Chapter Text
“I can’t fucking believe they’re having me train on a Friday night.” Erik slammed his open palm down onto the host stand as he and Alex peered down at the floor chart.
“Really? You can’t believe it? You know you’re Emma’s pet. She probably thinks she’s doing you a favor.”
“A favor?” Erik bit out, incredulous. “What favor would that be? I’m saddled with some moron for the next 10 hours. I don’t need the extra baggage.”
“Well… you get an extra table?” Alex pointed sheepishly to the sectioned off dry erase sheet in front of them. He tucked his greasy blond hair into his hat while Erik fumed.
“Woo. Great.” Erik’s trademark cynicism was on full display as he tied his apron securely around his waist. He was able to wrap the strings around a full three times. The effect was that of an inverted triangle. He would have done anything to give the thick, unflattering polo shirt some shape.
He and Alex turned away from the disappointing sheet that had already managed to ruin Erik’s night and headed for the stairs. They leisurely strolled up to the restaurant’s third floor dining room, abandoned but for the other staff members gathered there.
It was a sea of grumpy faces clad in all black. It was Friday. Upon entering the sprawling room Alex caught sight of Sean who waved at him with a chicken finger. Erik was abandoned for the promise of deep fried poultry and he wasn’t all that upset by it. If he was in fact training someone tonight, he should probably figure out what he was going to say or do or something… But all he could think about was how ridiculous it was to stick him with some newbie on a Friday at the beginning of November. He mindlessly scribbled in his order pad as more people filtered into the space.
Erik’s eyes flitted around the room. Everyone sort of instinctively shuffled into their little groups. The hosts, Angel, Kitty, and Clarice, banded together like a pack of schoolgirls. Probably because they were. The line cooks who bothered to show up to the pre-shift meetings always hung close. Tonight it was just Logan and Alex. The servers had their own little cliques, but were, for the most part, a united front. Erik had already scanned the names on the seating chart, and it seemed to be the usual suspects you’d find on a Friday night: Bobby, Warren, Jean, Hank, Sean, Wanda, and a few names he’d already forgotten, because, let’s face it, when you work in a four story corporately owned restaurant in Times Square, you work with over 100 people, and you don’t always remember names.
Still, even though a few of the sullen faces he caught didn’t come with a name, he didn’t see anyone wholly unfamiliar. Where was this elusive trainee, he wondered. He fumbled with his phone to check the time. He contemplated running down for a cigarette. If he had a tail all night, lord knew when he’d get a chance to pop outside for some nicotine.
As he considered the numerous flights of stairs separating him from his habit, a hand thrust into his field of vision. He stared at it for a moment, allowing it to remain anonymous while he planed his response, because at this point he wanted to stab the hand with a pen. No matter who it belonged to.
“Erik?” asked an unfamiliar, positively posh voice.
Erik’s eyes trailed up the arm, past the demeaning polo, and up to the bright, cheery face of a man he’d never seen before. He grunted. “You must be the guy I'm training.”
“Yes!” the man, with his hand still outstretched, replied. “I’m Charles.”
Erik said nothing, he just stared up into the overly-enthusiastic eyes hovering above him.
Charles cleared his throat and finally brought his hand down to his side. There was a slight fidgeting to his movements, but he was undeterred. “Emma told me to just come up and find you.” He sat down next to Erik, who had been occupying his own table by the window.
“Did she tell you to look for the miserable fuck sitting by himself?” Erik didn’t smile and it was clear by Charles’s reaction that she in fact had. But he was obviously too proper to admit it.
“Oh no, I just… lucky guess?” Erik grimaced. “You’re right. But in all fairness, you are the only one seated alone! So…” He trailed off and Erik glanced at his phone again.
“We have, like, five more minutes before the ice queen comes up and starts rambling. So let’s just cut to the chase. How long have you been serving?”
“Um, two years I suppose? Two summers before I started university.”
“‘University’?” Erik quirked an eyebrow. “Where are you from?”
“Upstate?” Charles shrugged casually and Erik laughed despite himself. He subtly rolled it into a cough lest this Charles character think he could coast through the shift.
“OK, whatever. Is this your first shift?”
“First and only.”
Erik’s expression bordered on incredulous. “First and only, you say? How do you figure that?”
“Oh my, did no one tell you? I’m a transfer!” Charles looked positively delighted to deliver this news.
“Super,” Erik replied with a wan smile. “And for the record, I just found out I was training you. So, uh, fair warning.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have blindsided you, Erik. I promise not to be a burden. But, I do ask a lot of questions, so fair warning.”
Erik could have sworn the little bastard winked at him. And was that sass Charles was giving him? Erik’s mouth began to open with a debasing retort just as Emma strolled in. Lucky for you, Erik thought.
Charles sat in the chair beside Erik like an eager puppy. His spine was rigid and his hands were literally folded in front of him. It was like they were in grade school. Appropriately, Erik affected his grade school posture as well: slid halfway down his chair with his long legs sprawled out in front of him and a pen in his mouth. He’d always had an oral fixation.
Emma’s pre-shift spiels were pretty much always the same. Sell sell sell! Be nice! Do your side work! Stop walking by trash on the floor! Stay off your phones! Erik casually slipped his cell back into his apron at that last part.
Erik zoned out while she was explaining why the bartenders couldn’t free pour anymore. Erik didn’t care, because Erik knew why they couldn’t free pour anymore. Because, no matter what Emma was saying now, they both knew Janos was giving away liquor at the first floor bar. Erik had told her that, and this was her non-confrontational way of dealing with it. Let’s punish everyone by implementing measured pours, he thought bitterly. He only bartended on Sundays, but he was dreading having to bust out the jiggers. He wasn’t some kid; he knew how to make drinks. It was insulting. And the only reason Janos wasn’t out on his ass was because Emma was sweet on him. If it had been anyone else, they would have been gone.
Erik was roused from his rage-induced daydream by the wobbling of the table. Charles was now standing beside him addressing the room. Had Emma really instructed him to “tell them a little about himself”? Poor guy, he thought idly.
“Well, there’s not much to tell I suppose. I’m a transfer from Upstate. I, uh, moved to the city when I started at Columbia. I’ve been here for a few months, but I had some free time so I popped in to see if you were looking for anyone… And, um, that’s about it?”
“What are you doing at Columbia?” Angel shot across the room.
“I’m studying genetics.” Charles flashed a winning smile that was filled with pride, but not obnoxious.
“Hear that, Hank!” Alex shouted, “Now you’ve got another nerd to play with!”
This elicited a few giggles from around the room. Erik snorted but it was muffled by the hand in front of his face. He glanced up to see Charles’s face turning slightly pink. He was hit with a flash of empathy. First day in a huge, imposing, monstrosity of a restaurant sat in the heart of Times Square and some dickhead fry cook is giving him a hard time. Burden or not…
“Yea, Alex, being intelligent and having a future is soooo uncool,” Erik drawled sarcastically, a bit surprised by his sudden protective flare.
Charles was just as surprised as he glanced down to offer a tiny, but obviously thankful, smile.
Erik could see the gears turning in Alex’s brain. Either that or he was looking for something to throw. Sadly, his jab wouldn’t be returned because Emma was over it. “All right, loves. That’s enough of that. Let’s get downstairs and relieve the day folks. And check your sections!” she hollered as the group steadily dispersed, no longer listening.
Erik rose to stand next to Charles. He clapped him firmly on the back. “You ready for this?”
Charles scoffed, but Erik could sense the nervousness behind the bravado. “I told you, I’m a transfer. I’ve done this.”
“You’ve never done this here.”
“Well it surely can’t be that much different,” Charles offered almost as a question, no longer attempting to hide his nerves.
As they descended the stairs to the second floor, home of the main dining room, Erik felt sort of like a ringmaster. He made a show of waving his arm in a grandiose flourish to reveal the chaos they were walking into.
Charles gaped a little at the sight before him. Children seemed to be screaming from every corner. Servers pushed past them with armfuls of dirty plates. A girl with a positively voluminous ponytail bounded over in a huff and, without so much as a greeting, commanded, “Give me your card so I can transfer 13 to you they’re just sitting there and it’s your section now anyway and I have to take the train to Long Island tonight to my boyfriend’s and I seriously can’t stay here past 5:00 again.”
It was all one sentence and Charles really was getting overwhelmed. Erik passed her his plastic swipe card with a nod. She took off towards a computer.
“That’s Lorelei. She’s awful. Ignore her. Forever.”
When Charles looked back to consider how such a small, seemingly perky girl could be so awful, he saw she was already single-mindedly cutting through the crowded dining room. In one motion she handed back the card and removed her apron.
"You gunna clean your other tables, Lore?” Erik asked with a slight grin. Charles figured he knew the answer.
“That’s what busboys are for,” she called over her shoulder.
Erik smiled wide at Charles and nudged him toward the freshly transferred table that was positively littered with empty coffee mugs and discarded sugar packets. “Welcome to hell, my friend.”