Read Online Last Night at the Lobster by Stewart O’Nan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stewart O’Nan
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room. “I’m sorry, ma’am, even if this coupon was valid, that offer’s only good for one meal per table, not two.” Logically, Nicolette’s got them, but the grandmothers keep pleading their case. The volume escalates, and Manny has to step in.
The grandmothers insist they’re two tables, since they asked for separate checks, and the coupon’s barely expired. Nicolette hands it to him as if it’s dipped in anthrax. The expiration date is last Saturday, close enough, except as he’s standing there he notices the ceramic holder that should be full of sugar and Equal and Splenda and Sweet’n Low packets has been picked clean—always a danger with these cottonheads, their memories of the Depression pushing them beyond thrift into greed. It shouldn’t matter to him, since anything not in a sealed box will probably get tossed, but now he feels doubly fooled.
“One table, one entree,” he rules, and short-circuits their arguments with a raised finger. “And I’m only doing this because it’s Christmas.”
“I’m never eating here again,” one of them says.
“I thought this was supposed to be a nice place.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Manny says. “You can fill out a comment card if you like.”
Back at the main station, Nicolette says he shouldn’t have given them anything. “Bet you twenty they don’t tip me.”
“Too easy,” Manny says, and then is wrong. The grandmothers leave Nicolette a single penny—a penny Nicolette runs to the front door and flings into the storm after them. “Fuckin’ old biddies, I hope you crash!”
She still has to clear their coffees, but steams straight for the break room, empty-handed and swearing. As her tantrums go, this one’s minor. It’s only when she reappears a minute later in her jacket with her bag over her shoulder that he realizes she’s serious.
“Let them go,” he says.
“I want my check.”
“No you don’t.”
“You want to see how much I made today?” She threatens him with a folded wad of ones. There can’t be more than twenty dollars.
“It’s been slow.”
“It wasn’t slow for everybody, was it? Just me. Now why would that be?” She scratches her temple, then holds a flattened palm out like a game-show model toward Kendra, standing at the bar with Dom, then bends it toward Manny. He deserves this, partly, for keeping her away from the big party, and he can’t promise to make it up to her at dinner. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, one of them’s your girlfriend and the other’s your mother, so right there that leaves me out. I don’t mind working a crappy shift as long as I have a fair shot at making some money, and you know that’s true ’cause I worked every fucking lunch for the last month straight when I could have just said fuck you. I knew you were shorthanded. That’s why I came in today, and look what I get. So that’s it, I’m done. All I want is to get my check and get the fuck out of here. You don’t need me anyway.”
“I gave you good shifts too,” Manny says.
Nicolette just stands there, adamant, admitting nothing. He knows he’s supposed to ask her to stay, maybe beg her, but lunch is over, there’s no one here and the snow is falling hard.
“I’ll get you your check,” he says. “You already punch out?”
“Yes.”
And in back she has; it wasn’t a bluff.
Jacquie and Roz already know, sitting at the table in the break room as if nothing’s wrong.
“Oh well,” Jacquie says.
“It’s not like she did anything around here anyway,” Roz says, and he thinks maybe he’s soft-hearted, because he wants them to miss her.
He wants to shake Nicolette’s hand, as if to settle things between them, but she just takes the check, slips it in her bag and pulls on her gloves. Like Fredo, she has to make the trek to the bus stop, and she’s already bundled up. Kendra and Dom haven’t budged, so they have an audience as Manny escorts her to the door.
“Thanks,” he says
The grandmothers insist they’re two tables, since they asked for separate checks, and the coupon’s barely expired. Nicolette hands it to him as if it’s dipped in anthrax. The expiration date is last Saturday, close enough, except as he’s standing there he notices the ceramic holder that should be full of sugar and Equal and Splenda and Sweet’n Low packets has been picked clean—always a danger with these cottonheads, their memories of the Depression pushing them beyond thrift into greed. It shouldn’t matter to him, since anything not in a sealed box will probably get tossed, but now he feels doubly fooled.
“One table, one entree,” he rules, and short-circuits their arguments with a raised finger. “And I’m only doing this because it’s Christmas.”
“I’m never eating here again,” one of them says.
“I thought this was supposed to be a nice place.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Manny says. “You can fill out a comment card if you like.”
Back at the main station, Nicolette says he shouldn’t have given them anything. “Bet you twenty they don’t tip me.”
“Too easy,” Manny says, and then is wrong. The grandmothers leave Nicolette a single penny—a penny Nicolette runs to the front door and flings into the storm after them. “Fuckin’ old biddies, I hope you crash!”
She still has to clear their coffees, but steams straight for the break room, empty-handed and swearing. As her tantrums go, this one’s minor. It’s only when she reappears a minute later in her jacket with her bag over her shoulder that he realizes she’s serious.
“Let them go,” he says.
“I want my check.”
“No you don’t.”
“You want to see how much I made today?” She threatens him with a folded wad of ones. There can’t be more than twenty dollars.
“It’s been slow.”
“It wasn’t slow for everybody, was it? Just me. Now why would that be?” She scratches her temple, then holds a flattened palm out like a game-show model toward Kendra, standing at the bar with Dom, then bends it toward Manny. He deserves this, partly, for keeping her away from the big party, and he can’t promise to make it up to her at dinner. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, one of them’s your girlfriend and the other’s your mother, so right there that leaves me out. I don’t mind working a crappy shift as long as I have a fair shot at making some money, and you know that’s true ’cause I worked every fucking lunch for the last month straight when I could have just said fuck you. I knew you were shorthanded. That’s why I came in today, and look what I get. So that’s it, I’m done. All I want is to get my check and get the fuck out of here. You don’t need me anyway.”
“I gave you good shifts too,” Manny says.
Nicolette just stands there, adamant, admitting nothing. He knows he’s supposed to ask her to stay, maybe beg her, but lunch is over, there’s no one here and the snow is falling hard.
“I’ll get you your check,” he says. “You already punch out?”
“Yes.”
And in back she has; it wasn’t a bluff.
Jacquie and Roz already know, sitting at the table in the break room as if nothing’s wrong.
“Oh well,” Jacquie says.
“It’s not like she did anything around here anyway,” Roz says, and he thinks maybe he’s soft-hearted, because he wants them to miss her.
He wants to shake Nicolette’s hand, as if to settle things between them, but she just takes the check, slips it in her bag and pulls on her gloves. Like Fredo, she has to make the trek to the bus stop, and she’s already bundled up. Kendra and Dom haven’t budged, so they have an audience as Manny escorts her to the door.
“Thanks,” he says
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