A Life On College Hill

by Lawrence F. Dooling

  After my dinner was eaten, Meghan had me sit on the floor so she could rub my neck and shoulders. I knew she was going to make a great nurse. There was healing magic in her hands. The aches and pains of a long workday melted under her fingertips.

  “This would be nice to come home to every night,” I said.

  I caught myself as I said it. We hadn’t talked about life after graduation. My massage stopped abruptly, and I was afraid to turn around. When I worked up the courage to look, I saw fear in her eyes.

  She took up the theme, “This semester is going to be over before we know it. Then what happens?”

  “Hopefully, we get jobs,” was all I could say.

  Getting a job would not be difficult for Meghan. Every hospital in the region was looking for nurses, and she was sifting through multiple job offers. I, on the other hand, had only one interview. That was with a company looking for auditors to work out of their Omaha, Nebraska office. If I got the job, I would have to complete a five-year tour in the Midwest before I would be able to put in for a transfer back East.

  Exhaustion got the better of me, and I drifted off to sleep. I woke at three o’clock, and Meghan and I were still on the sofa. She was awake and watching me.

  “Look at the time!” I said in a panic. “Why didn’t you wake me to take you home?”

  “I didn’t have the heart. You were sleeping so soundly.”

  “Have you been awake the whole time?”

  “I dozed off for a bit, but I was worried about you getting up for work.”

  “Too bad you didn’t have any homework to do.”

  We both laughed, remembering the night I sat up watching over her.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” I asked.

  She walked over to my closet and said, “No, I’ll just wear your sweat suit and sleep here. You can take me home on your way to work.”

  “Um . . . yeah, about the sweat suit . . . .”

  The next three days were as crazy as Monday. Some of the teams had been eliminated by Friday, so the crowds thinned out a little. We had gone through so much food that I had to place a large order from the supply house to replenish our stock. The two-week supply of chili was gone by Thursday. To the chagrin of many regular customers, I had to scratch it from the menu.

  Meghan’s question was never far from my mind. What would happen after graduation? Would we say goodbye and go our separate ways? She seemed to be waiting for me to get a job before deciding on one of her offers. It was difficult to think too far into the future until I knew where I’d be working.

  Chet was back Sunday morning, and he opened up. I had the morning off and came in around noon. He immediately took me back into the kitchen. Chet grabbed the receipts from the supply house and shook them in front of my face.

  “Was it necessary to empty out their warehouse?” he asked.

  “It was busy, did you look at the bank deposits?” I replied. I had deposited a small fortune while he was sitting on the beach. His little restaurant was a gold mine.

  “No, where are they?”

  “They’re in the top desk drawer, where you told me to put them.”

  He took a quick look at the deposit slips and launched into a tirade so profane it would have made a sailor blush. I was stunned at his reaction, and my knees shook as I wondered what I had done.

  “Chet, what’s wrong? I asked.

  He thundered, “I sat on that damn beach, sweating blood, worrying what was going on back here. If I had known you were doing this much business, I would’ve stayed another week and enjoyed myself.”

  Relieved that he wasn’t angry, I asked, “Why didn’t you call? I would have told you how things were going.”

  “Dolores had the phone taken out of the room,” was his angry reply.

  Chet was incredulous. “Did you feed an army?”

  “There was a basketball tournament on campus. Meghan sent people down here by the busload. She even helped me out behind the counter.”

  His tone immediately softened. A suddenly grateful Chet said, “Please tell Miss Mallory she’ll never pay for another meal here as long as she lives.”

  “Can I ask you a question, Chet? How do you work so many hours? I don’t think I could do this job seven days a week.”

  “Randy, I can’t keep up this pace. I’ve hired any number of cooks over the years. The good ones take what I teach them and open their own restaurants. The bad ones rob me blind until I fire them.”

  He took a minute to look over all the paperwork from my week at the helm.

  “Three years ago, I decided to run the place by myself for as long as I could. Either I’ll put together enough money to retire or I’ll build the business up so someone will want to buy me out.”

  Looking to make sure my busboy career was over, I made Chet an offer, “I think I have opening and closing down pretty well, and I don’t have morning classes this semester. If you want to sleep in, I’ll open up and work until I have to go to class. Maybe I could close up a night or two if you want to go home and have dinner with Dolores.”

  Chet’s eyes got big. “You have a deal,” he said.

  Bottom of the Fourth Inning

  When Friday rolled around, I eagerly anticipated my paycheck. In seven days, I had worked about ninety hours. They were split over two pay periods, but that just meant I had two good Fridays. Chet handed me an envelope that contained my paycheck plus my bonus of five crisp hundred-dollar bills. Combined, my pay was over a thousand dollars, as I recall. I had earned every penny.

  Meghan and I were in the library Friday afternoon making plans for the weekend.

  “How would you like to go out to dinner tomorrow night?” I asked her.

  “We don’t have to do that,” she said. “Why don’t we just go to a movie?”

  “A movie just isn’t enough. I need to thank you properly for all your help.”

  “Where do you want to go? No offense, but I’m tired of eating at Chet’s.”

  “How about having dinner at the Valley House?”

  “The Valley House is the swankiest place in town!”

  “Let’s be honest, Meghan, it’s the only swanky place in town.”

  “Let’s do it!”

  I left the library and rushed down to Williams Flowers. Mary Williams remembered me and said, “You’re Meghan’s friend!”

  “Yes, ma’am, you have a good memory,” I replied. “I need to order a dozen long-stemmed red roses for tomorrow.”

  “Would these happen to be for Meghan?”

  “Please don’t spoil the surprise, but, yes, they are for Meghan.”

  A huge smile appeared on her face. “It sounds like you two are a little more than just friends.”

  All I could do was smile back at her.

  Chet let me off work early on Saturday. We had reservations for dinner at eight, and I wanted to pick Meghan up by seven-thirty. I stopped by Williams Flowers on my way home and picked up the box of roses.

  A large envelope from the American Agricultural Company was protruding from my mailbox when I reached my apartment. My one and only job interview was with that company. I had left the interview feeling good about it. The recruiter had worked his way through college waiting tables. We bonded during the interview, telling each other restaurant war stories.

  But Omaha was a long way from the Valley, and I wasn’t sure I wanted the job. If they made me an offer, I’d have to think about it. After the disastrous finals week of the last semester, my options were somewhat limited. I ripped open the envelope but wasn’t sure what I wanted the enclosed letter to say.

  Meghan was waiting when I picked her up at the sorority house. I walked in, handed her the box, and turned as red as the roses. Her entire sorority came into the room to check us out before our date. A few even had cameras, and flash bulbs started popping.r />
  She held the roses up for all to see. “Oh, Randy, they’re beautiful!” Meghan gushed.

  There were plenty of oohs and aahs from the gathering of Delta Theta sisters as they admired the flowers.

  “Not quite as beautiful as you, but they were the best Central Valley had to offer,” I replied. She was embarrassed and raised her arm as if she was about to smack me on the shoulder. Instead, she slowly took hold of my forearm and thanked me for the compliment.

  Meghan took note of my freshly pressed suit and neatly knotted tie.

  “No one gets through twelve years of Catholic school without learning how to tie a tie,” I told her.

  “Does Randy have a twin brother you could share with us?” one of the girls asked.

  Meghan laughed and said, “Yes, he does actually have a twin.”

  I told them, “He’s kind of spoken for already.”

  The Valley House sits in the heart of Main Street. We arrived at eight and were seated after a short wait. You could tell Meghan was accustomed to the finer things. She breezed through the menu even though half of it was in French. As for me, I had difficulty determining fish from fowl. My two years of high school Spanish did little to help me decipher the menu. It didn’t really matter because I knew what I wanted: I was going to order a steak, and not the kind that was shoveled into a roll.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Meghan asked. “This place is a little pricey.”

  “Please order whatever you like. I owe you so much more than dinner.”

  Meghan selected an entrée I couldn’t pronounce. She even knew which wine to order. Fortunately, filet mignon, medium rare, was easy enough to for me to say. I wasn’t worried about a wine list. A beer with my steak would do just fine. To fit the occasion, I ordered an import.

  We dined by candlelight for a very romantic hour. I’m certain the conversation was pleasant, yet I can’t recall a word that was spoken. My meal was absolutely the best I had eaten since leaving my parents’ house, but I can’t remember tasting a single morsel.

  Gazing at her through the flickering candlelight put me into a trance. Meghan looked so incredibly happy that nothing else registered in my memory. The only thing I know for sure was that I ruined everything. It was high school all over again. Open my mouth and out comes stupid.

  The waiter had just brought dessert to the table when I said, “I finally have a job offer.”

  Meghan looked excited, at first, but quickly turned serious.

  “Not in Omaha!”

  “Well, yeah, that’s been my only interview,” I replied. Trying to draw a laugh, I said, “I’m batting a thousand.”

  It didn’t work. She became angry. “Is that what tonight is all about? Is this how you tell me goodbye?”

  I was on the defensive. “No, I didn’t know about the offer until this afternoon. I have two weeks to let them know.”

  Not another word was spoken through the rest of dessert. It was soul crushing to know I had upset her.

  Meghan only finished half of her dessert before pushing the plate away. “Let’s get a drink,” she said.

  Thankful to hear her speaking again, I eagerly replied, “The bar here is supposed to be first class. Why don’t we try it out?”

  “Not here, let’s go to Donny’s,” she insisted.

  It was a great idea; she was always happy at Donny’s. We strolled into the townie bar dressed for the nicest place in town. I thought Hank was going to have a stroke. He tripped as he rushed out, from behind the bar, to wipe off our seats.

  “The first round is on me,” he said. “You’re the best-dressed customers I’ve ever served.”

  Meghan’s mood had improved. “So, Randy, what are you going to do with your newfound wealth?” she asked.

  Without hesitation I answered, “The first thing I have to do is put new tires on my car. There aren’t ten miles left on the old ones. After that, I guess I should buy another suit. I’ll need to wear a suit and tie wherever I end up working.”

  Jokingly, I added, “Maybe I’ll get my nose fixed.”

  That night I had seen Meghan serious, and I had seen her angry, I was about to see furious.

  “Don’t . . . you . . . dare!” she stammered. “I love your face just the way it is. You get that nose fixed and I’ll break it again!”

  Her reaction shocked me, but I couldn’t help laughing. Realizing I wasn’t serious, Meghan calmed down and laughed along with me. She strolled over to the jukebox and filled the bar with the sound of Chicago’s “Colour My World.” It was the last song played at her formal.

  Meghan walked halfway back to me and held out her arms. She held on tightly while we danced and said, “Please don’t go to Omaha.”

  I didn’t think I wanted the job. Her asking me not to go was reason enough to turn it down.

  “Meghan, you should know that you mean more to me than a job,” I answered. But that answer did not satisfy her. She gently ran her finger over the scar on my nose and said, “Promise me you won’t go.”

  I pulled away and looked unflinchingly into her eyes. “A gentleman could never refuse a request from a lady,” I replied.

  She smiled and put her head back on my shoulder. The song ended, but she wouldn’t let go and kept dancing. When the same song started playing again, she said, “Three songs for a quarter.”

  Two weeks after Chet returned from Florida, I was working a wintry Saturday morning. It was a blustery day, and I was happy to be working in front of the hot grill. It was so ridiculously cold outside that the front window frosted over, making it impossible to see the snow falling onto Main Street. Cold air flooded the restaurant when Dolores came in through the kitchen door.

  “Your car is blocking the dumpster. Give me your car keys and I’ll move it for you,” she said.

  It was more of a demand than a request.

  “Dolores, they don’t empty the dumpster on Saturday,” I said. For some reason I felt as though I had to defend my parking spot.

  Dolores stared at me with her hand held out. She could be just as intimidating as Chet. I handed her my keys and returned to the grill. My first break came after lunch, and I stepped out back for some air. The Pinto was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t imagine where she had gone with it. Several inches of snow had already fallen that morning, and more was on the way. It was embarrassing to think she would drive my rolling wreck in the bad weather.

  She walked back in an hour later and said, “Sorry, I forgot I had your keys.”

  When I was finished for the day, I found she had parked in the same spot by the dumpster. I was so eager to get on with my Saturday night, I didn’t even wonder why. I scraped the snow from my windshield and noticed a note on the dash board.

  Dear Randy,

  We need to keep you in one piece because you’re worth your weight in gold. Thanks for a great vacation.

  Dolores

  Attached to the card was a receipt from Miller’s Tire Service for a set of A78-13 Deluxe Champion tires. There were the new tires I had been wishing for and worrying about for over a year. They looked good, and the car looked great with new shoes. As excited as I was about the tires, I couldn’t get over the note.

  I read and reread the words you’re worth your weight in gold. I never thought of myself in those terms. I never imagined anyone else would.

  The semester flew by as rapidly as Meghan had predicted. We were less than two weeks from graduation, and I still didn’t have a job. I was closing up the restaurant on a Wednesday night. Meghan had come in while I was cleaning and was studying in one of the booths. We were going to go to the library when I was finished because finals were about to begin.

  With my work completed, I sat down next to her and watched her pack up her books. We were both surprised when Chet and Dolores walked through the front door. They sat down in the booth with us an
d began a pitch that, I’m certain, must have been rehearsed.

  Dolores started it off. “Look at you two. It’s so close to graduation that I can almost see you wearing your caps and gowns.”

  We both smiled.

  Chet picked up the conversation. “It is never going to be the same around here after you two graduate. Meghan, this old place never looks better than when you’re in it. Randy, you gave me my life back, if only for a couple of months.”

  Dolores added, “If you weren’t here to run things, I never would have seen Florida.”

  “I appreciate the opportunity. There’s no way I could have made it through college without this job,” I said.

  Dolores turned to Meghan and asked, “Have you decided which job offer you’re going to take?”

  “Not yet,” she replied, “I’m still thinking it over.”

  “I’m sure you’re happy Randy isn’t going to Omaha.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she politely replied.

  Dolores turned to me and asked, “Any luck in your job search?”

  It was so thoughtful of Dolores to remind me that my girlfriend had job offers and I didn’t. I bit my tongue and politely replied, “Not yet. I’ve sent out a lot of resumes. It’ll just take some time.”

  That was Chet’s cue. “Where are the other business students finding work?”

  “Philadelphia and New York,” I replied.

  “Oh, sure, big cities, that’s where you go to get a job,” he said.

  Now it was Dolores’s turn. “Costs a lot of money to live in a big city. What kind of salaries are they getting?”

  “The average is around twelve thousand a year,” I replied.

  Chet and Dolores both grimaced.

  Dolores said, “Living in a big city will eat up every dollar of that salary. They won’t be able to save a dime.”

  Chet looked at Dolores and said, “It doesn’t cost much money to live in a small town like Central Valley. A young man making twelve grand in the Valley would live like a king. He could get a nice apartment and a new car, but I guess there aren’t many jobs in the Valley that would pay that much.”