The Busboy

She was working thirty-five hours a week and I worked as long as they needed me. The truth was, I had a crazy job, and I was technically still in high school, although I think the school system saw me as a dropout. If truancy officers even existed, they definitely weren't poking their noses into the club. The guys who owned it, and the guys who frequented it, didn't want them there, and that was that. I lived in the land of the protected. I was dispensing thousands of dollars of liquor and wine every week, and marrying the bottles together when the bartenders brought back the leftovers - all of it very illegal.

Springtime sprang again, and we were heading into another busy season. Angela was trying to carve out some extra time for us, but I was resisting. Part of my problem was that I felt I owed all the guys for mentoring me. It wasn't like I didn't want to be with Angela. We really had become close in a few short months. Finally, when we reached an impasse of sorts, we both agreed to get through the summer months, see each other when we could - even though that wouldn't be very often - and then refocus on each other when things quieted down.

In July, though, several other employees in supervisory roles had decided to move on. Joe and I were sitting in our familiar spot - a dark, closed Grille Room - as he told me his plan.

"I talked to Ford today," he began. "We both decided you're ready." He left it there. I knew Joe well enough at that point, so I simply raised an eyebrow and waited.

"We want to make you assistant GM," he told me. I asked if he could give me a day or two to think about it. He seemed surprised by that, and probably worried that I was thinking of leaving too. In reality, I wanted to be fair to Angela and talk to her about it.

"What do you think?" I asked her sincerely.

She took a minute. "I guess we need to talk about some other things first," she finally said. She looked apprehensive. "Dave, I want to see where our relationship goes. I know I agreed to wait until the end of summer, but I'm pretty impatient. I get a sense that you'd just stay at this job indefinitely. What I mean is, not until something better came along, but more like someone will have to drag you out of there. Tell me I'm wrong?"

"You're wrong," I lied. I couldn't understand why I felt embarrassed about having a dream job. I had the fastest car in town - hell, in a fifty-mile radius - and that wasn't an easy claim in the Motor City. I had a lot of money in the bank - for an eighteen-year-old, anyway. My closet wasn't merely filled with nice clothes; there were fifteen three-piece suits in there, because that was my uniform. I never had to worry about how I'd look when Angela wanted to go clubbing at all the discotheques.

I had everything I'd ever wanted... except my own freedom.

No one really ever talks about things that people figure out gradually. That's just normal. But we do make a big deal out of those ah-ha moments - when it hits you all at once.

That's what happened to me. Angela sensed it too.

"Dave, I have strong feelings for you," she began, leaning against me. "I could even cautiously say I love you. But I'm also worried. I'm worried about a future with you. What will we ever have after the club? You just finished your senior year, but you didn't graduate. When we talk, you don't seem to have any long-term goals or plans.

"I'm not saying you haven't done well for yourself up to now; you have. But I think you're coming to the end of this ride." She paused to gauge my reaction. "You have to start thinking about your... about our future. I can't force you, but if you care about me, then think, and then let me help you."

"Okay, yeah..." I said, still embarrassed, "I will. I promise."

"Promise you, not me," she said, kissing my face. "I don't want to see you end up like some of those members."

Angela finished runner-up in her pageant. She looked stunningly beautiful in her blue gown. I was proud of her. She told me she was finished with it. She also told me she didn't win because she turned down one of the directors who'd wanted sex. It felt odd that she waited until after everything was finished to clue me in, but I never asked her to explain.

She announced she was going to community college in the fall and asked me what I thought.

"That sounds... great," I said softly.

"I wasn't asking if you thought it was good for me, silly." She was wearing that million-dollar smile that could melt diamonds. She pulled a slip of paper out of her jeans pocket and handed it to me. "I've scheduled you for GED testing," she said, beaming. "Both the mock test and the actual."

"I... uh..." I didn't know what to say. Part of me was pissed that she hadn't even consulted me first. Part of me was falling for her more because of her kindness. It took a few seconds to process, and then to reconcile what she'd done.

"Okay," I squawked. It wasn't very manly. "Thank you... I guess."

"You're welcome," she replied, ignoring my mood. "Can we look at the fall class schedule and see if there are any elective classes we can take together?"

School was tough for me. I'd been an A student all my life until high school. College was a little better as far as the constraints they placed on students, and eventually, I began to warm to it. The tug-of-war between Angela and my work duties, not so much. Joe and even Ford were starting to give me a hard time when there was a conflict. They were both so used to me just being there to take care of things - all the little dirty and trivial things - that it pissed them off when they had to do them, or they slipped through the cracks. I finally had to sit down with them for a heart-to-heart just before Halloween.

In the end, we worked out a new deal. I had to leave them the school schedule and agree on specific time off. I had to train at least two others on some of my duties so nothing was missed. I wasn't to take any Friday classes or summer school. Angela was very happy - and not just for me, I think. She was secretly happy she'd won.

Meanwhile, Pierre was spending less time with the members that fall. Instead, he'd become quite comfortable with the entire staff after nine months. I'd noticed the shift, but I didn't think much of it at first. Ford's nephew was still being kind and inquisitive, asking all kinds questions - too many of them, sometimes. I started gently asking my staff about their conversations with him.

Sometimes, during my downtime, I'd be in the office talking with Angela. It was a means for us to see a little of each other, because the weekends were too busy. Pierre was also spending more time in the office. The first time that he beat around the bush about Angela having work to do, I gave him that look that said 'butt out.'

Pierre didn't butt out. In fact, he tried several different ploys to make his point clear. The first was to come and join us, acting friendly. That's what it was, though - an act - and I didn't fall for it for a second.

He'd pull out a hundred-dollar bill and send me for a full roll of lottery scratchers. After Angela and I were off and alone, she'd tell me that Pierre had been asking her personal questions, like what our plans were, and when we were going to get married. A few times he'd warned her that I was a 'little boy.' She'd replied that I was her little boy, which I wasn't too happy about. I couldn't even decide if it was better or worse that she'd so casually tell me that she'd said that to him.

Pierre then moved on to intimidation. I was working in the liquor room and heard a soft tap on the outside door. During those past ten or eleven months, I'd taken to pouring a healthy shot of gin into my 7-Up can. Some days it was one or two. On stressful days, it was more. I remembered what Joe had told me when he promoted me. The one drink he afforded me came at the end of the night.

I wasn't worried about the cocktail; I was worried about the State Liquor Board. I stood still, stayed quiet, and didn't answer.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur used his keys and opened the door. Arthur and I had become very good friends over the years. He was the key carrier and caretaker/ watchdog of the club on busy nights. He was near seventy years old and had recently retired from his job with the City of Detroit.

He was one of the most truly kind and sincere men I'd ever met. He also carried a sufficient amount of pride. It was evident as he forced himself upright as he walked the corridors and dark recesses of the building. Arthur had very bad arthritis in his hands and feet, but to those who didn't know him, he just looked like an old guy that walked funny.

He was also the only black man ever employed there.

"Hey Arthur," was all I got out before seeing an angry Pierre right behind him.

"Thank you, Art-tour," he said in his French accent. "You may go."

Pierre turned towards me with a look of rage. "I knock here, and you dare not answer?" he asked incredulously. "Do you know who I am?"

I was dumbfounded. I hadn't been taken in by his false affability, but the one-eighty was still a shock.

"I didn't answer in case it was someone from the state," I said, feeling a little more confident since part of that was true.

Pierre looked down at my hand and held his out. It wasn't a greeting. He wanted me to hand him my soda can. I'll never really be able to explain why I did, but I did. I shouldn't have.

Pierre took the 7-Up can and put it to his nose. "You steal from my uncle," he stated in an accusatory tone. "That's what you do here? Who else knows you steal from him?"

"I... No one... It's..." Now I was stammering and stuttering. "It's just a little shot from what's left in the bottom of the empty bottle... nothing really."

"That's your excuse?" His laugh was 'hah,' like the Pink Panther. "How many ounces? Hmm? How many ounces before it's not 'nothing really?'"

I didn't answer, so Pierre assumed, I guess, that he'd gotten the upper hand. "One chance. Only one," he said through gritted teeth. "You stop now, or I tell uncle. The next time, you're out."

Before I could speak, Pierre was out the door. It took me twenty minutes to calm down. Later, I saw Arthur and went after him in the back hallway of the kitchen.

"What happened there?" I asked him, trying not to sound accusatory.

"I don't wants no trouble, Mr. David." Arthur had a heart of gold. He wasn't educated and his English was far from smooth - he'd only completed grade two - but that man had more integrity than anyone I'd ever met.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that, Arthur?" I scolded slightly. "It's just David. Can you tell me where he found you and what he asked you to do?"

Arthur told me that Pierre said he'd seen me upstairs in the Penthouse, so he wanted to find out who was in the liquor room. That made it an obvious setup. I wasn't sure what his game was, but I knew it didn't have anything to do with loyalty to an uncle he barely knew. I did stop putting gin in my soda, and it was pretty scary how much I missed it. I promised myself I wouldn't end up like my dad.

>

Life moved along, as it always did. Angela and I became very close. She was very helpful to me, especially regarding school. Never once did she degrade or impugn me for my work at the club.

She was very complimentary when I passed the GED test on my first try. Unbeknownst to me, she'd made sure that instead of receiving my quasi-diploma from the county, I got it from my high school. I found that extra touch to be endearing. Angela did a lot of little things like that, and I was quickly falling in love with her.

We had two classes together: Introduction to English Lit, and Communications. I was struggling to pick a major, and content to get my requirements out of the way. That first semester, I tried taking three courses, but with my work schedule, that turned out to be a mistake.

I cut back to two classes during winter semester in January. I was about as busy as a person could be. I felt good, though - like I was accomplishing a lot.

Angela and I fell into a sort of unspoken intimacy. We'd make out on her couch after her mother fell asleep until our lips were chapped.

She insisted on her own house, where she lived with her mother and brother, saying if we were at my apartment at the club, we'd eventually be caught. She also told me she didn't trust herself; she'd vowed to remain celibate until marriage. We used our hands on each other, but we were never naked. That was her line.

I never heard any more from Lisa. Her cousins, ironically, lived right behind the club in a cul de sac. I'd heard she'd come up to see me once, with her cousin, but I'd been in the middle of serving a party. One of the cousins, Johnny, actually worked there as a busboy. He hadn't offered any information the two times I'd asked, so I stopped. I probably shouldn't have asked in the first place, but I just couldn't help myself.

By May, I was almost finished with my second college semester. The job was getting easier because it was becoming more familiar, and because I was in charge of most things. Joe still guided me, during several daily conversations, but I was otherwise left alone. Joe must have kept Ford in the loop, because I didn't get much direction from him either.

I wasn't hanging around with the members very much, and that was another plus. The prior summer had taught me that if I was doing jobs for the mob, I couldn't look like I was buddy-buddy with them - or their patrons and clients - on top of that. I guess they felt the same way, because I didn't get any dirty looks or dangerous invitations. They seemed fine with my role at their club - and, yes, that's how they viewed it. I couldn't even say they were wrong. I had no idea what their real relationship with Ford was.

It was also entirely possible that a widely publicized event from the previous June had created that new distance between the mafia and me. For all I knew, the same was happening with others who did occasional 'jobs' for the mob. That event made me far more careful with my favors. I was perfectly fine running the club instead of running their errands.

The head of the largest union in the Midwest had 'gone missing.' That is to say, he'd been kidnapped coming out of a popular restaurant in broad daylight. He was never found, and the story was in the news for weeks. It then became an urban legend, and finally, countless 'mystery' shows on countless TV networks. The description of the assailants, to me, immediately reminded me of two guys that frequented the club: lower-level goons who were usually there as security for one of the bosses.

My suspicions were confirmed, as far as I was concerned, when I never saw either of them at the club again. I'd had a bad feeling that at least two family heads knew exactly where that victim was. That bad feeling never really went away. Worse, one of those two guys was Jimmy. In hindsight, the club's members may have decided that they needed to be more careful about dropping hints about who their real employees were - especially if they needed any more of them to do something very dirty and then disappear. Either way, I was happier with the new arrangement. I felt safer.

School was going better than I'd expected - basically as good as it could have been, in my view, unless I were to quit my job. I'd been considering my future with Angela, and planned on popping the question just before Memorial Day.

With summer came the busy season again: the wedding season. Angela said yes. She wore the biggest diamond I could afford, and she immediately said it was too much. She wanted us to be frugal for our future.

That June, though, the biggest event in a decade was scheduled to occur at the club. Joe's youngest daughter was getting married - to one of Jimmy's nephews, no less.

Joe became very excited as the date neared. He and I went out to a local farm where he paid cash for a beat-up-looking wooden cart. It had two old, rusty wheels and had been exposed to the weather for a long time. We used one-by to build an overhead trellis canopy over the cart, and I was tasked with ordering fresh grapevines from California. Two chefs manned the cart the night of the reception, carving rare cheeses from around the globe, Italian cured meats, and exotic fruits. The wedding reception, and especially the food, could only be described as illustrious and opulent.

We even flew in a team of guys from Italy, all dressed in barbershop quartet garb, to dish up authentic Italian ice and decadent cannolis for dessert.

Through the other kind of grapevine, I heard that the venue selection had all been down to Ford, not Joe. Ford had basically told his sister and her husband in no uncertain terms that his niece would be married right there. I didn't think much of it until about a week before the wedding.

Joe came into my office, clearly a man on a mission. "I need you to save all the empty liquor bottles from this weekend's banquets," he said matter-of-factly. "Keep them in the liquor room."

I just raised an eyebrow, but the look on his face told me not to pursue it further. My cache by the morning of the wedding was one hundred boxed-up empty bottles of all varieties. Joe and I took them up to The Penthouse's bar, shut down the coolers, and put all of the similar ones in each and every compartment. I couldn't help myself; I had to ask.

"My ex and her stupid husband demanded to pay full boat when I offered," he said with a sneer. "I know Jimmy will have to spring for some when they see the final tab. That fucker could have helped make sure I saw more of my kids after the divorce, but he sat on his hands. I talked Mr. Fancy Heart-Doctor Man into paying by the bottle instead of by the headcount to save a little money." He was laughing by then.

They did have a guarantee of twenty-seven-hundred guests, stretching even our limits, so I could see what Joe did as an easy sell. He'd never see a dime from the scam, but Ford would. Then I had another thought.

"Aren't you worried about - you know - if Jimmy were to find out?" I asked, a little worried for Joe. "Plus, I thought Jimmy was your friend."

"You should see what I do to my enemies," he stated flatly.

After the food, the dancing, and the drinking - all of which lasted well past the state's last call of two in the morning - I walked up to Joe and reached into my lapel pocket. I usually had all the final invoices and banquet prospectuses ready for collection. I handed him the one for his daughter's wedding, knowing he'd want the satisfaction of ripping off his nemesis while looking him in the eye. He just smiled and nodded. I'd never seen Joe happier than that night.

I'd never see him that happy again, either. Over the summer, Joe didn't merely step inside of himself; he fell. By noon almost every day, he was plastered. Weeks went by when he didn't feel the sunlight on his skin, never stepping outside our kitchen dungeon or his apartment. I had to pick up his slack.

The members had been lying low too. The feds were never going to find the union boss, or the perps, but they were still putting pressure on the Sicilians a year later. I could tell by the dark cloud that had descended over the once-lively club. It really felt like 'all good things...' kind of shit.

Angela felt it too.

There were office rumors about the club being sold. I told her it was just gossip and speculation; Ford would never sell his pride and joy. But by summer's end, I wasn't even sure I believed that myself. Pierre had also become darker. 'More serious' was a better description. It was as if he'd spent a little over a year watching and learning us all, including the gangsters, and was now planning to use what he'd learned. I had a bad feeling he was about to pounce.