More Ketchup Than Salsa - Confessions of a Tenerife Barman (16 page)

Behind where we were had emerged, only a low wall divided our concrete plateau from a plunging ravine. A long, deep swathe had been scythed out of the dark rock, the far side striped with various hues of ochre. Huge boulders littered the ravine like giant marbles. Such dramatic scenery can’t help but slam your own miniscule presence firmly into place. Or at least that was the case with most people. Those with grossly inflated egos like Norman needed a little more prodding to pop their self-importance.

‘Yeah, no problem. You just get them to sign and I’ll take care of the details. I’ve worked with his type before… yep, sure, George Clooney was also a pain in the ass but we worked it out… yep, yep… exactly the same with Meg Ryan, yep. She came round to my way of thinking eventually. Now Meg and me, we’re best of pals.’ Norman had acquired a mid-Atlantic accent and was eyeing our reaction to his name-dropping. He saw he had our attention and upped the ante. ‘Well, you can tell Mr De Niro he’s not worth it.’ ‘Wanker’ he gesticulated, holding the phone at arm’s length. ‘Okay, okay, I’ve told you what I want. Now it’s up to you to get that spoilt bunch of Hollywood starlets back on line and tell them Billy Rhodes only asks the once.’ He covered the mouthpiece, ‘They’re all the same these Hollywood stars, stuck so far up their own…’ Suddenly the phone he was talking into started to ring. He pulled it to his chest, trying to mute the sound then turned away to hide his embarrassment. He put it to his ear again. ‘What? I’m in a meeting with Joey and Joyce,’ he hissed. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll do it later… no,
later
! I haven’t been yet. Yes, I know they close at one… yes, I know… rubber gloves and a new toilet seat. Right. Yes. Thank you. Bye. Bye.’ He turned back to us. ‘Damned mobiles… they never work properly up here. Now where were we?’

We went downstairs for another beer and to watch Norman’s latest film. It was a ten-minute video selling the sights and sounds of Majorca. The voiceover had a strangely familiar mid-Atlantic accent: ‘Soft, silky sand and soothing surf abound on many superb beaches.’ Margaret suddenly appeared, strolling along a beach and tugging at an uncooperative dog. ‘Peace, tranquillity, the space to do whatever you want,’ the sickly voice continued.
Not for the dog, though
, I thought. Then the theme changed. The sound track hit overdrive as the camera zoomed in on an ample backside that wiggled from side to side, framed for what seemed an unnecessarily long time. ‘Club land,’ boomed Norman’s voice, ‘where you can dance the night away or just sit back and experience the sights and sounds of party time in the Balearics.’

It was nothing more than an elaborate home video that had been commissioned by a local timeshare company for use in their sales presentation.

Joy and I spent the next four hours experiencing the sights and sounds – mainly sounds – of Norman’s rise to fame as the island’s top ‘cinematographer’. We listened politely in case just one fraction of the truth could lead to paid employment, but it quickly became evident that this would require a great deal of special effects so we made our excuses and left. We had more worthwhile endeavours to attend to, including a world record to beat. Little did we know that two years later we would be trapped in a similar world of make-believe artists.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

On her first day back Faith was completely different. The break had proven effective. She was smiling, joking and altogether calmer. The real test would come in the evening, when the pressure of a full bar would stretch the nerves.

Much to our surprise, despite the additional trial of two temporary power cuts, Faith managed to sustain her congeniality and refused to be fazed. It was as if she was on tranquillisers, laughing off any impatient complaints and over-demanding customers.

The relief all round was tangible. David had been on tenterhooks expecting another blowout and his mood was lifted by the ‘new’ Faith.

The effect of Faith’s break wasn’t all positive, however. In Joy’s mind it had caused resentment, as she too was feeling pangs of homesickness and longed to see her family back in Bolton. She had kept quiet, knowing that it was unfair to take time off before the end of the busy season. Faith’s excursion had sown the seeds of a deep-rooted resentment and, even though Faith may have chilled out, Joy’s patience with her had now expired.

Michelle and Gary resumed their two afternoon and two graveyard shifts but Joy started finding fault with everything. Unable to express her anger at Faith in case she reverted to the ways of old, she vented her frustration at anybody who made the slightest error. The early September nights were as hot as the days and sleep was elusive, adding to her short temper.

School term was about to start in the UK, which meant our first summer was nearing an end. It had been a hard slog for all of us. Nearly four months of performing was beginning to take its toll. It was like being on stage all day, every day. Joy had always wanted to be an actress, but even the busiest stars weren’t expected to keep in character day in, day out for such a lengthy period.

‘There’s something wrong with the figures again,’ she snapped one morning. Michelle and Gary had been working the previous night and Joy had totalled up all the bills that were outstanding. We had left the bar at 10.30 with four tables still eating and a further two still to settle up. Added to that there was a good crowd of drinkers in full flow. ‘The till’s down,’ she announced. This wasn’t particularly unusual as none of us knew how to cancel or correct errors on the till.

‘Are you sure? Have you double checked it?’ I said innocently.

‘Do you think I can’t count?’ she shouted. ‘It’s down! I’ve been through it twice and it’s definitely down. Even if everybody paid the bills that were left and the bar emptied straight away, there should be more money in the till.’

‘There’s probably a reason,’ I said. ‘They probably made a mistake. Ask them when they come in.’

Michelle and Gary were taking the afternoon shift today and when they arrived at 2 o’clock, Joy confronted them. ‘Can I have a word, Michelle,’ said Joy. She took her into the kitchen while Gary went outside to bring in a spare beer barrel. I stood in the doorway, keeping an eye out for customers. ‘I couldn’t figure out the money this morning,’ said Joy. ‘I left six bills unpaid and there were about five tables of drinkers, but the money doesn’t add up. I reckon it’s about 30,000 pesetas down. Can you shed any light?’

‘You know what I’m like. I can be a right dozy cow.’ Julie smiled, then realised the implications of Joy’s questioning. The smile dropped and her face flushed pink. ‘Joy? Why are you asking me this? It’s me, Michelle. I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.’

‘I’m not saying anything, Michelle. I’m just telling you that the till reading doesn’t stack up with the amount of people that were in last night and the number of bills that were still behind the bar.’

Michelle’s eyes had begun to fill up. She shouted for Gary who sauntered into the kitchen.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’m trying to find out what went wrong with the money last night. It’s about 30,000 down.’

While Michelle seemed genuinely upset at the insinuation, Gary remained unperturbed. ‘I don’t know,’ he said calmly. ‘Everybody paid, though it did go quiet just after you’d gone. I can’t see how it’s down though. Must be something wrong with the till, I guess.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, here we go.’ A customer had come to the bar and Gary went to serve him. Michelle had true shock on her face. She continued pleading her innocence and voicing disbelief that she was being accused.

‘Joy. We’re friends,’ she continued. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this.’ But Joy was resolute. She was tired, angry and beyond compassion and Michelle and Gary were bearing the brunt.

Michelle began to check the Tupperware in the fridge to see if any more salad needed to be prepared, upset and indignation flushing her cheeks scarlet. ‘You’ve really upset me,’ she said, from behind the fridge door. I looked at Joy, surprised that she had come down so heavy on her. We weren’t exactly efficient with our bookkeeping, the till reading often didn’t match what was actually in the drawer. This was more often than not because we had paid for a delivery from the till and in the heat of a busy moment had forgotten to leave a note to account for it.

Joy could see my sympathy for Michelle and presumed I was about to defend her. She shook her head despairingly and walked out of the kitchen. Michelle was still hiding her head in the fridge. I nearly offered an excuse for Joy’s mood but decided against it. We had to stick together. Joy had a feeling, and if she was right, we all had to stand together. I followed her out leaving Michelle and Gary to run the shift.

I caught up with Joy on the car park. ‘You’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you?’ I asked.

Joy carried on marching. ‘They’re taking the piss out of us. I know we all cock up the till but I’ve just got a feeling. I can’t explain it. I know it’s not Michelle, but she’s not as clever as Gary. She’s more likely to say something that’ll give the game away.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t know,’ I offered.

‘Maybe not, but you’ve either got to back me up or be on their side. I
know
there’s something not right.’

‘Okay, I believe you. But let’s just forget about it for now. We both need to get some sleep.’ I put an arm round her shoulder thinking she’d calmed down, but she hadn’t.

‘
You
can sleep. I’ve got to do the washing and tidy the house. It’s a mess,’ she barked. I’d seen this mood before. The only thing for it was to back off and wait for her to cool down.

We returned at 6.30 to take over with David and Faith. They had arrived before us and Michelle had already told them about the run-in. Michelle was trying to catch Joy’s eye but Joy was ignoring her and went straight into the kitchen. Michelle followed.

‘Do you still think we stole some money?’ she asked. Her mood had now changed from one of shock to one of anger.

‘I never said that, Michelle,’ answered Joy. ‘I just want you to know that money went missing while you were working here last night. Look at it from my point of view. You’d be suspicious, wouldn’t you?’

Michelle had obviously been preparing her speech. ‘Well, I’m sorry you think that. I can assure you that I have never taken anything from here. I feel guilty even pouring myself a beer. But if you think I’m a thief then there’s no point in carrying on working here. Or in being friends.’ She walked out, apologising to David and Faith on the way.

‘They’ve just quit,’ said Faith as Joy came out of the kitchen.

‘I know,’ said Joy. ‘They’ve been taking money.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Faith.

‘The till’s been out a few times after they’ve been on,’ said Joy.

‘You can’t prove anything, though, can you,’ said Faith. ‘You don’t know for sure. It could have been a mistake.’

‘It wasn’t a mistake. It happened too often. They’ve been taking money… or at least one of them has. I don’t think Michelle had a clue. But I could tell Gary was lying. I think he’s not been tilling in some of the bills and pocketing the money.’

‘Well, that’s great,’ sighed Faith. ‘You’ve just lost us the only relief staff we had…’

‘Hang on a minute. I haven’t lost them. They walked out…’

‘But you accused them of stealing,’ interrupted Faith. ‘You should have consulted me and David first before wading in. It’s not up to you who we fire. You can fill in all the shifts they’ve left. I’m…’ But her protests were left mid-flow. Joy had stormed out.

Faith and Joy were no longer speaking. Joy’s policy of light footing around Faith had been superseded by a general disregard. On evening shifts, the only communication was to ask for drinks or to take bills. The antipathy was noticeable and although they continued to put on a fake smile and chirpiness for the customers, those who knew them both better could tell there was friction.

In a show of spite and to reassert her own authority in business matters, Faith had banned children from coming behind the bar, Danny included, and Frank was not pleased. ‘Given our Danny the sack have you?’ he asked Faith.

‘Danny’s just 13 years old, Frank. If the work inspectors came in they’d close us down.’

‘Didn’t bother you last week though, did it. What’s he going to do now? I’ll tell you what he’s gonna do, he’s gonna mither me all bleedin’ day, that’s what.’ Danny was sitting between his dad and Sam, looking forlorn.

‘We’re not a crèche,’ said Faith. ‘He shouldn’t have been working here in the first place. He should be at school.’

‘Oh, telling me how to look after my kids now are we?’ He gulped down the last dregs of the half he was drinking and got off the bar stool, nodding at Danny and Sam to follow. ‘If I want parental guidance, I’ll soddin’ well ask for it. Okay? C’mon you two.’ Frank slouched off into the sunlight, tailed by Danny. Sam shrugged her shoulders at Faith and smiled, but she was busying herself in the bar fridge trying to hide her damp eyes.

We had now lost Michelle, Gary
and
Danny all in the same week. We still had at least ten days of the busy period left and desperately needed help. None of us could face going back to running all the shifts and besides, it was so busy that even with the four partners overlapping between 6.30 and 10.30, we still needed more help.

We now had entertainment on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Thursday nights. Friday and Tuesday, the changeover days remained act-free as, depending on what time the departing flights left and what time the new arrivals arrived, the night could be completely dead or packed with a crossover of white faces and those waiting to go home.

Karaoke had proved such a hit, both in drawing the customers and making the till ring, that we had begrudgingly booked Maxi Belle for Saturday and Wednesday evening. Sunday was reserved for a Neil Diamond soundalike who also happened to be from Bolton and had offered us a cheap rate because of the connection. From behind a walrus-like moustache, Tony Delrosso would belt out such hits as ‘I Am I Said’, ‘Song Sung Blue’, and the singalong ‘Sweet Caroline’ to an assorted collection of British, French and German holidaymakers impressed by his effort, if not his melodic precision.

Monday night was David’s quiz night, when those who wanted to check if their cerebral matter was still working could test their general knowledge in teams of four. David was quite happy to spend a couple of his rare spare hours compiling 25 questions with a difficulty level varying from ‘What’s the nearest mainland country to Tenerife?’ (Most people would answer Spain, ten times further away than Morocco) to ‘Name the Ten Commandments’. Considering the prize was a bottle of the cheapest sparkling wine we could find, the competition was taken extremely seriously, with more than one competitor walking out, adamant that they were right and the quizmaster was wrong.

It was Motown madness on Thursday night. Maxi Belle had recommended a soul act who, apparently, used to be in The Drifters. It was not an uncommon boast, half of the black singers who threw in the obligatory ‘On the Boardwalk’ into their set also made the same claim. If you believed all the claimants, the Drifters would have had more members than the London Symphony Orchestra, and that was just in Tenerife.

Having seen his act, whether he was ex-anything or not, we couldn’t deny that he was good. Gene Alexander had an ultra-smooth voice, dazzling footwork and was one of the most professional acts that we had seen on the island. However, he didn’t come cheap, especially when he found out that he’d have to travel out of town to accommodate the Smugglers into his schedule.

But Gene didn’t disappoint. He was a huge hit with the holidaymakers and many residents from far afield, who would make their only appearance at our bar on the Thursdays when Gene was performing. Joy’s theatrical aspirations were briefly fulfilled as she joined Gene in a dance routine that they had worked on for ‘Up On the Roof’.

It was only after a few weeks of Gene’s gigs that we found out he was capable of getting much higher than just the roof. One Thursday he had arrived over half an hour late and the audience were growing impatient. The two Johns were having a particularly annoying day: ‘I think your ex-Drifter’s an ex-Smugglers now,’ said John One.

‘Aye,
drifted
off I reckon,’ added his sidekick.

‘You want to sack him if he comes in now,’ said John One, trying to stir things.

‘You can’t put up with it,’ agreed John Two. ‘Tell you what, we’ll sing a few songs for you. How about that? What do you reckon, John? Reckon we could put on a better show than monkey man?’

‘Easy, John. I’ll go and get me accordion, you tell the crowd he’s been sacked, Joy.’

‘I’d rather chew my own arm off than listen to you two,’ said Joy. ‘Bugger off if you don’t like him. It’s no loss to us.’

When Gene did arrive, he ambled down the steps with his black jacket over his shoulder and a bow tie dangling down his white shirt.

‘Where’ve you been, Gene?’ I asked, taking the cassette off him. He always gave it to me without rewinding it from the last show. I discovered this on his first night when his show opened with two minutes of static hiss before I realised what was going on.

‘Hey Joe, how’s it going? No problem man. I’m ready.’ He jigged from side to side to demonstrate the fact, but there was definitely was a problem. His eyes were completely glazed, his eyelids heavy and most noticeably one of his nostrils was powdered white.