Page 110 of Sweet T

“Sounds like a plan,” Tucker said.

“Think you and Brody can hold it down while I go get the trays?”

“Sure. Great idea you catering for the party. Keeps us out of the kitchen, selling more drinks, and–who knows?–maybe throwing a game or two.”

“Be right back.”

While Chuck was gone, Brody kept tending bar while Tucker slid four empty tables together to form a makeshift buffet table. When the front door opened again, Chuck rolled in a tray rack as tall as himself, entirely wrapped in plastic to keep the trays from sliding out.

“You rolled that all the way up square?” Tucker asked.

“Yeah. So? It’s Spoon, T. There ain’t nobody out there except Allison next door. Oh, that reminds me.” He stepped back outside.

Chuck was referring to Allison at the ticket booth for the Rialto movie theater. A few seconds later, he returned with a balloon bouquet and a big sign that read Congratulations Cast and Crew of King Lear!

“That’s awesome.” Tucker snagged the “specials board” easel and put the sign on it. “Where did you get it?”

“I had the balloons from catering birthday parties. Brody made the sign last night. I gave it to Allison earlier. She’s been holding it for us next door.”

Chuck began unwrapping the rack, which had several trays of Brody’s slider buns from The Divine Dough, and chafing dishes filled with pulled pork barbecue from Chuck’s Holy Smoke. There were several Sterno burners to keep things warm, a tray full of sauces and condiments, as well as potato salad, coleslaw, and baked beans.

“How do you fit all that stuff into one of those racks?”

“Practice. I’ve been doing this a while, T.”

Brody joined them. “Need help?”

“Nah. We got it.”

“I’m impressed, Chuck,” Tucker said. “You’re a pro.”

“Yeah,” said Brody. “And did I mention how hot he looks in those tight jeans?”

* * *

Shelly and Ben were the first to arrive, but they were barely in the door before others followed, audience members all, a few still carrying their programs.

Shelly had on a beautiful chartreuse blouse that shimmered like the aurora borealis as she approached Tucker at the bar. Ben was close behind her.

“You guys are off tonight,” Tucker said. “I want you to enjoy the place like everyone else.”

“The hell we are!” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “When you see how many people are coming, you’ll change your mind. Evan announced it after the final bow.”

“Final?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ben. “Multiple bows and a standing ovation. We’re gonna be busy.”

“Put on an apron,” Shelly said, addressing Ben. “I don’t want you getting grease on your shirt.”

“No need. Kitchen’s closed.” Tucker thumbed over his shoulder to Brody and Chuck at the makeshift buffet. “The guys are setting up barbecue. It’s the least I could do to pay them back for helping out this week. But you two can help me behind the bar. If as many are coming as you say.”

“I gotta hit the head,” Ben said, moving toward the bathroom. “Be right back.”

“Hit the head?” Tucker asked Shelly. “How old is he?”

Shelly laughed. “His dad was in the navy. But I get you. His speech is definitely dated for someone our age. He thinks he’s cool, resuscitating old slang. What can I say? He’s a fucking nerd.”

“A nerd that you’re now making stylish shirts for. Was that black silk?”

---