Extinction: Episode 2

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read Episode 1 here.

“I’ll have the bisque,” said the woman.

The man held up two fingers, indicating he’d have the same.

“And for our entrees tonight …”

“Later. We’ll order a bottle of Sonoma Cutrer Chardonnay. You can tell us about the entrees later,” said the woman.

“Don’t you want to get your order in now so you can ensure you’re first to try the latest?” Zyra was confused. That was the whole point of eating here.

She hurried to the bar to place the wine order. Sonoma Cutrer was a nice enough wine, but in the scale of wines offered at The Flaming Fish it was priced near the bottom of the list. So far, the couple had managed to keep her off guard by doing everything contrary to the behavior of typical patrons. They came early but didn’t care about being first to receive the evening’s specials. They reserved the most prominent table, but didn’t seem inclined to display a two hundred dollar bottle of wine to be seen by passers-by, preferring a reasonably priced bottle. They’d disrupted her rhythm. When was she supposed to take their order?

Zyra returned to the table. “You’re sure you don’t want to order now?”

“We’re waiting for our wine,” said the woman.

Well then. Clearly they had their own agenda.

After she served the wine, followed by wide, shallow bowls of bisque, Zyra waited until they’d been able to taste a few spoonfuls before returning to the table. Again she could feel Gordon’s eyes on her, watching the shifting of her hips as she moved among the other tables. The moment she returned to the kitchen, he would be on her, asking what they’d ordered, how they were doing, whether there were any problems.

“How’s the bisque?”

The man and woman both nodded.

What was that supposed to mean? Probably that it was ok, but a compliment, a sigh of pleasure would be nice. What would be even more appropriate would be some acknowledgment, no matter how trivial, of the life that had been given for their epicurean orgy. Even a small whisper of thanks to the sea creature, a remembrance of his suffering. Were they completely heartless? She knew the answer to that question and wondered for the hundredth time why she asked it of herself. Of course they lacked compassion for the other beings inhabiting the planet. And she was just as culpable, working here, making money off the deaths of so many.

She knew Gordon watched every step she took on her way back to the servers’ waiting area. Zyra turned and saw the hostess leading three women to her section. She started back across the room. Gordon grabbed her skirt. “Wait.”

“I have more guests,” she said.

“You always move too fast. Let them get settled. Especially a group of women, you need to let them stash their purses and fiddle with their clothes first.”

“But then you tell me I’m too slow. Which is it?”

“What it is, Zyra,” he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name with a short ‘i’ sound, “is that you need more sensitivity. It’s not a matter of checking your watch, or following prescribed steps. It’s a matter of sensing the needs of each individual.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. What does that couple at the window table want this evening?”

“A perfect dining experience with flavors and textures that make them forget every frustration of the past week. A taste experience to elicit thoughts of making love.”

“No. You don’t just parrot phrases out of your training manual. That couple wants to be alone, and you’re pestering them.”

She sighed.

“Remember I’m watching you.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“You had your warning. If you say anything to upset them, or to disparage this restaurant, this is your last day.”

Zyra looked down and smoothed her skirt. She could feel his eyes looking at the curve of her thigh beneath her skirt, and she could feel that he wouldn’t fire her. That’s what was wrong with carnivores, they had no moral courage.

When the couple’s soup bowls were empty, pushed slightly to the side, Zyra strolled to the table. They listened politely while she described the three special entrées for the evening, allowing her to chatter through the list of adjectives describing preparation and ingredients. She was used to questions, interruptions that allowed her to weave the descriptions into her own speech pattern. Now she felt out-of-breath trying to make it through the entire monologue. She had a startling thought that Gordon had sent them as plants, to check on the words she said that he couldn’t hear from his post outside the kitchen. Maybe he really did want to be rid of her, despite his conflicted desire to yank her into the darkened pantry after the restaurant closed for the night.

Episode 3: Sunday, August 15

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant

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