Call Me Back Again

CHAPTER 6

Early afternoons were Ringo's favourite time of day. He'd nearly always be alone at the restaurant, preparing for that night's dinner service. He didn't trust anyone else to make fresh pasta, which had a kind of therapeutic effect on him. Kneading the dough, and then rolling it until it had just the right thickness and elasticity... It was a form of art, and he knew nobody in Liverpool was quite as good at it as he was. Later, when the rest of the kitchen personnel would arrive to start chopping vegetables, making stock, and making all the other preparations, he'd be in his own corner where nobody was allowed to disturb him, calmly making ravioli and tortellini, making sure each little pouch contained the same liberal amount of filling and was perfectly shaped. It was almost like meditating to Ringo, and though he loved all aspects of cooking, making pasta would always be his favourite pastime.

It was in that state of zen that a voice rang through the restaurant, rudely interrupting that lovely sense of deep relaxation. "Hello?"

"We're closed," Richard shouted back, hoping the intruder would leave him in peace. Unfortunately, it didn't appear to be his lucky day, because a few moments later, he could hear footsteps approaching until that same voice spoke again, having halted in the doorframe if he gauged the distance correctly. Having his back turned, he couldn't be absolutely sure.

"I'm sorry to disturb, I was just hoping you could help me with something?"

Ringo chanced a quick glance over his shoulder before rolling the batch he was working on one last time. Leaning casually against the jamb, was a tall, skinny kid whose T-shirt looked a size too small for his broad chest. Late teens or early twenties, by the looks of it, though Richard couldn't be entirely sure which since he was wearing sunglasses. Handsome bloke, though, he noted. A bit of a mix between Elvis and Marlon Brando in their prime, with an outfit to match. This was obviously someone who spent a lot of time trying to look good.

Turning back to focus on his work, he answered the question he supposed was going to get asked. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. "The modelling agency is three streets down, son. Walk back to the corner, take a left, then a left again just past the police station. Halfway down, there's a small street to the right. That's where the studio is."

Paul laughed out loud at the suggestion. A model? Him? Yeah, that was likely to happen. It was bad enough Mike was always snapping candid pictures of him, or making him participate in his art projects. The idea of having to do that professionally seemed like living hell, not to mention he hardly considered himself remotely good-looking enough for it. "Cheers for the compliment, I guess, but I'm not looking for that. I'm hoping to find someone who works here, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Now that he was there, Paul was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. Mike had pestered him for all the grisly details and when Paul had finished talking, he'd looked him squarely in the face and stated: 'you're in love'. No matter how much he'd opposed the idea, Paul knew deep down it was true, and so he'd allowed himself to be talked into finding that waiter. It felt like a daft plan, now. Too bad he hadn't come to that conclusion sooner. There was no going back now. Trying to sound casual, he continued, "One of your waiters: Giovanni. He was waiting on me and my girlfriend last night, but things got a little out of hand. Do you know where I might be able to find him?"

"Well actually, he got fi-..." Halfway through his explanation, a lightbulb went on inside his head. Abandoning his beloved pasta for a moment, Ringo turned around to face the lad. Was this the bloke who'd made John behave like a lovesick teenager? It had to be... He seemed to have all the characteristics John had prattled on and on about, and he was certainly every bit as attractive as John had said. What was that name he mentioned? Peter? Phil? No, hang on... "You must be Paul."