Heat Wave (6 page)

I realize I've been totally rambling on and from the glower that Logan is given, I can tell my suggestions aren't exactly appreciated.

“Let me get this straight,” Logan says slowly, not looking away. “I have this restaurant up and running for years, never had more than a few complaints, have a bloody brilliant rating on Yelp, and then you show up, fresh off the boat, and immediately have something to say about it. You haven't worked here even for a minute, Veronica. Why the hell should I suddenly rearrange what's working just because you've said so?”

Right. See the other thing I remember about Logan is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch and you better not tell him his way is the wrong way. Unfortunately, I'm also a stubborn son of a bitch, but at least in this situation I know I'm right. He may own this restaurant and the hotel, but he doesn't know the first thing about cooking food, about serving, about running a place like this.

“She's right, aye,” a booming voice comes from behind me.

I whirl around to see a round, jovial-looking face staring at me from the kitchen. He smiles broadly, his teeth blindingly white, albeit slightly crooked, against his dark skin. “Hey, I'm Johnny by the way. You can call me Big J. Least that's what the
habut
calls me.”

“Johnny is just fine,” I tell him, feeling eternally grateful for this friendly face in the presence of the ha-boo-t.

“What do you mean she's right?” Logan asks, his voice on edge.

Johnny shrugs. “I mean she's right. Just because you have a good Yelp rating, doesn't mean people don't talk. Especially locals, aye? They won't write reviews but the word still spreads. And I'm the head cook, which means I have to hear about it. Not you.”

I look back to Logan. He seems like he's ready to blow, his jaw is set in a tense line, his fingers are tapping against his arm, agitated. “What are they saying?” he asks carefully.

“Nothing you should worry about,” Johnny says. “But I can tell you that people don't come here to eat for the ocean view. It's too crowded. Like she said. And having a wait isn't a bad thing. Most diners are our guests. If there is a wait, they can go back to their room. Or the beach. And adding some extra seats at the bar doesn't hurt at all.”

I watch Logan, my breath in my throat. I'm afraid he's going to lose it on me or Johnny, not that Johnny seems to care, which makes me like him even more.

Finally, Logan's eyes meet mine and I see nothing but animosity in them. Something tells me that I made a big mistake speaking out like that.

I expect him to say something else that would shoot down my idea but eventually he lets out a ragged breath and says sternly to Johnny, “I have to check on the pool. I trust you'll get Veronica up to speed?” He glances at me. “Your first shift starts tomorrow. Come to the office later, I have papers for you to sign.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves, his hulking body pushing open the doors and disappearing into the bright world outside.

“So Charlie tells me Shephard's your brother-in-law,” Johnny says, making me turn my attention back to him. “I thought he'd for sure treat you a little easier but I guess it's fair across the board here.” He gives me a quick wave. “Come on back here, let's introduce you to your new home, little
wahine
.”

I take in a deep breath, trying to shake off Logan's attitude, and head into the kitchen.

My first thought is that it's small. Barely big enough for three cooks and a dishwasher, assuming they have a dishwasher. I've heard a lot of the smaller places don't.

“She ain't much, but she makes good food,” Johnny says. He comes over to me holding out his hand. “Now it's official. Johnny.”

“Ronnie,” I tell him as he takes my hand in his, his palm damp. He's a huge guy, tall and round, and yet despite the big jiggling stomach, he somehow exudes strength, like he could bench press you at any given time. “You can call me Ron if you wish. Or even hey you.”

He grins at me and it lights up his face like a child on Christmas Day. “Nah, I don't think we'll call you hey you. Ronnie is just fine. Or little
wahine
. That’s Hawaiian for pretty lady, you know.” He lets go of my hand and twists around him to look at Charlie who is at the back of the kitchen, chopping up bok choy. “You didn't tell me she was cute.”

“I don't have to tell you everything, Johnny Cakes,” Charlies says without looking up. “And
wahine
means woman, Ron, so he’s just trying to butter you up.”

“I’m a cook, of course I’m trying to butter her up, I put butter on everything,” Johnny says with a wink. “So now that you've seen the place, I guess you're figuring out where everything is. I'm pretty organized so you'll get the hang of things really quick and soon it won't feel like work at all.” Charlie snorts at that but Johnny ignores him. “The only thing that will test you is trying to work with this
haole
over here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie says, heading over to the fridge and rummaging for something. He looks totally different now that he's in his white uniform. I always found that the uniform gives an air of respectability to anyone, even someone known for not wearing shoes. And to be safe, I look down and notice the skate shoes he's got on. Not exactly good protection if he drops something on it but good enough for Hawaii.

“Any questions?” Johnny asks me.

I raise a brow. “Um. I have a ton of questions.”

“Let's hear it. I've got a few minutes before I have to get back to work. I keep myself on a tight shift.”

I wonder if that's true after the comment that Logan made about him being all relaxed but I realize that I can't exactly take Logan's word for a lot of things.

“Well, for one . . . what's the menu? Who are the suppliers and how often do we get stuff in? Who handles that? Do we have a bartender? Who are the wait staff? Dishwasher? Is the menu always set or does it change from day to day? Do we do special events and if so, how do we handle those on top of the restaurant, considering there are only three of us.”

Johnny is staring at me so blankly that I'm afraid he hasn't heard me.

Finally, he nods. “Okay. I think I may need a beer after that one.”

“Yes, beer please,” Charlie says, not looking up.

I want to ask if drinking on the job is a regular thing but I don't dare. I've already shaken things up enough with my suggestions, I won't be asking them to change how they work today.

Johnny raises his hand and starts ticking off the answers on each finger. “The menu is posted on the wall behind, changes are seasonal. If we sell out of something, then we're out of it and it’s crossed off the menu. We have a local fisherman supplier for all the fish, and we use another supplier for a lot of the local vegetables and meat. Yes, we have a bartender. Daniel. He's also a real estate agent so he's going to try and sell you a condo, just warning you. May also try and get in your pants.” Johnny glances at the clock over my head. “He'll be here soon. On Sunday's we open at six, which is in an hour, in case you're still on Chicago time, rest of the week we open at five. We stop serving at ten, though we tend to prepare a few pupus ahead of time on the weekend, for people drinking at the bar.”

“Pupus?” I repeat.

He grins. “Yes. It means, like, tapas. Appetizers. Pupus are our selling point here. Lot's of variety and easy to prepare. People love pupus.”

“We even have a tee shirt that says ‘People Love Our Pupus,’” Charlie says with a laugh. “Which reminds me, we need to order some more in. Honestly there isn’t a pupu joke that doesn’t make me laugh.”

“Aye,” Johnny says. “Get Kate to do that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Pupus and fresh fish is what we're known for, and a lot of our food has a Mediterranean slant to it. You know, meze platters and all that. Cheap to make, the health nuts love it. What else? Ah, Nikki. She's our waitress. She works every week night. Kate will run food if it's really busy, which usually means Logan takes over reception. I know he sounded like he's large and in charge with the kitchen but that's his ego talking. I'm the large one here,” he says, poking his thumb into his chest, “and I'm in charge. Logan doesn't step in here all that much, except to drink sometimes with Daniel, and frankly it makes the kitchen one of the best places to work at Moonwater.”

“Sounds like it. Who waitresses on weekends?”

“There are a few local girls, one in Hanalei, one in Haena. They're great for back-up too.”

“Hey guys,” a man's voice breaks in, the accent high and lilting. “And Ms. Locke.”

I turn to see Jin coming in, grabbing an apron off a rack and tying it behind his back.

“And Jin,” Johnny says. “He's the dishwasher.”

“It's a fascinating job,” Jin says dryly, giving me a kind smile to let me know he doesn't really mind at all.

“He's the backbone of our operation,” Johnny says. “And when he's not washing dishes, he's the hotel maintenance man. And sometimes the shuttle bus driver.”

I laugh lightly. “I'm starting to think that everyone here is a shuttle bus driver at some point.”

“Except me,” Charlie says.

“Because you took the bus to Hanalei beach and gave rides home to the surfer chicks,” Johnny points out.

“That was one time,” Charlie protests.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Useless, I tell ya.”

After that I stay in the kitchen until the customers start coming into the restaurant. Just enough to observe how things are going without feeling like I’m inspecting them or getting in the way.

They have the music going on the radio, something with a ukulele and a soft singing voice akin to Jack Johnson, and all three of them seem to really enjoy their job. I can see how seriously Johnny takes his food, which is a relief, but he’s also all smiles and easy-going, which is also a relief. Your job is only as good as the company you keep in it.

When I’ve watched enough, I leave, the jetlag seeming to hit me again. Even though I swore I’d try and stay up late, it’s only seven pm and I can barely stand on my own two feet. I wave goodbye to Johnny, Jin, and Charlie and take a quick peek out at the floor. Just as I thought, about half the restaurant is occupied. I spot Nikki, the waitress, with her long highlighted hair, bustling about and Daniel, the bartender, a guy in his early-thirties with hair pulled back in a ponytail and a loud Hawaiian shirt, but save my introductions for tomorrow.

By the time I step outside, I’m met with a wall of humidity, darkness, and the thick hum of crickets. I walk slowly across the parking lot, my eyes closing momentarily as I breathe in deep, the smell of the ocean, the flowers, the everything. In some ways I feel ready for this next adventure, in other ways I’m a total fish out of water.

It takes me a few moments to remember where my new home is and I head to reception, remembering that Logan had a few papers for me to sign.

The doors to the office are closed but the light is on. I carefully open them and peer inside. Kate is at the desk, shuffling through papers, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. She doesn’t glance up as she says, “So how was your first day?” she asks, her voice monotone.

“A whirlwind,” I tell her. “How long is your shift?”

“Too long,” she says. She looks at me. “I normally do seven am to three pm but Logan wanted the afternoon and evening off and he’s the boss so whatever. As long as I get my overtime, I’m cool with it.”

I’m trying to think of something else to say—there’s a lot to say, yet I feel like it’s crucial I say the right thing. I want Kate to like me. If I’m going to be living with her, this is one relationship I need to start off on the right foot.

“So how late do you have to work tonight?” I ask. “Because don’t worry about me when you come in, I’m jetlagged like hell. I’ll sleep through anything.”

“Until eleven, and then Shannon, our night shift, takes over,” she says and I swear she smiles. “I’ll try to keep it down. By the way, Logan has these for you.” She grabs a stack of papers from the corner of the teak desk and holds them out for me. A keycard is kept under her thumb. “The keycard is yours. Opens, your room, the pool, maintenance areas, and housekeeping, as well as reception. You’ll get separate restaurant keys tomorrow.”

“I thought he was going to go over these with me?” I ask, coming over to take them from her. “This is my contract right?” I flip through the pages.

She shrugs. “Just read it. He went to Hanalei so he’ll probably be coming back late.”

“What does he do in Hanalei?” I ask. I have a sudden flash that he’s there because of a girlfriend, maybe the same one he cheated on my sister with. The rage that boils through me gets caught in my throat.

“He drinks,” she says. “Goes to Tahiti Nui. It’s his bar. Well, aside from here, it’s everyone’s bar. I’ll be sure to take you on a Logan-free day.” She pauses. “The two of you aren’t very close, are you?”

I shake my head. “He was with my sister in Chicago for a year before they got married. The minute they did though, and the hotel took off, they were pretty much living here. I’ve only seen him on a handful of occasions since then.”

She seems to think that over with an air of disbelief. Finally she nods. “Well I suppose in-laws are complicated. I can’t stand my sister-in-law. Thank god she lives back home. In San Francisco.”