Page 14 of Hurts So Good
Most of the staff didn’t like to work Sundays. Except Phillip. There was no hostess, no busboys, and the bar was closed. He got to work both sides of the front kitchen, the grill and sandwich side. He even enjoyed running the dishwasher. A taste of his earliest glory days at the restaurant. Phillip loved to keep busy. There was nothing worse than being bored. But most of all, he loved Sundays because he was the only man on staff.
“Order up, Liz!”
Liz, a twenty-two-year veteran who was still nursing her anger at being pulled in on a Sunday, which she hadn’t worked in over ten years, simply compressed her lips in a tight sneer. Her sinewy arm bulged as she balanced a late breakfast order deftly on her shoulder.
“Order up, Nancy! Is it Black fuckin’ Friday and no one told us?”
Nancy, a brunette with a soft pleasant face and a curvy body, laughed. “It’s Sunday, Phillip.” She began to prepare her tray.
Phillip winked. “So it is. Order up, Wendy!”
Wendy was petite with a pretty heart-shaped face and large eyes. She was quiet and her cheeks sported a perpetual blush. This was her first Sunday, and this rush a rite of initiation. She had no frame of reference to answer Phillip’s question, and she had no time for small talk. Her glance caught his only briefly as she arrayed the plates he had set on the counter onto her large tray, carefully balanced it on both hands, and teetered out to the floor.
There was no safety net on a Sunday. Minimal staff meant that rare rushes had to be handled with the precision of a commando raid. As the pressure rose, Wendy fell further behind. Liz, still angry that she was even there, began to browbeat the younger woman. “You got the smallest section in the place. Step it up! Two more of your tables need bussing and people are waiting. Get with it, girl!”
Phillip considered Liz’s countenance. She was quite attractive. Her salt-and-pepper hair curved in close-cropped waves around her angular skull. The wrinkles that extended from her full lips and large eyes did more to amplify than diminish them.
Wendy’s eyes began to dart with panic. Phillip had seen this happen more than once when a serious rush made some crumble like the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in that first unpredictable wind. “Get going! The elderly gentleman at table sixteen is about to leave. At least you should––”
As the humming dishwasher faded to rare numb silence, Phillip blurted, “Why don’t you fuckin’ help her, Liz? You’re so goddamned good. Bus a couple of her tables, help her catch up! Were you never a rookie?”
Liz’s jaw slowly dropped. Nancy froze then quickly fumbled through the silverware as if the loud clattering might diffuse the bomb that palpably ticked on top of Liz’s shoulders. Wendy rushed out to the floor with a purposeful stride, leaving her loaded tray sitting on the counter.
Liz walked deliberately, like a gunfighter exiting the Long Branch Saloon, to face a snot-nosed, quick-handed wannabe rival. She entered the front kitchen, which waitresses never did, and stood toe to toe with Phillip. Phillip recalled in seventh grade when he stood up to the school bully, only to get the shit kicked out of him. This suddenly seemed a halcyon childhood memory. Liz’s peppermint Life Saver breath issued from her slightly parted lips, but not a word came out. Radiant heat from her upper body eclipsed the grill.
Phillip’s heart pounded like a death-metal bass drum pattern. He whispered, “Look Liz, the fact that you, one of our most experienced waitresses, and she, one of our least, are working on a Sunday should tell you something. They couldn’t get anyone in here. What if she walks out? Nancy isn’t the best waitress we ever had. You’d basically have to work the whole floor.”
Liz bit her lip. The slightest curl of a smile cut to one side of her mouth, and her onyx eyes gleamed with the striped reflections of the overhead fluorescent tubes. She stepped even closer. Phillip did not back away. He did not breathe. She looked down at the front of his apron. He pulled his hips back trying to disguise the sudden bulge. Her eyes deepened. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Phillip turned around and twisted his cock like an hour hand from its awkward seven o’clock position to twelve o’clock high. He released the long-held breath and returned his focus to the relentless tide of orders.
In the shadow of the confrontation, Wendy burst into a flurry of activity. Fear, frustration, embarrassment, or a combination spurred the young woman like a lazy racehorse, startled by the whip to a defining realization that she didn’t want to be at the back of the pack. In the midst of an impressive stream of activity, she paused as she picked up an order. Her gaze linked with Phillip’s. Her eyes were backlit sapphires that circled large liquid ink pupils, alive and vibrant in a way Phillip had never seen from her. Her slim, translucent lips mouthed the words “Thank you.”
The initial tension between Wendy and Liz began to morph. Despite the desperation as the rush continued, the waitresses became playful as they efficiently managed the floor. Liz stretched her body across Wendy’s back as she helped the younger waitress find an odd size of glass in an upper cabinet. Wendy’s hand rested on Liz’s hip as she stepped around her to get a tray. Nancy squeezed to Wendy’s side and reached across her to get silverware.
Phillip had always loved to watch the incidental contact as the waitresses navigated the slim station, but today was a command performance. As he set a plate on the counter, he stood on tiptoe and leaned forward while the three bent at the waist like synchronized swimmers. He took account of the lineup of buttocks: Wendy softly rounded and lean; Liz small, tight, and athletic; Nancy full and inviting.
He realized that a pair of upside-down eyes were on him. Liz had caught him admiring waitresses’ bottoms, including hers, in the past. It had always seemed to touch a playful side, eliciting a wink. Not this time. Her teeth were clenched. It was obvious she hadn’t forgiven him.
That mean look on her face made his cock feel heavy again. He turned quickly back to the grill, flipped a couple of steaks, and tried to ignore Liz’s angry expression.
It was just after two when the rush finally receded. The waitresses began to restock their station. Bending hips exposed hidden reaches of shiny nylons. Breasts encased in tight dresses gave vistas to inviting warm valleys.
Never had Phillip needed his post-rush Michelob more.
He slipped into the walk-in and cracked a bottle; then took a mighty gulp. He put the bottle on his crotch like a cold compress. The door pronounced a soft wheeze, and Phillip shoved the half-empty bottle down to the side of the box and tried to act casual. Liz peered around the open door toward the waitresses’ station, then looked back in at Phillip and let the door softly close. Phillip puzzled for a moment as he measured her menacing face, then tilted his head as he noticed Liz’s legs were bare.
Her eyes locked on his. “Cooling down?”
“Yup.”
She leaned to the side where the beer was stashed. He opened his leg to try to mask it. Liz’s eyes narrowed to slits. She grabbed his knee and pushed it to the side to reveal the open Michelob. Phillip’s eyes darted between her and the door.
“Drinking a beer on the job, and on a Sunday? You’ve been especially bad. And you should never have talked to me that.”
“But Wendy really stepped it—”
“Quiet!”