The Boys of Summer (7 page)

“You look hot, Tess!”

I chewed on my lower lip, trying not to get
upset.

“Can you please go ask Chris if there is
another size? Something bigger?”

Ellie had to shake herself from her daze as
her gaze looked over me. “Ah, Tess, I don’t think–”

“Ellie, please!”

I paced the toilets, waiting for Ellie to
return waving a XXXL top in her hand. Unfortunately, it was not to
be.

“Tess, seriously, you look fine. In fact, you
look smoking-hot fine!”

I didn’t want to be ‘smoking-hot fine’; I
wanted to be blend-into-the-wall fine.

Ellie grabbed my hand. “Come on, we can’t
stay in here forever. Chris said we were going to be flat out
tonight so we better get to it.”

Perfect.

“Oh, wait.” Ellie pulled me up, and all but
yanked my arm out of my socket.

“What?”

Without a word Ellie yanked the elastic from
my hair and ruffled it up.

“
Ellie
!”

“Just trust me,” she said.

I took a deep breath and stood still. She ran
her fingers through my hair and folded up the top half with the
band, for a messy half-up half-down look, before fixing my fringe
to frame my face.

“Much better!” She smiled.

We came out just in time for a staff meeting.
Chris’s words were cut off abruptly when he saw us join the group.
His eyebrows raised in surprise as he took in my apparel. Not in
disgust or mockery, but the way a guy checks out a girl. The way
boys usually looked over Ellie. He coughed, cleared his throat and
refocused on his clipboard. I felt the heat flood my cheeks as I
quickly sat down in an attempt to hide myself behind a table. I sat
next to Melba who didn’t give me the same look of appreciation. She
was looking at me in more of a ‘
You look like a whore
’
way.

We were given our battle stations speech;
what our roles were to be, and what was expected of us for the
night. The Irish band would be setting up in the beer garden, and
the restaurant was fully booked. My heart beat faster as I
recounted my disastrous first shift. It hadn’t exactly boosted my
confidence (especially now that I looked like a ninja). Ellie was
jigging her leg like she always did when she was excited.

For what time remained before the expected
arrival of our first booking, I took it upon myself to memorise the
dinner specials, taking note of any vegetarian selections. I tested
my pen for ink, dated the order pad accordingly and, before I knew
it, the six o’clock rush had begun.

I fumbled and stuttered at my first table,
but luckily they were a family of locals. Ken and Wendy Martin and
their three adorable kids. They were patient and kind, and helped
ease my nerves. I took their order without drama and spiked it
proudly on the kitchen spike.

“Order up!”

“Well, look at you,” crooned the usually
foul-tempered cook, Rosanna. She smiled at me, her demeanour
disturbingly friendly. But I knew this was the calm before the
storm.

“Twirl for me.” She circled her finger in the
air in a spinning motion, giving a wolf whistle of
appreciation.

“You’ll be breaking all the boys’ hearts,
Tess.”

I cringed. “I don’t know about that,” I said,
and quickly retreated from the kitchen, running straight into
Ellie.

She pulled me into the alcove where the high
chairs were kept.

“Oh my God, Tess! You should see who just
came through the front door.”

Before I could ask, she let out a squeal.
“I’m going to take their order,” she said, and disappeared.

Okey dokey, there was either a celebrity in
the bar (in
Onslow
?), or a hot boy. My money was on the
latter and my suspicions were confirmed by the distant hum of the
jukebox, which meant that the poolroom was in use.

My friendly family table continued to be
everything true and lovely, which almost made up for my next table
… almost.

My burden to bear for the night was to serve
two posh tourists, who spoke in clipped sentences and looked at me
as if they had stepped in something nasty.

The full-figured lady sported a grey bob that
was immaculately kept in place. No, really, it didn’t move; there
must have been a full can of hairspray on there. She was clearly
highly flammable. I clasped my notepad tightly, glancing around
with unease; trust Claire Henderson to think candles would make for
great ambience in the dining room. The place was a giant death trap
for this woman.

She smiled at me but it didn’t quite reach
her eyes. Her husband complained about the lighting, the air
conditioning, and the sound of the music filtering through the
paper-thin walls of the poolroom. Their rudeness frazzled me, which
was bad, as the last thing I needed was to make more mistakes as
the night picked up in pace. More patrons poured through the
restaurant’s French doors, all sun-kissed and starving from their
day in the sun. The restaurant was at full capacity, a buzzing
cauldron of chaos, so when I brought out the wrong meal (because I
had written down the table wrong), Rosanna started to lose it, and
I quickly vacated the kitchen, slamming hard into Chris’s
chest.

“Whoa, Tess, slow down.”

I bit my lower lip in an attempt to hide that
I was upset.

“We’re going to switch things up a bit, okay?
Uncle Eric wants you to take over Adam’s place in the kitchen for a
bit. Thinks it might be for the best,” he said.

Meaning I wasn’t quite cutting it out front.
A part of me was relieved, but another part of me was mortified
that I had just been demoted, if only for the night. In other
words, they thought I wasn’t doing a good enough job. They would
never have sent Ellie in to wash dishes, not in a million
years.

“Ellie’s going to take over your tables.”
Chris took the notepad and pen from me; another slap in the face. I
nodded and solemnly turned back to the kitchen. My summer was now
downgraded from hell to the pits of hell, with Melba and
Rosanna.

Thanks, Adam!

I stood in front of the sink for what seemed
like forever, overwhelmed by the huge pile of dirty pots and pans,
and ever-increasing stack of plates. I didn’t know where to begin.
I tied the sodden dish apron around me, too afraid to ask if there
were any rubber gloves. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about
being seen in my cat suit. As I waited for the sink to fill, I cast
a look at my pride and joy, my meticulously French manicured nails.
I had filed, shaped and coated them in preparation for my big
working debut. I had always prided myself on having nice nails and
thought I would put an extra-special effort into them, knowing I
was to be serving customers. If I was to be incompetent, at least
they could say, “Well, she had nice hands.”

Nice hands that were now submerged in
blisteringly hot, dirty, dishwater.

Ellie swung through the kitchen door, smiling
like a Cheshire cat; she never said anything about my new position.
She was too busy humming a joyful tune and spiking her docket.

“Order up!”

I unloaded a stack of dishes near the server,
peeking at the docket and wondering if the little piece of paper
had anything to do with her being in such fine form. A docket with
several meals listed sported the heading
‘The Onslow Boys’ –
(Poolroom)
. A little smiley face had been drawn into the O, and
the penny dropped. Ha! Well, at least someone was having a good
time.

There was much swearing and pot throwing at
the peak of service. Through desperation, they had Melba take a few
orders, and with Melba’s people skills being what they were, it was
a true sign that they were under the pump. At least I was friendly.
For the most part, Melba was really a kitchenhand for Rosanna and
they kind of complemented each other. What I mean by that is that
Melba refused to take Rosanna’s crap, so it worked.

I had created a clean space in my sodden
little corner of the world; I even felt good about my achievement
until I looked down at my destroyed nails, the once immaculate
polish melted from the heat of the water. As I took a moment to
survey the damage, the background was filled with more swearing and
clattering, accompanied by the frantic dinging of the service bell,
all of which I was sadly getting used to as the night wore on.

“Order up,” Rosanna screamed.

Ellie was noticeably absent, which caused
Rosanna to lose it big time. Before all hell broke loose, Chris
burst through the kitchen door and spotted my nearly clear
sink.

“You. Meals. Go. Now!” He held the door ajar,
pointing to the restaurant.

“But Uncle Eric said I was to–”

“Uncle Eric is upstairs watching
Touched
by an Angel
, so what I say goes; we need you to take the meals,
now!”

I frantically untied my dish apron and
smoothed down fly-away strands of hair that had curled from the
steam. Before Rosanna hurled the meals across the kitchen, I
grabbed them and headed through the door Chris still held open.

“Get them out of here! Get them out of here!”
she screamed.

Happy to escape the mayhem and relieved I
hadn’t been knifed in the process, I looked at the docket that lay
haphazardly on top of the chip pile on the dinner plate. It read
the ‘Onslow Boys’. With immense concentration, I walked two plates
through the restaurant en route to the poolroom. The mystery of
Ellie’s disappearance was solved when I saw her taking orders for a
table of twelve. She managed to glance at me as I walked by, and
putting two and two together she pouted at the fact I was
delivering ‘her’ meals.

I pressed my back against the swinging
restaurant door and pushed my way through to the front bar. I had
never been in the bar in peak hour on a Saturday night. Actually, I
had never been in here
at all
until I worked here, so I
wasn’t entirely sure what would greet me as I walked steadily
through my final barrier, a flimsy concertina partition, and into
the bar. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer hit me first,
followed by the loud music that flooded from the poolroom. The
front bar was dominated mainly by an older clientele, enjoying the
blessed happy hour. The bar aligned with an array of men in attire
ranging from flannelette-covered work overalls, to stubby shorts
and Blundstone boots. Foreigner’s ‘Urgent’ blared from the speakers
as I made my way gingerly through the mass of bodies. Men parted
for me with lingering gazes. I smiled politely, excusing myself as
I brushed by strangers, dodging and weaving with great care,
holding onto the dinner with a white-knuckled intensity. I headed
to the poolroom to deliver the Chicken Parma’s to the smiley-faced
Onslow Boys. I paused under the archway, taking in the packed,
smoky poolroom. The music was twice as loud in here. Just as I
summoned enough courage to yell out my order, I was drowned out by
a blast of laughter and shouts as someone missed a shot on the pool
table.

“That’s two shots to us!” yelled a tall,
muscular boy. Sean Murphy. I knew him mainly by his all-star status
as the ruck-man for the Onslow Tigers. He was now looking at me
with piercing baby blue eyes, a colour I had never seen before.

He flashed a smile that made my stomach flip,
and as if sensing my predicament, he shouted out for me, “Grub’s
up! Tobias, it’s your shot.”

A lone figure leaning over the jukebox
flipped through the song archives; he pushed his final selection
before turning to grab the pool cue from Sean. I threatened to drop
my plates when I noticed Tobias was Toby.
The
Toby!
My
Toby!

Our eyes locked, his brows raised in
surprise, and then I realised he wasn’t the only one looking at me.
All of the Onslow Boys were looking at me like I was some kind of
creature that had emerged from the lake. But when I caught their
eyes roaming over me much like Chris’s had, it made me suddenly
super aware and self-conscious of my bodysuit attire.

I coughed and stammered, “Where do you want
it?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised how suggestive
it had sounded and mentally slapped myself.

There was a pause and a line of bemused
smirks as I watched the same thought flick through their minds,
before Toby broke off and headed to the pool table.

“Two shots, was it?” Toby asked.

Sean scratched his jawline and nodded. Trying
not to smile.

“Just sit them down there, Tess,”

I flinched at the unexpected voice of Chris,
from behind me where he stood manning the bar, his arms crossed. He
was all business, no nonsense. I latched onto the clarity and put
the meals quickly on the bar.

“Thanks, Tess.” Sean smiled at me as he slid
a meal down the bar.

I made my exit, stressed that I had at least
two more meals to deliver to them without embarrassing myself.
Again.

I took the shortcut through the opposite door
to head towards the kitchen; I passed Ellie who was still busy with
her mammoth table. When she saw me coming from the bar, she winked
and gave me the thumbs up, and I couldn’t help but smile and return
the gesture.

I carried the meals back the same way and
avoided the front bar all together. When I reached the Onslow Boys,
I didn’t need to ask whose meals I was holding. Toby and another
boy, Stan, I think his name was, had pulled their bar stools next
to Sean and a boy they’d nicknamed Ringer. I placed the meals
carefully before Toby and Stan who both said, “Thanks.” My heart
did a little flip.

“Hey, Tess, is there any salt and pepper?”
Sean asked.

“Oh … uh, I’ll get some.” I made a silent
prayer that I wasn’t blushing at such a simple question. I snuck
back to the restaurant and grabbed a set. Quickstepping back into
the poolroom, I passed them to Sean’s outstretched hand upon my
return.

He watched me intently. “What’s your last
name, Tess?”