The Boss was shaking his head “no” but was too stunned to defend himself.
“Toothpick!” Spats ordered, keeping his angry eyes fixed on the shaking Boss, “Take this idiot ’round back and . . .”
The pretty woman with the long black hair leaned forward. “Toothpick’s puking on the sidewalk.”
At that very moment, with the most horrid timing ever, Willy and Cheese marched in from the kitchen with the first of the appetizers. Cheese proudly announced, “Here comes da food, everybody!”
One lady blurted, “Who can eat after that?”
She was right, but the plates were delivered to her table, and instead of gagging she poked with a fork at what looked like some meatballs covered in wet leaves. Her nostrils twitched. Tentatively, she cut into the ball and took a nibble. The moment of truth. “This is di . . .” She paused, getting the attention of the other diners at her table. She soon had the attention of the whole restaurant and the customers returning from outside.
Di what? I frantically wanted to know. Disastrous? Disgusting? Demented?
“Di what?” the Boss screamed, seeing that Toothpick was back.
“This is . . . delicious. I’ve never had a meatball taste so good.”
“You got to try this soup,” a man sitting across from her said. “It’s sweet, it’s spicy, it’s creamy, it’s . . . Oh, I have to order another bowl. Waiter!”
As the food was brought out from the kitchen, all you could hear was the sound of knives and forks clinking on plates. I saw nodding heads and everyone began eating with gusto—even the people still recovering from Rishi’s video recap. I couldn’t believe it. How could anyone eat after that?
Rishi appeared at my side. “As usual I saved the day. Look at my timing. The video finished just as the food arrived.”
“Maybe we could have done without the big finish.”
“What? That’s the best part,” he said, smiling. “Okay, time to fill more water glasses.”
“I’ll join you in a second,” I said.
Things looked like they had calmed down at Spats’s table, now that the food had arrived and everyone was busy stuffing their faces. The Boss got up to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” Spats ordered. Maybe things hadn’t calmed down.
“Um, thought I’d check on the kitchen . . .”
“You ain’t going nowhere. This is the best meal I ever tasted. Everyone in the joint is loving it. As far as I’m concerned, you can open ten more restaurants! Now sit. Stay with us. Tonight, you’re da guest of honor.” Spats raised his glass in the air and shouted, “To Francis!” Everyone at the table joined in.
While I knew the Boss hated people hearing his real name, he sure looked happy—and relieved. He noticed me watching. So only I could see, he raised his glass a little and nodded his head at me. For the second time that night, I was being toasted at Spats’s table.
As I dashed around clearing plates, I learned just how chaotic working in a busy restaurant could be. It seemed like in every direction there was something that needed to be done. I sprinted around grabbing dirty plates, filling water, wiping crumbs from tablecloths, and replacing Toothpick’s toothpicks. All the while, people I knew surrounded me and said hello. It was hard being polite and making small talk while getting everything accomplished.
But even though I was sweating and my feet hurt, I was aware of something else. It seemed that everyone liked the food. I mean really liked it. All over I heard people saying, “This is delicious,” and going “Mmmmmmm!”
At one point Mr. Windbagger called me over and said, while licking his bowl, “I don’t know what this goulash goop is, but man is it good. Ethel, forget the Ponderosa. We’re coming here from now on.”
My mom said, “Rodney, do you see the bald man at the table over there?”
“Who, Spats Houlihan?”
“No. Who’s Spats Houlihan?”
“Oh nobody, I just made up the name, haha.”
She gave me a funny look. “I’m talking about Michael Symon. He’s Cleveland’s most famous chef. He must have heard about the Russian-Italian menu. It’s never been done before. Rodney, you’re working in one of the most innovative restaurants in America.”
“You’re saying you like it?”
“Like it? The food has more than lived up to the hype. It’s probably the best restaurant in Ohio.”
“So you’re going to give Mama’s a good review?” I finally asked.
My mom smiled. “I would, of course,” she began, “but after those flowers arrived at the table I realized that they knew who I was. I called my editor and he agreed that I shouldn’t review it. Plus with you working here, and all the advertisements with your face on them, well, it just didn’t feel right.”
“You mean we have to pay for this!” my dad shouted.
“Yes, Donald, we’ll have to pay for dinner, like everyone else. I already told Fred and Ethel that they would be our guests.”
My dad sunk down in his seat. Wiping his face with a napkin, Mr. Windbagger said, “Thanks, Donald. Think I’ll order another one of them blini desserts.”
My mom looked at me. “I hope you’re not disappointed that I decided not to review Mama’s.”
Oddly enough, I realized my dad was probably a lot more disappointed than I was. So much had happened over the past few hours that I no longer cared or worried about the Boss or Spats or even Mrs. Lutzkraut. To be honest, I only had one thing on my mind—Jessica.
My family started to get up to leave. My dad said to me, “I’ll pick you up once I drop everyone off.”
“Yep. Thanks.”
I said good-bye to them and the Windbaggers and continued clearing plates. Most of the restaurant began to finish their desserts and head home. There was one table still finishing. I went up to them. Jessica had returned from the kitchen and was sitting with her parents.
“So, did you like everything?” I asked.
Mr. Clearwater looked at me. His face wasn’t angry or anything, but it wasn’t warm and inviting either. “Eventually,” he said, “once the food finally arrived.”
I knew he was pretty serious and strict. I remembered how he’d sent my friend Greg home when he wanted to practice for our Robin Hood play last year. I’d been happy about that, but now it was my turn to face him. It was now or never.
“Mr. Clearwater, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to take Jessica out to dinner one night next week.”
Mrs. Clearwater smiled at her daughter. Jessica blushed, shifted in her seat, and looked nervously at her dad.
“Rodney, I think my daughter is a little young to be going to dinner with boys.”
My stomach dropped.
“That being said, I guess a dinner would be all right. As long as I can drive both ways and sit at the next table . . .”
“Daaaaad!” Jessica whined.
“All right, a table on the other side of the room.”
Jessica made a face but I said, “I think that sounds great.”
I saw a large shadow begin to form over the table and realized Cheese had come up in back of me. I turned around.
“Dat was cute wit da dad. Listen, Boss wants to talk to you. In his office. Now. Wit Rishi.”
I said good-bye to Jessica and her parents, grabbed Rishi, and walked into the office. Like that first time we met him, the Boss was sitting behind his big wooden desk. I couldn’t believe only a couple of months had passed. Not even.
“You two did real good tonight,” the Boss said. “Spats loved everything. Da place was packed and we got enough reservations to last us till New Year’s. I think we can finally talk about money.”
Rishi elbowed me.
“Yup, we made a boatload tonight.” He slid an envelope across the desk. “That’s for you and your friends. There’s going to be plenty more where that cam
e from.”
Rishi blurted, “Now we’re talking!”
I sat there looking at it. The envelope looked full. A number of things I wanted to buy flashed across my mind, but then I thought about the things my dad was always telling me . . . about what really mattered in life. “You can keep my share,” I said. “Buy something nice for your mother with it.”
“Rodney, what are you doing?” Rishi hollered.
I ignored Rishi and continued talking to the Boss. “We helped you out and I’m glad Mama’s will be a hit, but all I want now is to go back to being a normal student. I think the restaurant business will have to get along without me.”
The Boss frowned. I couldn’t tell if he was insulted, confused, or just tired from the long night. “If dat’s really what you want, I ain’t gonna twist your arm.” He picked up the cash envelope and handed Rishi some money. “Dis is for you and the other guys. As for your friend here, I think he’s making a mistake.”
“We’ll see,” I said, but as I stood to leave, I felt real good about my decision.
Once outside the office I said to Rishi, “Sorry, but I can’t do all this anymore. There are a lot of other things I want to focus on.”
He paused, then his eyes widened. “Hey, yeah, me too! I’m thinking Hollywood. I’m going to make some calls tomorrow. I see big things for us, Rodney. Big things!”
I laughed. Good old Rishi. While he rambled on about the movies, I collected Josh and Pablo. The Boss had told Pablo he could leave his bike in the kitchen and get it tomorrow.
“Ready to go?” my dad asked. He had just returned to take us home.
“You bet,” I said.
As we walked to the car, he looked over at me. “So how does it feel to be a real working Joe?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I’m retired.”
Rishi told my dad about how I had turned down the money. “What do you think of that, Mr. Rathbone?”
My dad didn’t answer right away. It was only after we had dropped everyone off and gotten out of the car that he looked at me across the Honda’s roof, smiled, and said, “Good job tonight, son. Real good job.”
Chapter 20
A NIGHT AT THE BRICK
“Cheers!” I said.
Jessica’s glass of Sprite clinked with my root beer. She looked out from our booth at the wooden tabletops and brick walls. Some guys at the bar were arguing about a game on the TV. “This is, uh, nice,” she said.
“Hey, it may not be fancy but wait until you try a Freddy Burger. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted one!”
“What’s so special about it?”
“Who knows? It comes with ketchup, mustard, pickles, relish, mayonnaise, onions, and cheese, but just knowing the ingredients doesn’t mean anyone can make it. My dad tried to duplicate it once. It tasted like a shoe.”
She laughed. “I didn’t know you ate shoes.”
“Ah yeah, delicious.”
I was having a great time with Jessica. It felt like I was finally picking up where I had left off with her before heading to summer camp.
The waitress who had brought our drinks came back to the table. “You kids finish deciding yet?”
“Sure,” Jessica said, putting down the menu, “I’ll have a Freddy Burger. And hold the mayonnaise, please.”
“How do you want it cooked?”
“Well done.”
“I’ll have the same,” I said, “but make mine medium rare.”
The waitress nodded and walked off.
“You like it bloody?” Jessica asked.
“I prefer to think of it as juicy. And what’s with the well done? You’d probably like my dad’s shoe recipe,” I teased. It was fun to joke around with her. “Besides, I like mayonnaise.”
“That’s just gross,” she said. She took a sip of her Sprite. “Actually, I kind of figured you were going to take me to Mama’s tonight.”
It had been exactly a week since the grand opening. “I’ve decided to leave Mama’s behind,” I explained.
She nodded. “Probably a good idea. That owner seemed real bossy. What was his name again?”
“Uh, the Boss.”
“Yeah, a real mean guy.”
I wasn’t sure about that. When Pablo had gone back to pick up his bike the next morning, he said the Boss had talked to him for like an hour. Pablo told him all about how he wanted to be an artist and about the art school that gave lessons on Saturdays. The Boss told him stuff about when he was growing up, and how tough it was without money. Three days later a letter arrived at Pablo’s house. Someone had paid for him to go to the art school for a whole year.
“Okay, Rodney,” Jessica continued, “so you’re leaving the restaurant business. What now? Football season is over. Mrs. Lutzkraut is . . . well I don’t know where she is, but I doubt she’ll be bothering you again.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew deep down Mrs. Lutzkraut wasn’t going anywhere.
Jessica asked again, “So then what’s next for you?”
I was sure I could count on Rishi to get me in trouble before long, but I also kept that thought to myself. I got the feeling Jessica wanted to hear something else from me—and I couldn’t wait to tell her. “Well, there’s this girl I like. Maybe I could spend more time with her.”
She smirked. “Who is this girl?”
“She’s blonde . . .”
“Yeah?”
“And she’s got blue eyes . . .”
“Yeah?”
“And the happiest day of my life was when she kissed me last year after graduation.”
A man three tables away dropped his newspaper sharply. Mr. Clearwater stared at me and I tightened up. Uh-oh, I had forgotten he was there.
“Daaad,” Jessica whined, “Rodney was only kidding.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just kidding!”
He let out a breath and went back to his paper.
For the next few minutes Jessica and I limited the conversation to Kayla and Rishi and other silly stuff. Finally the waitress returned with our Freddy Burgers. I saw in a second that Jessica would be happy. I, on the other hand, couldn’t believe my eyes. Both burgers were burnt to a crisp.
“I asked for medium rare!” I cried. I had never seen them mess up an order before.
The waitress looked concerned. “I’m sorry about that, honey. We just hired two new guys in the kitchen and everything they touch comes out horrible. I would offer to get you a new burger but it would probably be even worse.” She turned to leave, adding, “One of them keeps bragging that all he cooks is eggs. We don’t even serve eggs!”
“Do you know their names?” I asked, although I was pretty certain I knew the answer.
“Let’s see . . . one is called Woodchuck or something and the other one is Big . . . Big . . .”
“Big Earl?”
“Yeah, I believe you’re right. Are they friends of yours?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“Well, let me know if you need anything else.” She smiled, gave a check to whoever was sitting in the booth behind Jessica, and disappeared to the front of the restaurant.
I stared at my plate and shook my head. For days I had been looking forward to a Freddy Burger. I imagined Mrs. Lutzkraut watching me through a big crystal ball and laughing. She had gotten Mama’s cooks fired last Saturday and her evil was still causing me problems. “I hate well-done burgers,” I complained.
Jessica giggled. “Look at tough Rodney Rathbone . . . ready to cry over a burger!”
I smiled at her. “Maybe I’m not that tough after all.”
“Yeah, right,” she said.
“Maybe I got everyone fooled.”
She began speaking to me in a tone like a kindergarten teacher. “Rodney, we don’t have to go through all your tough-guy adventures. I mea
n, the whole town knows you took out Josh on your very first day last year.”
“It wasn’t me,” I answered back. “It was a baseball. It hit him in the nose and rolled under a bush. Nobody saw it.”
“A baseball?” she laughed. “Who’d ever believe something so ridiculous?”
I shrugged. She was right. If an author had used that in a book they’d never be taken seriously.
Jessica continued, “Besides, I saw you fight Josh with my own eyes. Remember when you gave him a karate kick at the end-of-year dance?”
“I slipped on the wet floor.”
“What about the time you took me off that ravine in that big sled? What about the McThuggs? What about Old Man Johnson?”
She was recounting all my daring acts from last year.
“All luck,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, then what about at summer camp? When I came up that day, everyone kept talking about how you won all the competitions and beat that snotty rich kid. What was his name again?”
“Todd Vanderdick.” Just thinking of his name made me want to puke. “He had it in for me from the first day of camp,” I explained. “It only got worse when I stopped his dumb father from developing Camp Wy-Mee. But I’m telling you, Jessica, it was luck that I beat him. My canoe took a wrong turn.”
It felt great to finally be getting everything off my chest.
“Okay, if you really are telling the truth, why are you telling me?”
I looked into her big blue eyes. I was about to tell her that I liked her so much that it didn’t matter if she knew I was secretly a coward. As I went to open my mouth I thought, This might be the happiest moment of my life.
“Yes, Rodney,” a kid’s voice snickered from the booth in back of Jessica, “why are you telling her?”
My heart started pounding. I knew that voice from somewhere. I saw two legs swing around from the booth as the person started to rise. In a flash I noticed pink socks under fancy brown pants. As the figure rose I saw a yellow shirt followed by—Todd Vanderdick! He looked down at me and sneered. “Actually, my dad and I would both like to know.”
Revenge of the Bully Page 20