Chapter 22

At eight o’clock, Archie presented himself at the café. Kitted out with gloves, hair net, his time card, and new boots, Archie’s first task was reverting the chairs to fit around all thirty-five tables. As he worked, he noticed little tricks. The kitchen cooks always tasted their work, kept their hands clean, and moved like machines, never blocking or obstructing one another. Conversation was easy, moving from English to Spanish and back again.

He came to understand Sherry’s real name was Cherie, and her parents had come from Haiti. Lunch had been a delicious stew, with fresh ice cream to follow.

At two, the last patrons were ushered out. The table tops and seat cushions were scrubbed, the chairs were inverted, the floors were cleaned and the lights extinguished. Archie clocked out and strode to R-Jay’s shop.

Alice greeted him. “So you’re the miracle man. R-Jay says you exorcised the ceiling screeching.” R-Jay appeared with his other new pair in a box. “D., here’s your second pair.”

Archie fished four $20 bills out and gestured towards R-Jay. “Archie Dawes, at your service.” Alice swooped in and pocketed the money. “A girl has needs, R-Jay.” Archie shifted his stance, nervously. “Babe, that’s business money, it has to be booked as store revenue. Alice pouted and returned the money to R-Jay.

“I am going to cook for you two.” Archie’s stomach rumbled; it had been many hours since lunch. “Let’s take our car.” Archie called home, “Mom, I won’t be home for dinner tonight, see you later.” At the driveway, they unbelted and walked inside a well-kept bungalow. Alice went straight into the kitchen. The men sat at the table and swapped stories.

Alice’s cooking was exceptional. Archie leaned back and suppressed a belch. “Ready for dessert?” Both men groaned. “No? I was going to make Irony Pie, but R-Jay hates the stuff.”

“Irony Pie?” asked Archie. “Yeah, most people call it ‘cobbler.’ Go figure.” Archie snorted and then groaned again. “Maybe some leftovers to take home to Mom?” “Go on, scram. R-Jay, take him back to his truck.” Back on Railroad Avenue, Archie took his new shoes and plastic container and spoke. “You’re a lucky SOB. Please thank Alice again for me. And I’ll see you soon.”

Bettie’s eyes twinkled. “That was delicious! Was that self-defense?” “Mom, I won’t always be terrible in the kitchen. Besides, this was for my shoes.” Giggles: “Those were some pretty tasty shoes. Not a very traditional date.”

“Motherrr.” Archie stood and washed the plastic dish. “Alice is the partner of R-Jay, who made my new boots to fit.”

After a few weeks, he was allowed into the kitchen for prep work. He learned to chop, slice, dice, and peel. Wearing gloves. Better, his fingers escaped injury. Then he rotated through baking, meats, and shoveling coffee into the baskets of the four percolators. As a sign of his progress, he was allowed to take down The Book and hand-copy a recipe each day.

Under Bettie’s supervision, Archie began to learn his way around their new kitchen. (The settlement had funded a ranch house for the Dawes-White family.) Each attempt showed improvement. Bruce stopped bringing home take-out.

On Sunday nights, Jessie and Cathie joined them on video calls. But the stories were all about the failings of “college boys” and their inability to take care of themselves. The joke was that the mens’ dorm had idle and empty clothes washers, while the womens’ ran 24/7. Cathie’s pickup now sported a luxuriant painting of longhorns on the hood. And both were on top of their assignments, with a side bet on their grade point averages.

Archie plugged away at the café. He grandly announced one evening that would be preparing the Thanksgiving feast. To Alice and R-Jay, he proposed a trial run on the previous Friday. He gave his shopping list to R-Jay. “I will be at your house at 3:30 Friday to cook.”