THE CAMELLIA TAVERN

CHAPTER 2: THE NEW BOSS

Saturday, May 16

I lift my head up from my pillow and immediately wish I hadn't even tried.  The rush of pain and pressure makes me groan weakly.

"Merritt," I mumble pathetically from my bed just hoping she will hear me from hers.

"Right here," I hear a cheerful voice say from my doorway. I open one eye to see what evil-possessed creature sounds so chipper this early in the morning and am surprised to see a freshly-showered Merritt wearing her bathrobe and holding a cup of coffee. 

"What is happening right now?" I ask, smooshing my face into my pillow.  It's as if we've switched places.  She's usually the one confined to a bed, hungover, in the mornings.

"We have to be at work in less than twenty," Merritt reports casually as if this is not completely and utterly new information to me.

"What?!" I half-shout sitting up in my bed in a panic and letting the hangover I deserve envelop me. 

"Darnell texted like half an hour ago. You were sleeping. The new owner wants to meet us," Jacinda says as she takes a bite of a piece of burnt toast wearing a bathrobe that is eerily similar to Merritt's.  I would laugh, but it would hurt too much right now.

I decide there isn't time for a shower and, besides, I think standing upright in the shower right now seems like a recipe for disaster.

I put on an EASU t-shirt and running shorts that I don't actually run in and climb into the backseat of Jacinda's car.  It has leather seats and often smells new despite the fact that she's a smoker.  Jacinda, you see, is Australian and low-key loaded, and she only works because it gives her something to do.  She lives in the same shithole rental house as me and Merritt because, I suspect, because it makes her feel like a mere mortal like the rest of us who struggle to make ends meet.  She's in the graduate program at EASU and she's some sort of chemistry whiz kid from what I've deduced over the last two years. She's also, as luck would have it, quite masterful in the kitchen.

We ride along to the sound of "Say So" by Doja Cat and under normal circumstances, I might enjoy this song, but right now it's like it was sent from musical hell to torment me. 

When I climb out of Jacinda's car, I am instantly hit with a wave of nausea that does not bode well for me for the rest of the morning. 

"You all right?" Merritt asks with a concerned expression which means I probably look about as rough as I feel.

    "I'm ok," I lie, wondering exactly when I decided last night to wage war on my poor liver.

  Inside the tavern, most of the staff has already gathered. Jacinda, Merritt and I take seats at a large corner booth where Big Al and Lil Al are sitting.  They work in the kitchen with Jacinda and Lil Al is the type that knows absolutely everything about anything.  You definitely don't want to play Trivial Pursuit against him.  I know from personal experience.

We all sit around taking turns checking our watches and glancing up at the large antique clock on the wall.  I feel myself growing nauseated once more and, therefore, uncharacteristically impatient. And in that moment, I have decided that I can't sit still for one more minute. This guy wanted us here and here we are.  But where is he?  He's eight minutes late?  And my head is spinning.

"Where is he?" I ask, looking at the big antique clock then back to Darnell.

    "He said around ten AM," Darnell shrugs and looks down at his watch.  I stand from the booth and let my horrendous hangover do the talking.

"I mean, who is this guy, Darnell?  He just casually mentions one Saturday mornin' that he wants you to gather us all together to meet him?  I mean, why stop there?  Why not just drop by our homes unannounced and expect the red carpet?" I say with my hands on my hips, my eyes narrowed and my head pounding.  There's a bit of applause in response to my atypical rant.