Two: In Which a Dinner Goes Wrong
1575 Words
Romero’s eyes light up immediately in recognition and surprise. What are the odds that I’d ever see him again? And here, of all places?
“Hello, Romero,” I say to him. To this, he smirks. I wonder what exactly he’s thinking, what he thinks of me. He probably thinks it’s absolutely pathetic to work at a car dealership and be incapable of changing a tyre.
“Nice to see you again,” he says with a half smile. Yeah, that’s probably exactly what he’s thinking.
“Wait,” Frank says, “unuh know one aneda?” he asks. He looks between us curiously.
“Yeah, we’ve met,” I tell him, leaving it at that. Romero says nothing either.
“Well, we’re all going out for dinner later today, as a welcoming present for Romero,” Harry says. Harry, a tall, skinny, dark sinned boy, started working here when he was 18. His 20th birthday is in two weeks, and Frank and the other mechanics, along with myself and Toby, actually planned a surprise party for him.
“Yeah, but we nah invite dutty gyal Brenda,” Frank says. I can’t help but chuckle. Brenda isn’t invited to our surprise party for Harry, either. We don’t really involve her in our plans if we can help it. She is someone that pretty much no one here likes. You think that that’s something that people make up, something you only see on television or read about in books, until you actually go out into the real world and meet someone as nasty as her.
“That sounds perfect,” I tell him, clasping my hands excitedly.
The whole time, Romero just looks at me thoughtfully, scrutinising me in such a way that I almost feel naked in front of him.
“What’s your name?” he asks me finally, the sound of his voice clear, even though Harry is now talking to Jerome, one of the other mechanics.
“Wait, so unuh meet each odda an’ nuh know one aneda name?” Frank asks, sounding somewhat confused.
“She broke down on the street last week. I changed her tyre.”
“Oh,” Frank says. I see everything click into place in his head, as he probably realises that this is the incident that prompted me to ask him to show me how to change a tyre.
“I’m Gabriella, but my friends call me Rya,” I tell him. “You can call me either.”
He nods his head. He doesn’t seem to be a very talkative person. Perhaps he’s an introvert. I remember what Brenda said about him being attractive, and well, she wasn’t lying. I recall him being attractive the first time I saw him. What I didn’t see was him shirtless, with sweat shining all over his body, the hard muscles rippling as he moves, as he pulls out a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his face. My God, is he beautiful. I’m careful to look out of the corner of my eye, and not to state directly at him. I’m not that shameless.
Perhaps, one day, I’ll actually ask him out; I am not intimidated at the thought of making the first move with a man. I’m not like Brenda, either, though. I’m not going to try to force myself on him. For now, looking will have to suffice.
After chatting a little bit more with Frank, and eye f*****g Romero, I go back to the show room, and unfortunately, Brenda is still there, on her iPhone. Her unpleasant aura taints the entire room. It's like walking into a bathroom after someone just shat. She was probably waiting on my return, too, because after I’m done talking to another client, she comes over to me.
“So did you like the new guy?” she asks me.
“Actually, yes. He seems pretty nice,” I tell her honestly.
“Well, that’s good, I guess. I still wish they didn’t keep hiring staff from the ghetto. It brings down our name.”
I grind my teeth together so hard, my jaws hurt. I want to fight this b***h. Really f*****g badly. This man has done nothing to her aside from exist, and she feels the need to bring him down.
“Anyway, it’s closing time,” she says with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabby. Ciao.”
I manage to hold my tongue all the way to my car, before I start grumbling to myself.
“f*****g b***h doesn’t have any f*****g decency, I f*****g hate her,” I mutter. It’s not just today that I’m angry about. It’s a culmination of everything she’s ever done. If she got fired tomorrow, I’d actually be happy.
***
When I get home, I shower in a hurry, and throw on a pair of ripped jeans and a low cut yellow blouse. I don't even realise until I am already in my car, looking in the mirror at my perfectly drawn cat eye, that I am more dressed up than usual. I don't think that it is entirely inappropriate, though. It isn't every day that I get to have dinner with a new employee.
A new, attractive employee.
We end up going to Chilleatos, because of the relatively reasonable prices, and because their food is actually decent. I am the first one to get there, right on time as usual. I don't expect the others to arrive soon, because Jamaicans tend to be late for everything. I take a seat, and order a glass of water, before pulling out my phone with the intention of playing games.
"Are you always on time?"
I jump in place, before looking up to see Romero standing above me.
"Huh?" I respond stupidly. "Uh, um... yes," I say to him. He pulls back the chair beside me, and takes a seat. "I, uh, wasn't expecting you to be this early," I tell him.
"I try to be punctual," he says, before tapping his fingers on the table top. They're actually pretty, and for a moment, I imagine them inside me. I shake my head, attempting to banish those inappropriate thoughts from my mind. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I lie. "I... I'm good."
"Oh. How long do the others usually take to arrive?" he asks.
"Half an hour to an hour," I tell him.
He doesn't say anything for a while, and I open my phone and stare at it, forgetting what I was going to do, because now, all I can think about is the anxiety of being alone with him. Again. Because now, I actually want to f**k him.
"Are you okay?" he asks me. I look at him again.
"Yes," I tell him, before clearing my throat. "Um... we should probably order something," I tell him, picking up a menu.
"I've never been here before."
"Well, I usually get the bean burrito," I tell him. He bites his lip, as if thinking for a moment about whether or not he should eat it.
"Uh, if you say so," he responds.
We both order our food, and wait for it to arrive, making small talk in the mean time. Small talk which mainly consists of him asking questions about my job at the dealership. I find myself feeling less and less anxious, and when the others show up together, an hour late, it feels as though only a fraction of that time has passed. Soon, everyone is chatting and laughing, and it really does feel good to be around my colleagues sans Brenda. I’m laughing at a dumb joke that Harry just told, but when I look to my right, I see that Romero is silently picking at his food. He seems a lot more shy than when it was just us.
“Hey,” I say, stretching out a hand to him, “you alright?”
He looks up at me, before sighing, and then speaking.
“I... I’ve never been.... I’ve never been invited to something like this, by anyone. I’ve never been welcomed with such hospitality to a new job. I guess I just don’t know how to act.”
I look at him, wondering what exactly he’s been through, what his life story is. What he just said leaves the table silent for a few seconds, before Yohan, a muscular young man from St Elizabeth, who is sitting across the table from me, speaks.
“Well,” he says, “me t’ink seh everybody ‘appy fi ‘ave yuh a wuk wid wi." That is true; everyone seems more than happy with Romero added to our team. “Everybody, except Dutty Gyal Brenda.”
I actually choke on my drink when he says that. Frank, who is sitting to my left, starts patting my back as I cough up the alcoholic beverage, and as Yohan, Jerome, and Harry chuckle, while asking me concerned questions.
“I’m so sorry, babes. Yuh alright?” Yohan asks between chuckles.
“I’m... I’m alright,” I reassure them. “I’m fine—” I cut off when I go to get up, with the intention of going to the bar and getting myself some napkins. However, standing by one of the chairs at the table next to us is none other than Brenda, and from the angry expression on her face, she heard what Yohan just said.
We’re so f****d.
- Writer
