WORK LIKE HELEN B. HAPPY

by Marianne Carlson

Valerie was a waitress, sometimes bar tender, sometimes in-house shrink at Annabelle's, the most popular watering hole for miles. In spite of the poor economy, Annabelle's continued to thrive. Some say it was because of the poor economy. Many regulars were out of work. With too many hours of daytime TV,  too many mind-numbing Angry Birds, too many items crossed off the to do list, people had to get out of the house. Significant others were becoming insignificant and on top of that, the dog was exhausted. He refused to take one more walk.

"Last night was a good night, I made close to $200 in tips." Valerie punched her time clock into the slot with a clunk, talking to no one in particular as she entered the kitchen a few minutes before noon.

"But I'm feelin'  it today."  She looked tired. Working so many late nights was beginning to show on her face. She counteracted this by too much make up around her eyes, concealer that never concealed, mascara that accentuated both the positive and the negative of her hauntingly beautiful blue eyes that craved more sleep. Although she was still young, somewhere in her mid 30’s, she had a matronly quality about her, a softness that made her easy to talk to. This was deceiving. A rapacious reader, she had a mind like a steel trap, packed with one liners. Male customers found themselves pouring their hearts out to her, tipsy or not, but they underestimated her sheer tenacity for survival. She never married, the only male she seemed to care about was her father who lived near by.

Anyone in the hospitality business knows there are two distinct parts, "the front of the house" and "the back of the house."  Annabelle's was a refuge for lost souls with broken egos, and those lost souls could be found in both houses. 

“Hi Val, how’s it going?” 

“Hi, Paul, it’s going.” 

With zero training in the restaurant business, Paul had been hired as a dish washer and worked his way up the chain - potato peeler, food prep, stock boy. Before he knew it he was behind the grill flipping  cheeseburgers and French fries. Tall and pencil thin, he was able to consume large quantities of food without gaining an ounce.  His skinny jeans were covered by a dirty white apron, his Converse All Stars never stopped moving as he danced from sink to grill, singing out orders. He looked like a skin head with his tattoos and earrings, but he wasn’t menacing as skin heads tend to be. Over Paul’s chopping block was a sign: WORK LIKE HELEN B. HAPPY, and he did. And he was.  

“Hi Paul, it’s going well but I’m bushed, I hope it’s quiet tonight. I just want to go home and sleep and sleep and sleep.”

“Well, be on your toes because Big Foot is on a rampage.” Big Foot owned Annabelle’s. Since he had no life, (other than Annabelle’s) he was always there. Nothing happened at Annabelle’s without Big Foot knowing about it.

“What now?”

“Some guy caused big trouble right before we closed last night.” A small , seemingly insignificant, shadow passed briefly through Val’s consciousness and then left as quickly as it came.

“Do you know who it was?”

“I think it was one of the guys who was laid off from the plant.”

“Who?”

“Not sure, but I guess he was pretty smashed.  Big Foot was pissed that whoever was tending bar didn’t shut him off. This is getting to be a real problem, when to shut people off. Gotta keep those bar tabs up.  Big Foot can’t have it both ways.”

The lunch crowd drifted in. Regulars took their favorite tables, patrons of Annabelle’s were very territorial, and Valerie knew almost everyone in the crowded room, where they would sit, what they would order, who they would vote for, who they loved. The tempo in the room picked up, a steady buzz, like waves of bees changed the ambience from a sleepy tavern into a ruckus of hungry patrons.  The bar crowd buzzed, everyone was talking about the bruhaha that occurred the previous evening.

Val had the ability to ignore waves of fatigue, sleep would come later, today she must work. As she placed orders, refilled drinks, cleaned tables, she was vaguely aware  of something. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Were people looking at her, as if in a new light?  Was it her imagination that the focus was on her?

“Big Foot needs you in the kitchen,” the bar tender told Val, pushing two beers towards her for her station.

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“I’m pretty busy, can’t it wait?”

“He said now.”

Val took the beers to her table and handed them over with a smile. Nobody smiled back. An eerie foreboding gripped her as she entered the kitchen. What the hell was going on? Paul and Big Foot were in Big Foot’s office, one of the kitchen lackeys was cooking in Paul’s station. This never happened. Paul never allowed anyone else to cook for him.

“Val, sit down.”  She took a pile of menus off the one available chair and sat.

“What’s up?”

“It’s your father, he was a part of the altercation last night.”

“What happened? Is he all right?”

“He was beat up pretty bad.” Paul told Val what happened. She could not have asked for a more benevolent soul than Paul to give her the horrendous news. As he held her hand, he told her how her father tried to break up the fight that occurred in the alley behind Annabelle’s.

“Where is he?” Is he all right? My father is not a violent man.” She found herself shaking all over, partly from the news, partly from the almost Christ like effect Paul had on her.

“He is in the hospital, you need to go see him.”

“Will you come with me?” She didn’t want to go alone, she didn’t feel strong enough.

“Of course I’ll come, I’ll stay with you for as long as you need me.”

Need is a sometimes thing, but Val’s need for Paul never left her from that day on. They stayed together during her father’s long, painful recuperation, their eventual marriage, and her difficult pregnancy. When Paula was born, he held her hand throughout eight long hours of labor. The staff at Annabelle’s gave Paula a tiny white apron. Val and Paul gave Paula a framed sign which they hung over her crib:  WORK LIKE HELEN B. HAPPY.  And she did. And she was. Today Paula owns Annabelle’s. 

It's All Temporary