Eyes of the beholder

The bell rang as the door opened and the moment she heard the thump, thump, thump from feet shaking off the snow on the mat, she knew it was him. None of the other customers brought the snow inside. They cleaned their shoes on the doormat outside. But not him. Susan could not work out why he did it, if it were to annoy her as he knew she was the one that would mop up the water once the slush melted on the wooden floor. She turned just as he brushed the snow off his hat and hung it together with the coat on the stand. He rubbed his hands together as if they were cold which they could not be with those thick sheepskin lined gloves. She walked up to him, and he looked her in the face as he always did.

- A table for one?

- No, I am expecting some friends.

She made a gesture towards the window table at the end, just in front of the big glass cabinet, and he nodded. He followed as she escorted him, and she knew he was staring at her bum; she could see it looking at their reflections in the glass.

Once he was seated, she pulled out the big blackboard with today’s specials and placed a menu on the table.

- Perhaps you would like a drink before your meal? Jacobs Creeks Pinot Noir is on special today. And the white Chardonnay comes from The Barossa Valley.

He was reading the menu on the blackboard.

- I will try the Chardonnay, he said. The fish looks nice.

- The grilled flounder comes with honey glazed brussels sprouts, fresh potatoes, and a garden salad. And the home-made remoulade sauce.

He opened the menu and flicked through it as she moved away. The bottle felt cold in her hand, and she thought it would have been more sensible on a freezing day like today to choose a red wine with the vegetarian lasagna. She made sure the glass was clean before she poured the drink. There was something about him she did not like. She knew who he was. The new Art Director in the Gallery next door and she could not help but wondering what were his credentials? Where did he come from? What did he know? Just as she put the glass on the table in front of him the bell rang again. A lady in a brown cashmere coat came through the door. Susan looked down and noticed she had wiped the snow off her feet before she came in. A reminder to grab that mop and clean up his mess.

He waved at the woman who quickly hung her coat beside his and moved towards the table. Susan took a couple of steps back to let the two greet before she asked if she wanted a drink.

- The same, thanks.

- Terrible weather isn’t it, my glasses keep fogging up.

The man murmured something and as Susan went to fetch the drink, she remembered who the woman was. She was the journalist at the local paper. Other customers drew her attention and after taken the couples order she soon forgot about them. The lunch café was crowded now as it usually was this time of day. By two o’clock most of them would be back at work and this would just be a coffee shop for the afternoon. Susan straightened a painting on the wall. It was the one of the jetty in the moonlight with all the red, orange and pink from the sunset stretching out to the horizon. The title was “The colors of the night.” It should have been called “The long jetty,” she thought. There was something about the painting that drew attention. Most of the paintings in the room were placed on eye level so that while you were sitting at a table the painting became the focal point. Susan knew people looked at them and she glanced to see if he, the art director, paid any attention to them, but he was so involved in a conversation that the room or its costumers seemed to cease to exist.

- 35 is ready!

The voice came from the kitchen and Susan went to fetch the two plates. The kitchen smelled of fish and lemons and she watched Simon, the chef, carefully placing the flounder on the plates and making sure the brussels sprouts was shining of honey. He dripped a few drops of melted butter over them and grated the zest of a lemon on top. The group of fresh potatoes were garnished with a dill sprig and Susan could smell the fresh dill as she took the plates out to the table.

- Thank you, that looks lovely.

He looked up and smiled at her and she thought it must be the first time she had seen him smile. But it was not a kind smile. It was almost patronizing, as if he were reminding her of her place as a waitress, the servant.

- Can we have a bottle of this wine, he gestured.

- Certainly, I will be right back.

The kitchen was busy, and she quickly brought the plates to some of the other customers.

- Simon, you are an artist!

It was true. He knew his art and how to garnish a dish beautifully.

He laughed.

- No Susan! YOU are the artist!

She liked Simon. They had worked together for a long time and knew each other well. It was a good team; everyone enjoyed their work which made the day so much easier. Sometimes she stayed behind sharing a beer with Simon. He liked the German Lowenbrau, and she enjoyed a Carlsberg. They laughed and joked about the day and she wished Nora would join them. But she was always in a hurry to get home once she had finished the last dishes. She was a single mother and had a lot on her plate.

The doorbell rang and four men stepped inside.

- Erin! George! Come over here!

The voice came from the corner table where Chadwick was waiving.

- Well, I never…Max how are you?

Customers looked up from their tables as the voices were loud and intruding on the quiet lunch crew.

- Is there room for us all?

- Sure, lets just move the table out a little.

Susan watched as they moved the table from the window and grabbed a couple of chairs from a nearby table.

- Miss, hello, can we order please!

It was him demanding her attention while she was seeing to another table. She ignored it and continued with her work.

- Miss!

She walked up to the table. Now the six people were looking up at her.

- I will be back in a minute.

Her voice was firm. She was not going to let him boss her around. The kitchen was calling out to her. Simon was in a flurry placing the Hasselback potatoes and salads on a plate.

- What’s the matter?

- The table of loudmouths in the corner. Same old, same old.

- Don’t worry, they will be gone soon. Simon handed her another plate, and she went out to serve a table of newly arrived young people.

- I hope you enjoy this. The vegetarian lasagna is delicious.

- Thank you.

Susan looked back at the corner table where the conversation was getting more heated and intense. She grabbed a handful of menus and slowly approached the table.

- Would you like a drink while you are waiting?

- Yes, we would like a couple of bottles of the red.

- To share between you all or just between you?

She nodded at the four men.

- For all of us.

Susan grabbed the two empty wineglasses and the empty white wine bottle. She looked down at the plates where the flounder was left half-eaten. Didn’t they know you turned the fish over and ate it from the other side? Or was it just left to irritate the chef?

- Was the lunch to your liking?

There was nothing behind his eyes as he looked up at her.

- Thank you it was nice.

She hurried back to the wine rack and quickly grabbed the two bottles and glasses. They balanced perfectly on the tray, and she put them down on the table as elegantly as she could.

- Can we order food. Not the vegetarian, the sirloin steak perhaps?

- The same for all four?

- Yes.

- It comes with Hasselback potatoes and a fresh garden salad.

- That’s fine.

The laughter grew louder, and it became obvious that the group was there to stay for a while. She cleared the plates, and more wine was ordered. Susan could not help but overhear the conversation.

- That’s the problem with art today. The proletarian is taking over, and everyone is an artist.

- Well, I don’t know how you do it, but it seems to me that you manage to get the best art into that gallery.

It was him again. Laughing. He was getting enthusiastic now, mimicking with his hands demanding attention. The others happy to join in.

- Well, it does take skill to decern what is good and what is wallpaper. And let me tell you there are crap out there. Not that the average consumer would know. I mean what do most people really know about art?

He leaned forward towards the group.

- I am being kind chaps.

- Take the work on these walls. It is actually really good. In fact, I am surprised.

He looked around gesturing at the walls.

-There is depth, color and if you look closely, I can even see a soul in there which I would imagine is missed by the average late’ drinker or…

She heard him snigger.

- Waitress.

- Oh, you are wicked, said the woman.

- No, he said, flamboyantly waiving an arm. I will prove it.

- Miss, could you come here for a minute!

Susan moved across the room.

- Yes, is there something I can get you?

- As a matter of fact, there is.

He smiled looking around at the group.

- I would like to have your opinion on these pieces of work that adorns the walls of your restaurant.

She felt almost trapped and forced to respond to this table of arrogant people.

He raised his glass and looked at her with a sardonic smile.

- Well, Mr. Chadwick.

- Oh, call me Max please. He hesitated for effect for several seconds. Please tell us what you think of this work.

Susan looked around at the paintings on the walls and sighed deeply.

- I like the colors, she said. And I like the light. It is as if you are there. And I think the composition is not bad either.

- Oh, really said Max Chadwick as he looked around the table.

- Interesting, you are obviously a bit of an art critic as well.

He sneered as he raised his glass again.

- And what do YOU know about art, miss?

Susan took a deep breath.

- Well, Mr. Chadwick. I am the artist that painted them. Waitressing is something I do on the side just to make a little extra money. And if you will excuse me, I have some customers to attend to.

She smiled to herself as she walked off. The table had gone completely quiet, and she could feel their eyes staring at her as she walked towards the adjacent table.

- Ready to order? She smiled.