Bittersweet (18 page)

He exhales hard and his voice softens a little. “Those LA kids are all about their clear liquor. Something about the purity or whatever, I guess,” he says, and his expression lifts for a moment into a twisted, adorable wince-smile. But then he sighs again and pushes his sunglasses back onto his face. “Guess I had more to drink than I thought, and, well… Here we are.”

I shrug. “Well, we’ve all been there—and, um, here,” I say, fighting not to acknowledge how upset his nonchalance is starting to make me feel. “I’m glad you didn’t end up just staying in your empty apartment alone.” I don’t mean to say it through clenched jaws while picturing him and Bethany falling drunkenly into bed…

It’s bugging me now that I can’t see his eyes. Bloodshot as the whites of his baby blues are, I figure I’d at least get some idea of whether he’s dancing around the reality of the evening and what it entailed. God, what if Bethany’s still naked in his bed and he’s just waiting until he can get back to her?

OK, paranoia, I get it! Welcome back to the neighborhood.

Greg crumples the sides of his soda can a little, and the noise makes me jump. “Cathy, look, I really am sorry I kept you waiting. I didn’t mean to waste your time. I told you, my work is… It’s the most important thing in my life at the moment.”

Wow. There’s not much ambiguity in what he’s saying now—the message is pretty clear. I swallow water from my bottle and for some reason I shrug again, because my shoulders seem to think that’s the perfect cover-up for crushing disappointment. “I know,” I reply. “Honestly, I didn’t mind waiting so long. I was just enjoying the river and the sunshine so…”
Seriously? Lame lame lame.
“It’s fine. We can grab a run another time.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He fiddles with his can. “When I have some free time, for sure.”

I get the feeling that’s not going to be any time soon. I sigh a little, but try to mask it. “Cool. Well, get out of here; go nurse your hangover,” I say—but the way I do makes him take off his glasses again. Obviously I haven’t masked well enough, because he looks down at me sympathetically, like he’s trying to figure out a way to make this all less awkward. He rubs his stomach absently, and I’m envious of his own hand.

“I
am
feeling a little nauseous,” he murmurs with a small smile, then seems to remember something and takes a breath. “Uh… But actually, I might see you later. Some of the cast were talking about coming to the restaurant for dinner tonight.”

I must seem surprised, because he turns one palm up like he needs to explain.

“I guess I’d mentioned it a couple times seeing as the producers made me go work there, and they had your catering at the table-read. And… Bethany gets a little bossy after three double vodkas.” He says her name hesitantly, and it crackles between us. I bet she does. “She made her assistant call then and there last night,” he finishes.

“Great. Well, I sure hope it lives up to the hype,” I say tersely. “I’ll get Joe to stock up on the clear liquor.” Jeez, could this day get any worse? I can’t think anything
more
awkward than a night waiting on and Greg and his cast-mates—including Bethany “Chemistry” Keeler. Why don’t I just go ahead and set up a candlelit two-top for them, make the embarrassment complete? “Listen, I really do need to fit in a workout, and I have a few things to do before my shift later. I’ll look out for that reservation though. Guess I’ll see you then.”

Greg opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it. He sighs and puts his sunglasses back on, but before he can say anything else I push my earbuds into my ears and jog off with a stiff wave. He’s not the only one who can leave without a goodbye.

* * *

“Cathy?” A whisper, and an urgent-sounding one too. “Are you still in here?”

I step out of the cubicle in the staff ladies’ room and look at Jenna sheepishly. I’ve been in here for nearly ten minutes, hiding like a coward.

“Listen, your dad’s been asking about you. He’s going to start wondering why you’re not on the floor glad-handing your friend and his
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buddies. I’ve seated them but they’re going to want to order soon,” she says, eyeing me sympathetically. The gods of fate have refused to throw me a bone —
Keeler, party of seven
are right in the middle of my section. I ran away to hide in here, hoping by some miracle they’d insist on a west-facing window table or some nonsense that would mean I’d get away with ignoring them. “It’s crazy busy out there,” Jenna says, putting her hands on her hips. “You need to get back to your tables, honey. We’re slammed.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Jen. Let’s go.” I slow down for a moment to check my reflection. “I look OK, right?” I ask, smoothing down my dress. I see anxiety in my eyes, and suddenly I hate everything about this moment—the fact that I care what Bethany, or Greg, or any of those people think. I shake my head. “You know what, forget it. Listen, sorry for leaving you swinging in the wind,” I say to Jenna, taking a deep breath.

She grins. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you look fucking hot. The sleeveless is always a good choice.” She holds open the ladies’ room door for me and I glance over at the big table. “Oh, and heads up—the brunette’s already been kind of snippy about the fact we don’t have the water with bubbles.” She purses her lips and gives me a wink before heading off to her section.

Like I needed any more reason to borderline-hate Bethany Keeler. “Great,” I mutter, retying my apron around my waist and making sure my expression looks as professional and pleasant as possible.

“There she is!” I hear Joe’s voice boom. “Cathy here is my daughter.” He’s standing by the
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table and has clearly been regaling them with restaurant anecdotes. They’re all smiling up at him in anticipation, like they’re watching some old-time comedian put on a show. He’s in full Jovial Joe flow. “You see, I saved up all my good looks to put into my kids, that’s why I ended up looking like this,” he says with a loud chuckle, clutching his belly. “Cath, let’s get our customers started with some appetizers, huh?”

I fix a smile on my face as I grab my order pad out of my apron pocket and come over to the table. I know my dad’s just being his usual friendly self, but in the back of his mind he’s also probably hoping to get more Hollywood dollars rolling into the restaurant, and I don’t blame him.

“You know our hero here, of course,” Joe says, beaming at Greg, and I cringe.

“Uh huh. Hey, guys,” I say, sweeping my eyes around everyone at the table except him, though I can still feel him drawing me like a magnet. Joe squeezes my shoulder but he’s distracted as a busboy drops a plate and bustles away quickly. “What can I get for you?” I mumble.

Bethany looks me up and down like she thinks I can’t see her freaking eyeballs. She gives me an insincere smile. “Greg has been telling me so much about this place. Why don’t we just order one of everything and see what’s good? I’ll pick around any gluten-y stuff.” She giggles, and the small blonde girl sidled up next to her laughs mirthlessly in a way that makes me think she’s getting paid to do so. Apart from Bethany and Greg, there are one or two other faces I recognize from the online article I read, but no Johnny Lincoln, Max will be pleased to hear. I grit my teeth—something about the way Bethany said “see what’s good” seems like she thinks it’ll be tough to find something edible, which is obviously bullshit, and a waste of food to boot. And something about the way she said “Greg has been telling me” seems like it was pillow talk in between sessions of passionate love-making…

I may be reading too much into her sentence. Maybe.

“Well, all right,” I say through a rigor-mortis smile. “One of every appetizer. Sure, no problem. You want to do the same with the entrees or…?”

“I like the sound of the steak burger,” chimes in a slim, handsome African-American guy with a dazzling smile.

“Me too,” says one of the others.

Bethany, meanwhile, scrutinizes the menu like an eighty-seven-year-old with glaucoma in a blizzard. “Hmm. I don’t know…” She leans over to Greg, seated on the other side of her, while her assistant taps away on her cell, texting with a bored look on her face. “What d’you think I should have, babe?” She leans over to show him her menu for reference, the underside of her breast resting entirely unnecessarily on his forearm as she does.

Babe?
Could just be a Hollywood thing. I swallow a hard lump of jealousy in spite of myself. “How about the special?” I ask. “Pasta alla Norma. I’ve adjusted the recipe according to Greg’s advice. I know he’s a big fan of that dish.” He glances up at me and this time I don’t look away—but his expression is unreadable.

Bethany leans away from him slightly and fixes her gaze on me now too. “Oh, that’s right,” she says, exhaling a breathy laugh. “You’re the waitress who helped my leading man out a little.” She rests one hand on his arm and puts down the menu on the table pointedly. “You know what? I’m just going to have a green salad, no dressing whatsoever. I’ll probably be full after trying the appetizers anyhow. You guys can manage that, right?”

I nod silently, nearly ripping the page of my notepad as I write down her order, and then quickly take the others too. Greg goes last, and he asks for the shrimp dish I know he and Bobby spent an afternoon fine-tuning while he was here.

“You got it,” I mutter.

“Thanks, Cathy,” he says. Just that. Nothing else.

I go to explain their order to the kitchen, only barely restraining myself from telling Bob to add some saliva-based
dressing
to Bethany’s salad, then go check on my other tables. I glance over after a while, and see my dad back at the big table, telling the
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guys that a round of drinks is on the house. Like they couldn’t afford to pay.

As he heads off again, I catch Bethany saying something over the hum of the crowd. I hover nearby, pretending to check something on my order pad.

“Totally quaint guy,” she says through a reedy laugh. “And having his daughter work here is cute and all. Gives it that …
homey
feeling.” She giggles again, and my fists clench. “But, man, the food, are you serious? It’s going to be grease on grease, Greg. We’re just humoring the locals, am I right?” She laughs again. “But honestly, Greg, you need to smarten up your diet. Thank goodness Roy’s been flying in my food plans from LiveClean. Jeez.”

I wait. Greg’s going to say something, defend JJ’s. Or me. Any second.

“A little break from all that rabbit food once in a while is a good thing in my book,” says one of the other guys.

“Whatever. I can’t wait to get out of this godforsaken town for Labor Day weekend, is all I’m saying,” I hear a female voice say, but I can’t tell if it’s Bethany or her sidekick. I do hear quite a few words of agreement. My blood suddenly starts to boil, but I jump when I hear the bell for order up. I look over at the pass and see all their appetizers lined up on the side. I grab two per arm and then go over and set them in the middle of their table with some force.

“You need a little help?” Greg asks quietly, but I ignore him. Only the idea of not wanting to upset my father stops me from tipping the food into Bethany’s lap, and his too.

“Here you go. Some delicious
local
food fresh from our kitchen,” I say with thinly disguised sarcasm, which I have a feeling only Greg caught. “Give me just a minute, I’ll be back with the rest.”

When I set the last of the plates down, I put my hands on my hips and force a smile. “All right. Now, those greens are cooked in a good dose of bacon grease, gives them that extra-delicious homey—excuse me,
home
-cooked—something. Go ahead, try some,” I say, staring at Bethany expectantly.

She doesn’t even bother to smile now, and I glance at Greg. He looks up at me, then away—probably because he can see the disappointed anger in my eyes. He knows I overheard them, but he’s still not saying anything.

“I don’t eat bacon,” Bethany says.

“Sure? You don’t know what you’re missing,” I retort. “Greg, how about you? I know
you
like local flavors, right?”

“Cathy…” he begins quietly.

“Am I wrong?” The others are staring at us now, only one or two of them half-heartedly picking at the food in front of them. Bethany’s eyes are narrowed, trying to figure out my not-so-subtle subtext. Greg looks increasingly uncomfortable, so mission accomplished as far as I’m concerned.

“No,” he murmurs. “This all looks great.”

“Doesn’t it?” I’m guessing he’s not finding my sarcasm so endearing now. A pretty big part of my heart constricts at how this has all panned out, but I ignore it. “Well, you folks enjoy your appetizers. I’m due a break, but one of my colleagues will be along with your entrees in just a little while. Thank you
so
much for coming to JJ’s.” I turn on my heel and walk away, hearing their whispers trail behind me.

Maybe that was a bad idea—but given the rage still coursing through my veins, it could have been a lot worse. To take my mind off it, I throw everything I have into concentrating on the customers who actually give a shit about this place, and then get one of the other waitresses to cover my tables while I go outside for some fresh air. I still can’t believe Greg just let her talk about us like that. Is he really so desperate to keep in with the stupid cast—with goddamn Bethany Keeler? Maybe I was completely wrong about him. I swallow back tears as I look through the window surreptitiously. Greg and Bethany are sitting close together, with him doing a lot of head-shaking (and jaw-clenching), until finally she seems appeased. He flashes her his million-watt smile, and that constricted part of my heart doubles in size.

As I head back inside, avoiding looking their way now, I hear their chairs scrape back against the tiled floors that are no doubt far too déclassé for Keeler and her hangers-on, and gather they’re all finally leaving. I duck into the kitchen to avoid them as they go, but I glance through the pass just in time to see Greg help Bethany shrug on her sweater. She looks over her shoulder and smiles up at him, but I can’t see his expression because his back’s to me. I do see him pull out his wallet and add several bills to the tip they’ve left on the table. Great, so a few extra dollars is supposed to make up for their obnoxiousness, and his—