Page 26 of Finding Parker

The advertisement was posted the morning of our first meeting. I responded to the ad, and was called in for an interview. During the meeting, Kenton tossed the contract in front of me and asked if I was a risk taker. I signed the contract, and he gave me keys to a car. There was no way he could have even known I existed before the morning of the meeting. Clearly, I was tired, and my mind was attempting to work overtime.

“What did you mean by the comment? There was only one applicant?” I asked, hoping Downes would continue.

He shook his head slowly from side to side.

“I have offered too much as it is. Just know this, Mr. Bale. Mr. Ward admires you,” he said as he turned to face the ocean.

“Admires me?” I blurted excitedly.

Still staring out at the ocean, Downes nodded his head once sharply.

The thought of Kenton admiring me was almost laughable. I certainly admired him. His brutal honesty was difficult to dismiss and without a doubt almost impossible not to admire – at least not for me. In fact, I aspired to one day become Kenton Ward, or at minimum as close as I could muster.

“So, have you met anyone new?” Downes asked.

“Well, kind of. We’ll see what happens. I may bring her here to meet Kenton if things go well between us. I’m still somewhat embarrassed about how things went with Katelyn. I suppose I’ll wait and see how things go with this one,” I responded.

The thought of Victoria made me smile slightly.

“Well, if you’re going to take her out on an actual date, you really don’t have a choice. Eventually, Kenton has to meet her,” he turned from facing the ocean and looked at me as if confused.

“What do you mean, I don’t have a choice?” I asked, puzzled at his statement.

“Mr. Bale, I recommend you read the contract. Entirely,” he responded.

Based on that particular statement and a few which preceded it, I knew there was one thing I needed to do, and do very well.

I needed to read the contract.

VICTORIA. “As soon as you’re done with the onions, peel the tomatoes, they’re ready. We need to have everything for the bisque done this afternoon, we’re serving it tonight,” Tony stood in front of me, his hands on his hips as he shook his head.

“I know we’re short staffed, but I can get it done, don’t worry,” I responded, my eyes fixed on the onions scattered over the prep table.

“Stop talking and start chopping,” he said as he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Angelina’s is the only kitchen I have ever worked in, and I would like to think other restaurants have a more understanding staff to work with. Here, almost every weekend, someone doesn’t make it to work. Typically, it was Tony’s nephew. I never miss a day of work, so inevitably I work harder, later, and under more scrutiny than most of the kitchen employees here.

I find it frustrating, but there isn’t a lot I can do to change it. More than anything I want to open my own restaurant, and someday witness people enjoying the foods that I design, prepare, and serve. Today, this is nothing short of a dream. Today, I must do what I am asked, and do it without arguing or complaining. Today I need my job, my paycheck, and the experience.

“I’ll have everything done in an hour, Tony. Don’t worry,” I smiled as I looked up from the onion I held in my left hand.

“Stop fucking talking and start fucking chopping. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. You better be done Vicky,” he said as he turned and walked away.

‘Yes sir,” I responded.

I hated being called Vicky. Tony was the only person who ever did it with any regularity. He said it was too difficult to say Victoria, and Vicky took less time and effort. To me, calling me Vicky was no different than calling me Lisa. It wasn’t my name.

In addition to daydreaming about having my own restaurant, I often dreamed of walking into the kitchen and telling Tony to go fuck his self. Maybe tossing a handful of onions across the kitchen, kicking one of the half a dozen plastic buckets that littered the floor, and screaming a few choice words on my way out.

The fact of the matter was that I would work at Angelina’s as long as they would employ me, and do whatever they asked of me. Ten dollars an hour wasn’t much money for someone my age, but it was all I could expect to earn at an entry level position in a kitchen. Working my way up the ladder here was probably nothing more than a dream. For now I needed the dream to provide me with the devotion and dedication to continue.

For now, I needed the income. Without it I would be incapable of taking care of my mother. For now, I am all that she has. I suppose she is all that I have as well. We need each other, and I need this job. As I began to peel the tomatoes, I thought of Parker and his fabulous smile.

The way he dressed.

How he smelled.

He seemed so down to earth. To find someone as charming and attractive as he was and have that person possess one ounce of humility was almost impossible, at least in southern California. Being humble wasn’t on a list of character traits that most men attempted to achieve in San Diego. Being an arrogant asshole was. Parker seemed well grounded and intelligent. Parker seemed like the type of man who would stay in a relationship and remain devoted to his woman.