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By the time Alex came to start his shift (which normally involved batter- and dough-making), I was organized.
Davie and Jerry spoke for me. They explained very briefly to Alex what had happened. He said he knew something was up as soon as he saw the back door and the trash. That’s how he usually came in.
I asked Alex, “Are you game to stay for the cleanup? Only the walk-in fridge and the kitchen area. Not the trash in the back. Not the paint in the front.”
Alex nodded and looked at the three of us. "All in a day's work, boss. I might ruin this set of work clothes, but hey! All for the cause.”
It was too early to call Amy, but I would need her. So I called. “I’ll be there in forty minutes,” she promised.
We figured out a closing sign so that customers would not just barge in. Alex and I figured out how to collect the food trash without going to the back dumpster quite yet. I had to figure out what to tell vendors and how to deal with the one scheduled delivery since it couldn't come in the back.
My brother? He got his night team to call a 24-hour industrial clean-up company they had worked with a few times. He sent our security feed to the police officer in charge. It did capture one perpetrator, but that's all he would tell me.
Time to get to work. Not the kind I was expecting, though.
By the time Amy arrived (it was still the dead of night, so bless her!) and saw the mess and theClosed Todaysign, she stayed a good distance away as agreed and phoned me.
I met her at the front shop door. We’d laid down some cardboard so we wouldn’t trample in even more paint.
With my brother, I had pretty much decided to stay closed all day, and he said, “Brace yourself. You’ll probably be closed another two days as well.”
Amy decided on her own to do a full day's work in spite of it being a whole different kind of work for her.
The industrial clean-up crew could be here by 10:00 a.m.
“Amy, just hold down the front shop.” And she did that until we all realized nothing was happening there. At the end of any day, all the baked goods from the front went into the back walk-in. In other words, there was no food in the front shop to worry about. Not even cookies. The pros would be cleaning the paint. Amy ended up in the kitchen, helping with clean-up. She was game, and I would pay her and Alex for the extra hours. And for their ruined clothing.
Almost no one from the street could see into the shop due to the pervasive paint on the front windows and door. Therefore, almost no one tried to come in. People could figure out what happened and stay away.
Amy told me that, at his usual time, she saw and chatted with Leighton. She told me what he said.
I just could not think of Leighton right now.
Not without going into a deep funk. That wasn’t my style, but even if it were, I couldn’t afford that right now.
What I did think of, however, made my blood boil. And until Alex said something, I didn't know I was just standing in the middle of the kitchen holding on to the wide brush broom—being royally, over-the-top, muttering-to-myself pissed.
I had never even thought of him as my boyfriend. He was just I guy I had started to see. An acquaintance. He never picked me up. I always met him.
Right away, I was uncomfortable around the guy. I just thought, “Well, I don’t know how everyone acts. I haven’t been with a huge number of guys.”
He acted creepy around me. I’d probably have noticed all this sooner if I weren’t so busy with the last weeks of my culinary classes and exams. I was not sharing with him my plan to open a bakery right after graduation.
But, I finally put it together. I was realizing that he wouldn't let me make choices.
He'd say something like, “Let's go out for a burger, on me,” and once at the counter to order, he wouldn't let me get the sandwich I wanted. He did this to me the very first time. I ordered a cheeseburger with mushrooms, and he told the clerk, “No, she doesn't want that. Give her a burger with no cheese and sauteed onions.”
I didn’t let it happen twice in a row. We were at the same burger place and he said, “Order anything, on me” and then when I did, he looked at the clerk and said, “She’s paying.”
Treating me like a moron. Telling me what I wanted to eat. Going back on his invitation.
I’d been taking care of myself for a long, long time by then. I looked at the clerk and said, “Cancel that order,” and walked away. Intent on leaving him standing there.
He made a mistake. He grabbed me and spun me around. A cold look on his face.
“Hands off, bub!” I snarled at him.
He grabbed for me again. Oh, no way! I kicked him in the balls. With all the intent and power of my years of kickboxing behind the move, I let it rip. There was also the satisfying ouch factor of my Frye boots.
