The lunch crowd is long gone and the cleanup is about to begin -- and most importantly the setup for what is expected to be another busy evening. The bar is wiped down, cleaned, the taps restocked and morning tabs are calculated and cleared. The kitchen likewise is gearing up, the evening staff and afternoon staff trading places on the line.
But first, there's the matter of tea...
A calm hand pilots the pub these nights. He has a steady grasp and under his steering, the pub's business is surging, lining the already rich pockets of its owners. Llew Morgan is truly coming into his own as tender and manager.
Llew Morgan isn't the tallest of the Morgan clan. He's strictly average, with a lean build. His hair is dark red, just shy of brown, with the errant bronze streak and a touch of a wave. It's kept short, no doubt, to tame the curling. His eyes are a brilliant green, somewhere between jade and emerald. His cheekbones are Welsh high and the smallish nose is a gift from his father. He is dressed in a black tee and indigo colored denim, the unofficial uniform of Black Jack Davy's.
Llew Morgan finishes wiping up the bar and glances at the clock. Throwing the towel over his shoulder, he strolls toward the door to lock it up. There's precious little time between the end of the lunch rush and the beginning of the after work rush. High tea is an all too brief respite.
It's just before the lock can click that there's a push on the door, a flash of gold shining in a shaft of almost forgotten sunlight from between the clouds. Her hand appears at the edge of the doorway, and over it you can make out one startled blue eye. "Oh, please don't lock me out! I'm not late, am I? I promised him I'd be on time and good about it. I'm quite small, you know; if you put me in a corner, you'll hardly notice."
She's suiting action to words, wriggling to squeeze in through the opening she's made before you - hopefully - can shove against the door to keep her out. With a toss of her head, the golden waves are tempest-tossed back from her face, the mismatched eye fixed on you carefully as she skips into the main room of Davy's. She is a contrast to you and to all of the polished dark wood, with her long ruffled white skirts and shining high-collared white blouse with its ash-grey vest. Though the voice is London, the face that is turned to you is as pale and flawless as any old Yardley's soap advertisement. A faux-opal brooch is pinned at her vest, a slender gold chain dropping down around the high collared blouse.
"I'm awfully sorry. Should I have called to tell you I was coming?" Audi asks seriously, tilting her head back to look up at you. You may be of average height, but she is tiny. Even in modestly heeled boots, she isn't even quite five feet. "He said for me to come, but I didn't think things through, I suppose. If you really need me to leave, I'll leave." She bites her lip, glancing down and then looking up at you again. "...Must I leave?"
Llew doesn't know quite what to say at first; you create such a golden havoc. He closes the door after you, and gives the lock a turn. "You must be Audi," comes the tangle of words, thick West Country accenting firmly in place (out of stubbornness) despite his years in London. "Davydd mentioned you would be coming by. No, it's fine. Good you caught me."
His smile must be something inherited, for it slopes and slants like Davydd's own. "He's said I'm to offer you whatever you want to do. You want to be a waitress or work behind the taps with me? Beyond that," he exhales, giving it a thought and raking his hand through his hair, "...there's bookkeeping to do, if you're at all good with numbers. Office manager tasks. That'd be a help to me. I end up doing it at home." Which is, too conveniently, upstairs.
"So it's up to you, really. There's no shortage of work. We have benefits. I'll need you to fill out the paperwork in the back tonight. Ah... oh, and you're rate, in case you're wondering, is fifteen pounds an hour. Do you prefer your money on the table or under it?"
She listens to you with her head cocked as if straining against your accent. Once you finish speaking, she bobs her head in a nod. "I'm not very good as a waitress," Audi tells you candidly, her expression scrunched up in doubt. There is distinct relief; you aren't sending her away. She is hungry, and it shows, though she quickly looks away. "I try to be focused, but well, I can be a little bit clumsy sometimes, though I'm working on it, really I am. And people say I talk too much."
She straightens her skirt self-consciously with a little tug, glancing down and then around herself and then looking back up at you. "I'm all right with numbers, though I can't say I know anything about differential equations. But I can add and subtract and multiply and do basic math like that if that's what you'd like. And people say I'm nice, so if you need someone to deal with people, I can do that. I'd be happy to learn how to tend bar, but I don't really know how to mix any drinks right now, and well, I wouldn't want to slow you down or get in your way. I can wash dishes and sweep floors, though, and I'm neat and tidy most of the time, though to be fair, I'm terrible at doing windows - I'm just too short. I can do the lower third and if I climb up on a box or chair or something, as much as half, but..."
She turns pink and drops her gaze again. "I'm sorry," Audi grins, a bit shyly, looking down at her hands. "I'm talking too much again, aren't I? How do you do. I'm Audi, yes. And ... fifteen pounds an hour?" She looks up at you, eyes going huge. "...Are you sure you didn't mishear him? You oughtn't to overpay me, you know. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble."
He folds his arms across his chest. "I asked him twice," Llew huffs a chuckle. "Which is why I ask you whether you want to give the office manager bit a go. I can make that rate work. And... they're always generous, the bosses. That's just the way they're made up, so don't worry about trouble. If you want to be paid in cash, just let me know. Otherwise, we issue checks every Friday."
"Why don't I give you a tour of the place," Llew offers up suddenly. "And we'll go from there, yeah? Here's the bar, as you can see. The bar itself stands in the center. To the right of the door, there's a stage. We have live music four nights a week. It's our biggest draw. Our live mike night is every Wednesday. Our busiest nights are really Wednesdays through Sundays. We're never closed, but Mondays are our slowest days."
Llew heads past the bar, waving at it: "We'll come back to the bar in a moment. Follow me and I'll show you the kitchen and the offices. Then you can get started on the paperwork. So... do you live nearby? You have a way to get here easily enough?" He glances back to you as he opens the door to the back area.
"Oh, cash, please," Audi answers hurriedly. "I mean - not that I want to be dishonest, but ... I haven't a bank account, you see." She offers you a smile, half-ashamed and half-defiant before she then looks suddenly away again. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
She straightens herself up primly, turning to look at you again - sidelong, not head-on, pushing her hair back and gathering it with both hands as she moves to follow you. "Why don't you pay me ten an hour," she proposes, "and keep the rest? Because, really, fifteen is too much. I don't want to harm his business. He's very nice, but ... well, anyway. Yes, all right, four nights a week. I can see why Mondays would be slow. It's the new week, people always have trouble with Mondays. Not me so much. I only have trouble with Tuesdays, and the first of the months."
Audi lets her hair fall, oblivious to how it springs back to where it was in a radiant halo around her face as she clip-clops after you. "I'm not too near, but I'm right on the tube line at Archway," she explains sedately. "It's Holloway Road - I've got a little studio there. The landlord says he might fix the roof this month!" She seems very pleased by the prospect, then adds, "Of course, he's been saying that for the last eighteen months. So I don't know that I quite believe it. But you know, he did say it, and I wouldn't want to be unfair to him when this time it might turn out to be true. I like where I live, even if it is right across the street from where they say the Ripper did in one of his victims. But that was some time ago, after all."
She is following you, as quickly as her shorter legs can take her without breaking into a run. "I hope that's close enough. What about you? Is your commute terribly difficult? It's worse if you have to come by car, I imagine. I can't think what it'd be like," Audi adds meditatively, "if I tried to drive anywhere. Not that I've money for a car. And I'd have to sit on a telephone book to see over the wheel anyway; so it's just as well. Do you drive in?"
"Actually, I have a really short commute," Llew rattles out with a grin. "I live upstairs." When he smiles broad and truly, his cheeks get dimples. He's a regular son of a Puck. "It's close enough as long as you can get here on time. But you know, there are some flats not far away. The boss' wife is vacating her unit. You want me to put in a good word for you? It's the lot above Pashmina's."
The kitchen is already cooking with energy. "Hoi, boss man," the sous chef booms out with a grin. They're all Welsh, Scottish, Irish or Cornish. You might be the first Daughter of England to get a job here.
"Hoi," Llew calls out with a grin. "We've a new girl. Audi, here's the lads, best cooks on the line this side of King James' Gardens. There's Matti, Dewi, Algie, and Darlin' Dear Dannie," the one woman in the kitchen. "Everyone, this is Audi. She's going to be helping me out a bit, but not servin'," he says suddenly.
"Welcome, Audi," Algie (the sous chef) calls out. "You're better off not servin' with this lot!"
Llew nods you on, leading you to the left, through another door. There are lockers for the waitresses, changing rooms, restrooms for the staff, and a couple of offices. "Here's command central," he smiles to you, closing the door between the office and the kitchen. "The paperwork's here in the office. You don't have to have a locker -- the servers have uniforms -- but if you want a locker for anything, I can make arrangements."
Llew considers your offer to lower the fee. "How about we split it down the middle and say twelve. I'm good with that if you are. I'm fine with fifteen to be honest. I mean, that's what the boss man wants, I'm good with that. Uncle knows what he wants and what he's doing. I don't second guess the man. But... sure... twelve works well. And cash it is. That makes it easy."
"Oh! Well, then, I guess you wouldn't need to drive in. Just as well, you save on petrol." Audi giggles, dipping her chin down and then back up. "I - well, maybe. I don't know. Is it very dear? I mean..."
You suggest moving, and she suddenly looks nervous, unsettled. What if it doesn't work out? A full-sized flat will be much dearer than her tiny (furnished) studio. Her eyes go enormous at the prospect, and she shakes her head. "It's nice of you to offer, but - but I'd better not. I mean, besides," she adds to cover her reaction, "it'd mean moving my stuff, you know. And it's just me, so it's not as if I'd have anyone helping." Never mind that all her worldly goods would fit into two or three suitcases at most. "But it's very nice of you to offer. Thank you."
She follows you obediently into the kitchen, peeking around you and lifting a hand in a bit of a shy wave, her smile just as shy. "Hi. I'll try not to get in anyone's way. It's nice to meet you all."
And you are leading her on before she gets really started - though for her, that was an inordinately brief introduction. She peeks at you, then looks back around at the 'command central'. "I just ... well ... even twelve's an awful lot," she admits to you in a low voice, looking down at her feet. Her hands lock together in a death grip. "The most I've ever made before is eight and a half, and that didn't last long. I - just - I don't know. I'm sorry, I'm not getting off on the right foot very much, am I?" Audi peeps up at you for a moment, then looks back down again. "I really am a very hard worker though, I promise."
"Twelve it is, then. And... stop apologizing," Llew chuckles. "I'm sure it'll be fine. So, tomorrow's Thursday. How about you sign your paperwork tonight, get that rolling, and we'll start your training tomorrow. Can you be here by ten o'clock in the morning?"
Llew wanders into the office. It could do with some organizing, that's for sure. He moves a few stacks of papers around and then comes up with a few for you. "You can take them home or do them now. It's up to you. Do you need an advance or anything? You'll get paid this Friday, but if you need a bit now to tide you over, let me know. It's no trouble. We do it all the time. Some of the girls have robbing Peter to pay Paul down to a science."
He hands the typical paperwork to you -- you've seen them all before.
"All right," Audi agrees, looking up at you dubiously. There is something of the shy nervousness of a wild animal - timid and ready to bolt at the first sign of the hunter's rifle. Her eyes, though, are hungry, flickering from you to the papers. "I - no. No advance necessary, but thanks. I'll be fine. Really." Even if she has to do sidewalk caricatures for donations all evening to make the tube fare.
She doesn't like charity. She hasn't much pride left, but it's there, still, it's hers...
She bends her head to peer blankly at the papers, golden hair falling in a veil before her eyes. "Thank you," she says quietly. "I'll ... see you in the morning, then." Her eyes are suspiciously bright, glistening with unshed tears. And she turns to bolt for the door.
Posted by rowan at October 12, 2007 08:25 PM
