Why do we always insist on standing in the way of our own happiness?
Is it so we can continue to have something to gripe about? Are we so afraid of contentment, thinking if we got to the end of the rainbow then the quest would be over? Perhaps it’s the belief that if we held our own happiness firmly in our grip, we simply wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves! The ridiculousness of our own psyches that psychs us out of tangible and lasting joy… What a species!
I’ve just got my badge on at the start of my shift when I catch Stevie frantically waving me over to reception; party of 4, by the looks of it a double date.
“Here’s your waiter now,” Stevie hands me over, “and he will see to your requirements this evening. Have a pleasant meal; you’re in very good hands.”
Showing the patrons to my section, I almost trip myself over that last bit. Why is that turd ball Stevie acting like… well, a decent guy all of a sudden?
“I’m telling you he won,” The lighter-skinned lady at the front is piping on, “they announced after people had stopped watching.”
“Kyoka, Becky, why were you still watching you?” her taller, husky-voiced galpal quizzes, waving me closer as she takes her seat. “Can I get a tonic with lime?”
“Eh and bring me a bottled water…Andrew what do you want?” the fair-skinned Becky asks her heavy set date who’s finishing up a phone call, stalling her with his hand gestures but she’d rather not wait. “Get him a Tusker.”
“I’ll have one too but make sure it’s from the fridge,” the second gentleman orders, finally able to loosen his bright yellow tie (I’m guessing an embarrassing birthday gift from the wife) and roll his sleeves up at the end of a long day in… hmmm… I’m gonna guess corporate finance.
“But Della, you know this one sat on my remote,” Becky chides, leaning playfully towards her date, doing her best to distract him from his still running phone conversation. “I had to keep watching.”
“Us we didn’t even watch,” Della’s slight hint at regret is missed by no one, “Kevin and his brother were watching that Transporter movie… again.”
Kevin smoothly transcends the poke in his direction and looks suddenly but non-threateningly in my direction, sending a silent prompt my way.
“So,” I kick myself into gear, “one tonic with lime, bottled water and two Tuskers?”
“Cold ones, please” Kevin reminds me, gentle once more. The guy’s polite, I’ll give him that.
“Babe, won’t your phone call end?” I hear Becky plead as I head off to the bar area, checking my watch but then realizing I have no idea what day it is anyways thus no way of being sure Christina will be on until I turn the corner and through the swinging doors-
“Hey, smooth criminal,” the lovely Christina teases from behind the bar.
“First of all, if you don’t like Michael Jackson, something’s wrong with YOU not me,” I slide over my drink order. “How’s the drunkard’s nest today?”
“Busy,” she’s popping and pouring with the agility of a circus performer, expressly lining the drinks up on a tray without missing a beat. “And no one said I don’t like Michael Jackson!”
“You did, you said that!” I’m incredulous as she slides the tray towards me then flips back to the counter, processing the multitude of orders at her behest. “Wow you really are busy.”
Without ever looking up, Christina calls after me, “You better not abandon me tonight.”
“Who else would I talk to? Stevie?” I catch her wild cackle as I back through the swinging doors and head to my section, silently glad to have Christina in this career graveyard of a job. No one ever intends to work at a restaurant all their lives, not as a waiter or bartender anyways, but Christina’s been here at least 2 years longer than my own 18 months which is the longest I know of- besides Stevie, of course, that butt kisser. In some ways though, Christina’s the only reason I’m still at this restaurant. I mean, I know she has a boyfriend and she sees me more as a brother or cousin, but… I don’t have a lot going for me even outside this restaurant and Christina… well, she makes my day whenever I see her.
“At least 3 years in,” straight-laced Della’s declaring when I return with the drinks.
“3 years, woman?” Kevin chuckles into his foaming glass. “While we’re doing what all that time?’
“No kids for the first 3 years!” Della reaffirms, staring her date down, not blinking once.
“Perfectly rational,” seems Andrew’s phone call finally ended. “I imagine Della envisages the formative years as crucial foundation building; laying the ground in terms of security and emotional maturity such that when the offspring arrives, it’s into a healthy, welcoming environment.”
Della’s nodding her head all through the eloquent Andrew’s little elaboration as if he’s simply repeating what she just said. Kevin seems ill-equipped for a comeback but Andrew’s gaze never leaves his own date, as if speaking directly to Becky who’s doing her best to seem unimpressed.
“You can never be prepared enough!” Kevin insists after some thought, running his hand across the menu as if reading Braille.
“Ah, you you’re just stubborn!” Della surmises, insisting on sharing her date’s menu even though there’s one laid out right in front of her. “How hot is this Calamari chicken?”
“Depending on your specific request madam, it’s anywhere from medium to red hot,” I can’t lie about these things; during training we’re handed an entire booklet of phrases that convey vaguely accurate descriptions of each menu item without discouraging their consumption. It’s a legal thing.
“What do you think, Becky?” Andrew tends to his date.
“Urrrrrrrrrrr,” Becky eyes her menu with some hostility. “I don’t want anything too spicy.”
“No, I was referring to the discussion about when the suitable time to have children is.”
“Oh!” her eyes narrow mischievously. “That’s an easy one: when things with the mother in law are too crazy, it’s time to pop one out!”
The two ladies high five each other giggling; Kevin rolls his eyes back and shrugs but Andrew beams this mystifying smile Becky’s way, almost as if he’s proud of her, like she’s passed some kind of test. What the hell?
“You man,” Kevin shakes his head in commiseration, “you would never handle that one.”
“As if you can handle me!” Della asserts with all the attitude you’d expect.
“I got you to marry me, didn’t I?” Kevin bravely counters.
“Ha, poor sweetie,” Della sinisterly rubs her husband’s shoulder, “I simply LET you think that was your idea! Gotcha!”
More high fives and cackles between the ladies and the look on Kevin’s face as he contemplates the possibility that he was tricked into marriage- priceless! He takes a rather large gulp of his beer and that seems to get him back on track.
“My man,” he signals me, “let me get number 12 but with extra cheese. And another Tusker, thanks guy.”
“Get me the Calamari chicken but tell the chef I don’t like hot things,” Della hands over the menu. If you don’t like hot things then why would you order… arrrrrrgggggh!
But I smile and say, “I’ll ask him to keep it as mild as he possibly can.”
“I’ll just have a number 14, thanks, with a number 7 on the side.” Andrew hands me his menu and then it’s all eyes on the noticeably distant Becky.
Insulated from the pressure on her, Becky languidly fingers through the menu as her companions politely sip their drinks in silence, giving her space to make the critical decision of what she’s going to have for supper. It has to be a full 4 minutes of quiet before she finally folds the menu, handing it off to me with that most irksome of instructions: “Just get me something nice. No cheese.”
I start to lose my shit but this is a battle I’ve never won before and there’s too many red flags on my chart this month to risk it over this so instead I grit my teeth and bow out, not even inquiring about starters.
Doesn’t matter; no one in this town ever has starters.
As I head back to the bar, dropping my order off at the kitchen first, I can’t help but reflect on the mood change in the previously bubbly Becky who seemed to lose all interest in her date once she managed to get him off the phone. It’s possible I missed something when I left to get the drinks earlier but there’s a very conspicuous shift in her demeanor.
“You didn’t miss anything,” Christina sets me straight over at the bar, catching a well deserved breath amidst the Friday night rush. “Girls are just like that sometimes; we want your attention only while we can’t have it.”
“What the fuck?” I’m puzzled.
“Look, it’s really not even a conscious thing,” she defends. “It’s like when you’re starving, all you can think about is hitting the jackpot, right? But if someone gave you shs 100m, you wouldn’t be so interested in money anymore, would you?”
“Hell yeah I would!”
She tosses a cloth at my head playfully, “You’re saying that cos you’ve never had that kind of money, Thriller.”
“Seriously? You’re just gonna keep calling me M.J. songs? How many do you even know, hater?”
“Man in the mirror, Bad, Jam… neh neh neh neh neh,” she’s humming to herself trying to recall the lyrics, “ neh neh they don’t really care about us!”
I love how proud of herself she is, beaming her gorgeous smile as she points a triumphant finger in my direction. “Wow, you really can’t sing, can you?”
“Shut up,” she laughs, getting up to handle the mixed race couple that’s checked in at the bar.
“At least we can confirm your other name is NOT Aguilera,” I keep poking but all Christina can do is shoot me wicked stares as she tends to the Muzungu and his clearly rented date. I head back through to the dining area via the kitchen for my first of 3 rounds delivering the meals to the table.
On the first trip, the topic of conversation is something to do with redeeming unused vouchers won in some kind of TV competition.
On the second trip, they’re talking about rock music on TV series; I almost drop a bowl of vegetable rice when Kevin suggests Boston Legal has the best soundtrack on TV but his wife is quick to correct him over the fact that someone who only watches 3 TV shows (24, Prison Break and Boston Legal) doesn’t belong in this discussion.
“So I’m not allowed to take you to a Jazz show just cos I don’t like jazz music?” Andrew’s inquiring as I set his steaming duck egg curry before him on my third and final trip. (At least for the main course).
“No Andy,” Becky’s switched to wine now and is back to flirtatious. “You can’t take me to a jazz show because I’m an engaged woman.”
Woah, I couldn’t have called that but Andrew doesn’t bat an eyelid.
“Yes but WHY are you engaged, Becky? That’s the more intriguing quandary.” Clearly these 2 are playing at something I can’t quite figure out.
“What does that mean?” Becky chews delightedly into her crunchy Conch Fritters (my pick). “Because I want to get married.”
“And that’s it, isn’t it? You could have said you were engaged because you’re in love with the fellow-”
“Of course I love him!”
“You love what he symbolizes, Becks,” Andrew shakes his head, “you love that he’s closer to what your parents envisioned for you.”
“Closer than you!” Becky goes on the offensive and her date momentarily backs down.
“Closer than me,” he repeats, taking a melancholy swig of his tusker.
“Wait I don’t get it,” Kevin cuts in.
‘Kk!” his wife chides but Kevin’s on his 3rd bottle.
“No seriously… what… how is Victor more suitable?” Kevin insists, cheese lining the corner of his mouth. “I mean, I’ve only seen you guys together that one time at Rodney’s bbq that time but… And I don’t mean this in a gay way but Andy’s awesome!”
“Thanks buddy,” Andrew chuckles.
“Sweetie… Kk, enough!” Della’s embarrassed enough for the both of them but Kevin’s on a roll here.
“No, no, seriously I mean this guy has a cool job, girls like him, he... he’s tall, I don’t know anyone who talks like him but it sounds like one of the bad guys in a James Bond movie which is cool…” Kevin’s voice just kind of fades out after that.
“But why aren’t you with Andrew?” Della flips the script suddenly, smiling naughtily.
“What? Now you’re on their side?” Becky sounds truly wounded.
“Becky darling you know we’ve been sisters since teenie days and I love you, sweetie, I really do, but I’ve been around you and Victor-”
“Eeeeeh, Della! You girl you can chuck!”
“No bambi, I know you love Victor, he’s an amazing guy, but…” Della and Kevin now stare expectantly at the slightly tipsy and under attack Becky who turns doe-eyed to her date for support.
“You’re just going to leave me on blast here?” she pleads.
Then Andrew does something I don’t quite understand; it’s not his actions that confuse me but his motivation to do what he does. You see in this moment he has her, anyone in this restaurant observing carefully enough can see that he has her, that he’s the one she really wants to be with and backed into this corner by her nosey friends, she’s a second away from admitting it.
Which is why I’m confused by Andrew letting her off the hook.
“It’s a tribal thing, guys,” Andrew smiles warmly across the table at Becky.
“A tribal thing,” Becky giggles, relieved at the tension easing up.
“Ha! A tribal thing!” Kevin laughs then backs up. “Wait, but you guys are the same tribe, right?”
“Well, only technically,” there’s a sneaky smirk on Andrew’s face. “There’s the whole royal bloodline versus that of the base tribesman such as myself.”
“Fuck off!” Kevin almost chokes on his brochettes. “You’re kidding, right?”
Andrew shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t look at me; I didn’t make the rules.’
All eyes turn once again to the innocent-eyed Becky, stewing in her crème sauce. “I didn’t make the rules! Why are you guys all teaming up on me?”
There’s laughter across the table but Kevin’s inquisition is not nearly done. “What are you talking about? That stuff ended in 1865 or something like that!”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But some people…” Andrew casts a cheeky glance at Becky who points a threatening Conch lollipop in his direction.
“So let me get this straight: you guys can’t get married because Becky’s from the royal family-”
“Royal bloodline, not family,” Andrew interjects.
“Sorry, bloodline… wait what’s the difference?”
“I’m not related to the royal family, silly” Becky chastises.
“You’re not?”
“Except by blood,” Andrew slips in.
“Yeah but it’s not… ummm…” Becky’s at a loss to explain, dipping back into her wine.
“Logical?” Andrew suggests ducking Becky’s swipes at his head with her napkin. “Contemporary?”
“Sane?” Della contributes.
“But Della!” Becky shoots her a frown.
“I’m just saying, sweetie, if my family still lived by the archaic rules that existed BEFORE colonial times then they would have never let this rascal marry me or anyone in our tribe!” she squeezes her husband’s hand.
“I love you baby,” even through foggy eyes, the full force of adoration between the newlyweds is unmissable.
On the other side of the table, Becky and Andrew are exchanging their own looks of affection except there seems to be this invisible but very real wall keeping them just far enough apart for it not to count as cheating but every moment that goes by, that wall seems more likely to crumble, their true feelings for each more likely to overcome if only for a moment.
…………………………………………………………………….
Later into the night, serving 3 more tables now, the double date at Table 08 seems to finally be ready to leave and I’ve barely had to put up with Stevie tonight. I don’t know what’s gotten into him tonight but he’s not been the perennial ass wart I’m used to enduring and I guess I should be happy about that except it feels a lot like the quiet before a storm. I’ve spent most of my free time arguing the possible scenarios with Christina over at the bar… yes, it’s still bothering me because I know that the “tribal thing” can’t really be the reason Andrew and Becky aren’t together.
“Why do you care so much?” Christina asked me earlier and I felt a bit let down cos I thought sticking our noses in total strangers’ business, purely as an elemental exercise, was the glue that bound us together. I mean what else is there to do to run out the clock?
As the party of 4 checks out at reception, an unnervingly civilized Stevie simply bids them a goodnight instead of hounding them like he always does. Something’s very wrong with this guy tonight! Huh, Andrew seems to have warmed his way into his engaged date’s heart at least for the evening as they cozily stroll out to the parking lot, hand in hand, dreaming together of what could be perhaps, the newlyweds a few paces ahead of them, Della insisting on driving given Kevin’s state by the end of the night. I’m sure he was behind the extra generous tip though so I’m secretly praying they get home safe plus something about seeing them together, taking care of each other… It gives me something genuine to hope for.
Suddenly there’s trouble in paradise!
Becky’s shaken Andrew off her arm and seems to be giving him a thorough put down in the middle of the parking lot, despite Andrew’s best efforts to calm her down. Becky looks around frantically and is dismayed to find that her friends have already driven off then with a resurgence of determination, she brushes passed a puzzled Andrew and marches back into the restaurant, Andrew frustrated but following her back in.
“Can I have the phone, please,” Becky strenuously requests at reception.
“Becks this is un-”
“Don’t call me that!” she fights him off, dialing forcefully.
“Becky,” Andrew grasps, but you can hear in his tone that he knows the evening’s beyond salvage. “Becky I’ll take you home.”
But she ignores him stubbornly, the mix of wine and emotion charting landscapes across her face. “Hello… Jokka? Yes this is madam… yes… Where are you?.. Where? Okay, I’m at the other restaurant where you brought us with mister on… Yes, the one with the… the one with the… Yes… yes that one. Okay… Yes, come and pick me.”
When she hangs up the phone, Becky’s stance is supremely defiant and she’s holding firmly onto whatever victory she’s secretly won. Andrew, keeping a safe distance, simply shakes his head only it seems to be less at the unrelenting beauty at his side and more at his own ruptured imaginings.
He leans in towards her as if to kiss her goodnight but catches himself in the moment and rethinks it, opting for a tender but strictly platonic grip on the shoulder, bowing a little to meet her eyeline and then with a twinge of his own defiant irony in his smile, he quotes the poignant lines of a famous poem: “I don’t know what it is about you that closes and opens…”
They sit together, or more next to each other for they don’t really speak and the invisible wall between them is more impermeable than ever. But he waits with her, about 15 minutes in silence, barely exchanging a glance yet no animosity in the air. Just 2 people cut off from each other, left redefining their own understanding of love and happiness, searching to bridge the vast ocean between the two ideals…
