ONE

“Good evening, sir. Are you ready to order?” I asked with a forced smile on my face while pulling out a white pad paper. I was poised and ready to take his order. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same for him.

He browsed through the menu once, twice, thrice, and so on, clearly taking his sweet time. By the fourth time he rechecked the menu, he was starting to get on my nerves.

I mean, come on! It’s not like the words would change every time he flipped a page. He finally made his choice about four minutes after he arrived, which I could have used more productively.

“I would like your filet mignon with lemon sauce and some red wine to go along with it. That would be all,” the man in a gray suit briefly stated as he closed the menu. He then looked away after he pulled out his vibrating phone.

“It will be served in ten to fifteen minutes, sir,” I replied with a smile.

“Oh, hello! I thought you were in Paris,” the man said as he waved me off to answer the call.

I excused myself with a slight bow before I walked toward the computer on the far right side of the room to punch in his order. I scowled in annoyance at the man’s rudeness but there wasn’t much I could do. Since I started working as a waitress in a three-star restaurant, I found out this kind of treatment was typical. Whenever someone started to shout and scream, my night was sure to go downhill from there.

“Why so serious?” Terry asked as I reached the small stall, which had a touchscreen computer for us to place orders to and was synced to an identical computer in the kitchen.

“First douchebag of the night,” I said, sighing wearily.

“Ah…so the contest for number-one douchebag is on,” Terry said with a smirk while his fingers continued tapping on the computer screen.

“Is anyone from your tables up for the running?” I asked seriously as I quickly glanced at his section.

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t come across one yet. But I’ll get back to you on that,” he said and turned to me with a wink.

“Good for you. I hope he would be the only one for tonight. I’m pretty worn out,” I said with a resigned sigh.

“I’m all done,” Terry announced and turned toward me. “Do you want me to punch that in?” he offered with a smile.

“Sure. Thanks,” I replied, giving him the sheet with orders. “While you’re at it, I’ll wait on some of your tables. You sure there are no assholes?” I asked as I stepped away from him.

“None. Nada,” he said, smiling. “Oh, there are orders on the counter. Check if any of them is for my section,” he continued as he glanced behind me.

“Right. Roger that.”

I headed toward the counter where loads of dishes were waiting on the trays. I checked if any of the orders were for my section or Terry’s before I delivered them. Afterward, I went to wait on the new customers in my section. As I headed back to the computer to punch in another order, I bumped into Terry.

“Andy, table fifteen’s order is up,” Terry whispered while I punched in an order.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I replied with a soft smile.

I got the tray from the counter and carried it to its designated table. Table fifteen. The douchebag. I smiled as I placed his order in front of him, immediately regretting not spitting on it when he rudely waved me away again. I saw Terry giving me a sympathetic smile as I retreated.

To be honest, this job sucked. But I was doing it for two reasons: one, I had bills to pay, which were sent to me almost nonstop and two, this was the only job that accepted me without a fuss.

It had been a month since I got here, and I’ve applied to other places to get out of this hellhole. So far, no go. Working with Terry was the only reason this whole experience was tolerable.

“If you want, I could ask some guys to follow him outside and kick the living shit out of him,” Terry said as I went back to the counter to place in other orders.

“Thanks for the offer, Terry. It sounds appealing, but I’ll pass. He’s not that bad,” I said with a soft chuckle as I got the tray filled with plates—all orders from my section.

“Okay. But if you change your mind…” he said, trailing off.

“You’ll be the first to know,” I called out in reply as I walked toward my section, balancing the tray in my hand.

After serving the customers, I saw Reyna, the maître d’, walk inside the restaurant with a beaming smile. She gestured a man to sit in an empty booth with a reserved sign, which was in my section.

I walked up to take his order after Reyna returned to her station. She was giving him longing glances on the way back, which made me raise my eyebrow in question. I was a few meters away from the said customer when I almost stopped dead in my tracks.

I don’t want to exaggerate, but the man captured the attention of every woman in his vicinity. They eyed him with a look that was almost primal in nature.

The man was capital H-O-T. His blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and well-built arms, which slightly bulged in his slick, black suit, made almost everyone stare at him and sigh. But I maintained my composure. I’m not easily swayed by appearances. Usually.

He was the kind of man you would typically call a playboy, with his good looks and possibly a huge bank account to boot. With my wit and confidence intact, I walked up to him with a fake smile and a welcoming vibe.

“Good evening, sir. Are you ready to order?” I asked as I took out a white pad paper from my apron.

While I was waiting for his order, I noticed him pause. I glanced at him out of curiosity. From what I observed, customers only pause either because they weren’t ready to order (made obvious when they say “Hmmm” while reading the menu) or when they were listening to someone on the phone—both of which the man wasn’t doing. Hence my surprise.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” I repeated as he kept on staring at me.

He finally snapped out of it and glanced down at the menu.

“I’d like tonight’s special and my usual wine,” he replied in a deep, raspy voice, tinged with a slight British accent.

“And what would your usual wine be, sir?” I asked as I wrote down his order.

The man paused again, making me look back at him. He looked shocked as he stared at me, his clear, blue eyes wide.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asked like it was an absurd thing that I didn’t recognize him.

I gave him a small, apologetic smile.

“I apologize, sir. I’m new here, so I’m not yet familiar with the regulars,” I said softly, trying to pacify him.

I don’t want to cause a scene here on my first month. So far, I’ve been able to tolerate people like him, and I wasn’t going to stop now.

“Figures,” he muttered as he shook his head. “You can ask your manager what my usual is. That would be all,” he said, signaling the end of our conversation.

I was taken aback by his words. I wanted to slap him right then and there, but I held back. I bowed as I closed my mouth shut and turned away without another a word.

And we have a winner for number one douchebag and asshole of the night.

I stomped toward where the manager stood, scanning the whole restaurant. When he saw me looking pissed and fired up, he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Is something wrong?” he asked when I finally reached him.

“Table nine’s usual wine, sir,” I said through clenched teeth.

He blinked in alarm. Surprised by my anger, he looked behind me to see the person in question. Suddenly, he gasped and looked at me in shock.

“Did you say anything stupid to him?” he urgently asked as he grabbed my shoulder.

“No,” I said, confused by his sudden fierceness.

Our manager was a calm man. Even when a customer was complaining or shouting in the middle of the room, he could handle the situation with a smile. So I was surprised to see him agitated.

“Why didn’t she tell me he’s here? God, that woman! Where’s Reyna?” he mumbled in annoyance as he walked away, ignoring me.

“Umm, sir? What’s his usual?” I asked as I followed him.

“You attend to your other tables. I’ll take care of this one,” he said sternly, facing me a little before he walked toward the direction of the kitchen.

I was not sure what just happened, so I shut my mouth and nodded in reply. I followed the manager’s orders to wait on other tables. When the manager got out of the kitchen, he had a tray of food and a bucket of chilled wine in hand. I turned to look at the man again, wondering who he was.

Why is he getting special treatment? And why did he get his order so quickly? The food service here usually isn’t that fast, I mused to myself.

Maybe the man had booked in advance considering his table was reserved. That was the only reasonable answer I could reach.

I went back to work after banishing those thoughts from my head. Before I resumed working, however, I took one last look at the man as he ate his meal. I noticed, yet again, that the manager was personally attending to him. Also, he didn’t pay any bill, which was odd. But since it was the manager who served him, that would be his problem, not mine.

When the customer got up from his table, I got a full view of him. I was right about his muscular build. He was tall too. He stood straight, radiating an aura of confidence. Somehow, I wanted to tear and crush that confidence. Men like him wear their arrogance like armor and think people who aren’t in the same social class as them are inferior beings.

As the man got out of the restaurant, the thick air of unease around me suddenly lifted. I let out a sigh of relief. I couldn’t help wishing the man would never come back. But if he ever did, I was glad the manager took it as his sole responsibility to serve him.

After the restaurant closed, the staff lingered as the manager called for a meeting. My guess was it had something to do with tonight’s encounter with Mr. Asshole.

My suspicion was confirmed when Reyna was called. I felt bad that the whole staff was present while the manager scolded her. It was like watching a strict professor scolding a student about a failed exam, which was entirely not a good scene to witness.

“Everyone can go,” the manager said after his lecture. “Andy, can I talk to you for a minute?” he added as he looked at me, gesturing with his finger for me to come forward.

Some of the staff loitered for a while but walked away when the manager and I just stood there and waited for them to go. I caught Terry’s eye and gave him a small smile.

In reply, he smiled back and mouthed something like “You okay?”

“I’m so sorry about my outburst, Andy. I could see that you were offended by it,” the manager said after the room was empty.

I simply looked at him. Here I thought he would be scolding me. Instead, he was apologizing.

“No. It’s okay. I’m new here, so I’m not familiar with the regulars yet,” I replied with the same excuse I gave to Mr. Overconfident.

“Oh! You don’t know who he is?” he asked, looking surprised.

I gave him an apologetic smile. “The truth is, I don’t. Should I know who he is?” I asked back and bit my lips afterward, waiting for his reaction.

He chuckled and patted my shoulders. “That man is our boss. I thought everyone knew who he was. You lived farther away than I thought,” he said as he returned to his office.

I was baffled by his statement. Before I could clarify, however, he was already out of hearing range. So I went back to the locker room without any answer.

After I had finished changing into my normal clothes (white shirt, regular jeans, and black sneakers), I opened the back door and was startled by the sight of a man’s back. I gaped at the figure for a second as my mind tried to figure out who it was.

“Hey!” The man, who turned out to be Terry, exclaimed. “Oh, sorry for startling you, Andy. What did the manager want from you?” Terry asked as he turned around.

I let out a sigh of relief and gave him a grim smile. “Do you know the man our manager served this evening?”

“Which one?”

“You know…the tall, blond, and muscular one? Wearing a black suit, looking all sexy and arrogant,” I explained further, glumly describing the man to refresh his memory.

He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “I know which one you meant. I was just curious about your thoughts on the boss.”

I punched him lightly in the shoulder, feeling annoyed at his chicanery.

“God. You can be so lame sometimes,” I told him and shook my head.

When I moved here in the city, Terry was the only person who helped me out. I knew him through a friend of my father’s, Billy, who was universally known for being loud and drunk. He told me if I needed help or a place to stay, I should contact Terry. With an almost nonexistent bank account and no savings whatsoever, I was practically broke, which made finding an apartment I could afford close to impossible. So I took Billy’s advice, called a stranger for help…and ended up having a new friend. I’ve been living with Terry ever since.

So here I was, riding a motorcycle with him back to his flat. Sure, his place wasn’t exactly five stars (maybe two stars, at best), but it was enough for now.

He let me crash on his living room couch, and in exchange, I cooked for him. However, I drew the line at doing his laundry.

To be honest, Terry was a nice roommate and a true gentleman, which was great. Getting into man trouble was one my fears when I agreed to the arrangement. I already had enough problems as it was.

“Do you want some midnight snacks?” Terry asked when we finally reached the apartment building.

“You ask now that we’re already home?” I asked sarcastically after taking off my helmet, which he bought at a garage sale. It still reeked even after I had washed it twice, but it was better than nothing.

“So?” he asked, unaffected. He looked at me impishly, waiting for my reply.

“Get me pizza and a cola, and then I’m off to bed after. No clubbing for me tonight,” I replied, knowing what he was implying.

“Why do you always think I’m inviting you to go to a club or a party?” he asked, pretending to look taken aback by my words.

“You aren’t?” I asked in mock surprise, playing along with him.

He chuckled at my reaction and shook his head. “Even though you’ve only known me for a short time, you get me just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “So are you coming?” he added, looking at me with pleading eyes.

“You are seriously asking me even though we’ve gone through the same scenario a thousand times? Please, Terry. You know it’s not my scene.”

“Well, your loss,” he said in defeat as he put his helmet back on. “I’ll bring your pizza when I get back…if there are still stores open,” he added, the helmet muffling his words.

“Why don’t we just get some food first next time?” I suggested.

“That’s because I’m only humoring you with these talks. Besides, I don’t like pizza,” he said laughingly as he started the engine.

Before I could comment back, he was already speeding away. I stood there with a smile, looking at the space where his motorcycle was a moment ago.

Men have such a carefree nature. They are never too complicated.

But they can be such jerks when given the opportunity.