“Can you let me in the office first? I need to get my bank started and clock in,” I asked Frank with a small tap on his shoulder before he could blunder away from me deeper into the kitchen.
“Oh, sure thing, kid,” Frank said.
He unlocked his office door and pushed it open for me. I passed by and headed to the till that sat neatly on the desk, already waiting for the next shift cashier to arrive. I pulled out my keys and cell phone from my slack’s pocket and set it aside to put in my assigned locker outside the office once I got my change.
Frank stomped off, his slight limp giving him an ominous sound. I liked that he trusted me to tend to my own change breaking. He didn’t hover over me and then double count every penny I exchanged into my server’s bank like he did everyone else.
It was nice to be trusted. He may have his quirks, and sometimes, I wanted to wallop him, but he trusted me. I’d saved him more than once by doing his office books for him, sometimes for weeks when his bookkeepers quit with little more than a ten-second notice.
Frank was loud, demanding, had a tendency to only utter rude or brutally honest comments, and was stingy with what he offered in terms of hourly pay. Frank hardly ever cracked a smile unless it was due to someone else’s misfortune. Bookkeepers didn’t usually stick around long enough to learn how to handle him or get to understand him. Not that I blamed them.
When it came to Frank, it was best to be brutally honest right back at him. Especially if you didn’t like how he was acting or what he had just said to you. Otherwise, the grumpy old man didn’t have a clue and probably didn’t care.
I had learned this one day when I had finally reached my limit and had enough of his constant criticism of my appearance. On that particular Saturday morning, I had been scheduled to start my shift at a cheery 6:00 a.m. Upon my arrival, he had boldly informed me I looked like I had just rolled out of bed with my puffy red eyes and long frizzy ponytail flying wild behind me in all directions. He proceeded to comment on my scuffed-up shoes and further asked why I never took the time to put on makeup.
“You wouldn’t be so homely if you put on a little eye shadow now and again. And maybe a dab of that lip color stuff,” Frank squabbled in conclusion to his list of complaints as he limped aggressively behind me like a nagging bully.
Well, that was it. I had had enough. I had only been working there three months at that point, and he had mocked, teased, insulted, or criticized me each and every time I had come to work. Yes, I needed the job. But I also thought if he could dish it out, then by God, he better be ready to take it. Having finally resigned myself to the realization that if I didn’t stand up for me, no one would, I had turned and rounded red-faced on him.
“You know, Frank, if I wanted an opinion about how I look first thing in the morning, I would have a boyfriend sleep over! And if I cared one snotty bit about wearing makeup, then I’m sure you would have seen me wearing some by now! Stop trying to turn me into your dead wife! I am not Katherine!” I had yelled it in his face, one hand on my hip the other pointing him square in the chest.
The words had exploded out of my mouth before I had even processed what I was going to say. Frank stood there with his wrinkly mouth hanging open, shock stuck on his face like bird poop on the windshield. Before he could recover his wits, I had stormed away and headed back into the lobby to greet some construction workers who were patiently waiting by the host podium to see if we were, in fact, actually open this early. Their faces lit up as they saw me storm up to them and offered to them, with a quickly rearranged face, my best-effort welcoming smile.
I had glanced toward the cashiering station to see if Frank was in pursuit and was relieved to see he hadn’t followed me out here. Frank might treat his employees like crap whenever he felt like it, but he never did so in front of his customers and would never let them witness a disagreement. That would be bad for business.
When I had finally snuck back into the kitchen to give the cook the ticket, Frank was waiting for me with a slightly spoiled and swollen look on his pudgy, wrinkly face.
“Come with me, Bishop,” Frank grunted to me and motioned with his fat, stubby finger to follow him.
Oh great. I’m getting fired now. Why couldn’t you have kept your trap shut, Melanie? Man! Not this. No. Please don’t fire me. I need this job.
“In here,” Frank ordered.
He stood in front of his office door, his hand on the glass to hold it wide open. I glanced at his purple face in trepidation and headed inside, my head hanging a little down with dread.
“Sit,” he said from behind me, pointing to the extra chair in the corner farthest from the door.
I went in and sat down in the rickety, swiveling chair. I felt cornered and caged like an animal sitting here, unsure as to what would come next.
Frank came in and closed the office door behind him. He sat down in his big boss’s chair, the stuffing of it flattened nearly invisible beneath his substantial mass. With some effort, he managed to throw his left ankle up to cross onto his right knee. He locked his stubby fingers around his uplifted left knee to hold it in place. If he was going for the confident businessman look, he wasn’t succeeding. He looked more like a blob with two beady little eyes.
“Bishop,” he said, eyeing me dubiously.
“Frank,” I answered, my voice trying for relaxed and failing. I sounded more like a weak, tremulous little girl to my own ears. I hated it when I did that.
He studied me for a moment, the silence making me feel strange and a little more nervous. Maybe that was his plan? To stare me down until he made me break and beg for mercy.
Well, he won’t get any such pleasure from me, I thought, growing a bit more defensive and ready for a challenge. He might be intimidating and a mean old man, but he was nothing compared to my father. He had no idea what I had already endured in my life. If he was trying to break me, he wouldn’t be able to do it.
“Bishop, you remind me a lot of my late wife, Katherine. Did I ever tell you that?” Frank said, his voice softer than I was prepared for.
“Huh?” I said stupidly.
“My wife, you look like her,” he repeated patiently.
“Oh. Yes. You said so the day you interviewed me. And the day after that. And the…Well, you’ve told me quite often, sir,” I said, recalling my job interview and almost every shift since then.
“Well, you look remarkably like she did at your age. Except the hair, hers was a bit darker auburn. And her eyes were a little rounder, not so cat-like,” he said, a rare smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“I remember you saying that too, sir,” I said, trying to be more respectful since he wasn’t ripping my head off and yelling as I had been expecting. “Susan told me the same thing. She said she knew her,” I said conversationally.
Maybe if I kept him talking about his wife, he’d forget that I had yelled at him.
“Yes, she was a good friend to my Katherine. They often would sing duets to the customers on special occasions. Katherine made this place some’in. It’s not the same without her.” He dropped his head then, and I saw how much he missed her.
Rumor had it, Frank was a widower for the past eleven years. He had kept this restaurant open after his wife, Katherine, died and rarely missed a day of work. Susan and Lucy were the servers who had been here the longest and had testified that losing Katherine had nearly destroyed the old goat. Perhaps that’s why he was how he was. He was mad at the world for losing the love of his life.
Susan and Lucy had gathered around me in a hushed whisper one slow work night and told me how romantic Frank used to be. “He showed up at the restaurant in a tuxedo on Katherine’s birthday and sang her Luciano Pavarotti’s ‘If We Were in Love,’” Lucy said with a small smile. “Everyone was crying by the end. He was kneeling on one knee, holding her hands. He used to sing just like Pavarotti. It was so romantic. Katherine just stood there, tears rolling down her face, absolutely speechless. It was beautiful. It was the last
birthday they shared together. She died four months later. The old grump-crab’s never been the same since,” Lucy said sympathetically.
Susan dabbed at her eyes and leaned in. “I think that’s why Lucy and I stick around. Kate would’ve wanted it. But some days I just want to beat him to death, ya know? He’s become so cruel.” She shook herself and straightened her hair as if to reestablish some dignity after tearing up for Frank.
“How sad,” I whispered, my heart aching for him. I snuck a glance at Frank. The grumpy, fat old man was yelling, his hands flying, slashing the air in rage as he chewed out the dishwasher, Alejandro, who had accidently dropped some dinner plates.
Was he even capable of being gentle or romantic?
“Katherine used to tell me straight to my face when I was being a moron, too,” Frank continued, humor coloring his voice and bringing a glint to his eyes. He looked up at me and gave me a real smile. I even got to see his teeth. I never noticed he was missing one in the upper right side before.
“She never took any of my crap. Always called me on it. Never let me get away with anything, the witch.” He chuckled to himself. “Naw, she kept me honest. I think…Well, I resented her sometimes for that. I didn’t realize how rare it was to have, and I didn’t know how much I’d miss it once it was gone.” He stopped speaking for a moment and cleared his throat, looking down at his hands.
I waited quietly for the rest. I’d never heard him speak to anyone about his personal life. He mostly just raved and ranted and bossed people around. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
“I’d forgotten. Thanks for the reminder,” Frank said, meeting my eyes again. A small bit of moisture was wetting his eyes, and he gave me a tightlipped smile.
“Hmm?” I said questioningly.
“Don’t mind me, Bishop. I’m just a lonely, crabby old man. I don’t mean anybody any real harm. I truly don’t mean you any— I’m sorry you have to put up with me. If you want to stay, that is?” Frank asked a bit shyly.
Really? I hadn’t expected him to think I was going to quit. I thought he was going to fire me.
“I’d like to stay,” I said with a small answering smile.
“Good!” he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them, a real smile spreading across his face for the second time. He stood, faster than a man of his great size should have been able to move and walked to the door.
“Well, get your butt up and move, girl. What do you think this is, a break?” he boomed at me from the doorway.
I sat shocked once more by his words and the volume to which he had shouted at me. Then, I saw him wink at me and stomp off toward the kitchens as he greeted someone who had just come in.
“David, you worthless sack of beans. You’re late!” Frank yelled.
I heard David’s even voice as he replied unaffected by Frank’s harshness. “No, sir. I’m early. I’m not scheduled until seven this morning.”
It had been over two years since that conversation with Frank. He hadn’t changed much, just lost about forty pounds since then and was trying to lose another hundred or so. But he had developed a fondness for me after that. And we had an unspoken rule that if he got too nasty, I was allowed to tell him so.
I still chose the when and why carefully, but when I did have a talk with him, he usually wouldn’t get mad. He’d puff up and get any numerous shades or red or purple; then, he’d simmer down and nod, showing the sufficient amount of remorse and acceptance of his scolding, and continue on his girthy way, unabashed. I think he appreciated the honesty.
I sat in the office now, breaking down the big bills I had brought with me to work into smaller ones. I needed the smaller ones to give change back to the cash-paying customers, and I’d also need to cash in some dollars for some coins. I counted back the money in my pouch now and wrote it in my notebook so I wouldn’t forget what I started my bank with.
Notebook? Oops.
With the distraction of the voicemail I had received, I had completely forgotten to observe and report to my notebook any unknown or suspicious cars or people near the house or on my street when I had left the house to come to work. I strongly hoped I hadn’t missed anything important.
I rubbed my face in my hands and then let my head roll back and relaxed my shoulders into a lazy sag. God, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to be here tonight. But the bills won’t pay themselves. Besides, what was I going to do at home anyway? Sit around and be anxious all night? Lock my doors and windows and hide in my shower? No, I’d rather be around people. It wasn’t likely anything would happen to me while I was out in public anyway. I wouldn’t have anything to worry about while I was here.
Here, everything was familiar and safe—the sounds, my coworkers, the smells. I knew it all very well. In a strange way, it felt kind of like a second home.
And Elisabeth and Bradley would be stopping in to see me tonight, I thought, feeling a trickle of comfort. That was something I could look forward to.
I yawned and rubbed my eyes again. I had to wake up. I slid my hands up and back over my hair, pulling out my loose ponytail as I glanced up at the clock on the wall. I smoothed out my hair and put it back in a tighter ponytail and pulled the end around to pet it absentmindedly.
My eyes wandered around the small office. I noticed some new framed pictures had been added to the shelf above Frank’s computer. Curious, I stood to have a closer look. He hadn’t ever put a picture of his deceased wife in the office before, and having been compared to her for the last two years, I wanted to see what he was going on about.
“What the?” I breathed out in astonishment.
The picture was black and white and wrinkled with age and handling, but it could have been me I was looking at. She wore a form-fitting dress suit with a wide-collar dress shirt underneath. She stood straight and elegant, pearls laced around her neck and dangled from her ears. Her hair had a clip on each side to hold it out of her face, while the rest puffed out slightly around her shoulders coming to just below the collarbone.
I leaned in closer to look at her eyes. Yes, they were similar to mine but a little rounder. She appeared to be about twenty-five or so when this picture was taken. I was astonished at the resemblance. I guess the old goat wasn’t as crazy as I had thought.
“Ah, found your lookalike, did ya?” Frank’s big voice said from behind me.
I jumped and turned to see him watching me, a small, sad smile lying innocently on his lips.
“I’m sorry to poke around. I was just curious,” I tried to apologize.
“Nonsense. No reason to be sorry. She does look a lot like you, no?” he asked me, coming into the office and wiping his forehead with the kitchen towel he often had hanging out of his back pocket.
“Yes, she does,” I admitted, turning back to the photo.
“She was twenty-eight there. Lovely, wasn’t she?” he asked me, his voice growing warm.
“Yes, she was,” I said, trying not to think of the fact that by complimenting her meant I was sort of complimenting myself. But wow, she looked sophisticated and elegant. Two things I never thought I could ever look like.
He reached out and pulled forward a different picture from behind it off the shelf.
“This is Katherine with her younger sister, Gloria, and her little niece on a girl’s weekend trip. She loved to take her sister on getaways. I think it was her excuse to go blow money, but what ya gonna do?” Frank said with a small chuckle.
This picture was also in black and white. The two women and little girl in the photo were laughing hysterically, hugging each other tightly as they stood side by side on a short pier in front of a big lake surrounded by mountains.
“Gloria?” I asked. Something about the name was stirring in my memory.
Seeing I was struggling to recall something, Frank faced me. “Yes?” he made it a question.
“What was your wife’s maiden name?” I asked, feeling a tug in my gut toward this line of questioning but not understandin
g why yet.
“Hmm… O’Hair,” Frank said, scratching his head, his eyes drawn tight shut in memory. Or was that pain?
“Do you know Gloria’s married name?” I pressed further.
“From what I recall, she never did get married. Got knocked up and abandoned,” Frank said scandalously.
“Oh. I see. Do you happen to know the name of the little girl? Kate’s niece, that is?” I pointed to the picture in his hand as I asked as uninterested as I could fake it. I didn’t want to give away my growing suspicions until I was sure.
“Let’s see,” Frank said, pressing his lips together in concentration. “Katherine used to talk about her. Hmm…Gloria’s daughter was named…Harriet. No, no that’s not right. Hmm, H…Helen. Helena. That’s it! I remember now. Yes. Both Gloria and my Katherine were pretty distraught when she ran off with some fella she’d met at her first semester in college. Her name was Helena. Definitely.”
“Really?” I breathed out in disbelief, my brain finally clicking and connecting the dots to sound like an explosion of fireworks in my head.
My mom had attended college? I had never known. Well, if this was even the same Helena as my mother, that is.
“Yeah. Last they heard she’d ran off and got hitched shortly after she dropped out of college. Gloria rarely heard from her after that. And one day, she just never heard from her again. Katherine had the hardest time trying to distract her from it all. I don’t think she ever managed to heal those wounds. Katherine always said Gloria died of a broken heart. Could be true,” Frank said more to himself than to me.
Frank was staring longingly at his wife’s face and seemed to grow smaller the longer he looked helplessly at her picture, never to touch or feel her real face again.
“She was kind like that, my Katherine,” he whispered her name with a tenderness I had never heard in his voice before.
I reached out and patted his shoulder in an attempt to give him some small bit of comfort. He reached over and patted my hand with his large sweaty palm and then bristled back up, his moment of loving memory having passed along with my window of opportunity to question him.
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