Christmas at the Restaurant - Pamela M. Kelley Page 0,20
Portfolio Manager. That’s where the real money is, although, it can be good at my level, too, as a senior analyst. The guys are great. Two of us started yesterday.”
“Oh, is the other one John? One of the girls at the restaurant said her husband just got hired there.”
“That’s him. Seems like a smart guy. Kind of on the quiet side.”
Gina pulled into the lot, and they went into Millie’s and upstairs where the view of the ocean was better, though it was too dark to see much this time of the year. They sat at a high-top table in the bar and both ordered margaritas and some guacamole and chips to snack on while they decided what else to have. Alex went with a beef burrito and Gina decided on scallop and bacon tacos.
“So, you’re still working in the restaurant business,” Alex said when the waiter set down their drinks and appetizer. “Did you go to college for hospitality?”
Gina smiled. “No. I kind of fell into it. I was a fine arts major. At one point I thought about teaching art, but I ended up liking the fast pace of restaurant work. I really like the mix of what I do now, mostly managing the bar and covering for the dining room and front desk managers on their nights off.”
Alex nodded. “I never minded it, but I was ready to get a real job once I graduated. Not that restaurant work isn’t a real job. It just wasn’t what I wanted for a career.”
“I knew what you meant. I’m glad you found something you love to do. You used to play hockey, too, I think, didn’t you?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I was on a men’s league. My brother was too. We both played in high school.”
“There’s an active men’s hockey league here. You might want to look in to it.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome. Thanks for letting me know. What else should I know about Nantucket? Tell me all your secrets.”
Gina laughed and then told him a few of her favorite places and the best days to go there.
“Oh, if you do get a car, don’t bring it with you when you go off-island. You’ll have to take the slow boat, the Steamship Authority, which takes twice as long. It’s easier and faster to take the fast ferry and then either call for an Uber or rent a car if you are going over the bridge.” When people left the Cape to go to Boston or elsewhere, they had to cross the Cape Cod Canal, so it was often referred to as ‘going over the bridge’, which was a big deal and a rare thing for many native Cape Codders.
“I went to college with a girl from the Cape. After graduation, she got a job in Hyannis. I tried to get her to visit me in Boston and finally, once, she did. But she got so lost. She ended up taking a wrong turn and ended up in Chelsea and I had to stay on the phone with her while she drove to my place. I think that was the last time she crossed the bridge.”
Alex laughed. “My mom’s friend is like that too. I can’t imagine.” The waiter arrived with their food and they dug in. As they ate, Alex caught her up on some of the people they both knew from the restaurant in Boston. He still saw some of them even after he graduated and started working in finance.
When they finished eating, Alex ordered another margarita but Gina still had more than half of hers left. She sipped it slowly to make it last. She didn’t want another one. They were big and she was always careful when she was driving. Plus, she was so full.
Alex took a sip, then yawned and immediately apologized. “That was rude, I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to the hours. I had a few weeks off before starting this job and I fell into sleeping late and not getting up until seven.”
“Seven? That seems early to me. What time do you have to be in the office?”
“We’re there by seven at the latest, so I’m usually up by around five or so to check the markets and work out before heading in. It’s a long day. Everyone was still there when I left at six thirty. I’ll probably stay ‘til seven or so tomorrow.”
“That’s a twelve-hour shift.” It sounded like a very long day.
“Yeah, the norm is a sixty or seventy-hour week.