Sizzle

Chapter 22

Elliot

The music coming from the kitchen is too loud but I don’t say a damn word to the staff. They know I’m pissed, and the volume makes conversation impossible.

Smart kids. Most of them.

I overheard more than one whisper over the last couple of days, though nobody said Joelle’s name in my presence. Good thing. I might have lost my shit if I’d heard them talking about her.

She’s due in for work this morning and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out how the hell things went so sideways in that storeroom. All I wanted was to comfort her, to hold her. And yeah, maybe for a minute I forgot where we were, which is one helluva feat considering it’s my own damn restaurant.

There’s a good chance that, whatever happened, it’s my fault.

It killed me that she didn’t stay with us last night. Us. Me and Alex. And Jesus, why does ‘me and Alex’ sound so damn different than it used to?

Maybe because I want to see him naked again.

I close my eyes against the thought.

I’ve got zero problems with gay people. Live and let live, right? Love is love. I get all that. I support it. But how the hell I made it to my thirties without ever once finding myself attracted to a man before, I don’t know.

I’m attracted to one now. And he’s my best friend, one of the only people in the world I trust completely. And this is going to royally fuck us up beyond repair.

I can’t lose him.

So I breathe through the thoughts, push it all away to deal with later so I can focus on the task at hand—which is doing my goddamnedest to get through this day, because Duckbill’s rent is due tonight.

“I’m sorry, boss,”Jimmy says an hour later, tapping a couple of keys and rising from the computer chair in my office. He means it, too.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” I tell him, offering my hand. He takes it, smiling sadly. “I’d promote you if I could.” We share a forced laugh. I’m grateful to him for playing along.

I saw it coming. Jimmy did too, but bless the kid, he kept looking, right up to the end.

Duckbill is done. Mrs. Miller left a message last night when she knew I wasn’t here that she’d call today to talk about the late rent. All the work we put in the last two months—the new menu, all of Joelle’s hard work, the extra busy season—none of it mattered. We managed to make enough to settle up what I owe Mrs. Miller for this year, but no more.

It’s over.

Jimmy pulls the office door shut behind him, giving me that same sad smile through the glass as he heads back to the kitchen.

I sit down hard, the chair rolling back to bump the desk, leaning forward to stare at the floor.

Calling Jimmy in here was a Hail Mary pass at best. Mrs. Miller said she’d call at ten, and she’s never late. She told me once that punctuality was just small a way to show a person you respect them.

She’s a pretty classy lady, Mrs. Miller. I’ll miss working with her.

The phone rings even as my throat starts to close up. I pick it up before it can buzz again.

“Elliot James speaking.”

“Hello, Mr. James,” she says. “This is Mrs. Miller.”

I almost smile.

“How are you, Mrs. Miller?” I ask. Because I respect her right back, even if I don’t have a lot of respect for myself right this minute.

“Can’t complain, Mr. James,” she says. “I’m calling to ask when we might expect your make-up payment for the rent.”

“Of course,” I say, as though it somehow slipped my mind. “Mrs. Miller, I still need to meet payroll next week. Would New Year’s Eve be convenient for you?”

“Oh, certainly,” she says. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised to hear you say that. During our last conversation you hinted that it might be a little longer in coming.”

“We had a great holiday season,” I say. I close my eyes against what I know is coming next.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” she says. She means it, too. It chokes me up. “Does this mean you’ll be renewing your lease with us?”

My voice isn’t steady when I answer.

“I wish that was the case, Mrs. Miller, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. Duckbill will be closing its doors permanently at 3pm on December 31st.”

“Oh, Mr. James,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry to hear it.”

I nod like a dumbass, but I can’t speak again just yet.

It’s over. It’s really over.

I clear my throat.

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller,” I say at last. “And thank you for the opportunity. It’s a great building. I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of possible tenants.”

She doesn’t keep me on the phone much longer, thank God. I’m just about tapped out. And there’s still the workday to get through.

And five more days beyond that. Five more days of Duckbill. I wish I’d told her we’d close today. It’s going to kill me, doing this for five more days, knowing the ship is going down.

But I’m the boss. It’s my job. And there are people counting on me. My anger over the gossip is gone. I don’t like it that they’re probably still talking about me and Joelle, but those people rely on me. They’ve been counting on me, some of them for years now, to make sure they’ve got a job and a paycheck.

In the next five days, I have to tell them it’s over. That I’ve failed.

The lunch rush is good, plenty of customers around to keep us busy. To a one, everybody praises Joelle’s menu. Looks like we were headed in the right direction.

Too little too late, though.

Joelle hasn’t looked at me once today. At one point, she actually dropped a box she was sifting through and left the storeroom to avoid being alone with me. I’m sick over it, sick of all of it. I want to throw her over my shoulder, haul her home, and demand she talk to me.

Connie catches me staring at Joelle—and it’s not the first time in the last ten minutes. She dusts off her hands and walks up to me.

“You need to go easy on her,” Connie says in a very low voice. There’s enough of a din back here that we’re not likely to be overheard, but I glance around the room just be sure.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Joelle,” she says. “You need to back off. You’re making things worse for yourself, hulking around her like this.”

“What do you know about it?” I could win an Oscar with how convincing my moody teenager performance is right now. It’s all I can do not to kick at the floor.

“I know she slept at my place last night, not yours,” says Connie, raising one eyebrow.

That’s the first bit of good news I’ve had today, and Connie seems to know it. The relief is huge.

“You’re a good friend.” I meet her eyes. “Thank you for looking out for her.”

“I wouldn’t have to do it if you’d get your ass in gear, Elliot,” she says. “It’s obvious the girl is crazy about you.”

“She said that?”

“Not my business to be repeating what she might have said,” said Connie with a sniff. “But anybody can see it with their own eyes.” A few beats pass before I answer her.

“It’s complicated.”

For some reason, that sets her off. Connie is laughing so hard the rest of the staff stops talking to stare. Connie just claps me on the shoulder and shakes her head.

“I’ll bet,” she says, heading back to her station. “I’ll just bet it is.”

Shaking my head too, I head back to the office. The door doesn’t click closed behind me and I hear a soft knock.

“Can I speak to you for a minute?” says Joelle.

“You know you don’t have to ask.” I try to offer my chair, but she declines.

“This won’t take long,” she says, keeping her back to the door.

Standing as far away from me as humanly possible.

Something is very wrong.

“I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work here,” she says awkwardly. “It’s been… very instructive.”

“You’re welcome. What the hell is going on, Joelle?”

“I’m… I’m just trying to say thanks. And I need to tell you that… that I won’t be coming back. Today’s my last day.”

I rub my eyes. Maybe I’ve hallucinated the last six hours, because what she’s telling me does not compute.

“I’m not following.”

“There’s nothing to follow,” she says, looking pained. “I think it’s best I bow out now before I make things worse. So thank you for the—”

“Knock it off. You’re serious right now? Seriously quitting.”

Joelle lifts her chin, giving me one brief nod.

“What happened to six months?” I ask, grasping at the first straw that comes to mind. “You said you need six months experience to get into the school you want to go to.”

“I’ve been here almost two months. I’ll get the other four months’ experience somewhere.”

Somewhere else, she means.

“Is this about what happened yesterday? Did somebody give you a hard time? Because Bertie—”

“Elliot, please,” she says, blushing. “Just let it go. There’s no need to rehash it. You don’t need me here anymore. The menu is set and from what I hear, it’s working out well. That’s what you hired me for. The rest was all on me.”

“Not the way I see it.” I step forward, crowding her. “You’re chickening out.”

It’s true. I see it, right before she looks away again.

“It was foolish to think we could make this work.”

“So you’re not just quitting, you’re dumping me too. Is that it?”

She’s got tears in her eyes now. I want to ram my first through the wall at the sight of them but in the next moment, all the noise in my head goes quiet. Not even static. Dead silence.

It’s almost a relief.

“Can you tell me why, at least? You owe me that much.” She doesn’t owe me shit, but I’m inclined to be selfish at the moment.

One tear rolls down her cheek, but I don’t care.

I can’t. Not anymore.

“You and Alex,” she whispers. “You’re better off without me.”

“So you’re dumping him, too.” I sit down in the office chair. “You planning to tell him so yourself?”

Joelle swipes at the tears on her face.

“I’m sorry, Elliot. For whatever it’s worth.”

I don’t answer, staring at the black computer screen on my desk. The next time I look up, she’s gone.

I have no idea how much time passes while I sit there staring at the space she had just been standing in. There’s a Joelle-shaped hole in my office.

The noise in my head comes rushing back with a vengeance and I have to get. The fuck. Out.

I have to move. I have to do something. I have to get out of here before I burn the place to the ground.

I swipe open my contacts, dialing Anna. She agrees to come in early and take over for the night. Thirty minutes later, I’m leaving Duckbill. Joelle is long gone. And I’m beginning to think I am too.

The next timeI look at my phone, it’s gotten dark outside. The heavy bag sways in front of me, barely lit by the streetlight outside. It’s dark in the garage too, I realize. I must have forgotten to turn on the lights.

I grab a bottle of water from the minifridge in the back corner, catching my breath. Maybe one more round will do it. One more session and I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

Right.I snort.

The noise in my head screams back to life again, so I cap the bottle and toss it into the corner, advancing on the bag. Same as I’ve done about twenty times since I got home earlier. Or something like twenty. I stopped counting after the first ten.

Sweat pours down my face. I stripped my shirt off at some point after soaking it through. It should be too cold out here for me to go like this, but fuck it. Right now, I don’t feel anything but the weight of the bag.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Alex flips on the light as he comes in the garage. I flinch reflexively but it doesn’t interrupt my flow.

“What does it fucking look like?”

“You’re going to fucking freeze to death, you idiot,” he says.

“Fuck off.”

I don’t stop. I can’t. If I stop, the noise is going to drown me.

Alex is circling the bag like he’s preparing himself to walk in front of it.

“Keep going and you’re going to get hit,” I warn.

He strips off his suit jacket and keeps walking.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, pulling off his tie.

It’s true. We boxed a lot those first couple of years. There were a handful of other guys on Frat Row who liked to mix it up between their bongs and beers. Alex had been the only who laid me out on the regular back then.

He’s out of practice now.

The idea is stirring. It’d be a helluva lot more satisfying to hit him than the bag right now.

I’m not proud of it but goddamn it, it’s true.

“Fine,”I say. “You want me to lick your ass, I will.”

Alex stops cold, his hand in the process of unbuttoning a cuff.

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant, asshole,” he says, pulling the sleeve free. He smirks at me. “You want to lick my ass? Fine. Bring it.”