Behind Our Walls : Deleted Scenes
Fiona slammed the spatula down onto the flattop, splashing hot oil and food debris onto the floor. This was the third time she had cooked the burger for the prick out there, the self-appointed expert on everything. No, that wasn’t the right kind of cheese. Really? Because the server asked you twice if that was what you wanted. No, there’s was too much pink on this burger and the grill marks aren’t right. It was enough to make her want to go out there and dump the guy out of his chair. For at least the fourth time that day, she wished that the kitchen was closed off from the restaurant, instead of being on display for everyone via the pass-through.
The television in the kitchen was showing the same soccer match that was being played out in the seating area. It was a testament to how much of an overbearing prick the owner was that none of the old timers complained about having to watch European soccer matches. There was still a hole in the plaster next to the Budweiser wall calender from a low-ball glass that had been hurled in protest of a Manchester United loss.
Fiona scooped up the patty and tossed it towards the plate. It skipped and bounced off onto the floor. Lifting it up, she brushed off what debris she could spot, tossing it back onto the grill for a few seconds on each side to sear off whatever else was there. She returned it to the bun, hiding any other evidence under a small mountain of shredded cheese and barbecue sauce. The fries which the a-hole had demanded to have re-made were still on the warming plate in the oven. She pulled them out and dumped them onto the new plate.
“Order up!” she called out and dropped the plate with a sharp crack onto the counter. As she began to scrape down the flattop, she pretended to not notice the idiot glaring at her from his table, as if she should be eternally grateful for the opportunity to prepare his dead animal. She grabbed the plastic bottle and showered the grill with water to create a wall of steam that she could at least temporarily hide behind.
She was getting ready to finish up the cleaning by spitting on the grill when she noticed that most of the conversation in the diner had suddenly stopped. The soccer game had been interrupted for a news report, with some footage of the President smiling and waving at various crowds.
“Again, the Pentagon is reporting that thirty minutes ago, the President was evacuated to the protective bunker underneath the White House. Despite the fact that this bunker is used to protect the President in times of imminent attack, the Pentagon’s chief of staff assured us that there is no immediate threat to the public at large. There will be an official briefing in another thirty minutes, at which point…”
The rest of the statement was drowned out in an uproar of conversation. She stood there, staring at the regulars at the counter, feeling sure that at least she wouldn’t be filling any of their orders any time soon.
“No, I remember something like this going on in ‘47.” She didn’t know any of their names, but she recognized this one as the voice of Moron Without Glasses.
“Nah, you’re thinkin’ of ‘49.” That one was Moron With Glasses.
“’49? What are you talking about? Nothing happened in—”
“You’re both wrong. Besides, back then we likely wouldn’t have even heard of it.” The third voice was Stupid Sweater Guy. “Remember? Only way we got news back then was in newsreels and they wouldn’t have told anyone about something like this going on. Would have scared half the country to death.”
“I had an army buddy who told me about it.” Moron With Glasses was pressing his point.
“You don’t have any friends,” said Moron Without Glasses.
“I did then, you think I…”
Fiona spun away from the grill and headed for the back. She pushed the door open with one foot and held it open while she lit a cigarette. It was all bullshit. Half the crap she heard from these guys was just hot air, trying to prove how much they thought they knew.
She was getting down to the last drag when the dishwasher walked behind her, coming about as close as he could get without actually touching her. She didn’t know if it was possible for anyone to be more of a sleaze, but she could actually feel his eyes on her ass even when he thought she wasn’t looking. God only knew what was happening with those mental pictures he took on a daily basis. He came back from the sink and tried to squeeze through the hallway with her in it, but she stepped out of the way before he could take the opportunity to accidentally bump into her.
“Crazy news, huh?” he commented. She didn’t know where his determination came from. She had never been friendly to him, let alone polite or even cordial. The only reason why she hadn’t put the heel of her foot up his ass was because his daddy was the owner. Fiona tried once again to ignore the kid and walked back to the grill. She felt his eyes following her and jerked down on her shirt to try and maximize the coverage it provided. When it occurred to her that she was only causing it to cling more tightly around other parts of her body, she ceased the effort.
“Crazy news,” he repeated as he shifted his gaze back out to the parking lot, as if there were some kind of revelatory sight that only he was privy to. She was sure that he fancied the expression he was putting on to be thoughtful and insightful, but to her it still just looked like a donkey wearing clothes. “What do you think is going on up there?” he asked, nodding towards the television.
“How the fuck should I know?” She glanced quickly at the customers as soon as she said it, not sure if anyone had heard her. Fortunately the news on the TV was still enough of a distraction.
“No need to be rude.” He ambled towards her now, letting the door slam behind him. She tapped the spatula on the flattop, even though there was nothing for her to be watching at the moment. The knives were just to her right though, still within her grasp if that possibility became attractive.
The stench of garlic on his breath reached her several seconds before he did. She flinched as he leaned in over her, putting an arm over her shoulders and began speaking in one of the worst John Wayne impressions ever uttered. “Just reckoned you might need some protectin’ little lady, if you—”
His hand was starting to slide down her back now and that was what finally broke her. She reached around and grabbed, twisting it as she did so. He yelled out in surprised pain but before he could do anything else, she slammed his hand down onto the grill and smacked the spatula down on top of it. The oil and water sizzled with a sudden rank smell as his yell of surprise turned into an embarrassing shriek of pain. Fiona immediately let up and shoved him away from her. He stumbled back, tripped over a compost bin and sprawled back onto the floor.
Richie was immediately there, standing in the swinging doors. His gaze shifted back and forth between his employee and his son on the floor, rolling around in agony.
“What in the crispy Christ is going on here?” It was hard for her to not laugh at his choice of words.
“Dad, she burned my…Jesus, Jesus she burned my…” It was the most he could manage before giving up. He staggered to his feet and ran towards the ice machine. Richie put a hand out to try and stop what was about to happen but it was too late. The kid ripped the door open and plunged his hand into the mountain of shaved ice inside. His face went lax from the obvious relief as he sagged against the machine.
Richie spun to face Fiona. “All right, I’m done with you.”
“You need to tell your grabby son to keep his hands off—”
“Shut the hell up, you crazy bitch. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops or bill you for how much time it’s gonna take to have that God dammed ice machine sanitized. Get the hell out of here.”
Fiona grabbed her backpack and pulled off her work shirt, even though she knew that the pervs out there were going to get the sight of their life, seeing her march out in a tank top. She tossed the shirt onto the grill and shoved past Richie as he dove to grab it before it caught on fire. As she threw the backpack over her shoulder and got to the door, she turned to face the crowd that was now staring her up and down long enough to give them all the one-finger salute. She kicked the door open and marched outside into the mid-morning sun.
.P
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