The Fault

Chapter 2

Chapter 2“Good morning, Don. I have the invoices you asked me about before you left last night,” someone called out to him.

“Put them on my desk, and I’ll look at them in a few minutes.” Don Gibbs didn’t look up from his cell phone as he strode across the room. In the office he shut the door and removed his suit jacket, laying it over the arm of a chair. He looked at himself in the mirror behind the door. His face was still warm from his hour-long workout at the gym, and his sandy brown hair was still damp from the shower. He ran his fingers through it to slick it back. On the other side of the door, he could hear all the usual signs that his restaurant, Gibbs West Hollywood, or Gibbs WeHo as it was widely known, was running smoothly. The chefs were chopping and slicing, the wait staff was chatting casually and studying the specials of the day, and further away in the dining room, the pianist was warming up to play.

On the opposite wall in the mirror’s reflection, Don saw the framed restaurant reviews and awards and the handwritten testimonial from Gordon Ramsey stating that Gibbs WeHo was the top-rated restaurant five years in a row. Don straightened his tie and smiled.

This place was his kingdom. Six years earlier, after he graduated from college where he had studied the hospitality business and culinary arts, he used the inheritance given him by his grandmother to purchase a failing café on Santa Monica and turn it into a successful restaurant. The reservation books were filled every day, even for lunch, with the names of Hollywood’s top stars, singers and bands, sports figures and politicians. Even the president had dined in the private room when he had come to LA a couple of months before. This is my kingdom.

* * * *

It was five minutes before eleven o’clock, and the doors were going to open for lunch when Don left the office and walked to the marble clad hostess station. His hostess, Sharon, looked up from the computer screen, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her eyes as he stepped around the desk to stand next to her.

“Hello there, Don. So how did it go last night?”

“How many reservations do we have this afternoon?” Don asked, pretending not to hear her question.

“Twelve reservations for noon, and one of them is for the singer, Nikki Mann, and a party of seven, but that’s not what I want to know…” Sharon said with a smile. Don frowned.

“It was a disaster.” Don shrugged.

“Tell me all about it. Inquiring minds desire to know.” She smiled, nudging him playfully in the ribs.

“You should mind your own business.”

“Not until you tell me something…Come on, Don,” she pressed. Don finally sighed.

“Okay, I know when I’m beat. The date was horrible. The guy is a surgeon, and I really don’t want to hear the gory details of your job when I’m trying to drink…I don’t think I can drink red wine ever again after that.”

“Well, was he at least good looking?”

“Tall, gray haired, and I could tell he worked out, and it looked like he had some other things under his clothes that I won’t mention in front of a lady,” Don informed her with a sly grin that made Sharon blush.

“Doesn’t sound like a disaster to me. You can always overlook the sordid details of the job.” Don shook his head.

“Whatever. I don’t have time for relationships anyway. You see how busy I am around here.” Don swept his left hand over the large dining room and back to the computer with all the lunch and dinner reservations listed.

“Don, I’ve known you since grade school, so can I be honest with you?” Sharon pushed her hair out of her face. Don turned his head away from her, because he knew what was coming. He sighed and waited.

“You haven’t dated anyone in way over five years, not since Roger…Well, it’s time. I’m not talking about the random hook-ups and living vicariously through these surfers and models you hire as waiters. Why don’t you ever get up the nerve to ask one of them out?” Don didn’t know how to answer her right away.

She always mentioned Roger at every opportunity, as if trying to keep the wound open. He had met Roger in their first year of college. He was handsome and looked a lot like the models who worked at Gibbs WeHo: just under six feet tall, a square jaw framed by blond hair, and bright blue eyes. They had good times together until their senior year when their relationship began to cool. s*x was rare between them by then, and they began to go out to parties and clubs separately. One day in late February of that school year Roger announced that he would be unable to join Don for spring break.

“I’m going to Fort Lauderdale instead of Palm Springs, dude,” Roger had told him.

“I’ve got to see you, and we can talk about this.”

“I’ll meet you at the Abbey tonight.”

They met and talked for a couple of hours and drove home. That was Don’s last clear memory of their meeting.

Don recalled waking up with a headache and gauze bandages covering his face, his arm hurt like hell. There was a bright light shining in his eyes. A male voice over him spoke.

“You’re awake at last. How do you feel?”

“Like I had a fight with a truck and lost.”

“Close, only it was a tree. You and your friend Roger have been in an accident, too much drinking…” Don felt his body going numb; he dreaded to ask the question.

“I’ll go and see him. Help me get up…”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m afraid he was killed.” The sentence repeated over and over in Don’s brain. The rest of that year passed in a blur for him. He didn’t even remember walking across the stage during the graduation ceremony. He was roused out of his thoughts by another sharp poke in the ribs from Sharon. He jumped.

“Roger’s gone, Sharon, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to replace him. I’m not having nightmares anymore, so that’s a good sign.” Don sighed. Sharon nodded.

“Nobody wants you to replace him. Honor his memory by moving forward, and I don’t mean living here almost twenty-four hours a day either.”

“This place wouldn’t be as popular as it is today if I didn’t. Though sometimes, I think maybe I should sell the place and go somewhere else.”

“You have a gold mine here. Why give it up?”

“A guy can get tired and want something new, can’t he?”

“What am I going to do with you, dude?” Sharon laughed.

“Well, time to open our doors and let in the crowds, so get ready.” Don walked around the desk and toward the door. When the door was opened, he excused himself and returned to his office. There was still one email to a vendor left to send before he went out to supervise the dining room with Sharon.

In the middle of typing out a sentence, he stopped and closed the laptop. He sat with his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his folded hands.

“I wish that Sharon hadn’t mentioned Roger. I loved him once, but dammit, it’s over. He’s gone, and I was just beginning to move on without him,” Don whispered out loud, nearly startled by a sharp knock on the office door.

“What is it?” he asked brusquely.

“It’s Ted,” came the answer from the other side. Don sat silent for a minute, and then invited him in. He opened the door and stood in front of the desk.

“You know my rules. If a member of my wait staff wants to speak with me the proper time to do it is before we open for business.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Gibbs, but this is the first chance I had. You looked busy this morning when you came in,” Ted said, shifting his weight from one foot to another, his hands behind his back. Don looked at the waiter across the space between them.

Ted was an actor for some small theater in the Valley; he was short and tanned, which showed off his buzz cut blond hair and white teeth. Don thought that he looked nervous.

Do I really make people feel like that? Don mused as he dropped his hands to the desk and leaned forward to speak.

“Now that you’re here, what is it? There are guests waiting to be served.”

“I know, and I’ll get back to them as soon as I talk to you. I was wondering if you wanted to contribute something to my theater group. Our venue is behind in its bills, and we need a new sound system…” Ted sounded nervous as he rattled off the list of his theater’s troubles. Don sat with his face impassive, the buzz of his cell phone on the desk shattering the tension.

“We’ll talk about it some other time. In the meantime, get back to work.” Ted nodded, and before he backed out of the room, he left one of his show flyers on the desk, in case Don might be interested.