Page 1 of Dwayne
1
Rhonda
“Dad,”I press the bride of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. This is too much. “I told you not to call me at work. You’re going to get me in trouble.”
“This is important honey,” he says.
I can hear the whiskey in his voice. It’s all he can do to speak without slurring.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Where in the heck have you hidden the TV?” he growls. “It’s Friday night and I wanna watch my shows. You think you’re so good. Trying to control me. You’re just like your mother.”
I resist the urge to tell him where to shove it. “I didn’t hide the TV,” I say, “we pawned it, remember? So we could pay the electric bill.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just breathes down the phone at me like he’s some weird creepy stalker.
“Look, Dad,” I say, “I really have to go. I like this job. Everyone’s really friendly and the pay is good and I don’t know if I’ll get an opportunity to work at a restaurant this good again. So, can we just figure this all out when I get back?”
“I ain’t got no beer money, Rhonda,” he says. “You’ve left me in this fucking house with no TV and no beer money and I don’t have any fucking smokes. You’re just as bad as your mother, I tell ya. Not a grateful damn bone in your body. I don’t know why I put up with this. I could have been a baseball player. I had a real arm. Not that you’d know anything about that. You were always more interested in your food and your hair and your makeup to pay any attention to poor old me. Look down at me, you did. You and your mother both. Tried to make me into the bad guy. Well, I ain’t having it, Rhonda! I ain’t damn having it.”
“Oh, yeah!” I really didn’t want to be dragged into this, but he’s left me no choice. “Mom’s been gone nearly ten years, and your still drinking and mopping around the house like it happened yesterday. When was the last time you had a job? When was the last time you spent your money on anything but drink and smokes and the horses? I’m your daughter, for god’s sake. I shouldn’t be out here working so that you can sit around all day in from of the TV doing nothing.”
“Ungrateful bitch!”
“No good, piece of shit loser!”
My fists are balled at my side. I’m pacing up and down the little space by the dumpster just outside the kitchen. I can’t believe I just said that. It’s been building up inside me for so long, but I’ve never had the guts to say it out loud.
But this job really is good. And I’ll be damned if he’s going to ruin it for me… again.
If I put my head down and save up, I’ll be able to move out. Get a place of my own.
I’ve had enough of carrying his ass. I want a normal life. One where I don’t have to act the mother to an alcoholic dad who doesn’t care about anyone or anything other than where his next drink’s coming from.
“Why, I oughta–”
I turn around and see Dwayne, my boss, standing in the doorway. His chef whites pulled tight over his massive, muscular frame. He looks good enough to eat.
“Rhonda?” he asks.
We haven’t formally met. I was hired by the front-of-house manager.
“Errr…” my mouth hangs open. How long has he been standing there? How much of my conversation did he just hear? “Yes, chef?”
He steps out into the cool night air. I never realized how tall he is. I have to tilt my head back just to look him in the eyes. They're so blue it's like I'm looking at a pair of sapphires.
His hands are huge. Rippling with power.
Suddenly, my legs feel kind of weak. My face is hot and my mouth is dry and I’m having to try a lot harder than usual just to stand up and not collapse in a puddle at his feet.
“It’s Friday night,” he says, “the restaurant is packed. And you’re out here talking on your phone? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right here?”
I bite my lip. Words fail me. I can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t fire me.
I’m too embarrassed to tell him about my dad. The only option is just to take full responsibility.
“I’m sorry, chef. It won’t happen again.”
