Chapter 62
MAY
While customers celebrating their birthday in the dining area of Bueno Bueno Bueno are chasing the cockroach costume for a chance to squash it, I'm chasing a pair of rats in the kitchen with my coworkers.
It's my first day on the job, and I'm ready to retroactively vomit thinking about the fact that I ate here once.
“You better catch and kill those rats before somebody sees 'em! They'll shut this shit show down and none of us will have jobs,” my boss says to us while he plays the lottery on his phone.
Because the basement in hell has a hole in it, I've fallen through and now I'm stuck listening to old people sing “YMCA” at the karaoke bar all night. This is what my life has become now: chasing rats in a kitchen while the Village People blares into the pit of my soul.
“Aren't you scared?” my coworker asks.
I've dealt with scarier animals, I tell her. I still refuse to kill a living thing.
“Did you get them?” my boss asks.
“Dead in the dumpster,” I say.
“Then get back out there,” he grumbles.
As soon as I step out of the kitchen door, my coworker Lucilla points to a booth that needs service. I turn the corner and see Sra. Breedlove with Sutter and their family, then run back to Lucilla.
“Listen, can we swap a table or two? That's my teacher and she hates me.”
“I've got an annoying customer who keeps flirting with me. I'll take her if you take him,” she says. “Don't serve him any more drinks. Try to nudge him to the exit. God, he smells so bad.”
Of course, it's Clint, slumped down in the booth and sulking. This is the first time I've seen him since the fire, and he looks worse for the wear.
No choice. This or the Breedloves. I sigh and approach his booth, waiting for him to notice me.
“Look who got a job,” he says without opening his eyes.
“They said we can't serve you any more drinks,” I say.
“Dinah won't return any of my calls.”
“I'll go get the check.”
“Wait.” He sits up. “I want you to record a message to Dinah for me. I'll leave if you promise me you'll show her.”
I ignore him and head back to print his tab, but he follows me across the restaurant, shouting my name and begging for me to listen. Everybody stops eating and looks, including Sra. Breedlove. Sutter sees me and snickers.
“Fine, fine, fine. If you'll shut up and leave, okay?”
“Wait a sec,” he says, spitting on his hand and styling his hair with it. I hold up my phone to record, and he looks at the ceiling around him and asks me if the lighting is okay.
“Jesus, it's fine,” I bark. “Just go!”
“Dinah Dornoff. It's me, your EX-fiancé, Clint Holtz.
The man you abandoned. The man who made your podcast what it is.
You weren't nothin' until I stole that Bigfoot costume and helped you create Plutonium Cactus.
You were a girl dawdling on a big dream, and I made it happen.
Whatever bullshit scam you come up with next for your listeners, they won't buy it without me on board.
I promise. I could tell them the moon is made from JFK's rotted dick cheese and those shit-for-brains would believe me—but not you.
You've got no Pecos, ladybird. I'm the O.G.
I bring in the big bucks. And I'll be coming back bigger and better than ever, I tell you what.
You'll wish you had never run me off with my own gun.” He looks like he's about to say something else, but lets out a big burp instead.
“You got that?” he asks.
I put my phone back in my apron pocket. “Yes, every last incomprehensible second of it.”
“I'll be seeing you around then,” he says with a wobbly bow, then stumbles toward the exit. When he's finally gone, a wave of relief hits me. I turn around and Sra. Breedlove is right there.
“Wade,” she says. “How are you?”
“My life is over, as you can see,” I say, pointing to all around us.
“You're too young to say that,” she replies.
“Look, I really can't take another one of your lectures…”
“No. I wanted to say that I'm still willing to write a rec letter for you.
Don't waste your potential in a place like this. Everything I said about you was the truth.” She has those same serious eyes, like she's hypnotizing me with her seriousness.
I have to admit, I was wrong about Sra. Breedlove. Not all adults are out for themselves.
“I'll take the rec,” I say, starting to walk away. I stop and turn back to her. “By the way, don't eat anything that comes out of that kitchen.”