A Simmering Sibling

It looked like I had no choice but to go out there and wait the table. I wasn’t about to do it without a disguise though. Both Replica and Don knew me, so I’d have to don some deceptive digs if I wanted this operation to remain an undercover one.

“Sorry, Lou,” I said. “Gonna need to borrow your fake mustache for a bit.” Before he could stop me or raise protest, I yanked his obviously fake Groucho ‘stache right off of where it was adhered to his upper lip. It must not have been glued on very well though. It came off easily.

“Owwww! Jesus Christ, man! You just ripped off my mustache!”

“Wait, this thing’s real?” I turned it over a couple times in my hands. Sure didn’t look it. Or feel it, really. “Holy cow.”

“Yes, it’s real. Which is why that really hurt!”

“Weird. Always looked sorta fake to me. Still does, in a way.” Seriously, what kind of mustache just comes off all in one piece like this? I wondered. Not that I was complaining, mind you, since this was exactly the disguise I needed. “Are you sure it’s not made out of cat hair?”

“What? No!” Lou was petting his noticeably red upper lip with a finger. “You jerk. I was growing that out for my girlfriend, since she’s such a big shag carpet fan and all. Now what am I gonna do? It’s gonna take a ‘nother six months to grow one that size and thickness back in.”

“Quit blubbering,” I told him, trying to fit the mustache on. Without any adhesive on the thing, it wasn’t exactly easy. Well, I already knew I was gonna need a stiff upper lip to pull this operation off. I puckered my lips and wedged the intact mustache between my upper lip and the bottom of my nose.

Disguise acquired. Now let’s do this.

#

I have to say, after my experience waiting a single table for two that night, I have a newfound respect for waiters. And a newfound fight-or-flight response around clowns.

“B-b-bonjour, madame!” I nodded to my sister, who was staring at me with her mouth agape. Then I nodded in turn to Don. “And good evening, mademoiselle!” I had approached the table sporting a fake mustache, a film of sweat sheening me head to toe, a trembling tray of milk in my hands, and a French accent so bad you could probably be arrested for it in certain states.

Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that. The fake French accent thing was a good idea, in theory. My goal was to make Don laugh his stupid suspender-suspended clown pants off, and the French are supposed to be funny, right? Or, uh, was that “fancy?” Doesn’t really matter either way, I guess, since the accent didn’t last much longer than my misplaced hope that I might be able to get out of this without making a total sucker of myself.

“Ohohohoh!” I put on a fake laugh to work my confidence back up. Just kill me now. “‘Ow about I start you deux off with ze deux verre of rich, ‘ardy milk?” I served them the two glasses, nearly spilling them. Don was visibly confused. Meanwhile, my sister was looking at me like one might a pesky scab. “Zey are truly out of zis world. Ga-LACTIC-ally delicious, if you will! Ohohohoh!”

Crickets. I take it back. Just kill me now.

“Milk?” Don asked. “What kind?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Wait a minute,” Don said, glancing back and forth between the milk and me, “don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Ahahahahah, o-of course not! ‘Ardly, sir, ‘ardly!”

“And are you ok? You’re kind of talking funny.”

“Ahahaha… A-anyway, I will be your server ce soir, and… ah… my name… ahhhh… eez… ahhhhhhhhhhhh… ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… AAAAAAAHHHCHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFJFJDSODIWDODOPDODOODKDJDJSJ!!!!!!!!!##!@LEJ@IOJIJHIhiehfhwr????!?!?!!!!!!!!”

Damn. Stupid allergies.

"Goodness! Bless you. Here, have a tissue." He pulled one out for me from behind his ear.

“Er. Thanks. I’m sorry. Just had something in my throat. Ahem.” I just used my poorly timed sneeze to drop the French schtick, since it wasn’t working anyway.

“Welcome, my lovely guests, to Stench of the Sea!” Just like that I was back on track. Service with a smile, baby! I even chanced a glance towards the kitchen and saw Al and Fence flashing thumbs. Lou had a different finger up and a big frown on under his newly hairless upper lip, but I figured I deserved that. I patted down my borrowed facial hair and continued. “May I interest either of you in the catch of the month toni— YOWWW, my leg!!!!”

I didn’t even have to look to know my sister had just kicked me in the shin under the table. She would’ve made a great addition to our kitchen soccer team. She glared at me. “Bathroom. Now.”

“What? You want me to go into the women’s restroom with you?”

“It’s ok, Rep,” Don said with a non-judgmental smile. Also, Rep? Since when was he all friendly with my little sis, huh? I would’ve clocked the guy then and there, but it really wasn’t the best time. Also I was still working on my right hook. “We all need a little gastrointestinal assistance from time to time! Haha.” He flashed a smile so shiny you could eat off of it, bordered around by his bright red painted-on mouth.

Almost as red as Replica was going. “Th-that’s not it, Don! I-I just want this filthy, unwashed chimpanzee of a waiter” — aww, come on, her too? She and Al were certainly on the same page, mentally — “to turn the gross, greasy sink knobs for me so I don’t have to touch them! That’s all!”

And before her clueless date could say anything else embarrassing, she pulled me into the ladies’ room by the hair of my fake ‘stache, Lou’s desperate “Careful with that, please, I’m begging you!” fading to nothing as the door slammed shut behind us. Luckily, nobody else was inside.

“Alright. Out with it.” Replica spat the words. “What are you up to? What exactly are you doing?”

“My job, you lunatic.” I massaged my throbbing upper lip. So much for keeping it stiff. “What does it look like?”

“You’re not a waiter.”

“It’s called ‘other duties as assigned.’”

“Sigh.” Hey, saying “sigh” instead of actually sighing was my thing. Since when did she start copying? “When I realized this was where Don was taking me, I was hoping I wouldn’t run into you. I knew things would start going totally south the instant I did.”

Well, gee, thanks, that makes me feel just great. Had she forgotten just who set her up with the clown of her dreams to begin with? She hadn’t even thanked me, for god’s sake — a little gratitude once in a while wouldn’t have hurt.

She continued: “Look, I have no clue what you’re thinking or why you’re apparently in charge of waiting on our table. But you better not ruin this for me, ok? This is my big chance to impress Don, and I doubt I’ll ever get another one. If this date goes wrong, I’m counting it your fault. And I will tell Mom. Got that?”

Oh, I got it alright. I got that I was up for the just about the biggest — and, more impressively, dumbest — challenge I had ever faced. I was going to have to make this the funniest meal of Don’s life, while somehow also simultaneously making sure my sister had the best first date she could imagine. And trust me: I knew from experience she could imagine some pretty damn good first dates. The literal multiple floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with schlocky YA romance novels in her room spelled that out loud and clear.

Well, all I could do was my best. Even if that meant I was probably going to crash, burn, explode, and be remembered as a massive failure by everyone here tonight. On top of the whole “losing my job” and “never being able to leave my room again” parts, of course.

We straightened up and headed back to the table. As Don came into view he waved, and Replica transformed from “angry pitbull” to “innocent angel.” She was no saint though. Me and my still-throbbing shin knew that better than anyone.

“Sorry I took so long, Don,” she said, chuckling. “Just, er, powdering my nose.”

“That’s fair. Personally I prefer squeaking mine.” He honked his perfectly spherical nose a couple of times.

“You’re so funny, Don! Ahahahahaha!” Speaking of noses, Replica laughed so hard milk shot out of hers. “Waiter! Mop that up!”

“A-at once…” Damn, I thought as I swabbed at my sister’s snot-blended nose milk with a wad of napkins, she’s right. That was pretty funny. And this is the guy I’m supposed to make laugh. I'm done for.

But at least, I realized, swiveling my head the direction of the kitchen and allowing a smile to creep to my lips — at least I wasn’t done for alone.

To be continued!