Max (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

Max

I felt like an arsehole.

Not only had I sent her to work on the
first day of her arrival, I had done it with little thought aside from how I
was going to break it to her. I should have gotten Chris to do the dirty work;
he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.

It was painful enough hearing Melba give
the poor girl an orientation of the restaurant, inflicting just enough fear
into her lesson that bordered on workplace bullying if you weren’t aware that
that was just Melba’s way. I wished I had have given Mel a better rundown of
what to expect other than don’t be late.

Once the Friday night crowds started to
pour in for pre-dinner drinks and meals, I found myself too busy to think too
greatly about Mel’s kitchen progress. All I knew was that she was not
waitressing tonight. Instead, she must have been sent to the kitchen. It was
then I told myself to forget about the bloody girl and just get on with my own
job, and I did just exactly that, too busy to even give Melanie Sheehan a
minute of my worry, until my break came along in its usual fashion: Amy
delivering my dinner to the bar. She placed it down with cutlery and salt and
pepper shakers.

“Thanks, Amy.”

“No worries.”

I went to work on oversalting my chips. “So
how’s Mel going, is she doing okay?”

Amy’s big baby-blue eyes looked up at me.
They were looking at me much like they would if she was answering Chris’s
question. With the same indifference she shrugged. “What do you care?” she
said, turning to head back toward the kitchen.

***

If there were tears or drama, I would just
get her to knock off, I thought, as I grabbed my empty plate and made the usual
walk to return it to the kitchen. If she really hated it, she didn’t have to do
it. I’ll just tell Bluey she helped out in other ways. In what ways I wasn’t
sure; still, I wouldn’t submit her to a full week of Melba’s orders. I wouldn’t
wish it on anyone and furthermore, I was thinking way too much about this
bloody girl and her feelings.

I neared the kitchen, ready to push through
the swinging door, when I came up short, turning my head a little, wondering if
I was hearing things.

What the?

I angled myself to the side, peering
through the circular porthole in the kitchen door to confirm my suspicions.

Laughing: loud, belly rolling laughter
bouncing off the kitchen walls.

Peering through the murky glass pane, there
propped up on top of the bench holding court was Melanie, her arms flailing
around in excitement as she retold some kind of story that had everyone in
stitches … even Melba.

I shook my head. “Well, bloody hell,” I
muttered.

I coughed first, before pushing my way
through to the kitchen, giving barely enough time for Melanie to hop off the
bench and everyone to scurry back to their workstations. It took all my power
for my mouth not to press into so much as a knowing smirk.

“Ladies.” I nodded my head.

“Hi, Max!” Penny beamed like she always did
with that unnerving, wide-eyed enthusiasm any time our paths crossed.

“Hey, Penny. Melba not working you too
hard?”

Penny giggled, turning a deeper shade of
red. “No.”

I took my plate to the sink, or more
appropriately, Mel’s new workstation, it would seem. I swung the tap around and
turned it on, grabbing some dishwashing liquid from the window sill, and
dousing my plate and cutlery with it. I could feel Mel’s eyes on me as I washed
my plate, knife and fork. Without a word, I took the tea towel that was slung
over her shoulder and began to dry my things, before placing them on a spare
space on the kitchen bench, never an easy thing to find in the hustle and
bustle of dinner time. I flicked the tea towel back onto Mel’s shoulder with a
good-natured smile as I saluted the rest of my intrigued audience. You know
that feeling when you feel like you are being talked about, only to have walked
in at a very inappropriate time when people awkwardly shift and stir around
you? That’s what this felt like.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

I turned with my back against the door,
readying myself to push through it. I gave one last look to the kitchen, all
suspiciously overacting in the chores to which they were tending. Heather was
chopping onions with serious intent, Penny was stirring a sauce on the stove as
if the pot held the mysteries of the universe and Melba was re-stacking the
plates—much to her credit, I genuinely think she was working. And then there
was Mel who quickly looked away when my eyes landed on her, now focusing in the
soapy sink as she scrubbed a baking pan within an inch of its life.

I breathed out a laugh. “Don’t work too
hard, ladies,” I said, before pushing backwards through the door and into the
air-conditioned restaurant.

I was still smirking as I rounded the bar,
coming to stand next to Chris who was covering my break.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his usual
stony face now even more so lined with confusion.

“The kitchen girls are giving me a complex,”
I joked.

Chris’s expression was unchanged. “They’re
not going on about the us versus them crap again, are they?”

“Us versus them?”

“They think bar staff are better than
kitchen staff, that we have the cushy job and get treated better, real
upstairs-downstairs mentality. Don’t listen to them, it’s bullshit.”

“You mean aside from the fact we have our
breaks sitting at a dining table and they take theirs on a milk crate in the
back alley?” I mused.

“That’s their choice,” said Chris.

Christ, he was easy to get a rise from.

“Relax, kemosabe. I don’t think that was
the topic of conversation.”

Chris scoffed. “Sure, there would be better
things to do than idle gossip,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the TV
screen.

“What’s this about gossip?” Adam appeared
in the bar, all showered, shaved and dressed in clean clothes. He looked
decidedly more alive than he did before. “What’s the G-O?” He slid onto a bar
stool, propping his elbows on the bar.

Chris was ready to dismiss the subject but
I instinctively blurted out the topic. “Kitchen gossip.”

“Ahh,” nodded Adam, “the juiciest in all
the land.”

“Really?” I pressed.

Chris merely sighed and looked bored.

“Really, never forget my days spent as a
dish pig in that very kitchen, you hear all the juicy stuff in there.”

“Somehow I don’t think Melba’s next
appointment with her foot doctor is exactly gripping stuff,” added Chris, who
moved to refill a drink for a thirsty customer.

Adam ignored him. “I bet you twenty bucks
they are not talking about foot bunions.”

“Oh yeah, how you going to prove that, stow
away in a dining trolley?” I said.

Chris popped the till, busying himself with
dividing the notes but listening on nonetheless.

“Oh, ye of little faith. Hey, Chris,
remember that time when we—”

“No!” Chris cut him off.

“Oh come on, it was—”

“NO.” Chris slammed the till shut and
glared at his little brother. “We’re not doing that.”

“Doing what?” I straightened, my eyes
darting between the two Henderson brothers.

Adam’s smile only broadened. Chris’s face
showed more disdain. Adam turned to me with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

“This one summer Chris liked a girl who
worked in the kitchen.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Chris growled,
snatching some keys from the till and storming out of the bar.

Intrigued more than ever, I moved forward,
leaning my elbows on the bar and listening intently.

“Go on,” I urged.

“We wanted to know if this chick was
interested in Chris, but she was just a blow-in from another town and we had no
real way of knowing, so we went to some pretty crafty measures.”

“Are these the measures that you’re planning
on using now?”

Adam shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind reliving my
youth.”

“What’s the plan?”

Adam’s eyes lit with excitement as he
casually looked around to make sure no one was listening before leaning
forward. “There’s an intercom on the wall of the kitchen by the door; you press
it, or in this case, ‘accidentally knock it’. It will ring through to the bar
where an awaiting bar member will pick it up and have no choice but to hear
what ails the kitchen.”

I burst out laughing. “Holy shit, is that
what you did? And it worked?”

“Crystal clear.” Adam looked pleased with
himself as he leant back on his stool and folded his arms.

“And the girl? Did you find out what she
thought of Chris?”

Adam’s expression sobered. “Ah, yes, well
that didn’t have such a happy ending.”

“Oh?”

“Well, let’s just say, Chris might have
been in with more of a chance if his name was Christina, if you know what I
mean.”

“Bummer.”

We both nodded sombrely as we recognised
Chris’s loss.

Adam slapped the bar with a steely
determination. “Okay, I’m going in, wait by the phone … and cover the receiver,
we don’t want any sound filtering through.”

“Wait, what?” I straightened. “You’re
really going to do this?”

“Mate, we’re really going to do this.”

“Yeah, look I don’t know …”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I swear you are
turning more into Chris each and every day.”

Okay, that got my attention. As much as I
liked and respected Chris, being drawn a parallel to him was not exactly a
compliment, and by Adam’s standard, it was not meant to be.

This could end up being a disaster of epic
proportions, or a very funny and enlightening move.

“All right … let’s do this.” I conceded
defeat.

Adam smiled broadly. “I’m going in.”

Chapter Thirteen

Mel

There was one thing that could be said
about being the new girl: I could be whoever I wanted to be.

I wasn’t Bluey Sheehan’s daughter, or the
girl who was in
that
car accident. I was a no one, and aside from Max
knowing me and my history, the difference was he didn’t really care. He didn’t
even so much as talk to me; in fact, aside from the link within our families,
he didn’t really know me at all. We had been in unexpected good spirits in the
kitchen. From a rather disastrous beginning to my shift, Melba seemed to have
thawed somewhat since Amy swept on into the kitchen, injecting her enthusiasm
into helping out, and then began the questions.

How old are you?

Do you have any brothers or sisters?

Have you lived in Ballan long?

Do you have a boyfriend?

I hadn’t set out to be a liar, but somehow
what short-clipped responses I had given about my rather dull life in Ballan
had me answering the last question as a rather unexpected,

“Yes.”

Even unexpected to me.

Amy spun around. “Oh, really?” she asked,
eyes wild with excitement. “Do tell.”

Oh, crap. Why did I say yes?

“So what’s his name, what’s he do?” asked
Amy.

“Is he from Ballan, too?” added Heather.

It now seemed that I held a captive
audience; even Melba looked over at me as she appeared from the cool room.

I was at a loss with what to actually say
about my mythical boyfriend and as if by some miracle I was interrupted by the
swinging of the kitchen door. At first I feared it might have been Max
returning, but instead there stood a rather smug-looking Adam.

“Is it me or are the women in here getting
better and better looking?” he chimed, winking at me.

Amy rolled her eyes at her cousin. “Get
lost, creep.”

“That’s not very nice, Amy,” he deadpanned.

“What do you want?”

“Relax, I come in peace.” Adam held up his
hands. “Max sent me in to see if you needed a refill?” His eyes dipped to the
empty jug near the stove.

“Oh,” said Amy.

Heather smiled, almost as if embarrassed by
Amy’s treatment, as she grabbed for the jug and passed it to Adam. “That would
be lovely. Thanks, Adam. Soda water?”

“Coming right up. What about you, kiddo?”
He turned to Penny who blanched under his scrutiny.

“Oh, um, Coke, please.”

“Soda water, Coke, Scotch on the rocks,
Melba?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said, flicking him
playfully with her tea towel, which he skilfully dodged.

“Amy?”

“No thanks.”

Adam turned to me now, curving his brow in
question.

“Raspberry lemonade, please,” I said.

Adam’s lips twitched as he nodded. “Fine
choice,” he said, as he pushed through the door. “Back in a flash.”

I had regretted it the moment it came out.

Raspberry lemonade. How old are you – five?

How I wished I could change my order to
something less juvenile for Max to make for me. Ugh.

“I might just go to the ladies,” I lied.
Wiping my wet hands on my tea towel, I excused myself from the kitchen. “Won’t
be a sec.”

I made my way at a fast walk to catch Adam
before he hit the bar with the drink orders. Maybe he would just make them
himself. I wasn’t sure, but as I rounded the corner, I came to a sliding halt
and then dove around the corner out of sight as Max stormed into the restaurant
bar with Adam following behind.

“I was bloody waiting by the phone like a
love-sick teenager,” said Max, who I could hear plunging a spoon in the ice
cube recess and tinkering them into glasses.

“Yeah, well, stand by, I’ll hit it this
time,” said Adam.

“Isn’t it mounted by the door or something?”

“It’s on the wall. I’ll hit it on the way
out after I hand over their drinks, they won’t suspect a thing.”

What an earth were they talking about?

“I can imagine this is going to be very
anti-climactic,” said Max.

“Probably, but what else are we meant to do
for fun around here?”

Sensing the drinks were ready to go, I slid
away and quickstepped it back to the kitchen, wondering what the hell I had
just overheard.

Something near the door? They won’t
suspect a thing?

I pushed through to the kitchen, knowing
that Adam would be right behind me as I reacquainted myself with the sink and
soap suds. Sure enough, I heard the swing of the door go and in came Adam, all
smiles and goodwill with his tray of drinks, a tray of drinks that seemed to
have an ulterior motive. What were he and Max up to?

“Drinks up, ladies.”

I peeled my way from the sink, heading to
grab my raspberry lemonade, when I managed a quick glance near the door, trying
to fix on what they had been talking about. A fire extinguisher, hanging-up
spare aprons, clipboards with shopping lists, a yellowed-looking speaker
mounted on the wall that looked like a smoke alarm. Nothing that was of any
interest, I thought, as I grabbed for my lemonade and took a deep draw from my
straw, relishing the ice-cold sweetness, and suddenly glad I hadn’t changed my
order. Who was I kidding? I loved this stuff.

“Thanks, Mr Henderson,” sing-songed Heather
as she poured a fresh glass of soda water from her jug. “Lifesaver.”

Adam saluted the room. “My mission is
complete.”

Under the guise of moving back to my sink,
I took keen notice of Adam’s next movement, which I could see in the hazy
reflection of the windowpane in front of me. I watched on intently as he walked
toward the door, whistling a joyous tune and did something that happened so
fast, I almost thought I’d imagined it. The door swung to a close and he was
gone. I finally turned around to fix my gaze on the very thing that Adam had
tapped with his elbow as he left the kitchen. The yellowed box on the wall near
the door, the one I walked toward now. What was it? I squinted, wondering why
this had me interested and then as I neared I saw the faintest little green dot
on the box, the one I was sure wasn’t there before, next to a button. Then it
dawned on me. This wasn’t some boxed speaker or smoke alarm; this was an
intercom. And Adam had turned it on.

Adam and Max’s words ran through my mind.

“Yeah, well, stand by, I’ll hit it this
time.”

“Isn’t it mounted by the door or
something?”

“It’s on the wall. I’ll hit it on the
way out after I hand over their drinks, they won’t suspect a thing.”

Oh my God! They were listening in on our
conversations.

“Ugh, thank God he’s gone,” whined Amy, as
she dumped another dish in the sink. I wanted to use sign language for her to
be quiet, to write down on a piece of paper to let everyone in on the betrayal,
to maybe even yell down the intercom and scream abuse at the nosy bastards, and
just as I was about to do one of those things, Heather called out from across
the kitchen.

“So tell us about your boyfriend, Mel, we
want all the details.”

Amy piped up, “Yes! Don’t spare us
anything.”

It was then as I stood near the door,
looking back at my captive audience—waiting for me to reveal all about my utter
lie—it was then I realised that I could be anybody I wanted to be. I could
paint this amazing picture of my life back home and just how much I had moved
on, grown up. That I wasn’t that country bumpkin pining away for the likes of
Max Henry, no siree. I was an independent woman who had my shit together, and
now I had an audience in front of me, and via long distance it seemed, I
planned to give them the most amazing version of my less-than-interesting life.
I cleared my throat and spoke up loudly, glancing to make sure the green light
was on the intercom as I began the story about my amazing make-believe
boyfriend.