With all due respect,” Toothpick continued, “I never understood why you backed this guy. He’s been broke for years now. Borrows money from his mother in the morning and loses it at the racetrack by dinner.”

  As I stood there listening, everything became clear to me—but it didn’t make me feel any better. A lot more was riding on tonight and my mom’s review than I had realized. These guys were much tougher than the Boss. In fact, I was beginning to see that the Boss was a big fake. He bullied us around and wore fancy suits like he had a lot of money but . . .

  “You!” Spats barked.

  My pen went flying across the room.

  “How long you been standing there?”

  “Uh,” I stammered, “I was waiting to take your orders.”

  “Been spying on us, huh? This isn’t good—for you!”

  All four men started to rise. I was about to dive under the table when a hand reached in and pulled open the curtain. “THERE you are!” a voice boomed. “Been looking all over for you!”

  I was never so happy to see Mr. Windbagger.

  “I’ll say it again, Rodney, one heck of a game today!” He came into the room and shifted his attention to Spats and the rest at the table. “I’m sure you all know who your waiter is. That’s my boy, Rodney Rathbone!” He grabbed Toothpick’s water glass, took a gulp, and raised it up. Toothpick’s mouth dropped open and his toothpick fell to the floor but Mr. Windbagger was taking no notice. He said, “A toast—to Rodney leading Garrettsville in our big win against Windham!”

  Everyone stared at him in shock.

  “Now don’t be shy, come on, come on . . .” Mr. Windbagger ran around the table sticking a water glass in each person’s hand. He stopped behind Spats and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “You too, pops!”

  I covered my ears.

  Toothpick jumped to his feet and reached for his pocket. “Okay, who do you work for?”

  Mr. Windbagger reached for his pocket—and pulled out a business card. “Proud to say I run my own agency, Windbag Insurance.” He started pumping Toothpick’s hand. “Fred Windbagger here from Garrettsville, USA. I’m a guest tonight of Rodney’s mother, Gloria Rathbone.”

  At hearing my mom’s name, Spats turned in his seat and stared up at me. It was the first time I saw him smile. “Of course, you’re Gloria Rathbone’s son. Gloria Rathbone of the Cleveland Plain Dealer. Francis mentioned you.”

  Toothpick, who still didn’t know what was going on, asked what he should do about Mr. Windbagger.

  “What you should do,” Spats said, “is listen to what this good man suggests we do.”

  A minute later the Boss appeared in the room. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found. Everyone was standing, glasses raised high, shouting, “To Rodney, the world’s greatest waiter!”

  “And running back!” Mr. Windbagger added, whacking Spats again.

  “And running back!” they all agreed. “Here’s to Rodney Rathbone!”

  The Boss was so stunned I had to pour him a glass of water.

  After a minute Mr. Windbagger said, “Great meeting you all. Rodney, be sure to stop over at our table and say hi. Oh, and most important”—he turned to Spats and the group—“did everyone get one of my cards? Not sure what line of work you nice people are in, but there’s no such thing as too much life insurance!”

  Chapter 19

  THE HUNGER GAMES

  If the night had ended at that moment, making up with Jessica would have been my biggest problem. Unfortunately, I was about to learn of another problem from the Boss. “Meet me and Cheese in the kitchen,” he said so only I could hear. “Willy can take care of Spats and his crew.” He hurried away.

  “So,” Spats asked before I had a chance to leave, “your mom’s one of dem two women sitting with that crazy guy who was just here?” He stared across the dining room in her direction.

  I nodded my head “yes.”

  “Good.” He leaned over and whispered something in Toothpick’s ear.

  “Um, I have to go now,” I said. “Great meeting you all.”

  My first order of business was apologizing to Jessica. The Boss would have to wait a minute. As I walked across the dining room to her table I saw a lot of people I knew and said hello to a few, including the Boss’s mother, who was all dressed up for the occasion. I couldn’t help notice, however, that everyone was frowning and grumbling about how long it was taking for the food to come out.

  “Do you know when my order will be ready?” a woman asked as I passed by.

  “Any minute,” I said. “I’ll check with the chefs.”

  “Thank you, son. It’s taking forever.”

  What was going on with Big Earl and Weasel? I was beginning to guess they might be the reason the Boss wanted to see me in the kitchen, but right now I had trouble of my own. Jessica had spotted me coming and turned her head in the other direction. I was two tables away from her when Coach Laimbardi called out, “Rodney, come over here a second and meet my wife!”

  He and Coach Manuel were sitting in a booth with their wives. I shook hands with both women and said to Mrs. Laimbardi, “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m not sure our desserts will live up to your cheesecake.”

  She laughed. “Oh, yes, Vince just loves his sweets.” She patted Coach Laimbardi’s hand. They all seemed real nice, including Coach Manuel’s wife. It was a welcome change from Spats and Toothpick.

  Coach Laimbardi said, “Rodney, I still feel like I’m floating after today’s game. Pull up a chair, we need to celeb—”

  “Rodney!” the Boss ordered from the kitchen door.

  “Gotta go,” I said to Coach. “I’ll join you when I get a chance.”

  I ran over to Jessica’s table and started to say “sorry” but had only gotten “so” out before the Boss called me a second time.

  “So?” Jessica asked. “That’s all you can say?” Her parents frowned and shook their heads.

  I tried one last time. “Jessica, and Mr. and Mrs. Clearwater, I promise I’ll make it up to you but we’re very busy and I have to help out in the kitchen.”

  Jessica’s father reached out and grabbed my arm. “Can you at least get us some bread? I’m starving to death!”

  “Dad!” Jessica blushed, looking prettier than ever.

  “Of course,” I said, seeing my chance to set things right. “No problem.” I gave Jessica a wink and was thrilled to see her smile back. “I’ll be right out!”

  I tore off into the kitchen—and was shocked by what I found. Josh was standing knee-deep in a pile of broken dishes . . . but there was nothing strange about that. I was shocked because no one was cooking.

  “Where are the chefs?” I asked the Boss.

  “Exactly!” he yelled. “Where are the chefs?”

  Cheese shrugged. “Haven’t seen them in an hour.”

  Besides the fact
that restaurants tend to get bad reviews when they forget to serve food, I felt sorry for all those people sitting around in the dining room. I gave it some thought. “Did anyone check the freezer? I know Big Earl naps in there sometimes.”

  Cheese stomped into the walk-in freezer. He emerged ten seconds later, alone and shivering. “It’s freezin’ in there!”

  I was about to say “Duh!” but bit my tongue. I could tell from the panicked look on the Boss’s face this wasn’t the time for jokes. “What about out back?” I suggested. “Sometimes Weasel hangs out in the alley.”

  Before waiting for the Boss to say anything, Cheese disappeared through the screen door. This time he had better luck.

  “Put me down!” Weasel whined as Cheese returned to the kitchen. He was dangling in Cheese’s left hand. Cheese’s right hand gripped Big Earl.

  “Where do you want dem?” Cheese asked the Boss.

  “You can throw them in that pot of boiling water for all I care.”

  For a second I thought Cheese might do it. Instead he let them go as the Boss approached and started yelling, “Where were yous? Everyone’s waiting for their dinner! Have you made the borscht? The meatballs? Stuffed the cabbage?”

  Big Earl shrugged like he didn’t care. “I don’t know how to make that food.”

  “What?” the Boss hollered. “We went over the whole menu!”

  “Yeah, all that weird stuff,” Weasel mumbled. “I only make scrambled eggs.”

  “This is a disaster!” The Boss stuck his head in his hands. “I’m ruined! You two are going to get me in real hot water with Chicago!”

  Josh looked over into the pot of boiling water and scratched his head.

  “Anyway,” the Boss continued, “get going and cook the things we talked about!”