literature

A New Career In A New Town

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Monte Ashecrofte sighed and threw down his hand of cards. "Well played," he muttered robotically. He was used to this---he supposed he shouldn't be upset anymore. Standing, he straightened his suit jacket. It was two seasons out of style, and well-worn, but he still used it, as, one, he had no other suit, and two, it flattered his lean frame. His lean frame, which had recently gotten thinner due to lack of food. And...His lack of food was apparently about to be prolonged.

   He had just lost yet another game of poker. Monte strode out of the casino, trying to look just as confident as he didn't feel. After all, if he slinked out of there, he'd look suspicious, and then security would be on him. The last thing his nursing ego needed was to have to admit to someone that he had just lost money he didn't have. Now out in the brisk New York cold, he buried his hands in his wool trench coat's pockets.

   "It's not that I actually have a gambling problem," Monte convinced himself. "I just...uh," he trailed off. He knew he had a gambling problem. Oh, yes, he knew. "Pardon", he said to a poorly-dressed woman slightly in his path.

   "Got any plans?" She crowed, appraising him roughly.

   He smiled tightly. "Funeral to go to," he shot, strolling away. And there's the other thing. Compulsive lying. He didn't mean to, but when he was in trouble, or a tough spot, they just fell out of his mouth---he could hear himself saying them, and sometimes he nearly laughed at their atrocity---but he couldn't...not...do it.

   Monte looked up at the building he now found himself in front of. Glitz and glam, diamonds and pearls practically threw themselves out the door, desperately trying to look high-class, paving the street for the women in gaudy furs, and the men in too-perfect tuxedoes. He sighed bitterly. This restaurant was his personal hell, and would be for basically the rest of his life.

   He always had a gambling problem, and so, when he lived in England, got into trouble with his landlord. Then, the lying part came in, until he owed more than a million dollars to a variety of establishments where he'd been living on credit. And much, much more to some rather unsavoury blokes who threatened him with a nasty end if he didn't pay. Two twisted American friends of his father, Cecil and Dante, an inseparable pair, had come to him, and one lost bet later, they had paid off his woeful debt, but now he found he owed them that much, and he had somehow agreed to bartend at their restaurant to try to work it off.

   He shook his head. Peeling off the main street, he shuffled down the alley-way to the service entrance. The bricks weren't painted a snazzy green now, they were rust, broken down red, and graffiti covered almost every square inch. This…was to be his glorious entrance. Pushing open the door, he nearly stumbled into a blonde waitress, hefting a huge tray over her shoulder and shooting him a nasty look. Monte ricocheted away from her, and nearly swung into another woman, who veered away from him at the last second.

   "Monte, my young man!" He spun around to find the kitchen behind him suddenly had turned to a line of waitresses standing hands behind their back, either staring at the door, or at him. Monte smiled as charmingly as he could and awkwardly waved to them. A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and turned him yet again, rather zealously, to reveal Cecil and Dante beaming sunshine at him. "Monte!" Chirped Dante. "Welcome to our slice of heaven! Beautiful waitresses," here he gestured to the line of women, "Delicious food, and rich customers!"

   "Not to say that, as a lowly bartender, you'll get much!" cackled Cecil, clapping Dante on the back. "But---but seriously, here's your uniform---"

   Dante pointed to his left vaguely. "There's the men's room---"

   "And your shift starts in two minutes!" chuckled the two in unison.

   "Wh---what?" Monte's shoulders fell and his face contorted into a confused expression as the two managers walked away merrily. "I don't…" As the door shut behind the two, the kitchen collectively studied him for a few, awkward seconds. "Uhm…hullo, everyone…I'm---I'm Monte," He stuttered.

   "Unlucky sap,"

   "He's a Brit, he'll get tips,"

   "Bastard'll never make it,"

   With those exclamations falling through the air, the room burst back into life. Monte sprinted down the short, smoky hall to the washroom. Tearing open the door, he clutched the tacky silver lamé shirt, waistcoat and trousers to his chest, slammed his back against the wall and sighed. He looked into the mirror at his tired face, hair falling forward, and sighed again forcefully. "Christ, I…I don't even know," muttered he, frowning. "I can't do this all my life…running…"

   A rap sounded on the door. "Hey!" shouted a young woman's voice. "Hey, new guy, hurry up to your shift!"
  
   Just then, a voice from further in the kitchen called, "Lucy, get back here!" and footsteps audibly traced her back to the galley.

   Monte flipped off his shirt and held up the lamé. "Alright, boy…let's get this on with…."
A short story of Monte's first day on the job in the EXCELLENT movie The Linguini Incident. :D SO MUCH LOVE for this man! :iconshaplz:
© 2012 - 2024 MidnaofTwilight3519
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teamtardis03's avatar

This is one of my favorite movies. Loved this! You should do more Fanfic of this movie :)