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HUNTER
I’mlate and I don’t care.
Driving through the open desert road in my BMW is exactly the elixir I needed. Hitting ninety-five miles an hour, blasting Chance the Rapper, the cool wind whipping through the car reminded me of so many nights like that sitting shotgun with Xavier driving, Melody and Dante chirping in the back seat, celebrating some milestone that seemed ridiculously important at the time.
Submitting a list of business names to Dad to investigate, completing a semester in graduate school, or because the Atlanta Braves had just won four games in a row. It didn’t really matter, the Farro clan liked to celebrate, but most of all they enjoyed doing it together.
I cut through the main lot of Legendary Hall and spot the handful of vehicles. It’s a pathetic show for a hall this size on a Friday night. Given the hour, I failed to swap out my BMW for the rust bucket used car I’d driven all week. Skipping the employee parking spots, I slide into a spot next to an equally impressive looking Mercedes Benz. The first one I’ve spotted in Mesa.
The car is in the middle of a cluster of about a dozen other cars and must be part of the bachelor party crowd.
It’s nearly one in the morning but the music assaults me the minute I enter the hall. Frankie Junior gave the group the largest room right by the front entrance. The doors are propped open, the lights in the foyer on full blast. My best guess is Frankie wanted to show activity to anyone who might be driving by this evening. His way of thumbing his nose at the town - the rumors you’ve heard are not true. We are open, active, and partying till the break of dawn.
It’s just another example of desperation. Any person that cared enough to investigate would also glance at the parking lot and see the sparse offering of cars that aren’t enough for a popular Friday night house party let alone a catering hall. Frankie would have been better served to kill the foyer lights and have his guests’ park in the rear. But there’s no telling mister know it all.
I enter through the main doors, the sound of laughter and bottles clinking float into the foyer along with a strong scent of weed. I shake my head and turn in the other direction, heading toward the employee area to change into my jumpsuit for the last time.
After a quick change, I survey the other rooms in the hall to confirm they are all empty, I enter the kitchen from the back entrance. The lights are on as I spot the trays of food that had been removed from the warming oven. They are laid across the wide expediting station. The covers ripped back, mismatched serving spoons sticking from them. I shake my head; Frankie didn’t even move the food into the hall properly. We have chafing trays with temperature controls for a reason. I picture him barking at the guests to go into the kitchen and make their own plate. There isn’t one area of service that he doesn’t fall short on.
My hand lands on the swinging door to the hall and I push it out a few inches to take in the scene. It’s nearly one-thirty in the morning and there are less than ten people left. I recall the number of cars in the lot and nod. At least some of them had the sense to leave their vehicles and catch a cab home.
The laughter pulls me in as I spot Frankie who should be working, but he’s partying. He sits in the center of a set of chairs pulled to the middle of the dance floor. The men sit in an uneven circle, two bottles of top-shelf liquor at their feet, glasses in hand.
I scan in search of the groom and come up empty. He could be in the restroom or if he is smart, he high tailed it out of here at a decent hour so he can be rested for the ceremony. Catherine had shared pictures of the bride and groom over lunch yesterday. Yesterday. It already feels like a million days ago.
Before I get caught up with thoughts of the woman I can’t have, I turn and begin to toss away food. There is protocol on how to handle foot safely when removing them from warming ovens. Legendary even has a well drafted food donation program for leftovers that had been installed years ago, probably during Catherine’s tenure.
But Frankie being Frankie, he didn’t follow any of the proper techniques. I have no idea how long the trays have been sitting uncovered at room temperature and must toss it all away.
Frankie may be an ass, and this may be my last shift, but I take my time. I am diligent and thorough in my cleanup. Dad’s voice, always present in my head, reminding me there are no menial tasks, every job important to make a business sparkle. Sometimes it’s the smallest detail that makes the final sale. The unexpected gesture, the kind word, the turning out of a hallway light that someone forgot, the emptying of an office basket that had been overlooked by the maintenance staff. Everything matters.
The squeak of the swinging door interrupts my thoughts. “Shit, when did you get here,” a startled Frankie slurs, entering the kitchen and carrying a paper plate. He didn’t even offer any of the dozen choices of real plates available to his guests.
“Been here for a while,” I mumble over my shoulder, continuing to load the dishwasher with the serving spoons and trays.
“Where’s the food? The party is still going on.”
“I had to toss most of it. You left it uncovered. It’s a violation of health code. You could get someone sick.”
He scoffs and ignores me, walking to the warming oven. “As if you know anything about health codes and how to run a business.” He flicks it open, and I hear the sigh from across the room, knowing he’s discovered it empty.
“I thought the guests would be out of here by now,” I attempt to shift the conversation.
He slams the warmer door hard. “This is my business. They leave when I say they can leave. Just do your damn job.”
He’s clearly had too much to drink, but that doesn’t prevent me from responding. “It’ll be a whole helluva lot easier if everyone was gone.” I withhold the words I truly want to say. “I need to reset the tables and chairs in the room for the reception tomorrow. You could have picked any other room to host your friends, but you choose the one room that is going to be used tomorrow.” I egg him on. Not because there is anything left for me to learn about him but because I know it upsets him.
“No one’s stopping you,” he spits in my direction before turning toward the door. I hear him bark back to his group just as the doors swing shut. “Kitchen’s closed, but the bar’s still open.”
I start the dishwasher and then ease into the room. Frankie has adjusted the lights, the overhead lights on the dance floor where the guys are sitting are lit. The rest of the room has been dimmed. I make my way through the darkened tables, adjusting as I go. Most of the room hadn’t been disturbed. A chair removed here or there, a cloth napkin designed as a swan missing from a table or two.
Now that I’m in the room, I confirm that Carlos isn’t here. He gets brownie points for leaving early.
“You might as well leave your car here like the other guys,” a large man I don’t recognize says. “We’ll all be back here in a few hours, anyway.”
“Naw, I need my car, I got plans.” His back may be to me, but I don’t need to see his face to know who it is. “I have to pick up Claire and I want that bitch Catherine to see me pull up in a Mercedes. I know she always thought I wouldn’t amount to anything.” Palmer is drunk.
My hands form fists by my side with just the mention of Catherine’s name on his lips.
