Dusting off the Rusting

“Is it true Gemmy?”, I spoke in a timid voice while lying on my bed half awake- half asleep.

“Of course! You don’t have to worry. Just make sure you reach the site on time.”

“He won’t come right?”, I tried to clarify.

“It’s been months after your break-up. He precisely vanished somewhere. He won’t be present there ofcourse.” He stumbled.

I stared at her, “Are you sure?”
“Come’n! It isn’t necessary to react to everything near you, Dorsy. Just go there today and enjoy. And don’t worry he won’t....”

“Stop it Gemmy. You fart when you lie.” It irked me to think how my bestie lied to me. I tossed the pillow on her and went out of our bedroom.

The house we cohabit, we two have been living since our graduation. Three years have passed and now here we are with our underpaid jobs. Luckily the house was affordable and congenial.

I went back to my room after having a coke from the shop downstairs, explored my closet and took out the garments. It was evening and I was ready for my job. I worked as a host in Glaston Wally  Restaurant in Norway. Before leaving I glimpsed near my bed where a bookmark was attached.

It read, ‘Don’t miss the good time honey. I’m off to my work and will go there directly. Don’t be late. And if you try to ditch me, I’ll get back and murder you. ’

I know Gemmy is a darling but sometimes she can be too bothersome. She can easily drain out my energy and morale. Moreover she loves gossiping and I can already assume the topic of this gathering today.

It was cold, dark and miserable outside. I felt lucky to have bought my umbrella with me today. My accommodation was close to my work place so I routinely walk by. In no time I reached the spot and put on my attire.

Handling reservations, direct walk-in guests and coordinating between the customers and kitchen stuff were my prior responsibilities.

As I was dressing up, I suddenly heard some vague words. It was coming from my counter. Putting on the neckerchief, I ran. A middle aged couple was enquiring about their reservation with a staff.

I rushed near them, “Hello! Good evening. How can I help you?” I gasped.

“We made a reservation today. But she is denying.” The man uttered in a coarse voice.

I looked at my colleague and her eyes yelled for help. I squeezed her left hand with my right hand and stood near the computer screen.

“May I know your name sir?” I smiled and asked.

“Troy Benze” He spoke in a harsh and annoying tone again.

I scrolled down the excel sheet of the reservation column but didn’t find the name. I cross-checked again in case I may miss out his name.

“Sorry sir, there isn’t any reservation made under the name Troy Benze. Can you tell me the name of the person who made the reservation?”

He was visibly anxious now, “Seriously? Stop with the repeated vexing questions. I have already told that my mother, Lina Benze had made the reservation.”