Mid-morning behind the bar is a little slow. Not feeling particularly ambitions or energetic today. There’s not much for me to do without customers right now.
So far, my achievements include putting on a pot of coffee, wiping an already clean bar, updating the day’s specials sandwich board, and putting it outside the door on the street.
House-made Pasta of the Day. As it is most days. Curious as to what Cecil has in mind.
Pouring cup number two.
I know we need to get more people in the door, but right now, the quiet is okay.
Cecil arrives and eyes up the floor.
“No one in yet?”
I shake my head as he takes a sigh of relief as he sets his backpack behind the bar. He whips the apron over his head, dons the hat, then grabs a coffee and a muffin before joining me.
“Where oh where is our shitload of hungry and demanding customers?” he asks. “I’d like to wait on the coffee and cook!”
“How many cups have you had?” I ask. “You seem ready to roll … certainly more than I am.”
I sip.
“I feel like we’re losing our edge,” I tell him. “I need something to get excited about.”
I look around the bar, the wooden stools, the last stool I saw Mick sit on and my stomach lurches. What’s my incentive to keep it? I think … but, of course, I don’t say a word to Cecil.
“How we doin’?” he asks.
A great question, I tell him.
“Not great,” I tell him. “Between you and me, it’s more than a little sketchy.”
He nods, clearly concerned. What I don’t tell him is that I’ve asked the wait staff to push back their start times into the afternoon, that I’m planning to handle lunch myself.
A party of three comes in for breakfast and I sit them down with menus as Cecil retreats to the kitchen. A few more customers come in and I easily handle all of them without help. No more dwelling – keeping busy is a good salve.
Mercury comes in for breakfast with Silas and introduces us – I hadn’t met him when they were in the other day. He is friendly, but very reserved and chooses coddled eggs from the menu. Won’t forget that order anytime soon.
And then the breeze known as Bitsy McMurtry blows in, just as the lunch rush begins.
“Hello, my dear … wow! Quite the full house here,” she says, removing her coat. “Don’t you have any help today? Will you have time to chat about book club or shall I come back?”
She sits at the bar. “Give me a moment. Just trying to maintain the money best we can. Go ahead and fix yourself a drink, whatever you want. I’ll be right back.”
Of course, she walks 10 minutes before the wait staff is scheduled to arrive, so, of course, I end up showing my hand.
A half hour later (or, for Bitsy, one gin and tonic), I’m behind the bar freshening her drink.
“Gin in the afternoon,” I say, passing her the glass. “Very unlike you.”
Bitsy sighs. “Well, the world is heavy today, my friend, so I figured, what the hell?”
She pauses and motions to the dining room as I slide the glass toward her. “Seems yours is heavy, as well, yes?”
And there it is.
What can I say? It’s obvious. So I nod.
“The stress is getting to me,” I say. “I’m not sure what to do. At this point, I’m barely able to pay myself.”
Bitsy shakes her head.
“How can this be happening? You’re in a great location, you’ve got good food … it’s like shooting fish in a barrel!”
I chuckle. “I must have horrific aim.”
Bitsy pats my hand as if to reassure me. “Well, perhaps I can help.”
“How?” I ask in a voice that sounds more skeptical than I mean it to be.
Bitsy goes on to regale me with stories of her father and the Golden Pillar. “I watched that man grow it, and I think I can help you grow, too.”
I am interested but wary. My mind is not yet eased.
“What do you think that would look like?” I ask with trepidation.
“Well,” she says, draining her glass. “I wouldn’t exactly be a silent partner, nor should I be. I can channel traffic to this place. Most importantly, though, you’d have a cash cushion to keep you afloat while we make some … “ she looks around the bar, waving her hands … “changes.”
My God!
Can I work with this woman? Do I want to work with this woman? Bitsy is a strong personality.
On the other hand, do I have a choice? Can I afford to NOT work with Bitsy?
I nod and extend my hand. I don’t think I have a choice.
She nods. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the proposal, and remember … this is a negotiation. There should be discussion.”
She leaves and for a moment I’m dizzy. What did I just do?
Then, suddenly, she returns.
“Cecil … “ she says, pointing to the kitchen. “We need to have him on board. I mean, this is all about him really. May I …?”
I nod. “Sure.”
Ten minutes later, the bar is full and I’m hustling. Bitsy leans into the crowd, winks, and grabs my arm. “OK, all set. You’ll hear from my lawyer … partner.”
Partner. It’s a word I hadn’t heard since I accepted Mick’s proposal. I had used a similar word to describe us – a “partnership.”
Here’s hoping this one goes more smoothly …
Jenny Page