Stories from the Edge

The Restaurant

"I want to speak to the chef," said Terence Hogg.

The waitress made no move to take the business card Terence held out toward her. She stood next to his table with, he thought, an irritatingly blank look on her face. She was a short, stocky woman, somewhere in her mid-thirties, though it was hard to tell her age. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail and her cheeks were heavily rouged. She had dark, almost black eyes. Terence shuddered, not for the first time that night. She was wearing far too much make up and her clothes were a clash of stripes, as if she had dressed in the dark.

When she didn't respond, he said, "Ahem," and waved the card in the space between them.

"What do you want Chef for?" the woman asked in a monotone. Terence sighed. She clearly had no idea who he was. Hardly the reception he was used to.

"My name is Terence Hogg," he said. "I am a well-known food critic. I will be writing a review of your restaurant. Could you give the chef my card, please?"

She hesitated, then plucked the card from between his fingers and walked to the door leading to the kitchen. Terence opened his notepad, picked up his pen and added 'Rude' to his list of impressions. He glanced at the empty dinner plate before him. The steak tartare had been good enough, he mused. The wine list had been quite deficient, however and the lack of a good wine had detracted from the meal considerably. The entree had been adequate. Table service - slack, he wrote. They needed more staff. The only other waiter visible was a man, who, judging from his facial features and dress sense, was likely to be related to the woman. A family business, perhaps. He looked around the room. The ambience was like the wait staff: uninspiring. The trading name, The Dark Horse, was imaginative enough. Surely they could have designed a more appealing décor than the unadorned walls, painted, of all things, avocado green. The room had a rather utilitarian air, and desperately needed input from an interior decorator with experience in the restaurant business.

The waitress returned and put the card on the table.

"Sorry," she said, "Chef's busy."

Terence stared at her. "I beg your pardon? Did you show him the card? The chef, I mean?"

She nodded. "He's busy," she said again.

Terence straightened and smoothed his tie. He squared his shoulders and lifted a hand to pick up his card, then stopped. No, he would leave it. Perhaps the restaurant owner would find it and be mortified enough to ring and offer Terence an apology tomorrow.

"May I have the bill?" he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"You don't want the dessert menu, then?"

"No. The bill. Please."

She went to the front counter, punched at the cash register and returned with a slip of paper. As she walked away, he glanced at it. He opened his wallet and purse and saw with satisfaction that, rounded up to the next dollar, he had the right amount in notes and coin and he put these in a little pile on the table. He pushed his seat back, stood up, put on his jacket, adjusted his shirt cuffs and made for the door, holding his head high. The waitress was nowhere to be seen, but he was no longer interested. On the floor inside the door to the street was a mat and he paused to ostentatiously wipe his feet before stepping outside into the cold night air. The door closed with a soft sigh behind him.

The city was busy that night. People sat under outdoor gas heaters outside other restaurants, eating, drinking and enjoying conversation. Couples ambled along the footpath. As Terence stood adjacent to a laneway next to the restaurant, buttoning his jacket and considering where to go for dessert, an unmarked van turned out of the traffic. It entered the laneway, drove toward the rear of the restaurant and disappeared around a corner. He watched it go past. He was piqued by the rejection, but he was nonetheless curious to see the chef and the kitchen, even from a distance. After a glance back into the restaurant, he followed the van along the laneway. At the corner of the building where it had turned he stopped and peered around.