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A completely different server stops by and asks to take our drink order. I explain through gritted teeth that we’ve already ordered a bottle of wine, and she rushes off to find it without asking if we are ready to order anything else.
She comes back fairly quickly with the bottle in hand but no glasses. She stammers an apology, brings the glasses right away, but then rushes off again saying she’d be back for our food order in a minute.
“Can I get you an appetizer?” A new guy walks up, clearly the manager. “Oh! Mr. Orso! What a pleasure to see you again!”
“It’s all yours,” I grumble. “Do you think we could order now?”
The manager takes our order, and the original server comes back with another bottle of wine, stares for a minute at the bottle on the table, and then runs off without a word.
This is not going well, and I have no idea what to do to fix it. I’m tempted to threaten the server, but that’s not the sort of thing I can do in front of Cherry. As someone who has worked in a restaurant, she’s probably very familiar with the other side of this scenario and already told me how she felt about people who are rude to waitstaff. My body tenses as I hold in the anger, trying desperately not to show what’s going on inside of me and fearing that it’s not working.
“Nate, are you all right?” Cherry asks.
Just then, a busboy walks by with a tray of dirty dishes, slips, and everything goes flying. Glass shatters, and what appears to be rice pudding lands on my shoes. Cherry cries out as she’s splattered with cola.
“What the fuck?” I stand, unable to control the fury inside of me for a moment as I turn on the busboy.
“Sorry! Sorry!” He crouches and starts picking up broken glass. One of the waitstaff stops to help, handing Cherry a handful of napkins to dry herself off.
“Kick him in the head!” Pops says, leaning against the wooden divider between tables.
My body tenses, and I can see myself do it. I can picture my foot slamming into the side of the young man’s head, splitting his temple open. I clench my hands and glance at Cherry. She’s dabbing her dress with a napkin, but it’s clearly not working well.
I can’t do this—not in front of her.
I stand there, silently seething. As the mess is cleaned up, I continue to remain where I am, afraid of what I will do if I move. The busboy stands carefully, tray full of broken dishes balanced precariously on his shoulder, and scampers away to the kitchen.
“How about we just go?” Cherry says. I can hear the nervousness in her voice, but I can’t come up with any calming words.
“I’m…I’m going to clean my shoes,” I say through gritted teeth. “We’ll go then, all right?”
“Of course.”
The manager spots me as I head toward the restroom.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Orso. Dinner is on the house, of course.”
“What dinner?” I snap at him. “It didn’t even fucking arrive yet! Do you really think the cost of dinner would replace these shoes?”
“I’d be happy to replace them, Mr. Orso.”
“Fuck you!” He’s lucky there are so many people around, or I’d probably pick him up and throw him through a window. I can’t do that though—not with Cherry here. I lower my voice. “It’s probably best you just step away from me, fire that fucking moron, and consider a career change yourself.”
I walk away, leaving him stammering behind me. I shove open the door to the men’s room and lean hard against the sink, seething.
I needed this night to go perfectly. I needed Cherry to be swept off her feet and madly in love with me in record time, and I can hardly do that with rice pudding on my shoes.
“Motherfucker!” I grab a towel, wet it, and do my best to get all the crap off the Italian leather. Once my shoes are relatively clean, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I’ve really fucked this up.
I can’t let Cherry see me like this. I check over my shoulder, hoping for some advice from Pops, but he’s nowhere to be found. I close my eyes and spend a moment tensing and releasing all my major muscle groups until I have a bit more control over myself. With one more look in the bathroom mirror, I take a deep breath and shove the door open.
Plastering a smile back on my face, I return to the table. I glance at Cherry, who is staring at me, still wide-eyed and nervous.
“Shall we go?” I manage to sound calm, at least.
“Of course.”
