“Gomen-nasai, Chef,” said Ken, valiantly standing
in front of Eve and bowing in deepest respect and penitence. “I’m sorry. I asked Eve to help me. She only did what I asked. It’s my fault.”
But Eve’s father had rage in his eyes only for her. He sidestepped Ken and put his face in Eve’s. “I’ve warned you before. You don’t have permission to touch the fish. The knives. The cutting board. You know this is a holy place. You’re not good enough for it.”
Ken protested, “But Chef, she was amazing—”
Chef Ono’s voice dropped so only his daughter could hear it. “Get out of my kitchen,” he said to her, a deep menacing growl in his throat. His breath smelled like sake and cigarettes.
“I just wanted to help,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry for disobeying you.”
“Get out.”
“No one saw me cook, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I said, ‘Get out.’”
She untied her apron. “I’ll talk to you at home when you’ve calmed down.”
“No, you misunderstand me. You’re fired.” Her father shook his head. “Get out of my restaurant. Find a new place to work. Find a new place to live.”
****
As she made the turn onto Shoreline Drive, Eve kept her eyes on the road and tried to ignore the ocean looming in her peripheral vision. This was the first time she’d ridden her bike this close to the water, but desperation trumped fear. She needed money. She needed to work.
After a quick visit to her father’s apartment to grab her stuff, followed by a fitful night’s sleep in the park, she’d spent the day looking for a new job. She had already visited almost a dozen restaurants and cafés looking for work. Friendly faces or slammed doors, the story was the same—no one was hiring. Her last resort was a one-line ad in the local newspaper: “Barback wanted ASAP. See Charlie at the Compass Rose.”
Yachts and recreational craft shared Santa Barbara Harbor with working fishing boats. Under the clear sky, a forest of white masts bobbed up and down in the water.
It was almost sunset. When she rode onto the wooden dock and the smell of the sea filled her nose, Eve panicked. She took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her emotions.
Don’t freak out. Breathe.
She chained her bike to the railing in front of the shuttered fish market. Shoving her shaking hands into her pockets, she walked toward the only lit façade on the waterfront—the Compass Rose Tavern.
****
Besides getting a dartboard and a touch-screen cash register, Charlie had made zero alterations to the interior of the Compass Rose in the seven years since Sam first stumbled through his door. It looked the same as always, a long narrow room with a wooden bar and a small dining room appended to one end. With leaded-glass light fixtures and a couple of ancient neon beer signs, the place was homey but plain.
A half-dozen regulars sat at the bar tonight, talking quietly and nodding while Charlie pulled pints.
Tall and potbellied, Charlie de Winter had a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He almost always wore faded Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts.
Just after Sam bought the Bravado from him three years ago, Charlie had suffered a stroke. Now he walked with a cane. “Hey, Muscles, glad you’re here,” Charlie called. “Help me change this keg out.”
Sam took off his jacket and laid it on a barstool. “Sure thing.”
He went into the back room and rolled the keg across the floor to the taps. Squinting in the low light behind the bar, he unhooked the coupler from the old keg and reattached it to the new one, swapping the empty aluminum barrel out and taking it outside for pickup. He turned the gas back on and pulled the first extra foamy pint to get the draft going.
“Check the lines,” said Charlie. “I’m testing out a new vendor. He says he cleaned them out yesterday.”
“Tastes clean.” Sam drank down the quarter-pint in the glass. “I hear you hired a new barback this morning.”
“Yep. Manny should be here in an hour or so. I
have faith in this one. I’m done with unreliable brats from UC Santa Barbara.”
“But you hired me out of UC Santa Barbara.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re an irascible old geezer, you know?” said Sam. “You going to be all right until he arrives? You need help back here?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, just finish up with the lines. How’s your compadre doing?”
Sam turned around and methodically pulled another pint, this one perfect with a half-inch head. Whenever Sam was worried, he did work with his hands.
“Kyle Brautigan is a lucky bastard,” Sam said. “It was the worst case of the bends I’ve ever seen, but they gave him oxygen and an IV and set him up in the hyperbaric chamber right away.”
“How long will he be out?”
“He’ll be in the hospital for at least a week. In a month, they’ll scan him for any neurological effects.” Sam sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad Kyle will be okay. But all the usual walk-on tenders already have long-term gigs. And I need to get back out there as soon as possible.” Sam shook his head and fell silent, lost in worries that went deeper than those he could tell Charlie.
“You know,” Charlie motioned to the pint in Sam’s hand, “that one’s not on the house.”
“I don’t know why I help you.” Sam smiled. “You’re an unpleasant old man.”
Charlie chuckled. “Check the beer lines for the other taps. The pressure’s not right. I’m not sure if it’s the gas or if the vendor put them back wrong.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Judith Carrillo, Sam’s landlady and a Compass Rose regular, sat down at the bar. Charlie poured her usual: two fingers of blueberry vodka, straight up. In her late fifties, she wore leopard print leggings and an off-shoulder sweatshirt bedazzled with rhinestones.
“Hey, handsome,” she said. “Hey, gorgeous,” Sam said back. “She meant me,” said Charlie.
Judith’s chuckle was raspy with the ghosts of a million cigarettes. “I meant you both. And someone’s looking for you, Charlie. Pretty girl by the door.”
Sam perked up.
“Pretty girl?” said Charlie. “In here?”
“Go on.” Judith sneered at them and turned toward the door. “Over here, honey!”
****
Eve wrestled her nerves to the ground and walked to the other end of the bar where the unusual woman waved her over. Behind the bar was a man with white hair who looked an awful lot like Kenny Rogers. And next to him in the shadows stood a tall man in an old baseball cap.
“Hi,” she said to them. “I’m looking for Charlie.” The man with white hair held out a meaty hand.
“That’s me. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Eve Ono.” She shook his hand. “I’m here about the barback job.” She cleared her throat and launched into the spiel she’d already given a dozen times today. “I have almost ten years of restaurant experience. I’ve worked as a cook, a server, a runner, a busser, and a dishwasher. I’ve done inventory and food prep and I’m really good at anticipating what needs to
be done. You only have to tell me once what you expect. I’m a really fast learner. I’m reliable, and I’m ready to work right away.”
“Ten years?” the older woman chimed in. “Charlie should card you just for coming in here. How old are you anyway?”
Eve’s cheeks got warm. “Twenty-four. I’m older than I look.” She turned back to Charlie. “I started working in my grandparents’ restaurant when I was fifteen, so I’m not lying about the amount of experience I have. If you hire me, you won’t be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry,” said Charlie. “I filled that position this morning.”
Eve pursed her lips. “Oh,” she said softly. “Well, then. Thank you for your time.” Turning to go, she took a mental note to ask whether a job was available before she gave her pitch.
“Hang on a minute,” said the woman. “Can you swim?”