"Wilder! Wilder! What the hell are you doing?"

He barely spared the vertically challenged man in front of him a glance as he tied on his apron and grabbed an order pad from the counter, shoving it in his front pocket.

"Wilder, I'm telling you. If you're late one more time..."

Finally Oscar turned and glared at his boss. "Look...Jimmy...I'm only twenty minutes late. Keep givin' me shit and I'll walk out. You won't even have to bother firing me."

"Ah..." Jimmy looked around, suddenly realizing his potential blunder. Wouldn't look good if he drove the boss's boyfriend away. "Just...try and make it here on time, okay Wilder?"

"Sure. You bet," Oscar smirked and used his backside to push through the swinging door between the kitchen and the main dining room. "George...darling...what tables will I be covering this evening?" Oscar asked the head waiter, his voice syrupy sweet. It was the only way to get anything out of the stiff collared man, who was now standing rigidly against the wall, awaiting a signal from one of his tables.

George's permanent expression of detached boredom had always interested Oscar, who himself rarely smiled unless he wanted something. But George had perfected the look of disinterest. Had made quite the art form out of his flat, pencil thin lips and dull eyes. Still, he was a good man to have on one's side, if you were patient enough to learn his habits and machinations.

"You have section four."

"The terrace? But the tips suck on the terrace." The only outward reaction he received from George was a slight rising of one eyebrow. There was just no way to argue with the old stone face. "Fine. I'll take the terrace." He declared, as if he actually had a say in it.

Placing himself along the outside wall of the stone terrace, he sighed in frustration. If only he could smoke. Jimmy and his damn rules about no smoking on the job. Go figure. He couldn't have one when he needed one the most.

The terrace was completely empty. At mid-afternoon, the tourists would still be out doing touristy things. The flood of customers would begin near sun-down and wouldn't let up until they had snuffed out the last candle in the wall sconces. Even the main dining room had only had two tables filled. Straightening up, Oscar pushed himself away from the wall.

Just in the nick of time too, he realized as he noticed Peter leading a new patron to the table next to the railing.

The terrace, though it was by far the best location in the restaurant, seemed to attract the tightest of customers. Not the upper and upper middle class droids that shelled out cash as if it were going out of style. No...he got the nature freaks that wanted to be in the ‘natural light', or the cheap businessmen that always came in with five screaming kids and a nagging wife in tow - making sure to write the entire thing off as a business expense. No tip needed to do that though.

And then there were the not-so-starving artists, he thought to himself as he watched a young blonde man pull a sketch pad from the bag at his feet, preparing to draw the gardens most likely.

He was a very beautiful boy at first glance and at second and third. Oscar actually had trouble looking away from the sight. The boy's white-blonde hair shone brightly in the sunlight. His pale skin, almost milky white, looked as smooth as silk. One might think he was a model instead of an artist. It almost seemed a shame that he was on the wrong side of the drawing.

"Welcome to Luc's," he greeted as he approached the table. "My name is Oscar and I will be your waiter tonight. Our special tonight is..." he droned on, having memorized the words so that he said them in his sleep. "Would you care for an hors d'oeuvre to start?"

His nose was buried in the menu now and his voice was slightly muffled as he spoke. "Hmm...I'll just have a glass of white wine and the fondue to start."

"Ah, of course sir. Any particular wine in mind, sir?"

The boy smiled up at him brightly and Oscar's breath caught. He was sure he had never seen such a brilliant smile in his life. "Just...whatever you think is best."

"Very good, sir." Before he could walk away, Oscar turned back to the blonde and cleared his throat. "I am sorry sir but it is procedure. If I could only look at your id..."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, hang on." He pulled his faded green surplus bag into his lap and rifled through it until he came upon his wallet. "Here ya go," he said, passing Oscar his licence.

Justin Taylor.

New York.

21 years old.

Oscar was a bit taken aback by the last bit of information. They kid looked as though he could be fifteen. Maybe get a way with seventeen or eighteen at the most. But twenty-one?

"I'll be right back with your order sir."

"Thanks."

Oscar nodded and was off to the kitchen. When he returned there was another man seated in his section. After serving the younger man...Justin...he went to see about the new guest.

"And what will you be having to start?"

The man leered up at him. "A little of this...a little of that," he said cryptically.

"Excuse me?"

"A bottle of your best red and...a good time." He winked, though it looked more like he had a nervous tick. "How ‘bout I get your number and maybe you can help me out."

Oscar gave the man a once over and stifled a sneer. He had to be at least in his late forties. His suit was nice, tailored but not designer, which indicated that he had money but rarely actually spent any of it. Wrinkles were not yet in plain sight, but he could tell that it would only be a matter of time. A rather cheesy fake tan covered his face. And then...the jackpot...a wedding band, yellow gold and glinting in the afternoon sun like a beacon from a lighthouse. But even that he could overlook. He just couldn't shake the bad vibes that he got from the guy and he knew better than most to trust his first instinct.

"And your wife?"

"My wife?" He took a moment to study his left hand and shrugged. "She goes her way. I go mine."

"How convenient. But...Sorry. I don't give out my number." As an afterthought, he hastened to add, "Company policy."

"Oh? That's not what I heard."

His spine suddenly felt as though it had a steel rod through it as his body tensed reflexively. "I'm sorry but you're mis-"

"No darlin'...Luc was quite clear-"

"Get your fucking hand off of me!" Oscar hissed as the man settled a fleshy hand over his hip.

"Now, now. Don't go gettin' all upset."

"Don't. Touch. Me." Teeth gritted and eyes shooting daggers, Oscar allowed him to caress his arm for all of a split second before he grabbed the man's wrist with his free hand and twisted it over and in towards his body.

The loud cry of pain drifted into the building and withing moments Jimmy and George were pulling Oscar away from the innocent old man that was still seated at his table. Although, with his arm twisted just so, that his face was now flat upon the table.

"Let me go," Oscar raged, kicking his legs out in hopes of getting free from the painfully tight grips on his arms and shoulders.

The man, who had finally recovered, cradled his twisted hand and forearm against his chest and stood up, looking every bit of the haughty gentleman that he was not. "I have never been so insulted in all of my life! He tried to break my wrist! The man is a menace and I will never set foot in this foul place again!"

George immediately went to the man to placate him while Jimmy continued to pull Oscar, as discreetly as possible, through the dining room and into the kitchen. "What the fuck was that, Wilder?"

Oscar absent mindedly rubbed his left arm, which still smarted from Jimmy's hold. He focused on the pain. Anything to avoid thinking about how badly he had just fucked up.

"You can't treat customers like that. I just..." Jimmy shook his head.

"The guy is slime. You probably know that though, don't you. Luc probably told you he was coming in. Had you seat him in my section. Am I right, Jimmy?"

Without denying or confirming anything, Jimmy poked him in the chest. "You...are fired."

Though he knew he was in the right and though he knew that he needed the money, Oscar nodded curtly and untied his apron. "Ya know, Jimmy, Luc always said you were a spineless sonofabitch. But...me? I defended you." He tossed the apron onto a counter and smiled as he backed up towards the door. "I told him...there was no way you were a sonofabitch. You probably just washed up to shore with the rest of the jellyfish." And with that he was gone. Without a job and, after that little stunt with Luc's latest customer, probably no home.

"Well, Kinney...looks like you're back to square one."