A Twist In The Tail

The waitress’ eyes narrowed slightly as if she was going to call Millie’s bluff, but she must have thought better of it because she simply said, ‘I’ll see if he’s available,’ before scurrying off.

Millie’s scowl turned into a smile. She grabbed the beer from Mom and took a swig. ‘See. Works every time.’

Millie’s gloating was short lived. The waitress came back wearing an apologetic look.

‘Chef Murano is busy in the kitchen. He said to offer a free dessert.’

‘Free dessert?’ Millie said loudly, her voice incredulous. ‘That’s no compensation.’

People were starting to stare and the waitress looked antsy. ‘We can take your meal off the bill…’

Millie shot up from her seat. ‘No. None of that will do. I need to talk to chef Murano. Which way to the kitchen.’

‘You can’t go in th—’

But Millie was already marching toward the steel doors that clearly led to the kitchen, casting a follow-me glance over her shoulder at us.

Mom tossed her napkin on the table and slid out of the booth. ‘Guess we should follow her.’

The kitchen was a flurry of activity and a chaos of smells. Pots clanged, sous chefs rushed around plating salads and putting dollops of whipped cream on desserts. In the middle, Tony Murano stood in front of a steel table. He was tall with dark hair, a five o’clock shadow on his chin – though it was only 1:30 – and hairy knuckles. Perhaps I noticed the knuckles because they were clutched around a cleaver that he held high in the air. The florescent lighting glinted off the blade as it sliced down toward the table.

Thwack!

Mom, Millie and I all jumped as the cleaver cut through the side of beef that had been lying on the table.

‘Oh!’ Mom gasped.

Tony’s eyes jerked from the beef to Mom, then me, then Millie. His face darkened. ‘What are you doing in here?’

Millie marched to the other side of the table. I could see her trying to peek over to see what he had on his feet but she was too short. ‘I would like to complain about my veal.’

Tony’s eyes narrowed. The cleaver glinted. ‘Look lady, there’s nothing wrong with the veal. I tasted it myself. I think you’re just trying to weasel out of paying the bill.’

‘I certainly am not!’ Millie stomped her foot then tried to peek around the corner of the table. ‘I just wanted you to… umm…’ She turned around and looked at us.

‘Admit that the meal was subpar.’ Mom came to her rescue.

‘Subpar? Who are you people? Food critics? I don’t like food critics.’ Tony raised the cleaver and we all took a step back.

The sous chefs had stopped working and were watching the argument.

‘We are not food critics.’ Millie started around the corner of the table, glancing back at us with a knowing look. ‘We’re just little old ladies trying to get a good meal. Social security only goes so far you know, and we need to get good value for our money. But more importantly, we want you young people to have the manners to admit when something isn’t good.’

Tony was looking at Millie like she was a three-day-old salad. Clearly he didn’t want to be on the same side of the table as her because he side-stepped away.

‘Listen lady, you need to leave.’

Millie pressed her lips together. Clearly this tactic wasn’t working. ‘Well maybe a handshake then and we’ll call it a day?’

She started toward him but Tony held up the cleaver, stopping her.

A door in the back of the kitchen burst open. A woman stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as she took in the intruders in the kitchen. She glanced from Tony to Millie to Mom, her eyes widened when they got to me.

She looked furious as she turned to Tony. ‘What’s going on in here? Who is she?’ She jabbed her finger in my direction.

Tony scowled. ‘I don’t know, honey. They burst in here demanding I apologize because they didn’t like their dinners.’

The woman, Tony’s wife or girlfriend apparently, looked like she didn’t believe him.

While Tony was distracted with this woman, Millie sidled over to the other side of the table. She craned her neck looking down in the direction of Tony’s feet. Her eyes widened and she glanced over at us nodding her head in an exaggerated manner. Honestly, she couldn’t have been less subtle.

Luckily, Tony was no longer paying attention to us. He was busy arguing with the woman who was now standing in front of him, her hands fisted on her hips.

‘Well I certainly hope that this hussy here isn’t trying to get your attention.’ She jerked her head in my direction. Hussy?

I raised my hand. ‘Uhh… I just came with them. I don’t want anyone’s attention.’

The woman got in Tony’s face. ‘Is that right? Maybe she came here thinking I wasn’t in and she could have you all to herself.’

Tony took a few steps back. ‘No dear, that’s not it at all.’ He swaggered away from the woman toward us. When I say swaggered, I don’t mean in an old-fashioned cowboy way. I mean that he had a funny way of walking on the sides of his feet. Just like the clog print we’d found in the bark mulch.