Filling out the applications was a tedious exercise. I felt more foolish with each one as I had little experience to really put down, no good references. It was easier to fill them out for the places I liked and more difficult for the ones I didn’t but I completed all of them, double checked them. It took me three evenings to do them all. I arranged with Mr. Grant to drive me back to drop them off. Secretly I hoped none of them would call me.
A few days later I was working on my homework when Mr. Grant came into the room and moved behind me. He reached down around my sides and tickled me a little as he kissed me on the cheek. I relished the feel of his warm body, the smell of his cologne.
“Have you heard back from any of the jobs?”
“No,” I said.
“Any new thoughts?”
I had a thought but I was intimidated, no shamed, about having to ask. I wanted to ask if he would hire me but it felt like I was asking for help. It felt like nepotism.
“Well, we could use some extra help at the restaurant opening night. I know you don’t have any experience so you’d have to start as a busboy. You’d clean up the tables when people were done. You get a percentage of tips from the waiters’ tables you work, about 5 percent maybe, as well as a base pay.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“We need the help. You might like it, think it over.”
He pulled away from me and walked out of the room. I wanted to run after him, grab hold of him and tell him I would do it but I let some time pass. I started to think over what it would be like. It wasn’t a real job offer. It was just one night. Maybe if it worked out then it could lead to more. I decided I’d do it.
Fifteen minutes before the restaurant opened for dinner service Mr. Grant had the staff gather in the dining area near the kitchen. I was dressed exactly as he had instructed me, ready to do everything required, and yet as I stood there I was terrified about how the people thought of me and that I wouldn’t be able to do my job. He introduced everyone by name, most of which I forgot immediately except for Ryan. He had this look in his eyes.
At 5’ 4” he was shorter than me but I could tell he was stronger, more confident. He had a short mohawk and tattoos. One I could spot immediately on his neck, just under the collar of his shirt so only a bit of it stuck out, another on his forearm. I knew he was trouble from the moment I saw him because of the way he acted when Mr. Grant was around. It was a tolerable mischievousness, a cute defiance. He wasn’t the normal type to see in an upscale restaurant and yet I knew that he was the type of person Mr. Grant would pick for that same reason.
“Everyone I want you to meet Shane who will be our new busboy for the night. He doesn’t have much experience but I expect each of you to help him as you would anyone else.”
“Yes sir,” they all replied.
“Let’s get to work,” Mr. Grant said.
Mr. Grant and the hostess went to the front door to open, the cooks and dishwasher went into the kitchen, Ryan and another young man as well as a young woman tried to make themselves look busy, but it was a young woman who I had forgotten her name that got my attention and pulled me into the back room.
“We should make ourselves scarce for a little bit, until some people come in and need something.”
“Okay,” I said.
I looked to her and I suddenly felt terrible for not remembering her name. She had this kindness in her eyes and personality that made me wish I knew it. I could tell that she knew what she was doing and that she would be helpful and kind to me. I opened my mouth several times to introduce myself and ask her name but I just couldn’t do it. She seemed to recognize my peril and offered me her hand.
“I’m Rose,” she said.
“Shane,” I replied.
We shook hands but always our attention was on the dining area. It wasn’t long before she told me to stay behind and watch her as she went about her duties. I watched as she moved around the tables between courses, helped bring glasses of water and other things that were needed. Once more people were seated she came back and invited me to join her. As easy as it was I couldn’t help but look at her for advice and approval until I felt comfortable. I was on my feet for three and half hours before she pulled me aside.
“Things have slowed down a little,” she said. “Why don’t you go take a break? Be back in fifteen minutes and I’ll go for my break.”
“Okay,” I said.
I walked away from the dining area with a feeling of movement and hustle that I didn’t want to end. I felt like my reflexes were at their best. I was confident. So when I saw Ryan in the kitchen I couldn’t help but smack him on the ass. He let out a small yell, then laughed at me as he saw me go by. I stepped out the back door to the kitchen into the alley and moved to the far wall where I looked over the brickwork before deciding to lean against it. I saw my breath in the night air and I missed having a cigarette. My desire doubled when I saw Ryan step out a few minutes later with a pack in his hand that he tapped against his palm.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But maybe you can blow some in my face.”
He laughed a little, stepped to me, offered me one but I refused. He lit his cigarette, then put his back to the wall next to me. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. Quitting was difficult and I was writing my lines each day before bed to keep it fresh.
“Trying to quit is hard,” he said. “I don’t know if I can give it up.”
I thought about my predicament and before I really thought it through I started to talk.
“It’s not that difficult for me,” I said.
“Really? Why’s that?”
I had blocked myself in a corner. I didn’t want to tell him I’d be spanked or otherwise punished, and yet I had gloated about not smoking so I had to say something.
“Just a bet,” I said.
“That’s cool, maybe I should do that.”
It felt as if a moment had passed between us so I decided to start heading back inside. The kitchen was louder and hotter than I remembered. I went to the dining area that seemed quieter though more crowded. I looked for Rose to let her know I was back when I felt a swat on my ass. I yelped from the hit and looked to see Ryan pass me as he headed to the cash register. I stared at him as he looked through his bills. He had a nice ass. He had a narrow waist. How many tattoos did he have? Where were they?
Rose grabbed my elbow, jerked me from my fantasy. She told me she was taking a ten minute break. I looked for something to do. It was easy as I spotted a few people looking around desperate for water and a few others had empty appetizer dishes as they waited for their entree. I started to move with the list in my head, adding and subtracting things as needed until I was clearing a table. I spotted Rose was back from her break, the tub for dishes was heavy. I carried it to the kitchen. Mr. Grant and I made eye contact. I smiled to him but he barely reacted. I knew he had to keep up a professional attitude so I tried to not think about it.
I turned and headed back out to the dining area when Ryan caught hold of me, put his arm around my shoulder, led me to the supply area where I had been standing with Rose earlier. He led me to a corner where I saw a mop and bucket.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Someone pissed on the bathroom floor and it needs to be cleaned up,” he said.
I sighed.
“Sorry it’s part of your job,” he said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah, and one last thing.” He dropped his arm from around my shoulder, his hand went in front of me, then snapped back to hit me in the balls. I moaned. He laughed as he turned and walked away.
Was it some kind of game? Had I started it? Why did I have to smack him on the ass? I regretted doing it, but I also regretted what I would have to do as I took hold of the bucket and mop. I went to the men’s room with it, only to find it was an easy mess to clean up. I set out a small warning sign, then put things away and got back to my regular work.
After that it was easy to pass the night until we showed out our last customers. Mr. Grant closed and locked the door after them. The waiters broke into their own group and began to count tips. I moved to where Rose leaned against the bar with a drink in her hand. Mr. Grant was on the other side making himself something.
“Do you want one?” he asked.
I looked to Rose before I looked back to him.
“Can I have just one?”
He nodded.
“Are you making it?”
“Of course,” he answered.
“Then I’ll have a dirty martini,” I said.
He set about making my drink as I looked to Rose awkwardly. She smiled at me before she headed over to the waiters. I waited for Mr. Grant to hand me my drink. I took a sip, thanked him, and then headed for the waiters as I saw him go into the back with the other kitchen workers. Ryan and the other waiters had their tips broken up. I was tired but felt pretty good. He handed me a wad of bills that I glanced at before I stuck them in my pocket.
“Hey, would you help me out with something,” Ryan said.
“Sure,” I said.
“I think someone left their cell phone under the table towards the back. Would you see if you can get it?”
“Sure,” I said.
Everyone looked to me as I moved to the table, squatted. I thought I could see something on the floor in the back against the wall. I dropped to my knees, my shirt rode up my back. There was a phone there. I reached for it but couldn’t get it so I moved forward a little until I could get it with the tips of my fingers. I slid it to me and began to crawl backwards when I heard everyone laughing.
“Nice undies,” someone said.
“Who wears tighty whities?”
I started to get up but hit my head against the bottom of the table. Everyone laughed more and louder. I had exposed myself to all of them. It was minor though, I thought. I had been naked only a few nights before and with a bunch of straight guys. I moved back a little more. That’s when I felt a hand grab my underwear. I knew at once it was Ryan. He yanked as hard as he could. My underwear gave easily, the band stretched up, the fabric that had covered my ass bunched in the middle, went between my cheeks, up my ass, against my asshole, and the fabric kept stretching. He had it half way up my back when it began to tear. I jumped up to my feet and tried to reach back but some of the others stopped me.
“Just take it like a man, new boy,” Ryan said.
He let go of my underwear and I turned on him but as I saw everyone else was laughing I felt that if I attacked him everyone would turn against me so I decided to laugh it off, then walked away.
Inside the mens room I turned see my backside. My underwear hung out the back, a limp, flaccid embarrassment. I started to unbuckle my jeans when I realized someone could walk in and see me so I moved to the stall where I closed the door. I pulled my pants down, reached back to my ass. I felt my ass cheeks, the way the fabric ran between them. I pulled my underwear out, felt for holes. It was very obvious what had happened. I debated about whether I should keep them on and risk Mr. Grant seeing them, finding them, or just throwing them away. I decided to keep them on though they felt loose and bothersome. It felt strange walking back out with my underwear stretched out under my pants.
By then most people had left or were headed out. Mr. Grant stood watching them leave as he chatted with Ryan. I was worried something had been said. I went to where they stood and looked to the ground trying to make my presence known without disturbing them. Ryan was recounting to him how he thought the night had gone. I started to think about my own story, what I would tell Mr. Grant and what I wouldn’t, when Ryan took hold of my arm.
“Shane here was great too,” he said.
“Good to hear,” Mr. Grant said.
I looked up to them. They were both focused on me but for different reasons. Mr. Grant looked happy. Ryan looked mischievous. I had this suspicion that he was cruel and thought that I was weak. I gulped. Mr. Grant was right there but he couldn’t see it. He didn’t know. Would I be able to tell him?
“Well, thanks for all of your help Ryan. We should be going.”
“Of course sir,” Ryan said.
Ryan walked away from us. I moved a little ahead of Mr. Grant by anticipating his moves until we got to the front door where he locked it with us on the inside, then we doubled back through the kitchen and out the back door where he made sure it was locked. We walked through the alley to his car. I went to the passenger side. I saw Ryan was still there in the parking lot in his own car, a beat up Dodge truck.
“Tonight was fun,” Mr. Grant said.
I looked from Ryan to him and smiled before I agreed with him. It had been fun but it had also been humiliating.
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