Call to Love

1: The Regular

“He’s he-ere!”

The words, spoken quietly in Garner’s ear, produced only a minimal response. Without looking up, he murmured, “Mmm?”

Clearly, his attention had not been captured, for he was deeply involved in a challenging task: entering a correction into the new cash register the wait staff of the restaurant used.

The register was part of the new system that the management of Mario’s had recently purchased, one that promised to make financial reports a breeze. The wait staff had experienced something quite different, finding the various function keys and code sequences arcane and counter-intuitive. They had learned to cope, however; all except Garner, who still viewed the cash register as the bête noireof his working life.

He could cope, after a fashion—at least, with regular entries. Corrections, however, were another matter. Just now he’d gotten two error beeps from the machine, which had jangled his nerves, so now his forefinger hesitated over the key he thought mightbe the correct one, shaking slightly and unwilling to commit to the trial, anticipating another beep.

Yet part of him had registered the remark made in his ear, and when there was no response to his non-verbal reply, he added, again without looking up, “Who’shere?”

“Your boyfriend, of course!” came the amused rejoinder.

Thatgot through.

He raised his head. Sharon, his co-worker, was looking at him with a mischievous smirk. He still had not shifted mental gears, however, and there must have been something baleful in his gaze from his attending the cash register, for Sharon’s smirk faded and she shrugged defensively.

“Okay—your admirerthen.”

Garner frowned. He was still confused.

Sharon, noticing this, looked past him to the cash register, and made an impatient noise.

“Oh, Garner!” she said, pushing him gently but insistently aside. “You and this machine!” Standing in front of it, she surveyed the display, clicking her tongue several times, while he peered over her shoulder, feeling helpless.

“I just don’t getit,” he moaned quietly as she took his pad and cleared the fouled entry. His face was hot with minor humiliation, but he was grateful at being saved from the ordeal.

“There’s nothing to get!” she said. “Let me see—okay. Now, just watch. You enter this code. You choose from this set of options—” With deft finger movements she entered amounts and actions, describing as she went. Garner watched, nodding hopefully—but was soon lost.

And when the machine made a pleasant ding—so different from the error beeps he received—he felt a fresh wave of dislike for the thing.

“Voila!” she said, handing him back his pad and the revised bill, and regarding him with one eyebrow raised. She had the casual ease of someone who was not only naturally competent, but well-adjusted and good looking as well. Garner tried not to resent her for that.

“Thanks,” he murmured, avoiding her eye as he put the bill into a leather bill holder that had the restaurant’s name embossed in gold on the front. This done, he looked up, and saw Sharon looking at him with tolerant amusement.

“It’s not difficult, you know.” She gently tapped his head. “You just have to follow the steps.”

Garner flushed, and he clenched his jaw in quiet rebellion. “That’s not how I work,” he said. “I’m intuitive.”

Sharon shook her head in mock despair, but then, looking past his shoulder she lifted her hand and pointed discretely past him.

“What?” He turned. “Oh!”

“Your admirer,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Garner’s face warmed again, but he said nothing. He was looking at the solitary figure sitting at table twelve.

“Every time,” Sharon continued. “He asks to be put into your section.”

“He does? Maybe it’s the area he wants.”

“No. When our sections were rotated yesterday and he was put at one of the tables in your oldsection, he asked to change tables—to be moved into your newsection.”

Garner stared at his co-worker. “Who told you that?”

“Dimitra. He asked to speak to the hostess. Very polite, too.” Sharon shook her head slowly.

“Maybe he likes my service.”

“Possibly.” She smirked. “And maybe he likes your beautiful blue eyes. He wouldn’t be the only one. I’ve heard more than one girl on the staff say it was a real waste, your being gay.”

“Alright,” Garner said, doing his best to be firm. His face was still flushed with embarrassment, but he had his job to do. He looked down at the bill holder in his hand and then at table fifteen, where a couple were starting to look a little restive. Before he could move, however, he felt Sharon’s hand on his shoulder, and looked at her.

She was nodding toward table twelve.