Chapter Text
Whenever it rains, Rody thinks about counting his blessings. He went through the Collectionneur multiple times in hopes an umbrella would pop up for him to buy, so he won’t have to think about where to actually get one. That, and so his boss won’t chew him out for taking the good ol’ Lamoree way of doing things.
This evening was, indeed, done by the good ol’ Lamoree way of doing things. Specifically, him riding out his bike at top speed in the rain, full-on hoping going fast enough will dry him off just as quick.
Did it work the first time he did it? No, but nothing ever works on the first try, so who was he to give up so suddenly?
Kicking his leg out to stop his bicycle wheels from deciding to fly him into the restaurant’s wall, or worse, the door, Rody only really regretted not tossing on a jacket or something before coming to work. As if Vince would give him time to even bother a quick wardrobe change when he already had his work uniform on.
Speak of the devil, one foot through the door and there’s his boss. His boss, who has an unlit cigarette tucked between two fingers. His boss, who looks no better than any other time Rody’s seen him, carries a dreary look in his eyes. Not too different, but not familiar enough to ignore.
Before he can get a word out, Vince clicks his tongue, which Rody recognizes as vague disappointment. He watches the chef tuck the cigarette back into its box, pocket it, and nab a towel from some shelf before coming over to dry off the redhead’s hair.
Maybe he won’t say anything this time?
“If you bring water in here again like you did the last time you biked through the rain, I will break it to pieces, Lamoree,” were the words Rody did not need to hear coming out of his boss’ mouth. Little less intimidating with the man taking time to dry his hair off for him, but the icy glare tossed his way was enough for Rody to second-guess his reply.
Didn’t hit him that all movement with the towel over his head ceased at some point, until he felt Vince breathe against his neck.
Yeah, what a way to start the evening shift.
“Vince...?” Rody whispered, like talking any louder might scare the man as if he’s some wild animal. Just because Vince acts entirely nonhuman sometimes, did not mean he was an animal. He’s his own category at best.
“Lemons,” is all Vince replies with at first, taking the towel off of the waiter’s head when he steps back. Not far back enough, because holy fuck he’s still close enough for Rody to be unable to look anywhere that isn’t his boss. “Why do you smell like lemons?”
Oh.
“Oh!” Rody, using the little vocabulary bobbing around in his brain from the casual weirdness that is a man with no taste, almost forgot about the cologne he spritzed all over himself before hopping on his bike. “The Collectionneur had it, so I bought it,” he answers truthfully. Wasn't his fault he happens to be an impulsive buyer for interesting things!
“Least now I’m aware how poorly you use your paychecks,” is all Vince leaves him with when the chef disappears through the kitchen doors, signaling for Rody to get on with his shift.
He sets his bicycle to the side, doing his best not to track more rain or dirt into the restaurant than he already did, sticking to keeping it over the mat people were going to walk onto anyway. And when the first customer opens the door, he slaps on his signature customer service smile, and goes to greet them.
A woman in her late 50s is who Rody’s greeted with, and he wastes no time bringing her to a table just for her. He has her sit close to the kitchen, to make things easier for himself and also to keep his first customer from waiting long.
It also lets him play off standing by the ordering window to wait without coming off as creepy while a customer browses through the menu. So, win-win!
Soon as the customer tips her chin up, turning her head to call for the waiter to come over, Rody’s up and away from the ordering window and right by her table. Still smiling, like he’s meant to. “What would you like?”
“I have a question, actually,” the woman surprises him with this, but Rody masks the sudden nerves with a slightly bigger smile.
Hopefully it’s something I can answer, or I’m screwed.
Rody nods, going over to see the menu she still has opened. The menu looks normal, so maybe it’s a word she wants to know about? Or maybe how something’s prepared, if she prefers alternatives? He feels ready enough for those kinds of questions!
“Why’s there nothing special here?” comes the customer’s question, tapping a colored nail against the menu, at no particular dish.
Yeah, he inhales softly, I wasn’t ready for that.
Trying to gauge what she meant, Rody decides stalling to figure it out before speaking is the best decision. Last time he tried to open his mouth and blurt out the first thing that came to his mind when he was unprepared for a question, his boss chewed him out for it.
“Do... you mean the specials?” he asks, like one of those contestants on a game show trying to weed out some kind of hint from the host.
The woman fixes him with a look of confusion and something that makes Rody know that’s not at all what she meant. But the more he squinted at the menu, the more confused he felt!
“I was so looking forward to a romantic evening here, but I don’t see a single rose or candle in sight,” she sighs, resting her cheek against her palm on the table, sounding disappointed. “One expects a bit more effort to set the mood, non?”
Does La Gueule de Saturne do romantic setups like she’s talking about? Rody can’t help but wonder, not remembering any of this when he first started as a waiter. Or am I being played?
His eyes go wide when the customer starts to get up out of her seat, despite it only being a couple of minutes since she walked in. “I will have to take services from a more appropriate place, I’m afraid.”
“WAIT!” he yells much louder than he meant to, but it’s enough to startle her from walking away. He can’t just reach out and grab her arm to try and bring her back, so he stays by her table, glancing over the opened menu laid flat there.
Clearing his throat, and keeping his voice steady, Rody runs with his mind as fast as his mouth will work, “We do have roses and candles for romantic evenings.”
He feels Vince judging him from the back of the kitchen, even when they’re in two different places. Isn’t this what Vince told him, to act like he knows what he’s talking about even when he doesn’t?
The woman looks him up and down, which Rody stands firmly for her assessment, and there’s a light of hope in his eyes when she doesn’t walk away. “You do?” she asks, curious.
Rody chuckles, and he beams at her, like he’s not lying through his teeth. “Yes, of course! We try to keep people from knocking over candles or stealing roses when they come in, so we wait until they’re seated before setting things up.”
Is it too early to ask for a raise at how smoothly I’m making this?
Rody considers it one major success when the woman takes her seat back, a content little smile on her face, and he watches her hold up the menu to look over the options. She orders a main dish, or the main for the day, and he’s more than happy to turn and tell the cooks.
And by ‘turn and tell the cooks’, he completely ignores where he’s supposed to deliver the order and goes right into the kitchen, startling more than half of the cooks waiting there. He holds his hands up in defense, trying to come off as less of a threat than whatever they expected, and Rody’s eyes trail over the room before he finds his boss in the back against the wall.
With a cigarette, because ‘they smoke meat’ and all that. And while Rody normally wouldn’t cut off his own boss from getting a word in, he’s in a little bit of trouble.
“Rody—”
“I did something,” he squeaks out real quietly, ignoring the whispers of the cooks behind him. They are the least of his concern right now, as much as he’d enjoy talking with them any other time. When Vince just stares at him, Rody takes that as a reason to go right into it. “I took your advice and said something to a customer to get them to stay, but the thing I told her isn’t even true—”
That’s all it takes for Vince to put out his cigarette, taking a good few seconds to make sure it’s really out, before moving past the other man and out of the kitchen. Is he going to be all faux polite like last time?
It startles him when Vince stops right at the doors, one hand up and ready to push through them, with his attention on Rody. “What did you tell her, exactly?”
“She asked why there’s nothing special, like roses and candles, because she wants a romantic evening,” Rody gets out all in one soft breath, which is either doing wonders for his nerves right now, or it’s the near lack of oxygen. “So I said we do that stuff after a customer gets seated, and like, it worked, she’s not leaving, so... yay?”
Vince gives him the kind of stare that could mean he’s close to getting fired, or maybe, deep in the chef’s cold, tasteless soul (if he has one), he’s considering giving his best waiter a raise.
And nothing comes from the stare when the chef pushes through the door, his dress shoes clicking against the tile floor of the kitchen when he goes out to see the customer for himself. Rody, of course, follows behind, because what else is he going to do?
The woman’s face lights up at what she thinks is her order, and the promised romantic setting, only to frown a little at Vince’s appearance. “Is there a delay, Monsieur Charbonneau?”
Vince has his own customer service smile that’s as fake as Rody’s, which is slapped on before he answers her. Like he wasn’t just smoking in the back of the kitchen a minute ago. “No, no. I’ve come to correct some misinformation on my staff’s end,” he clarifies easily, rolling a lot more smoothly than Rody did. “We do not do any romantic things in my bistro, no roses or candles or anything like that.”
And now she’s standing up and pushing her chair in. Better he does it than me, I guess. Even if it’s one less tip, if she was going to even do that.
Right as she leaves, a well-dressed man in his mid-60s and business attire comes in, his arm linked with a woman around his age. His eyes are quick to lock on the chef, so he goes on ahead, not waiting for Rody to bother seating him and his partner. “Monsieur Charbonneau!”
“Monsieur and Madame,” the chef greets the pair as they walk up, though Rody doesn’t miss the way his eye twitches. As long as that tiny mishap doesn’t dock his pay, he’s all good.
“Sit, my dear,” the man tells his partner, presumably his wife judging by the matching rings on their hands. His wife doesn’t look comfortable just sitting, but she lets him pull out a seat for her, which was meant to be for the other woman that just left. Once she sits down, the man clears his throat, and looks up at Vince.
Completely ignoring Rody’s existence, who’s honestly very okay with that for right now. “Monsieur,” the man begins, smiling and– is he panting? “I have waited to try your bistro with my darling wife for this special day.”
Rody knows that’s a confusing statement just from one glance over his boss’ face, who smiles regardless. Should he be taking notes?
“How much is your discount here?” comes the man’s question, one that has Vince fix him with not a smile, but the cold expression he gets when he’s silently judging someone. Rody gets it from the guy all the time, that face is practically glued to his retinas.
“We...” Vince pauses, like he’s the one who doesn’t know they don’t do discounts here. “We don’t do discounts, Monsieur.”
The man laughs, and he brushes away the arm of his wife, who looks like she doesn’t want to be here anymore. Rody could get where she’s coming from as someone who works in the place.
“Oh, you are a funny one, aren’t you?” the man laughs some more, shaking his head and not registering the fact Vince isn’t one for being funny ever. “All couples get discounts on days like this. We wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t true.”
Vince frowns, and he seems to understand the wife isn’t to blame here, giving her what Rody would like to believe is a look of sympathy. Though he does pick up the menu off from the table, closing it and tucking it under his arm. “I do not condone special treatment in my restaurant. Get out, Monsieur.”
The man’s frowning now, offended even, and he has the audacity of rolling his eyes in front of the same guy Rody once saw hold a cook’s face over a burner. But he doesn’t make any more of a fuss than he’s already done, taking his wife by her hand, and the two of them leave.
Rody’s about to say something, wondering what kind of occasion it was that brought in three customers that left because the bistro doesn’t come off romantically as they think. But Vince shoves the menu into his arms, forcing him to take it, and he listens to the man’s shoes click away as he goes to disappear in the kitchen. “If someone dares ask for anything we do not do here, tell them to find someplace else to eat. I will not do your job for you, Lamoree.”
Wasn’t asking you to, he thinks in response. He knows better than to actually say it aloud, despite every other time he argues back. Those times, it’s over the chef’s lack of taste in decoration and his ‘taste’ for lemons.
Rody goes to lean against the wall by the kitchen and the ordering window, keeping his eyes wide awake for the next customer to waltz on in. Now he knows how to answer that kind of thing, so he feels way more prepared than before!