Chapter Six: Gabriel

 

 

I’d been called stubborn before though I’d always preferred the word persistent. I didn’t give up easily. Not when something was worth fighting for.

I doubted Lynette would see my stubbornness as an admirable trait. When she escorted me out of her father’s bar, I knew she didn't want me to step foot inside there ever again.

But how could I not?

I’d promised Terry that I would make sure she was okay if anything were to ever happen to him. I owed him that much.

I was determined to talk to her one last time and made my way over to the Speakeasy. It was still early morning, and everything was locked up, but I knew she was in there. I could hear her inside the kitchen muttering to herself. At times it sounded as if she was singing, but then at other times it sounded more like she was giving the universe a piece of her mind. It was amusing, until I realized that I was lurking below the window of the kitchen in the back alley like a stalker.

I straightened up and glanced around, hoping no one called the cops on me, and headed to the front entrance. I knew she had a lot on her plate and probably forgot to lock the front door, again.

I tried the door and it opened. A brief smile appeared on my lips as I made my way inside the bar. The place was clean and already setup for the new day. When I didn’t spot her right away, I decided to make myself at home. At least until Lynette came and chased me out again.

No, not this time.

I wasn't going to allow her to chase me away again. I knew we had gotten off to a terrible, and rather unusual start, but that was an honest mistake. I had no idea who she was when we met at the nightclub.

The picture that I carried in my wallet for the last three years didn't give me a clear indication of what she looked like now, so it was a little unfair of her to accuse me that I knew it had been her all along.

After all it had been a gay bar for heaven’s sake. The last place I would think to look for her.

I sat down on the bar stool and placed my cane on the counter. Lynette had gone quiet in the kitchen. I wondered whether she had opened the package I brought her.

Most likely not.

She’d treated me with such anger and hostility, I was sure that she threw the package in the trash or set it on fire first.

“How the hell did you get in here?” her voice suddenly cracked the silence.

I glanced at her over my shoulder and leaned back against the backrest of the barstool.

“The front door,” I answered with a grin. “You should start locking your doors. There’s no telling who might come wandering in.”

“Fuck,” she mouthed and shook her head in disapproval. “Why are you back here? I thought I made it clear we’re done. Finished.”

“Waiting for you to take my order. You're open, right?” I asked with a half-smile.

She rolled her eyes and stepped behind the counter.

“Yeah, we're open now. What'll be? A beer?”

“Bourbon. On the rocks,” I replied.

“Whatever. I'm not sure what you're after here exactly, but I'm going to honest with you. I don't have time for whatever is going on. I've got this place to run.” She placed a napkin down in front of me and poured my drink. “Whatever you think this is, it isn't. You made your apology. I accepted it. End of story.”

“I did,” I nodded, “but I wanted to come by here one last time before I leave town to make sure you're okay. You don't seem okay.”

Her eyes had a clouded appearance, like a storm was brewing in them and I braced myself for impact. Something warned me Hurricane Lynette could be a vicious one. 

“You're bordering on being a stalker.”

“Call the police.” I shrugged. “I made a promise to your brother.”

The bar door opened and Cheryl, her friend from the gay club, walked in wearing shorts and a t-shirt with her copper-colored hair pulled into a tight pony tail.

“Hey girl!” she said. “Here I am to help, as promised.”

She stopped short when I turned to face her.

“Holy shit! You’re the guy from the club!”

I chuckled in amusement as I stood up and extended my hand to her.

“It’s good to see you again, Cheryl. I’m Gabriel.”

“I remember,” she said as she shook my hand.

“Yes, Gabriel,” Lynette said as she stepped out from behind the bar. “That guy from the club that you drove off and left me with. That was not a nice thing for a friend to do by the way.”

“Aren’t you glad I did?”

Cheryl beamed and stared directly into my face.

“You’re even more good-looking than in the dark. Your eyes are gorgeous.”

I chuckled and let go of her hand.

“Thank you.”

“What are you doing here then? Couldn't get enough of our little Lynette?” She suggestively wiggled her eyebrows.

Before I could answer, I shot a brief glance at Lynette, who looked both equally appalled and embarrassed.

“No.” Lynette shrugged and crossed her arms. “It turns out Gabriel here is a friend of my brother's. From the Army. Isn't that funny? And a huge coincidence?”

Cheryl raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Terry's friend? What's he doing here?”

I started to explain when she cut me off before I could get a word out.

“Wait, you don’t know, do you?” Cheryl asked me with a frown. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but Terry's dead. Been in the ground for about three years now.”

Clearly Cheryl was either born without a filter or was completely insensitive. I glanced at Lynette who simply shrugged her shoulders and then turned away, clearly not wanting to be part of this conversation any longer.

“I know,” I said softly. “I was there with him when he passed. I came to check on Lynette.”

Cheryl snorted like she didn’t believe me.

“After three years? What happened? The ghost of the brother that left her high and dry told you to come see her?” She called out to Lynette’s back. “Were you guys pen pals or is he just stalking you now?”

“Told you were being a little stalkerish,” Lynette said with a smirk on her face.

“Duly noted,” I replied with an eye roll. “Thank you.”

The phone rang, and Lynette walked over to answer it as she mumbled, “Please God, don’t let this be another one of my lazy ass employees calling in sick. Hello, Speakeasy, how can I help you?”

Cheryl gave me a dirty look, and I sat back down on the bar stool.

“Where are you?” Lynette asked and turned towards us. “You're supposed to be walking in my door five minutes ago.”

“Uh oh. Sounds like trouble,” Cheryl muttered beside me.

I noticed Lynette’s shoulders tense up and her eyes flashed.

“It's Friday night, Bill. You can't be calling in on a Friday!”

“Who’s Bill?” I whispered to Cheryl.

“Jealous?”

“No, of course not.”

“He’s the cook,” she muttered and disappeared into the kitchen.

Right.

Lynette slammed down the phone.

“Dammit!”

“What?” Cheryl asked, coming back from the kitchen with ice for the bar.

“Guess who just called in? I have no cook on a Friday night,” Lynette exclaimed as she took the ice from Cheryl and dumped it.

Now was the time to step up and do something. I wanted to help Lynette, and now was my chance. I slid off the bar stool and walked to the back of the bar towards the kitchen.

“Hey! Where are you going, Army boy?” Lynette half-shouted. “Customers aren’t allowed in the kitchen. Restrooms are the other way.”

I looked at her, my head cocked to the side.

“To the kitchen. You need a cook.”

“Oh, you're a cook now?”

“Nope, but it can't be that difficult to run a grill and a deep-fryer.”

The two women exchanged worried glances and Lynette sighed.

“Are you known for gourmet meals here?” I asked. “Do I need some sort of degree from a culinary institute? I’ve watched the Food Network if that helps any.”

Before she could open her mouth to answer, Cheryl interrupted.

“Honey, I don't think you even know how to run the kitchen,” she said. “I'll show him where everything is at.”

“Fine, whatever,” Lynette replied, throwing up her hands in defeat. “I'll set up the bar. Can’t get much worse than it already is.”

I flashed her a smile and followed Cheryl to the kitchen. Even though the kitchen was of average size, everything had its place, and Cheryl seemed to know where everything was. She showed me how the grill worked and where all the frozen, fresh and refrigerated items were stored. She also showed me how the plating worked, and where she would collect them once an order was ready.

“Got it?” she asked after a few minutes.

“I think so, but if I need to, I’ll ask.”

“I’ll help from time to time,” she offered. “God knows Lynette could use our help.”

“I take it you’ve helped her out before,” I said.

“More times than I can keep track of, but I don’t mind. She’s my friend.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“That’s right. I look after her because that’s what friends do. Tell me, Gabriel. Why exactly are you really here?”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Terry’s last wishes,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You make it sound like bullshit.”

“Is it?”

“Of course not.”

“And you didn't know who she was in the club? That all sounds suspicious to me.”

“I might be a lot of things. A liar isn’t one of them.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying me for a few seconds and I shifted my weight slightly, taking the strain off my injured leg.

“Is that all I need to know about the kitchen and orders?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. You’ll soon get the hang of it,” she said and walked passed me to the door. “Hey, Gabriel?”

“What,” I answered and looked at her over my shoulder.

“Lynette is a good person who has had a shitty life up until now. Don’t fuck it up even more, okay? She doesn’t deserve more crap to deal with.”

“Yes, ma’am.”