Sins of the Fathers

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“I’m sorry. We’re not hiring at the moment.”

That was the third time Mark heard those words in the last two hours. After thanking the man, he left the restaurant, telling himself not to get discouraged. “After all, I’ve been in the city for less than twenty-four hours. I shouldn’t expect miracles.”

Unfolding the list he’d made after going online, he crossed off the restaurant’s name and checked where he was heading next. He’d made it a point to avoid the higher-end ones, figuring if they were hiring they’d be looking for very experienced waiters.

* * * *

Two days and too many restaurants later, Mark was beginning to wonder if coming to New York had been his best idea after all. When it had first occurred to him that he wanted to be in a large city where he could be just one person among millions, it had seemed like a good idea. Find a job, a small apartment, and be like half the population, a working stiff, a non-entity.

I’m definitely feeling like a non-entity.

He realized this ruefully as he pushed open the door to a small Italian diner called Johnny F’s, about ten blocks from the hotel. It was mid-afternoon and he felt as if he’d been walking forever. He was hot, tired, and about ready to call it a day.

Crossing to the counter, that ran the length of one wall, he took a seat and looked around. The opposite wall of the diner was paneled in dark mahogany with pictures and photographs of Italy hanging above the backs of padded benches. The tables were covered with white linen, with chairs on the other side of them from the benches. He realized, turning back to the counter, it served both for eating and as a bar, if the drinks in front of the few men seated there were any indication.

There were three employees at the moment—as far as he could see; a somewhat frazzled looking thirty-something man behind the counter, and two waiters who were taking orders from customers. He figured there must also be cooks in a kitchen, hidden behind the scenes.

“May I help you, sir?” the counterman asked.

Mark nodded, ordering a cup of coffee, and then said, “Is the manager around?”

The man chuckled tiredly. “That would be me.”

“Great. I don’t suppose you’re hiring?”

“That depends. Do you have any wait experience?”

“It’s been a while, but yeah, I do.”

The man smiled slightly. “Define ‘a while’.”

“Back when I was in college.” As they’d been talking, the man had poured Mark some coffee. He took a sip, nodding appreciatively. Thanks to all the restaurants he visited in the last three days, he’d become somewhat of a coffee connoisseur and this was excellent.

Eyeing him, the man commented, “Which was a few years ago.”

Mark nodded. “True, but I think I still remember the ropes.”

“What have you done since then?”

As this was the first time someone had seemed remotely interested in hiring him, Mark realized he hadn’t prepared an answer that wouldn’t have them looking at him askance. Still he figured an honest reply would be the best one. “I was a priest up until two weeks ago, give or take.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Mark chuckled. “Now would an ex-priest lie?”

Leaning on the counter, the man eyed him. “Depends on why you’re ‘ex’, I suppose.”

Fudging the truth a bit, Mark told him, “I finally realized it wasn’t what I wanted anymore. And for a priest, being dedicated is a must.”

“So now you’ve decided being a waiter is your next calling?”

“Quite honestly, at this point it’s probably the only work skill I have.”

The man nodded slowly. “Tell you what…umm…”

“Mark. Mark Collins.”

“Johnny Fiore,” He held out his hand and they shook. “I could use another waiter and I’m willing to give you a try. When can you start?”

“Yesterday?” Mark replied with a laugh.

“How about tomorrow instead? Show up here at ten. We’re open from eleven to eleven, seven days a week.” He snapped his fingers, beckoning to one of the waiters when both of them looked his way. The man—Mark figured he was in his late twenties—came over and Johnny introduced him. “This is Remo, my cousin. Remo…Mark. He’ll start working tomorrow.”

“About time you got someone,” Remo grumbled before adding, “Good to meet you, Mark.”

“Watch the counter for a few, please, while I have Mark fill out the requisite paperwork.”

Mark sighed silently in relief as he followed Johnny to his office. At least I won’t be starving in the near future, if this works out.

* * * *

As he showed Mark around the next morning, Remo, his words tinged with a faint Italian accent, asked, “So what’s your story?”

“I’m new in town. Came here from the Midwest…”

“Looking for fame and fortune?” Remo said with a laugh.

“Nope, just for a new life.”

“This is the city for that, for sure. I came over here seven years ago from Sicily. Johnny took me in, hired me, and now I’m married with a kid on the way.”

“Congratulations.”

They were in the kitchen at that point, where Remo introduced him to the two cooks then explained the routine for placing orders and picking them up. “We pride ourselves on fast service and now that you’re here, we might even be able to do that,” he said with a laugh.

“Once I get the hang of everything,” Mark replied.

“I think you will. It’s not all that hard and it’s not like we’re a big place. Most of the people who come here are locals so they’ll give you a break…the first couple of times.” Remo grinned. “After that…”

“Yeah, got it.”

Remo handed him a small, black waiter’s apron, an order pad, and a couple of pens. “Ready?”

A glance at the clock told Mark it was almost eleven. He nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

* * * *

A week later, Mark was beginning to feel at home at Johnny F’s. It was hard work, but he’d expected it would be, remembering his days as a seminary student, working for extra cash at a local restaurant close to the campus. The customers were, for the most part, forgiving of his occasional mistakes and some even made it a point to take their seats in his station whenever possible.

A month later he knew nearly all of the regulars by name. Most of them were of Italian descent, he discovered. Some had just recently come to the States, others were second and third generation naturalized citizens.

One of his favorite customers was Giuseppe ‘call me Peppe’ Sordi. He was an older, white-haired man with a naturally gregarious nature. Several times, when it wasn’t too busy, he’d asked Mark to sit and keep him company while he rattled on about life in the ‘old country’ as compared to what it was like in New York. A staunch Catholic, he was still appalled, even though Mark was an Episcopalian, when Mark finally told him why he’d been forced to leave the priesthood. “You should have stood up for yourself, no matter what,” Peppe said adamantly, reaching across the table to pat Mark’s hand. “They had no right to tell lies about you.”

“There were…extenuating circumstances,” Mark replied cautiously.

Peppe shook his head. “Then you should have used them. That you like men rather than women is no one’s business but your own.” When Mark looked at him in surprise, the old man chuckled. “I’m not a fool. I knew almost from the beginning, just by watching how you interacted with the other customers. I doubt anyone else has picked up on it, but then they’re not as smart as me.”

Mark laughed. “I’d say not.”

“It’s your looks—the dark hair, the green eyes, the body. All the women look like they’d love to take you home and do nasty things with you. That goes right over your head.”

“Or I’ve learned how to ignore it,” Mark countered.

“True. But to me it was a dead giveaway. Don’t worry; I’ll keep your secret.”

Mark smiled, replying, “It’s not really a secret. I just don’t come out and tell anyone and everyone.”

“In this city, I doubt they would give a damn.”

“True, but I’m me, and I know what prejudice is like. I…” Two new customers came in at that moment, regulars of Mark’s, who headed straight to his station thus effectively ending his conversation with Peppe.

Still, he does have a point. Not that I’ll announce it from the rooftops, but maybe it’s time to get out and about more than I have been so far and see what the city has to offer in the way of clubs and such.