A Basil Blow-up
The time was a little after seven as I strolled along the alley behind Walt’s Special. I wasn’t sure if I should hurry or not. The dinner rush was usually at its height from about six to eight. After eight the crowds would thin out until we stopped seating people at ten. I knew the kitchen would be bustling, but I was back and forth in my mind over the best course of action.
On one hand, I worried about increasing Walt’s stress if I presented myself to him during the rush. On the other hand, even though I was exhausted, I knew I could be of help if Walt needed it. In the end, I decided to leave the decision to fate and get there when I got there.
I lit a cigarette while I walked because I wouldn’t be able to have one once I was in the kitchen. Walt didn’t let anyone smoke around his food. He was terrified of cigarette ash getting into his dishes. He disliked when his employees smoked at the break table because that was in the kitchen. The break area was far enough away from the food prep area that Walt didn’t try to stop the employees from smoking there, but he kept a vigilant eye on the practice.
As I got near the heavy steel security door which gave into the kitchen from the alley, I noticed a figure who stood against the wall. I couldn’t tell who he was in the low light. The figure struck a match to relight a fragment of a cigarette which apparently had gone out. I saw the figure’s white hair in the flare of the match. The white hair meant the figure was Owen.
Since Walt hired Owen two weeks before, I’d wondered where the thirty-year-old had gotten his white hair. I’d never asked because I didn’t want to be rude. I’d brought the matter up to Walt once. He offered an opinion. “Owen was in the war.” Walt said like that explained everything.
“I was in a war too!” I objected. “Where’s my white hair?”
Walt looked at me with a deadpan expression and said, “it’s coming in.”
Both Walt and I laughed ourselves silly from his joke. I enjoyed the moment of humor with my husband, especially because those moments had been few and far between since the arrival of the Firestone letter. In the days since we had our laugh, I’d held onto that moment as proof that the real Walt, the man I married, was still alive inside the ball of nerves he’d become. Either because of that, or in parallel to that treasured moment, I’d come to like Owen a great deal.
I called out to him as I drew near and stood before him. “Owen!” I said. “How’s it going?”
Owen exhaled cigarette smoke straight down between us and fixed me with his pale, almost colorless eyes. “He fired me.” Owen said.
“Who did?” I asked like an idiot.
“Walt did.” Owen said in the same mild voice he always used. “I mean, he said I was fired, but when I started to leave, he said to forget it, that I wasn’t fired. I think I’m still fired. He’ll tell me to leave once you come back. Are you back?”
I shook my head and drew smoke from my cigarette. I blew the smoke out to the side and flicked some ash onto the damp pavement. “The earliest I might be back is next week. I’ll be tied up on a case at least through the weekend.”
Owen shook his head at me and dropped his cigarette to the pavement at his feet. He stepped on the discarded butt and crushed it out. There were several other crushed butts at his feet. The butts told me that Owen had been in the alley for some time. “I guess I’ll get a full week this week, but afterward, I’ll have to look for a job. It’s a shame. I really wanted to work here. Walt’s Special has a great reputation.”
I didn’t understand what happened. I asked for an explanation.
“I was making the soup,” Owen said, “like you and me always do. Tonight’s was supposed to be ‘Walt’s Special Hearty Vegetable.’ I cut all the veggies up and had everything going. I started to add the seasoning and got the wrong jar. You know how the labels don’t last. They always peel from everyone’s wet hands. I thought I had dried parsley, but I put basil in by mistake.”
“You didn’t smell it?” I asked.
Owen pointed at his nose. “Remember yesterday I told you I was getting over a cold. My nose is still stuffy. I didn’t smell it until I shook it into the soup, and it came back to me on the steam. When I told Walt, he yelled at me…a lot.”
Owen checked his pocket for another cigarette, but he drew out an empty pack. He crumpled the pack in frustration and tossed it along the alley. I gave him a cigarette from my pack and held a match for him to light it. Owen nodded appreciatively and breathed smoke from the fresh cigarette. He finished the recount of his exchange with Walt. “I tried to tell him that I knew how to fix it, but he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t hear anything I had to say. I’ve been trying to stay out of his way ever since.”
“How would you fix it?” I asked.
“Add tomato.” Owen announced like it was the simplest thing in the world. “The soup is a light broth. If we add tomato, the basil flavor will work, and the soup will be even heartier. Walt wouldn’t listen. We didn’t have time to make new soup, so he sent Julie the hostess out for canned soup from the grocer on the opposite block. He’s serving canned tomato soup and adding cream to make it taste better.”
“Where is the soup you made?” I asked.
Owen shrugged like his answer didn’t matter. “It’s on the burner at our station. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.”
I had an idea to save the soup and Owen’s job. My idea wouldn’t make me popular with Walt, or it might, depending on how the results turned out. I decided, for the good of the restaurant, for Owen’s good, and for Walt’s, I needed to take a chance. I took my pack of cigarettes out of my shirt pocket and put it in Owen’s. “Hang out here a little longer.” I said and hurried into the kitchen.
I went to the changing room to shed my suit jacket and to put on an apron and a hair net. I washed my hands and made my way through the hustling madness of the kitchen to the cook station I usually shared with Owen. I seized one of the big number-ten-cans of tomato soup, opened the lid, and tipped a little more than half its contents into the pot of soup Owen had made. I stirred it for a few minutes, then tasted the result. The soup was delicious. Owen had been right about adding tomato to make the flavors work. I ladled some soup into a sampling dish and went to find Walt.
I saw my husband near the swing door into the dining room. He hovered over the shelf which held dishes ready to go out to hungry customers. He often made final checks of the plates before they went out. His tendency to check had become more prevalent since he received the Firestone letter. I inserted myself between Walt and the shelf and shoved the sampling dish into his hands. “Taste this.” I commanded.
Walt accepted the dish but didn’t do as I asked. He scowled anger at me and shouted. “YOU’RE APPRENTICE IS DONE! HE FUCKED UP BIG TIME! NO MORE OF THIS DETECTIVE SHIT! I NEED YOU HERE!”
I didn’t address Walt’s bluster because he’d sworn at me. I knew that if he swore, he was far too angry to listen to reason. I took his hand, the one that held the sampling dish, and guided it toward his mouth. “Taste this.” I insisted.
Walt slurped the contents of the dish and filled his lungs to yell at me again. The flavors hit him before he shouted. His next explosion was tempered by his enjoyment of what he’d eaten. “WHAT…uh, what is that?”
“That’s the soup you fired Owen over.”
“You fixed it?” Walt asked.
I corrected Walt. “No, Owen did.”
Walt called for his second in command, the head assistant chef. “HAROLD!”
Harold appeared and stood at a reasonable facsimile of attention. Walt issued some orders. “Stop serving that canned tomato shit. Get the soup from Law’s station. Serve that. Tell the wait staff to call it ‘Walt’s Special Tomato Vegetable.’ Say it’s a new dish. Get the staff to find out if people like it. We might have a new menu item.”
Harold charged off to complete his mission. Walt turned to me. “I need you. Can you work or are you too tired?”
I was fucking exhausted, but I wasn’t going to tell Walt because I didn’t want to disappoint him. I said I could work and set about doing what needed to be done. The first thing I did was to get Owen from the alley. With him at my side, we performed our duties like the team we’d been for the previous two weeks. We worked through the dinner rush and into the night.
By ten-thirty, the dining room crowd had finally died down, and with it the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Owen and I shed our aprons and stepped from the steamy kitchen heat into the bracing cold of the alley to have a cigarette. Owen shook two from the pack I’d given him and passed one to me. He lit his from a paper match and held the flame for me to light mine. We both exhaled smoke and leaned our sweaty backs against the grimy brick wall that was the back of Walt’s Special.
“Thank you, Law.” Owen said through a cloud of cigarette smoke. The air was so heavy and damp, the smoke refused to dissipate. It gathered around us like fog. “I want to keep this job. I’ve wanted to work here for a long time. Walt has a reputation for being an excellent chef and a good teacher. I hoped I’d be able to work directly with him, but after tonight, I don’t know if he’ll ever let me.”
“Give it time.” I counseled Owen. “Walt didn’t tell anyone on the staff, but he’s up for a Firestone star. The inspection is supposed to be sometime this month. Poor Walt is as nervous as a cat. He wants this place to succeed so bad, the stress of the inspection is killing him. Once the inspection is over, he’ll be himself again. Since you’ve only been here two weeks, you haven’t met the real Walt yet. You will. He’s a great guy. You’ll see.”
Owen blew a lungful of smoke out and used it to say a very long ‘wow.’ “A Firestone Star would be incredible! To think, I’ll be able to say I work at a place with a star. The guys I went to culinary school with will be jealous as hell.”
I was about to remind Owen to keep the discussion about the star a secret when the security door lurched open, and Walt walked through it. He presented Owen with a plain paper envelope and a quick, impersonal announcement. “I decided to pay you to the end of the week, but this is your last day.”
Owen stared at the envelope. I stared at Walt. I couldn’t believe he still intended to fire Owen. I asked about his actions. “What are you doing?”
“I’m firing one of my employees.” Walt said. “Just because he knew how to fix his mistake doesn’t absolve him of making it. I can’t afford mistakes like that.”
“But who will do his work?” I asked.
“You will.” Walt said. “Nothing has changed. You’ll just continue in your old role until we find someone else for you to train.”
I was stunned by Walt’s words, stunned and enraged. I didn’t give vent to my anger because I was with Walt at his restaurant where he was the boss. For me to argue with him in front of his employee would be an attack on the authority he needed to run his place. I held my temper long enough to ask Owen to leave Walt and I alone. “Owen, please go inside. Wait for me. If the dining room is empty, tell Benny at the bar to give you a drink. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Owen dropped his cigarette and mashed it out under his heel. He went through the door without a word. When the steel door slammed shut behind him, I turned to face Walt. I was tempted to shout at him, but I wanted to be sure of the situation first. I tried to formulate a question which would help me understand how Walt thought his kitchen would run with Owen fired and me out on a case.
Walt blustered at me before I figured out what to say. “How dare you countermand my orders to one of my employees! I run this restaurant, NOT YOU!”
I felt my temper rise in reaction to Walt’s bluster, but I kept my voice calm. I didn’t want to get into a shouting match with Walt because shouting wouldn’t solve anything. I tried to explain the situation as I saw it. I pointed at the door like Owen still stood behind it. “You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. Owen is good at his job, and you need him. He fucked up. Fine. Everyone fucks up, even you. You can’t afford to be down a man.”
Walt stared at me like he didn’t understand my objections. “I won’t be down a man. You’ll be back tomorrow.”
I returned Walt’s stare because I felt like one of us had missed something. I couldn’t figure out if I had or Walt had. I puffed my cigarette and blew the smoke into the sky. The smoke refused to rise. It hovered around my head like a halo of cotton wool. I tried to correct Walt’s misapprehension about my return to the kitchen. “I won’t be back tomorrow. David will be here at seven in the morning and I’ve got to go with him. I only just started on the case. I’ll be lucky if I’m back by next week.”
Walt crossed his muscular arms over his deep chest in a direct challenge to my words. “No. You’ll be back tomorrow.” He insisted. “I already told you that you were done with this detective shit. I won’t have you gallivanting around with your old flame when I need you here.”
I heard Walt’s words, but I didn’t believe them. I couldn’t believe them. I drew on my cigarette and decided I’d had enough of it. I flicked the butt away from me and shut my eyes for a second. ‘He’s kidding.’ I told myself. ‘He has to be kidding.’ I opened my eyes and asked. “Are you kidding?”
“No.” Walt insisted.
“You’re serious?” I asked to confirm.
Walt leaned forward on his hips to emphasize his sincerity. “Deadly serious.” He said.
My temper flared like a book of matches that all caught fire at once. I exploded. “WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” I asked at the top of my voice.
“I’M THE ONE IN CHARGE!” Walt shouted back at me.
“NOT OF ME, YOU’RE NOT!”
“OH YEAH?” Walt challenged. “WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’D BE WITHOUT ME? IN THE FUCKING GUTTER, THAT’S WHERE!”
Walt’s viciousness set me back on my heels but not for long. I didn’t give a shit how much stress he was under. I wasn’t going to let anyone talk to me the way he had. I lowered my voice because I decided I was through shouting.
I growled at Walt instead. “I decide how I spend my time. I’ve decided to spend it with David. When I’m done with him, I’ll have to think real fucking hard about whether I come back here or not. In the meantime, you will keep Owen on, and you won’t treat him like shit for what happened today. If you would have listened to him in the first place, the whole fucking disaster could have been prevented. You can’t listen to anyone though. You’ve got your head too far up your ass to hear them.”
Walt responded with his own rumbling growl. “This is my restaurant. I run it, and I say Owen is fired.”
I stepped up to Walt until we were chest to chest. “If you fire him, I’ll kick the living shit out of you.” I threatened.
Walt glared down at me from his three-inch height advantage. “You think you can?” He taunted. “You’re getting awfully fucking old to go around threatening people like you used to.”
Walt’s challenge was the last straw. I felt my hands ball into fists and my whole body began to shake. I whispered my next words to Walt. “Walk away.”
All of Walt’s bravado abandoned him when I whispered. His eyes flared wide in fear as he realized he’d pushed me too far. He remembered that when I whispered, physical violence was the next step. Walt knew what I was capable of when anger took over my reason. He’d seen me like that. He’d seen it just once. The one time he’d seen my rage had been enough to make Walt fear the animal inside of me.
Back in 1937 or 38, when Walt was still the overnight man at a counter service diner in Passyunk Square, he and I were alone in the restaurant when a thief tried to rob it. The thief came in and brandished a switchblade knife. I warned the thief to leave. I whispered that if he left peacefully, he wouldn’t be hurt. Instead of leaving, the thief held the knife to Walt’s throat. He threatened a man I had come to like. When the thief threatened Walt, I lost all control.
With complete disregard for the switchblade knife, I grabbed the thief and dragged him into the street. The thief managed to stick his knife partway into my chest, but I barely felt it through the blind rage which consumed me. I pulled the knife from my body and beat the man with my fists until Walt dragged me away from the thief’s bloodied and unconscious form. If not for Walt, I might have beaten the thief to death.
I know Walt never forgot the savage violence I visited upon that man. For several weeks after the incident, Walt treated me carefully and always stayed out of arm’s reach. He acted like I was a rabid dog on a very thin leash. Eventually, Walt came to understand that while I was capable of violence, the animal side of me did not come out unprovoked.
Unfortunately for Walt, he had just provoked that side of me. I held myself in check, but barely. Walt took a big step away from me and retreated inside the restaurant. He slammed the security door behind him and slid the deadbolt lock home in the jamb.
I shook with bottled up rage. I burned with anger but had nowhere to spend it. I turned on my heels to walk out of the alley and stomped a few feet along the squelching damp pavement. At the edge of my vision, I spotted a metal trashcan. The inanimate object seemed a likely receptacle for my rage. I seized it by the handles and threw it away from me. I followed its flying arc with running feet and booted the side of the can when it landed. The lid burst from the top of the can and trash spewed from inside. Bits of paper fluttered around while tin cans clattered, and glass shattered on the pavement.
I booted the can again. More trash ejected from it to litter the alley with an uneven arc of debris as the can spun away from me. I picked the can up and beat it against the side of the building. I screamed obscenities and smashed the can against the wall. “FUCK…FUCK…FUCK…GODDAMNIT…FUCK!”
I don’t know how many times I smashed the can against the building; maybe six, maybe eight, maybe more. When I was done, the metal object no longer looked like a trashcan. I’d reduced it to a mangled piece of galvanized shit. I flung it away from me, back in the direction of the door to Walt’s Special. I stumbled toward the end of the alley. My arms burned from the exertion, and my breath came to me in ragged gasps.
I felt my pockets for a cigarette but didn’t find one. I remembered I’d given my pack to Owen. “Owen…oh, fuck me.” I said aloud. “I still have to talk to Owen.”
I swore aloud as I walked. “Fucking Walt! Douchebag! Who the fuck does he think he is? I own half this fucking restaurant. YOU HEAR THAT WALT? HALF THIS FUCKING PLACE IS MINE! You’ve got a lot of nerve to tell me I’d be in the gutter. Asshole.”
Pain started to fill my body as I reached the end of the alley. Before I made it to the cross street, my insides hurt so badly I had to stop and lean against the wall of the last building on the block. I pressed my back into the rough stucco surface and fought to stay on my feet. My insides heaved and lurched. The green taste of bile rose in my throat. My stomach felt like a leg with a charley horse. I closed my eyes as the pain took hold of me. I dropped to my knees and pitched forward until my hands hit the pavement.
I wretched and spat on the ground. I wretched again and emptied the contents of my stomach between my locked arms. I heaved again and again. My empty stomach felt like it wanted to escape from my throat. I wretched and spat. Stomach acid burned the back of my throat and ran from my mouth. Tears streaked my face. My nose ran like a faucet. Still, I heaved.
“MY GOD, MAKE IT STOP!” I gargled between the clenching spasms which tried to empty what was already empty.
My unproductive heaves eventually stopped. I coughed and spat again. I rolled onto my side and then onto my back. I laid in the filthy wet alley to catch my breath. The sour stink of my own vomit made every breath a punishment. I held my crawling stomach. My insides felt like a canvas bag filled with fighting snakes.
When I recovered my breath, I struggled to my feet. I looked for my handkerchief but didn’t find it. I remembered it was in the pocket of my jacket, which was in the staff changing room inside the kitchen. I took my tie off and used it to wipe the tears and snot from my face and the vomit from my chin. I tossed the tie into the alley and walked around to the front of the restaurant.
The door was locked because the place was officially closed for the evening. I had to beat on the painted wood until Julie, the pretty brunette hostess answered. “Mister Edwards, what happened? Were you mugged?” She asked when she saw my disheveled condition.
I stared at Julie for a second. Ever since Walt hired her more than a year before, I hadn’t been able to shake the notion that she reminded me of someone. I could never figure out who that someone was. My lack of recognition bothered me enough that I tended to stare at Julie whenever she and I were together. I still couldn’t remember who she reminded me of, so I waved her concern away and went to the bar where Owen sat hunched over half a beer.
I flopped onto the stool next to him and banged the bar for service. Owen lurched up from the beer he’d been nursing and turned to stare at me. Benny the bartender, who had been polishing glasses, came to stare at me as well. I dealt with Benny first. “Pack of T-squares, book of matches, and gin…please.”
“Sure, Mister Edwards.” Benny said as he eyed me with wary caution, like one might scrutinize a tame circus bear allowed to wander through the audience. “You want rocks with that gin?”
I corrected Benny’s misconception. “I don’t want a drink. I want a bottle.”
Benny nodded and moved off to fill my order. I shouted after him. “NONE OF THAT TOP SHELF SHIT! GIVE ME THE STUFF YOU CLEAN THE BAR WITH!”
My stomach lurched as I yelled at Benny. I closed my eyes and held my crawling guts while I waited for the spasm to pass off. Owen set a worried hand on my shoulder. He was concerned about my filthy appearance and the painful grimace on my face. “Law…Law, what happened to you?”
The spasm ended, and I gulped a breath to answer Owen. “I had an argument with Walt and kicked the shit out of a trashcan to make myself feel better. When I was done, I tripped and fell in the alley. Listen,” I said to get Owen’s attention off me and onto what mattered, “Walt needs you, but he doesn’t want you. I think you should stay. Come here tomorrow and do your job. If he won’t give you any work, do what you know needs to be done. I think if you stick it out, you’ll get what you want. Are you tough enough for that? Can you come to a place where you’re not wanted and do what needs to be done?”
Owen’s face split into an amused grin. “Did you know that I’m a Marine?” He asked.
“No.” I answered.
“I am.” Owen confirmed. “I served in the Pacific. I was in the first wave when we landed on Guadalcanal.”
I remembered the news stories of the fighting on Guadalcanal and the other islands of the Japanese archipelago. Everyone made a big deal about the war in Europe, but the fighting in the Pacific was some of the fiercest of the whole war. The fact that mild-mannered Owen had fought there and survived meant he was one tough son of a bitch. I returned Owen’s smile with one of my own. “So, you’re used to being in places where you’re not wanted.” I joked.
Owen laughed. “You bet. Walt’s a big guy with a heck of a temper, but as long as he’s got a wooden spoon instead of a Nambu machine gun, I’ll be just fine.”
I slapped Owen’s back in celebration and stood from my stool. Benny brought my order and set it on the bar. I pocketed the smokes and tore the cap off the gin. I had a long pull on the bottle to wash the nasty taste of vomit from my mouth. The cheap gin burned a path to my stomach and calmed my crawling insides as it hit bottom.
Owen held up his pay envelope as I finished my drink. “What do I do with this?” He asked.
“Keep it.” I said. “He paid you for the week. Now he can’t threaten to hold back your money when you keep showing up.”
“Thanks, Law.” Owen said and held his beer glass up like he was going to toast me. “I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me a thing. Do your job and help Walt get his star.”
Owen saluted. I waved to him and left.
I went upstairs to the apartment and turned the radio on to a station which played big-band dance music. I sat on the chesterfield sofa to get drunk. I’m fairly certain I was successful.
