Some Time to Kill

"Yeah, not worth it."

"I see. I may be able to talk Mr. Gentry into going up to $15,000.00."

"Honestly, I just wanted to see what it's worth to him. I'm not interested regardless of the amount."

"I... If you can give me a few minutes to make some calls, I might be able to get you twenty-five."

"Seriously, Lindsey, I'm not interested. You could offer me a hundred thousand and I wouldn't take it."

She grimaced slightly when I used her first name, but didn't object. "May I ask why?"

"Because he made me a liar to my customers and if he was doing it to me he was likely doing it to others. I'm doing okay, the money would be nice but I don't need it. I'm going to let every restaurant owner I know about this and don't come at me with libel or slander threats. I'll just refer them to the case and let them look into it on their own."

"I wouldn't threaten you. This is my last bit of business with Mr. Gentry. I'll let him know about your decision. May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I thought you were a bartender. You also own a restaurant?"

Talking about myself wasn't always comfortable. I was too guarded, but knowing that didn't make it any easier.

"Yeah. I own both the bar and the restaurant. And the market between them. I inherited a good amount of money when I was younger. Not enough to make me rich or anything, but enough to buy property where no one else was looking. When the area was part of the urban renewal craze, I did well. The rent on some properties paid for the bar and restaurant. I already owned the buildings, so..."

She raised her eyebrows. "And you work there as a bartender?"

"I like to work and stay busy, and there's nothing wrong with being a bartender."

"I didn't mean to imply that there was. It just seemed an interesting choice."

We wrapped up the meeting and she escorted me to the elevators.

"Lindsey, it's none of my business, but are you doing okay?"

She looked over her shoulder and sighed. "Yes, thank you. It... That was a difficult time. Thank you for your kindness."

The elevator dinged.

"Good luck with your businesses. I'll reach out to Mr. Gentry."

I recognized a dismissal when I heard it.

The Bonfire Inn was attached to the Radisson, and it was failing, which I found astonishing. The hotel was always packed and didn't have its own cafe or restaurant. Carey was my partner in our place and thought we might be able to buy them out. She was adamant that travelers coming to Davis wouldn't be interested in the nouveau French cuisine currently being served and would love farm-to-table meals that featured the local agriculture.

We each ordered a full meal, from appetizers to desserts. It was quickly evident that at least part of their problem was the quality of the food. It was overpriced and under seasoned. The few customers we saw were as disappointed as we were.

Carey took copious notes on everything from the menu to the room temperature. She'd transcribe her notes later and send a copy to me and Evelyn, our ace in the hole. Evy was a financial consultant who worked with a number of angel investors. She was interested in joining their ranks, putting some of her own money on the line, and looking for an opportunity with us.

When we were done, we tipped heavily and Carey disappeared to check out the available parking in the area. I went into the hotel to talk to the front desk and concierge. I was about to enter the lobby when I saw Billie walk through the doors. I saw her turn back towards a tall man in a suit and watched as he slipped his arm around her waist. Their lips met and they seemed lost in each other's eyes. He kept her arm around her as they eventually made their way to the front desk.

We weren't exclusive, but it still felt it should have bothered me. Oddly it didn't. They got a key and made their way to the elevators while I stood there and watched. I walked over to the front desk and asked to speak to the manager.

Turning towards the elevators, I saw Billie looking out at me, mouth open, as the doors closed. I smiled and gave her a quick wave.

It was sixty feet from base to base. Whether I was playing in Davis or Stockton or San Francisco, it was always sixty feet. From home to the pitching mound was forty-three feet. You can hop on the internet and download the rules of softball. There was a regularity there, a normalcy that gave me comfort. I knew what to expect, what the rules were, and nothing would change at a moment's notice.

In a park similar to where I had last seen my brother, where my selfishness cost me Kevin, I could find peace. I could breathe.

"Scoop and go to first!"

Kenny hit the ball, and I did as he said.

"Same thing!"

It was much closer to second, so I had to dive, come up and hurl it from my knees. We kept going. Kenny hit the balls, and I'd scoop them up and toss to where the shortstop would be covering, or nail them over to Phil at first. Because that's what I did when I needed to get out of my head for a while.

Billie didn't owe me anything. I knew that intellectually. We hadn't discussed exclusivity. It would have been ludicrously early to do so. Knowing that didn't stop me from being melancholy. It didn't make sense, but how much of life did?

I liked her. She was fun and generous, and we seemed to gel. If this signaled the end of us, it would be my fault. I knew how I was, and I wasn't proud of it, but yeah, I didn't see much of a future there.

"Back to first!"

There was a purity to the sound of the bat hitting the ball. I resisted the urge to flip the ball from the glove to my hand. Showboating was for assholes. Effortless repetition of mechanics reduced the chances of mistakes. Reaching in, I grabbed the ball and winged it over. Phil caught it, whipped the glove off his hand, and stepped off the base.

"What the fuck, Tony? Trying to take my hand off?"

Shaking my head, I moved in his direction. "Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. You wanna hit a few?"

Kenny and Phil switched positions, and we kept going for another forty minutes.

You know those people that don't let one type of food touch another on their plate? All the peas over here, all the chicken over there? That's the way that I was with my life. Mom and Carey don't come to my games. They would if I discussed the leagues or schedules, but I don't. The other players don't know about the bar or restaurant. My lawyer and contractors have never been to my home, and I've declined invitations to get a drink or something to eat when they've brought them up. Everything goes into its own separate box, and there's never any mingling.

I like keeping things clean, distinct, and organized.

When we were done, we went to Vinnie's, a sports bar with darts and 9-ball leagues. The owner was a good guy and never outed me as a bar owner or questioned my hanging out at his place. Our clientele was too different for him to worry about me poaching concepts, which would be ridiculous anyway.

The guys and I laughed, shot some pool, talked about upcoming games and opposing teams, and flirted with attractive women. It was easier than I thought it would be. Carey and Evelyn often chided me for being too slow to give women a chance, and then when I do, immediately going too deep. Once I make up my mind, I go from zero to sixty.

When I thought about it, I was curious about my lack of emotion regarding Billie. The truth was, it didn't bother me as much as I had thought it would. Pushing it out of my mind, I bought another round for Phil, Kenny, and the four women we were talking to.

Picking up the phone on the second ring, I put the pen down.

"Hey, hold on a sec, I'm putting you on speaker. Okay, what's up?"

Carey seemed way too excited. "Do you have a game on Friday?"

"No, why?"

"Are you closing?"

"Nope."

"Excellent. We're going to the movies."

"We are?"

"Yup. I'll even buy the popcorn. Evy's coming. The late showing, 9:10 at the Regal."

I smiled when I heard that Evelyn was going to be there. It wasn't something that she could control, but she laughed a bit louder than everyone else, and she did it every... damn... time. Movies? Yup. Restaurants? Yup. Church? Yup. So, am I a perpetual thirteen-year-old who was amused by anything inappropriate? Yup.

Still, I wasn't exactly excited about seeing a movie with them. "Is it something I'd like?"

"Of course! It's got Pedro Pascal!"

"That guy from the TV show who never takes off his helmet?"

"You know who he is. Don't play dumb."

Carey had a massive crush on the actor, which would be fine if I wasn't forced alongside her to every one of his movies. She needed to get a boyfriend to drag to these things.

I sighed. "Okay, fine, but I'm getting the super-extra-giant tub of popcorn, and you're also paying for the soda."

"Deal."

Billie skipped the game that Wednesday and I was fairly certain it was because of me. She shouldn't have. I wouldn't have made a scene or anything. I decided to give her a call if she didn't show up for practice that Saturday. She hadn't called me, and I hadn't called her, but one of us needed to take that first step.

I had no idea what she'd like to do, but I could easily slip back into friend-mode without it being awkward.

When I got to the theater I saw Evelyn getting out of her minivan. It had pretty amazing modifications where the doors lifted up instead of out, with a hydraulic lift that picked up her and her chair and slid them both into a space where the driver's seat was usually set. We went up the ramp to the doors, and I saw Mom and Carey waiting for us.

"Hey, Mom. Didn't know you were coming."

"I had to see who this Pedro was that your sister won't stop talking about."

I laughed and held the door open for them. When we neared the front of the line, I saw that they were showing a special twentieth-anniversary showing of Amelie. Two people ahead of us was Lindsey. She got a ticket for the old movie and a commemorative booklet and moved over to the concessions.

"Extra butter, Carey. And the giant soda. Cherry Coke. And jujubes. Do they have Slushies? Get me a Slushie. Mom, you want anything? Carey's buying."

Carey elbowed me.

Mom rolled her eyes, and I felt like I was ten-years-old again. "Kids, behave."

Walking over, I stood next to Lindsey. "Counselor, you have excellent taste in movies."

She almost jumped out of her skin. "Are you a ninja, Antoine? Is that your thing, you sneak up on women in movie theaters?"

Lindsey was smiling while she said it, so I just smiled back. "Sorry, natural stealth and guile. I usually hide my ninja tendencies better."

"You're forgiven. A fan of Amelie?"

"Yeah. A weird, beautiful little movie. How would you categorize it? Romance? Whimsy?"

She smiled, but there was sadness below the surface. Lindsey checked her watch. "Romance. Almost time to start. Good to see you again. Enjoy your movie."

"Yeah, you too."

I watched her walk away. I didn't realize how obvious I was until Mom bumped my shoulder.

"Try to be a little discreet, okay?"

"What?"

"Just... Don't flirt with other women in front of her. It's beneath you."

"Mom, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Look, it's none of my business and I get it, you're not obligated to be interested in someone, but just have a little tact."

"Seriously, I'm in the dark here."

She just stared at me for a second before rolling her eyes. "Please tell me my son isn't this oblivious. Evelyn. That poor girl has had a crush on you for more than half her life."

"Evy? You're crazy."

"No, Antoine. I'm not. She's a beautiful girl, inside and out. Just be kind, okay? She's used to it by now, but it can't be easy."

"Mom, you don't know what you're talking about. She's like a sister."

She shrugged. "Okay, what do I know? I only raised you and had her at our house almost every day. So, forget about Evy. Tell me about this Pedro Pascal."

Mom turned to Carey. "Your brother is going to take me home. You girls go out and meet some cute guys that look like Mr. Pascal. Have a good time."

We started walking towards the exit when she linked her arm in mine. "You know, Evelyn has an excellent job."

Rolling my eyes, I kept walking. "I know, Mom."

"And a lot of what she does can be done from home."

"That's true."

"So, she has money saved up and has the flexibility to not go into the office if she, for example, decided she wanted to raise a family."

I sighed. "You brought this up before the movie, and you're already planning on grandkids?"

"Hmph, well, someone has to."

Laughing, I gave her a side hug.

She hugged me back. "Whatever happened with that lawsuit?"

Mom probably heard about it from Carey. "We won. Pretty cut and dried. My lawyer subpoenaed the records from the meat packer the guy bought his beef from. Once we had that, we were set."

"So, what did you do?"

"What do you mean? We won, I cashed the check. The money went for new banquet seating."

"No, what did you do to the guy who sold you the meat? Did you let other restaurants know? Take out an ad in the paper? Leave negative comments on Facebook? Egg his house?"

Mom said the last two with a smile, but I knew where she was going.

"Uh, no. Not yet. I'm going to.'

"Mmm-hmm. What's going on with that girl from softball?"

I told her about Billie. She nodded and listened before responding.

"And you're still friends?"

"We will be."

Mom nodded again and paused. "I love you, but don't understand you. There's no... passion in you. You don't get angry, you don't get depressed, you don't fall madly in love." She put her hand on my cheek. "What's missing, Antoine? You weren't like this as a boy."

I took her hand and kissed it. "I'm okay, Mom. And this is a hell of a heavy topic for a drive home after a movie."

"I worry. It's my job."

When we got to her house she made me come inside and take home two casseroles and some stew waiting for me in Tupperware. I didn't argue with her. It wouldn't have done any good. When we were at the door, she pulled me down to her height so she could kiss my forehead.

"Goodbye, Antoine."

Shaking my head sadly, I hugged her. "Goodnight, Mom, not goodbye."

"Of course. You know I love you, right?"

"I do. I'm not going anywhere, Mom."

"I know... It's... I know, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

She gave me a small smile and nodded.

Mr. Browning had the condo next to mine. There were myself and three other tenants in the building and he was the only one who knew I was his landlord. His wife had passed late last year, and I checked in on him once in a while. He was the beneficiary of most of Mom's cooking.

I owned a restaurant and there was a high-end grocery next to the bar in the building I owned. Food was something I wasn't short on, but it made Mom happy, so I took it. If it was a childhood favorite, I grabbed a fork or spoon and went to town. If it wasn't, Mr. Browning ate well for a day or two.

Pulling into a fast-food parking lot on my way to the game, I called Mom. Yeah, it was weird, but I didn't like calling her from the park. It was that whole separation of aspects of my life thing.

"Hey, headed to the game. Everything good?"

"Fine. You coming for dinner tomorrow?"

"No, can't. Carey and I are going back to that restaurant. We need to do our due diligence."

"I see. Bring Evelyn. She's good at those sorts of things."

I couldn't help smiling. "Mom, you need to let this thing go."

"Alright, Antoine. Hit a home run for me."

"Sure, Mom."

I didn't hit a home run, but I did hit two doubles and got thrown out trying to turn a third double into a triple. We won, but I still berated myself. It wasn't like me. I didn't push when the results might be disastrous. Ever. I'll take the sure thing nine times out of ten.

Showering at home, I changed and went to the bar. It was a light evening, and I was able to get out before closing. The next day I was back outside the hotel and waiting for Carey. We went into the restaurant and got a table for two.

She peered at me over her menu. "You talk to Mom?"

"Yeah, she wanted me to come over for dinner. I'll try to stop by Tuesday or Wednesday before the game."

"Okay, let me know which and I'll stop by Wednesday or Thursday. How does she seem to you?"

"Not any worse, I guess. She still thinks that every time I leave will be the last she sees of me."

She pushed her glasses back up on her nose. "It's a little better for me, but I know what you mean. It's because you look so much like Kevin."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's... It's a lot, Carey. You know? It's just a lot of weight to carry around. Maybe she should go back to talking to someone."

"Maybe. I'll broach the topic."

"Thanks. Oh, and get this, she thinks that Evy is into me. She's practically naming our kids."

There was silence.

"Carey?"

"Well, she's not totally wrong."

Dropping the menu on my plate, I leaned back. "Get out of here. She's... She's Evy!"

"Yeah, a single, attractive woman who you get along great with."

"C'mon, that's crazy."

"Why?"

"Because she's Evy!"

"Well argued, brother of mine. Well argued."

I just stared at her until the waiter came over to take our orders.

My life had become weird. Some people thrive on that. I don't. I'm in the zone when things are smooth, regular, and predictable. It wasn't that big of a deal, but it was a pebble in the shoe of my psyche. Billie was easy to deal with. If she kept staying away from games I'd send her a text or give her a call and straighten things out.

Evy was an entirely different situation. We'd been friends for the better part of two decades. I couldn't exactly ignore or avoid her, so retreating into work or softball wasn't an option. Almost as important, she was a partner in the potential restaurant purchase. We needed her participation, acumen, and money.

The only bright spot was that she didn't know what I'd been told. It was awkward for me, but nothing had changed for her.

I went down to High Five Sports and used the batting cage for an hour. Thinking was easier when I had a bat in my hand. Evy was Evy. She didn't fit into the potential-partner box. Instead, she was in the family box. It was weird to think of her as anything other than a little sister. But, when added to the way I lived my life with walls up to keep everything in their compartments, it was mildly unsettling; like a constant premonition that some unnamed disaster was on the horizon.

After working a half-day at the bar, I walked over to the restaurant to speak to Arthur, our executive chef. I should have chosen a better time than just before the evening rush. They were heavily into prep and Cheryl, our sous, was telling me about how great cheddar is when I saw Arthur checking in some produce.

After agreeing with Cheryl, I walked over to Arthur and the produce guy.

Waiting for him to sign the paperwork, I just soaked up the atmosphere. The best part of owning a restaurant is the aromas when you walk into the back of the house. I was almost inured to the smell of stale beer, but I'll never get tired of the combination of frying onions and garlic or someone making stock or roasting bones for the marrow.

"Hey, got a few minutes?"

"No. They were supposed to be here four hours ago and they show up an hour before we're gonna get slammed." Arthur put out tasting spoons as he spoke. "I'll be in the weeds and Rodrigo called out sick. Can you do mise en place or maybe slice some onions? You good with a mandoline?"

"Um, seriously? Yeah, I guess. Can I talk while you work?"

"Go ahead, but make it quick."