[fact or fiction]
The Hook Café:
Where pretention and animosity go hand in hand
By: Elizabeth Dougherty
The ruby flats carved holes in her feet before she even stepped in the door for her first day of work, an occasion for which Isabella Dubois arrived exactly 24 hours and 20 minutes late. She placed one aching foot inside the Hook Café before the owner delivered the news: “You’re fired.”
The door slammed behind Isabella as she marched across the dining room to seek an explanation for her termination. When she reached the end of the bar, George scowled, turned his back and waited for her to go away. Isabella awkwardly craned her neck and attempted to graze his range of sight, although the mirrored wall ensured George remained well aware of her presence. He retrieved a thick binder from the bottom cabinet, opened to the top page and began scribbling notes, which Isabella quickly realized were nothing more than circled items on a Chinese takeout menu. Jack Diamond strolled through the open back entranceway. George looked up from the takeout menu, squinted at the smouldering light of the sun settling behind the horizon, shut the binder and retreated behind the office door.
“Why am I fired?” Isabella inquired, her tone resembling that of a state prosecutor more than an unemployed college graduate.
“Well, you didn’t show up on your first day. Typically—not in all restaurants—but typically, that is grounds for immediate termination.”
“I did so show up! I’m standing right here, aren’t I?”
“Isabella, today is Friday.” Jack removed the schedule from the wall and handed it to Isabella. She located her name on the list and stared incredulously at the thick black line of permanent marker crossed through her name and shifts. “My dad said you should start on Thursday, and you didn’t show.”
“What? You never even mentioned the word ‘Thursday’; I would remember. You told me to start on Friday,” she said, her pitch rising as she became frantic, realizing she was so upset at losing such a position. “I wasn’t even in town yesterday. I had an appointment in Springfield. So I...“
“OK, OK,” Jack said, waving his hands in the air in surrender. “Maybe I did say Friday. I guess I got things confused, I’m sorry.”
The office door opened, and George stepped out into the dim light of the dining room.
“You know what, Dad? I think I got things confused. I think I maybe told Isabella to come in today, not Thursday.”
George rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We have more important things to deal with right now.” He scanned the room, taking inventory on the staff present for the governor’s rehearsal dinner scheduled to begin at 8 o’clock. “Where is Pierre?”
“Pierre quit,” Jack said.
“He quit? Today?”
“He called as he was boarding a train bound for Baja, said he needed to see the country before he died.”
“Before he died? He’s only 30.” George placed both hands on his bald head and paced the length of the bar. Isabella leaned both hands on the bar, waiting for an opportunity to join the conversation.
“Who is getting married?”
“Peter Long.”
“Peter? Oh, I forgot the rehearsal is tonight. I’m going to the wedding tomorrow.”
“How do you know Peter?”
“My grandfather is his accountant.”
George paused in front of the office and jabbed a worn finger at the clock hanging above the door. “Enough chatting. Jack, get back to work. Isabella, what are you still doing here?”
She shrugged and waited for direction. The front door opened, and the wedding party arrived.
“Since we are short a server, why doesn’t she take Pierre’s place?”
Isabella nodded eagerly in support of Jack’s proposal.
“Fine. Whatever. Just don’t get in the way.”
“OK,” she said, unnervingly calm. “So what should I do?”
George clutched his chest, breathing very deeply, shook his head and walked away. Jack silently prayed the night would go much smoother than he expected. He looked over at the table where Timmy and Tommy Long sat alone, as police sirens and gun shots rang out of the Nintendo DS gripped in their palms; Peter Long was nowhere in sight.
“Go ask for their drinks.”
Isabella walked over to the table and waved at the familiar sight of the Long children playing alone. “Hi, boys, do you want something to drink?”
Timmy sighed, annoyed by the interruption. He glanced over at his younger brother and said, “Sure, I’ll have an O’Doul’s.”
“Me too,” Tommy said without looking up. Jack reached the top of the steep stairs leading from the cellar to the main floor and set two cases of wine on the floor behind the bar. His eyes fell upon the ruby flats, which Isabella compensated for by alternating between standing on either foot.
“There’s no place like home.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Can I get something for you?”
“Oh, right. The Long boys ordered two O’Doul’s.”
“They ordered what?”
“Two O’Doul’s.”
“Isabella,” Jack said, shaking his head gravely. “We cannot be serving underage kids beer.”
“But it’s non-alcoholic,” she said, genuinely perplexed.
“No. Bring them Shirley Temples instead.”
“I’ll do it, but I think they’ll be pretty disappointed.”
Mercedes DiVino sidled up to the bar sheathed in a slinky gold dress. “Isabella Dubois, have you joined the working ranks?”
“This is my first day,” Isabella said cooly, less than enthused by the idea of catering to Peter’s fiancé, who graduated from Wright Academy only a year before Isabella.
“Well,” Mercedes said, taking in the effect of the entirely inappropriate attire for the event that was not a fashion misstep, nor a matter of choice, but a uniform. “Look how far you have come.”
She held out an empty wine glass for Isabella to refill. The regrettably impressive rock perched on Mercedes’ hand drew Isabella’s attention away from the task at hand. While her eyes remained locked on the ring and her thoughts on the mysterious ways of karma, a scarlet trail of wine streamed down the floral print of the bride-to-be’s gown and shrill wail filled the room. “You ruined my dress!”
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