When he finally got home at 8 o’clock, Steve was exhausted. A string of texts from Jessica had gone unanswered.
AM I GETTING FIRED?
IS KETCHUP LADY GOING TO SUE?
BICK WANTS ME TO QUIT, RIGHT?
… I SHOULD QUIT.
Steve called his sister to calm her down.
“For once, don’t make a rash decision you’ll regret,” Steve told her. “I’ll talk to Bick.”
That evening, neither Bick nor Steve was in a mood to cook dinner, although they were both famished.
At last Bick volunteered, “We should eat. I’ll make some bean soup.”
“Okay. I’ll make Bickfords for us,” Steve said.
For a while, they stayed quiet. After the long hours in the truck, a wrong turn of phrase could escalate into unpleasantness.
Bick sautéed onions in some olive oil and threw in a sprig of rosemary. The herby aroma wafted from the stove, adding a soothing warmth to the kitchen.
Steve made the shooters and set the two full shot glasses on the kitchen counter. He checked his blog, then rinsed a can of cannellini beans for the soup.
“My nana never rinsed canned beans,” Steve said as he ran cold water over them. “Rinsing was a big no-no at her house. I can hear her say ‘Dios mío! Don’t waste the aquafaba!’ She always saved it to cook with. It might be the reason she had so much gas.”
They chuckled, beginning to unwind.
“We always just poured that liquid down the drain,” Bick said. He added chicken broth to the beans in the pot and tossed in a bay leaf.
“Speaking of family,” Bick said, warming up to tell a story, “I remember once Eunice and my gran got madder than wet hens arguing in the kitchen about the difference between stock and broth. They each swore the other was wrong. And let me tell you, those two could dig in their heels. They ended up not speaking to each other for days. And for that pair, going more than a couple of hours without speaking was rare. It was ridiculous.”
“That’s pretty funny.” Steve grinned and tasted the soup. “I think it needs more salt.”
Bick added a pinch of kosher salt and stirred.
“Who’s more feisty, your mother or grandmother?” Steve asked.
“Hmm … that’s a tough one. Probably gran …” Bick laughed and turned up the heat a little.
Steve’s phone quietly pinged with a text.
HEY DUDE! STEWIE AND I BROKE UP. I GOTTA MOVE OUT. CAN I CRASH AT YOUR PLACE FOR A FEW DAYS??
Nestor! He had fixed Steve’s computer and charged him very little.
Steve read the text and imagined Nestor living on the street—his dark curly hair becoming unwashed and stringy, his chiseled features getting flabby, his linen shirt getting stained and torn.
Steve went to the spare bedroom and texted Nestor immediately.
YOU CAN STAY WITH US! NO PROB! BRING YOUR STUFF OVER.
Nestor replied immediately.
THXAMILLION MAN!!! BE THERE ASAP.
Now to break the news to Bick.
Steve walked back to the kitchen, his thoughts racing. He had only met Nestor twice but had felt an immediate physical attraction. Maybe Nestor felt the same. Maybe Nestor was now single because of him. Suddenly, anything seemed possible.
Bick had served two bowls of soup and sat at the table, waiting.
“What was that, that was so important?”
“Oh, that computer guy Nestor.” Steve sat down, avoiding looking at Bick. He swallowed a spoonful of soup.
“Nestor has a personal emergency and asked if he could stay with us for a day or two. I said it was okay.” Steve’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the bowl in front of him.
“Oh?” Bick looked hard at Steve. “Without asking me, you invited a stranger to stay with us?”
“We have the extra bedroom,” Steve said calmly. “I had to make a snap decision to help out a guy in need. I think you would’ve done the same. He’ll be here later.”
“I saw how the two of you were when he came to fix your computer. I smell something fishy.” Bick stood up to clear the table, although Steve was still eating.
“How we were? How exactly was that?” Steve knew he sounded defensive and tried to moderate his tone. Don’t let this escalate.
“Oh please spare me, Steve. I can tell immediately when you’re interested in somebody. It’s your body language. It’s your goofy laugh. If I hadn’t been standing there, you would have been seriously hitting on the guy.”
“How often do I ever take an executive decision without your input?” Steve didn’t wait for an answer. “I can’t even remember ever …”
Bick cut him off. “That is bullshit, and you know it!”
Hearing Bick raise his voice perturbed Oliver, who jumped down from the corner chair, his usual spot during mealtime, and prostrated himself next to Bick.
Steve finished his soup, then said, “Well, Nestor is coming over soon. I hope you won’t embarrass yourself and make a scene.”
“I’ll think about it. I’m taking Ollie out for a walk.”
Steve cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. He called Jessica.
“According to Bick, something fishy is going on,” Steve said after he recounted the blowup.
Jessica sighed. “I don’t know, Stevie. I hate to say it, but in this case I can kind of see Bick’s point of view. What made you invite a homeless guy to come and stay with you without discussing it with him?”
“Nestor’s not homeless,” Steve said. “Not exactly … It’s true that he doesn’t have a place right now. But he’s got his own business. He’s brilliant with computers.”
“Is he cute?” Jessica asked.
“Oh, yeah. Off-the-scale.”
“That’ll be a problem.”
“Jess, I gotta go. Nestor’s at the door.”
* * *
The following morning in the truck, Bick and Steve set to work in sullen silence. Nestor had slept in the extra bedroom the night before, an unacknowledged fact that lingered like a bad odor.
Steve pulled a batch of empanada dough from the cooler to finish prepping. His newly purchased electric dough mixer was turning out to be a lifesaver. He had found the reconditioned mixer for a good price at a second-hand kitchen shop in the Bowery. Although he loved the tactile pleasure of kneading dough with his hands, with the mixer he could scale up production. Every afternoon after the serving window closed, he mixed empanada dough and cut out individual, serving-sized circles for the following day’s inventory. He placed the raw circles of dough on sheets of parchment paper to store overnight in the cooler.
That morning, Steve and Jessica got into a comfortable rhythm to finish the prep work. Steve placed a large scoop of savory filling on one-half of each circle of dough. Jessica folded the dough over and crimped the edges with a fork.
When it was time for Jessica to raise the serving window at 11:00, Steve had a large tray of fresh empanadas ready to go into the fryer when the orders came in.
“You should come up with some sweet fillings, too, Stevie,” Jessica suggested.
“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea,” Steve said. “Maybe I’ll get around to it one of these days.”
Bick had not uttered a word to either Steve or Jessica all morning.
Jessica had never been adept at reading a room. She decided the extended period of quiet that morning was an opportunity for her to entertain, to share some of her saved-up scraps of minutiae.
“Hey, did you guys hear about that guy in Philadelphia?” Jessica asked. “He spent his whole life savings, like a thousand dollars or something, on forever stamps. Is that crazy, or what?”
Bick did not look up while slicing a freshly baked meatloaf. Steve was keeping an eye on the fryer because the oil had almost reached temperature.
The swishing sound of the overhead fan blades barely registered.
Jessica took a breath and pressed on.
“Oh, listen to this. One of my friends said she went on three different second dates this week, bragging that she is just like a textbook bachelor. I reminded her, except you’re a woman.
“Well anyway, I thought it was funny. I guess you had to be there,” Jessica said to no one in particular.
Bick glared at Jessica and pointed at his watch.
“I guess you hadn’t noticed it’s 11:01.”
Lunch service, although subdued, proceeded smoothly. Jessica wondered if her ketchup victim would make an appearance that day.
“I was kind of hoping she would show up,” Jessica said, “because I didn’t have a chance to really apologize. She just sort of fled, screaming about her blouse.”
“Oh, we’ll hear from her again, don’t you worry,” Bick said, speaking for the second time that morning.
* * *
At 2:30, customers had all returned to their offices or clinics or were headed to the next stop on their sightseeing agendas. Jessica closed the serving window.
Bick announced he was going across the street to the gift shop to pee. He was also bringing the shop owner his standing order of meatloaf and empanadas.
Jessica was about to have a meltdown. And Steve had a painful toothache that was getting worse.
“You have to say something to him,” Jessica warned her brother when they were alone. “He’s a jerk. He acted like a spoiled child today, grunting and whining. He’s contaminating the space. I’m not sure I want to stick around if this is the way it’s going to be.”
“I’ll talk to him tonight,” Steve said. “He’s just pissed at me about Nestor staying with us. He shouldn’t be taking it out on you, though.”
When Bick returned to the truck his cheeks and neck were splotchy red, his forehead glistening with summer sweat. He went to the sink and yanked off a wad of paper towels to wipe his face.
“I have something to say,” he said. His voice was low and slow.
“Both of you have to step up your game. Or this truck will fail. Steve, if you ask me, you are not committed 100 per cent to this truck. We have a loan to pay off, yet you spend half your time blogging. And shilling your dog therapy program. Please tell me how that helps our bottom line.”
Steve cleared his throat. “Well, I …”
“And while I’m at it, we could use some more equipment and supplies. Like a new fan. Even an air conditioner! Installing a roof vent would help cool down this oven we work in!” Bick’s voice was now getting higher and louder. “And you should be helping me expand the menu! Where are your new empanada fillings? And please tell me when you plan to take cleanliness and hygiene seriously!”
Bick took a deep breath and continued.
“At our next health inspection, we could be screwed. Apart from your mishap with the condiments, Jessica, your fingernails need serious attention. They’re unsightly. You’re handing over food to customers and treating them to your ragged cuticles and chipped purple nail polish. Frankly, I’m amazed that we have any customers at all.”
Steve and Jessica looked at each other, then at Bick.
“I’m sorry you feel this way,” Steve said at last. “I think you’re over-reacting. Jess and I do our part to keep the truck clean. I wipe down the counters. I clean the deep fryer. But every time I notice you monitoring me, it makes me mad. And as far as my blog, you have no idea how many new customers we get because of my blog. As a matter of fact, it’s a lot!”
Jessica, examining her fingernails, chimed in. “I admit it. I don’t pay attention to my nails. But my hands are clean. I try to follow your rules, Bick. And I’ll get in trouble for saying this, but you treat us like scum. You’re being a dick!”
Steve rubbed his sore jaw and looked stricken.
“My tooth is killing me. I need to get some fresh air for a couple minutes. I’ll be back to start clean up,” he said.
“I’ll go with you,” Jessica said.
They walked to a park bench across from City Hall and sat down.
“That was quite the tirade,” Steve said. “Bick outdid himself this time.”
“I called him a dick. He’ll want to fire me for sure now,” Jessica said.
“I feel exhausted,” Steve said quietly. “I’d love to go home right now.” He watched a young guy sitting nearby taking photos of his bare feet. It was somehow calming to observe such self-absorption.
“I don’t get it,” Jessica said. “Business is great. People love our food. What’s eating away at him?”
“Well, he’s partly right, you know,” Steve said. “If I’m honest, I’m not 100 per cent committed. It’s an income for me, right now. But really, I’d rather be taking pictures full time.”
“I know. You tried to make a living at that before, though,” Jessica said. “At least tonight when you go home, Nestor will be there.” She winked at her brother.
“Oh, god. Yes. He’s the other reason Bick is wigged out.” Steve stood up.
“Jess, go on home. I’ll go back and do cleanup with Bick. He should have cooled off a bit by now. But first, I have to go to the Duane Reade over there and get some aspirin for my tooth.”
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