Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto

The crew meeting was at nine. By 9:15 they were finally all in. He'd made coffee in the big urn and set out cups because he didn't know what else to do with his hands. Tina came in with her coat on and didn't take it off. {{User}} came in a few minutes after Tina and went behind the counter without a word, tying her apron. She poured herself a cup from the urn Carmy had set out, then leaned against the back counter with both hands around it, waiting. Richie came in last.

The framed Food and Wine cover was on the wall above the register the way Mikey had hung it, Carmy's face on it looking younger than he felt now. Carmy tried not to look at it.

Carmy stood on the customer side of the counter so nobody would feel cornered, holding a printed list he'd rewritten three times last night at the kitchen table with a pen that kept clicking under his thumb.

"Uh. Thanks for coming in. I know it's early," Carmy said.

Tina was looking at the coffee urn like it had offended her. {{User}} took a sip of her coffee, both hands around the mug.

"So I just wanted to talk through some stuff before we open. Nothing crazy." He glanced at the list. "Prep lists on the wall in the back. I put them up already. It's just so we know what we have and what we need."

Richie shifted his weight against the counter.

Carmy pushed on. "And I want to start calling stations. When I call for something I'll call by station, you say back: Yes chef. Or heard."

Tina crossed her arms tighter over her coat. "Most of us been running this kitchen fifteen years."

"I know, Tina, I'm not saying—"

"We been running it fine," Tina said.

"I know. I'm just trying to add some structure so when we're in the weeds it's easier to—"

"Cousin," Richie was smiling but it wasn't a real smile. Carmy stopped and looked at him. Richie took his time. "Do you hear yourself right now."

"Richie."

"You wanna call stations. In an Italian beef joint. On Orleans Street," Richie said.

Carmy tried again. "It's just so that when—"

"You want Tina to say yes chef." Richie glanced at Tina, then back at Carmy. "Tina, who's been making the giardiniera in this restaurant since before you had pubes."

Sweeps snorted from behind the fryer. Carmy kept his voice level.

"That's how a kitchen runs, Richie."

Richie leaned back on the counter. "That's how your kitchen ran. In New York. This ain't New York," Richie paused, and something moved in his face that wasn't anger. "This is Mikey's place."

The room went quiet in a different way than it had been before.

Carmy felt his jaw lock. "I know whose place it is, Richie."

Richie held his eyes for another second, then looked away. Tina was looking at the floor. Ebra was watching Carmy. {{User}}'s mug had stopped halfway to her mouth. She was looking at the framed photo of Mikey next to the register, the one where he was leaning against the flat top with a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other, grinning at whoever took it.

"I'm not changing the menu yet. I want to be clear. I just want to see how service runs today. I'll be on expo."

Tina still had her coat on. Ebra nodded once. Manny had already half-left. {{User}} was holding her coffee with both hands, staring into it.

"Okay?" Carmy said.

Nobody said okay.

─

The lunch rush hit at 11:40. By 12:15 the rail was a mess. Carmy had a rag over his shoulder, a sharpie behind his ear, tickets coming off the printer.

"Ordering. Two Italian, one dipped, one dry, side of peppers," Carmy called.

Nothing.

"Tina. Ordering. Two Italian."

Tina didn't look up from the flat top. "I heard you, Jeff," Tina said.

Jeff.

Ebra was carving beef at the slicer, the pile building because Sweeps had walked off the line to answer his phone.

"Sweeps. Where you going?"

Sweeps held up a finger, phone at his ear, already through the back door.

Through the pass Carmy could see {{User}} at the register, working the counter alone because Richie was on the wall phone laughing about something instead of running orders.

"Richie. Get off the phone, we got a line—"

Richie didn't turn from the wall. "I'm on a call, Cousin."

"There's a—"

"I'm on a call." Richie shot back.

The printer chirped, another ticket. Carmy tore it off, his hand shaking. His body was operating on a mix of coffee and cigarettes and he felt like he was standing next to a running engine.

Breathe.

Tina slapped the bell. "Jeff. Pickup."

He grabbed the two Italian and got them to the counter. {{User}} took them without missing a beat and she was already calling the next number.

The printer chirped again. Sweeps came back in, put his phone in his apron and didn't apologize.

"Sweeps. Where's the fryer at?"

"It's up," Sweeps said.

"It's not up, I can see—"

"It's up, chef," Sweeps said.

Carmy put his hand flat on the pass and pressed down.

"I'll be right back. Two minutes."

He was already untying his apron.

The back door hit the brick, the cold hitting his face as he leaned against the wall and pulled his cigarettes out of his back pocket, hands shaking. The lighter didn't catch on the first try. Second try. Inhale. Hold. Out.

...