Midnight Deli - chapter 2 The next night, Danny could hardly wait for lunchtime. They had a bad batch of paper: it kept tearing on the presses and getting tangled in the works. The production manager was beside himself with frustration, and made a special deal with the father of the chapel: the printers would be paid two hours' overtime, additional to any real overtime they might end up working, if they delayed their lunchtime till the country edition was printed.
So it was after 1 a.m. before Danny had his break. There was no sign of Bernie, who'd had his lunch earlier. Feeling a little anxious, Danny strolled around to the Midnight Deli. It was crowded: in the dim light he could see about twenty customers, among them a couple of journalists from the paper, and a few shiftworkers he'd seen around occasionally.
Sylvia and her uncle Stavros were desperately trying to keep up with the orders. The overhead lights still weren't working, but they had set up several small desk lights, so that at least the counter and the ready-made food were visible. Danny soon worked out that Sylvia was dealing with one end of the counter and Stavros with the other. So he stayed at Sylvia's end, even thought the queue was shorter on the other side. This gave him time to study her. Though she was almost in the dark, he could see that she was definitely beautiful, in a cool type of way. As he stared at her face from side on, trying to recognize it in the gloom and imprint it in his memory, she turned and recognized him.
"Well, it's Mr Wills," she said, with a little mocking smile. "How's the Simpson Desert tonight?" The smile turned him to jelly, and he forgot to be smart.
"Danny," he reminded her.
"I'll be with you in a minute, Danny," she said, serving the customer before him: a man in a railway uniform.
"Did you like our souvlaki?" she asked, when it was Danny's turn.
"Loved it," he said, realizing that he was actually telling the truth. Of course, he'd been so hungry last night that he'd have liked anything.
"Would you like another one, a little different?"
"No, I'll have one exactly the same, Sylvia. And of course, I'll pay you for two." He half-expected her to say it was on the house, but she extracted two payments from him. So what? he thought, it's cheap.
"Good luck with the desert, Danny," she called as he left.
A rubbish-truck driver standing in the queue, chuckled quietly to his mate. "Bloody dagoes, don't know the difference between desert and dessert!"
On Tuesday night, it wasn't so busy at the deli when he called in with Bernie. While Stavros served Bernie, Danny tried to make conversation with Sylvia.
"You speak excellent English," he commented.
"Why are you so surprised?" she laughed. "I went to school here, and I did English for my Matric."
"You've passed the Matric?" Danny asked, amazed. That put her ahead of just about everybody he knew. "How could you stand going to school for so long?"
"Compared with home, it was like a rest," she muttered, glancing behind her.
"But you could be working in a really good job, instead of a crummy joint like this. You could be making good money in a freight forwarding company, for example."
"I don't even know what that is."
"I only mentioned that because a friend of mine does that, and" - here a strange thing happened to him: he found that his tongue couldn't say the word She - "and they're doing really well."
"I don't think it's a crummy joint," Sylvia added, ignoring his last comment. Stavros glanced across at her quickly. His moustache looked razor-sharp tonight.
"It's our family business," she said. "We're trying to make it a really good one. There are delis all over Melbourne, and most of them struggling, so we thought if we opened a night-time one in this area, where all the wealthy shift-workers are, we could do well."
"What wealthy shift-workers?" Bernie put in.
"Like you and Mr Wills," said Sylvia.
"I admire you Greeks, the way you work so hard," said Danny, trying to butter her up.
"We're not Greeks!" Sylvia and Stavros said together.
"Please don't refer to us as Greek again," said Sylvia.
"But, but, but," Danny stammered, "that sign's in Greek, isn't it."
"Are you English?" she demanded.
"No," he said, puzzled. "I'm an Aussie."
"A skip," she said, scornful. "So why are you speaking English?"
He couldn't answer that.
"You're not English, and we're not Greek." She handed him his souvlaki. "Fifty cents, please."
"You have weally put your foot in it now, mate," Bernie observed, as they trudged back to the paper.
"How was I to know?" Danny wailed. "I was sure they were Greek. Bloody what are they then - Lebbos or something?"
"I shall try to find out for you," said Bernie. "But on one condition."
"What's that?"
"When you discard the beautiful Simone, you will pass her on to me. I'm getting tired of the boys - they are so ungwateful."
"It's not a matter of me discarding her, mate, more the other way round. It's no use trying to tell Mone what she wants. But you've got it wrong, Berns: I have no plans to throw her over for Sylvia."
The next night, Danny decided that he wanted to make an apology on his own. But he couldn't hurt Bernie's feelings by refusing to go to the Midnight Deli with him. How could he manage this?
Aha! he thought, after a while. He phoned the father of the chapel, who owed him a favour or two.
"Hey, Alex, are you aware that the fire extinguishers on this floor are meant to be tested every two months or something, and I don't think it's been done since last winter."
"But nobody cares about that, Danny. Really, once a year would be plenty."
"I don't like it. Too much fire danger, and you should see all the stock lying around. I think we need a short token stopwork, tonight."
"Look, Danny, I'm trying to keep the Wackerbys on side at the moment, and this could really throw out the schedule."
"It'll throw it out more if we have a wildcat walk-out in the basement. We're in a really vicious mood down here, Alex. Plus we're a bit ahead tonight."
"OK then, if you insist, I'll organize it, but only half an hour. What time do you want it?"
"How about 11.30, just before lunch? Thanks Alex, you're great."
Five minutes later, the phone in the office started ringing. Danny couldn't actually hear it, over the noise of the presses, but something made him look up. Sure enough, the light on the phone was flashing. His hands were covered in red ink, because he'd been trying to level up the type on the Stop Press insert, so he yelled to Matthew to take the call.
"It's for you," Matthew mouthed, coming up to him.
Danny washed his hands, taking his time. If that bloody Alex was reneging, he definitely would walk out.
"Yes?" he said rudely, finally picking up the phone.
"Is that Mr Sullivan? Look, it's Marcus Wackerby here, I'm sorry to bother you, and I'm not entirely au fait with the situation, but I'm told you are most concerned about the fire extinguishers."
"Marcus Wackerby, eh? Is that you Geoff, having me on?"
Marcus Wackerby was one of the three brothers who owned the paper, and notoriously reclusive. Tindall was the managing editor, the one all the journos despised, and were terrified of. Hambly ran the London office. Marcus apparently stayed in his office twenty-four hours a day, and nobody quite knew what he did - apart from being a capitalist pig.
"My brother's overseas," Marcus explained, "and the deputy's gone home sick, so this problem has been referred to me."
"But it's no big deal," said Danny. "Why drag you into it? As long as there's no fire down here, there's no problem - who cares if the extinguishers work or not?"
"It's irregular," said Marcus. "I didn't realize things were so out of hand. I don't usually deal with these minor matters. What do you suggest?"
Matthew had come into the office. Danny put his hand over the receiver.
"It's Marcus Wackerby, wanting my advice. Highly confidential. You'd better go and look after the press."
The puzzled Matthew went out.
"Sorry about that interruption, Marcus. What I suggest is that you get the extinguishers serviced at 11.30 tonight, we stop the presses for half an hour to avoid sparks, and everything goes smoothly from then on. We're well ahead of time, so unless there's some royal stuff-up, there should be no delays."
"Well, you sound as if you know what you're talking about, Mr Sullivan - "
"Call me Danny. It's OK, everybody does."
"Very well, Danny. But do you think a fire extinguisher serviceman can be called out at 11.30pm?"
"Why not? It's nearly two hours away. I'm sure if they're paid enough, they'll oblige."
"I'll see what I can do, Danny. I'm most grateful for your advice."
I don't believe this, Danny thought. He was bursting to tell somebody. He rang Alex back, but the number was engaged. He thought of ringing Simone, but realized her parents wouldn't like him to ring so late. At Balwyn they'd all be in bed by now. No use ringing Bernie - Berko answered all inward calls, and wouldn't pass on any messages he didn't approve of. So he tried Alex again: the phone just kept ringing this time. As a last resort, he went and told Henry.
"Bloody good idea," said Henry approvingly. "I didn't think you bothered about this type of health and safety issue, Danny."
"It's been disturbing me," Danny lied.
"Management must have been shitting themselves to call in Wackerby. That one's a real wacker - get it? Know what's in his office?"
"No, I've never been there."
"Course you haven't. Neither has anybody. But rumour has it that he collects snakes, and he keeps live ones in there."
"Don't believe it," said Danny.
"Not sure if I do either," said Henry, immediately backing down. That was one of the things that Danny couldn't stand about Henry. "But the guy's definitely a nutcase."
Henry took a searching look at Danny. "You didn't do this because you want a long lunch break, for any reason, did you?"
"Course not," said Danny. He wanted an early one, not a long one. If he'd realized it was going to be this much trouble, he'd have just sneaked out.
"A long lunch break suits me fine tonight," said Henry. "Getting behind with the form."
Henry was a student of horse-racing. Some day, he said, he was going to make a fortune at the races, but it could only be done on the basis of knowledge. So he spent hours doing elaborate calculations about which horse would win which race.
At 11.25pm, the fire brigade turned up, and began to test the entire alarm system. On the dot of 11.30, Danny switched off the number 4 press and left the building.
Two minutes later he was in the deli, along with an interesting selection of down-and-out people: quite a different crowd from those who tried to get served at Don's pie-cart.
Sylvia looked delighted to see him. "I'm so glad you're back, Danny," she said. "We were worried you wouldn't come back again, after we were so rude to you last night."
We? he thought. Who does she mean? What's Stavros got to do with this.
"I was actually coming to apologize to you," he said humbly.
"But why? You've done nothing that needs apologizing for." She was almost whispering, as they stood at one end of the counter, as far as they could get from Stavros and the other customers. She was so appealing and vulnerable, looking up at him with her beautiful dark eyes (she was much shorter than Simone), he felt a terrible urge to take her in his arms. Luckily, the counter was in the way.
"When are you getting the lights fixed?" he asked instead.
"The electrician says the wiring's in a terrible mess, and he'd have to completely rewire the shop to make the big lights work, and that would cost hundreds. So we've decided to leave them like this. It's a nice atmosphere, don't you think? After all, it is night time when we're open. The main thing is that the food's well-lit, Uncle Stavros says, it doesn't matter if they can't see us."
"I'd like to see you, and the food too," he answered, still in a very low voice.
"There's not much of me to see," she laughed. "What'll you have tonight? How about a yiros for a change?"
"OK, I'll give it a burl."
"What about your friend Mr Burke? Isn't he coming tonight?"
"Mr Burke? Oh, you mean Bernie. Probably coming later. I'm early tonight."
He was itching to tell her why he was early, but she was already taking an order from the next customer. Amazing how many people were hungry in the middle of the night. The pie-cart never had anywhere near this many, except when Don went on a go-slow. Perhaps the customers were just trying out the Midnight Deli, and some of them wouldn't like the Greek food, and wouldn't come back. But, hold on - was it Greek food?
"Sylvia?" he said, when she came back. "Where are you from?"
"Australia," she said, amused. "But my family is from Cyprus."
"Isn't that in Greece?"
"No!" she said firmly.
"Sorry. Can I just mention that word one last time: is this Greek food?"
She laughed.
"It's much the same, Danny, but don't let Uncle Stavros hear that."
Tonight he had plenty of time, thanks to the fire extinguishers, so he hung around in the Midnight Deli to eat his yiros, leaning on the end of the counter. As he tried to work out how it differed from a souvlaki, he noticed that Stavros had a little group of night people gathered around him.
Between customers, Sylvia came back to talk to him.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. Forcing himself to be honest.
"Tell me about her. What's her name? Is she beautiful? Do you take her to bed?"
"Do I...?"
"You don't have to answer that," said Sylvia, laughing. "I'm curious - I've had a very quiet life. What does she look like?"
He looked around nervously. Stavros was talking to another customer, a journalist form the Age.
"She's quite tall," Danny answered. "Yellow hair. Not bad looking, but a bit horsy." He avoided naming her.
"She looks like a horse?"
"Specially when she swishes her tail."
"You are kidding?" she asked, smiling anxiously.
"Of course. Now what about you: do you have a boyfriend?"
"No. My parents do not allow it, they are so strict. My cousin from Cyprus is coming to marry me one day."
"Have you met him?" he asked.
"No, but I've seen his photo, and a letter. He is not bad looking, but not young."
"How old?"
"He will be thirty-five this year."
"Jesus! I didn't know this sort of thing was allowed to go on! How old are you, Sylvia?"
"Nineteen," she said, looking at the ground.
More customers came in. It was getting on for 12.30 and Bernie hadn't turned up. Maybe he'd gone to the pie-cart, or made himself some rolls. Danny went back to work, seething with outrage about Sylvia. He decided to rescue her, somehow, from the geriatric cousin.
He left for home just as daylight was beginning to seep into the south-eastern sky. In front of him, heading for the tram stop, was Bernie's figure, unmistakable with that thick brush of hair, so blonde it was almost white.
"Where were you at lunchtime?" Danny asked, running to catch up.
Bernie swung his owl-like head around, and gazed steadily at Danny through his thick round glasses. His little beard looked ridiculous, Danny thought, more like a toothbrush than ever.
"I thought it was best to leave it to you tonight," Bernie explained. "I heard there was a stopwork, and you were having top-level talks with Mr Wackerby. I pwesume he was telling you off for wasting all those rolls of paper the other night, on the article about me."
"Marcus did ring me for a chat," said Danny casually.
"I think you should keep away from him. He is a very strange man."
"He can't hurt me. Anyway, we're good mates now."
"He is your employer, Danny. He is reputed to be unstable. It is said that the last two employees he spoke to are no longer working here."
"Think he's going to eat me, or something?" Danny joked.
"I am only stating facts, Danny. I have never met him."
"Hey, I meant to tell you, I made it up with Sylvia." He did a funny little hop. "Found out where she's from, too."
"Cypwus?"
"How did you know that?"
"In what other place do they speak Greek, but are not Greeks?"
"Bloody proofies, you know everything. You might have told me yesterday, saved me from putting my foot into it. But it's all sweet now. You know what: she's engaged to a 35-year-old guy from Cyprus, and she hasn't even met him. I'm going to stop it."
"How will you do that, Danny?"
"Dunno yet. I'll think about it. That reminds me: are you still coming to see the band on Saturday night?"
Bernie had been promising to come and see the Undertakers in action for months, but had kept delaying it. Last Friday, after meeting Simone, he'd agreed to come this weekend.
"Will Simone be there?"
"Too right," Danny lied, remembering that she was actually going to a tennis club social with Andrew, her older brother.
"Then I'll definitely come," Bernie promised. "I'm curious to see another side of you. Here's my twam." He stood between the tram tracks, took off his reddish jacket, and waved it boldly in front of him, like a bullfighter holding a cape. Though it snorted with anger, the tram came to an obedient stop, a moment after Bernie had jumped out of its path.
"I'm getting better and better at taming these monsters," Bernie boasted, climbing on board. "See you tomorrow."
Danny was bursting to tell somebody about Sylvia, so he told his mother. He took the precaution of starting in a very roundabout way.
"You know, Mum," he said the next afternoon as he ate his breakfast. "You won't need to make me peanut butter and banana sandwiches any more."
"Why not?"
"Because a Midnight Deli has opened in Little Lonsdale Street, just around the corner from the paper. It's staying open all night, every night. I've been getting my lunch there."
"I hope you feel well. It's getting hard to trust food from those places. These days, they're all run by foreigners."
Not a good start. He gloomily stirred quite a lot of sugar into his cup of tea, and decided to drop the subject.
"What have you been eating there?" she asked a few minutes later.
"Mainly souvlaki and yiros," Danny said casually.
"I wouldn't trust all this new-fangled food," said Kathleen. "They've proved it gives you cancer. All the additives are chemicals, you know." She thought of the smell from the nearby fertilizer factory, which blew their way in a southerly wind, and gagged at the thought of eating it.
"It tastes really good," Danny continued. "How about making some one night, for a change from the usual chops and muck."
"What I cook is good, plain, healthy food, and you can't do better than that. Besides, I wouldn't know where to buy the chemicals."
"I don't think there are chemicals, Mum. I might be able to get you the recipe - the girl in the deli is getting quite friendly."
Her super-sensitive hearing instantly detected the one important word among all the nonsense he was pouring out.
"Girl?" said his mother, jerking her head around. "What girl? And what about Simone? You're practically engaged to her. Does she know about this? This..." (she spat it out) "girl?"
He tried to calm her down.
"Mum, I'm only talking about food."
"A lovely young woman, so well brought up," she continued. "Even your father was impressed with her, and you know what he's like."
He didn't, actually. This conversation was getting worse and worse. He stood up.
"By the way, I promised to lend Simone some magazines," she continued. "She was interested in the Home Beautiful for 1953, so next time you see her, tell her she can have that heap over there on the sideboard."
"Which heap?" he asked. There were so many heaps on the sideboard that you couldn't see the actual sideboard.
"The on top, nearest the window. I've wrapped it up neatly, and written her name on it."
"Oh, that one with the bow. How cute!"
"I don't know why you're carrying on like this, Danny. I'm trying my hardest to make a good impression."
"Well I'm sure putting a pink bow on a heap of stinky magazines, 20 years old, is going to make an absolutely fabulous impression."
"You're cruel sometimes, Danny. I don't know where you get it from. It's all for your benefit, you know."
"Thanks, Mum, but I really don't think I need help with Simone. I bet she doesn't really want those magazines. Come on, admit it: you talked her into it."
"They had some very useful hints in those old magazines. The new ones don't have them any more."
"Have you found any hints on how to clear huge stacks of old magazines out of your hallway, and stop them smelling while you're at it?"
"I don't know why you're always going on about that, Danny. I've told you it's temporary. I'm just waiting for your father to get some cupboards for them."
"But you've been waiting for that ever since I started high school. He did get a cupboard years ago, don't you remember, and it was too big to get in the door." Danny laughed. "Isn't that the one you keep your pot-plant gear in now - that one in the back yard with all the plywood peeling off."
That was another thing about this house: practically everywhere you went - provided you could squeeze past the heaps of magazines - you were strangled by vicious indoor plants, reaching out their tentacles to suck your blood.
"Have you even been to Simone's house and met her parents?" Kathleen asked. Now she was on the attack.
"Been past it," Danny admitted, "but not inside. She said her parents are worse than the Gestapo at interrogating her friends, and I didn't feel up to it that day I dropped her off. Plus she thought they'd freak out if I parked the hearse there. Some day I'll go back. They want me to take my birth certificate, and my bankbook, and my driver's licence, and all my income tax forms."
"You're joking?"
"I never joke," said Danny, grinning. "You know me, Mum, I'm always deadly serious. Hey, would you like to hear my new song about flying sharks?"
"If you sing it nicely, yes, but I don't want to hear that screechy mouth organ."
He still wanted to tell somebody about Sylvia. Normally he'd have got on the phone to Simone, but in this case she might misunderstand. Bernie and his mother had been hopeless, his father was in another world, and the band members never knew when to shut up.
Danny had his weekly harmonica lesson; his teacher was one of Melbourne's most venerable bluesmen: he'd studied in Chicago, with somebody who once knew Willie Dixon. Leicho came along for the ride, sitting in the passenger's seat. He loved these confidential talks.
Danny took a roundabout route, avoiding the busy main roads, where the engine might overheat if he had to wait through several changes of traffic lights.
"It's like this, Leicho, you see," Danny began. "Sylvia's doing something to me that I don't understand. I don't really want her, if you see what I mean, but..."
Leicho gave Danny a sympathetic look.
"...but she's so intense. She wouldn't be as much fun as Mone, and there's that awful family. The main thing is, she's a night person like me, and there's something special about that." This sounded really feeble when he said it aloud. "Don't let me do anything dumb, Leicho."
Depend on me, the dog told him, displaying his tongue as a symbol of trust.
"Thanks, Leicho. I knew you'd understand. And look, there's one thing I told you about Sylvia that's not ridgy didge. Of course I want her. I want her like I've never wanted a woman before."
As he strolled into the Midnight Deli for his lunch break, he saw Sylvia disappearing into the back room. Three other people were waiting to be served.
"What can I do for you?" Stavros asked him cheerfully, but showed no sign of recognizing him.
"Souvlaki, please," said Danny, closely examining a poster advertising chocolate bars while he waited. Nice piece of printing, he thought. Why doesn't Sylvia come in - there are three more people waiting now.
Finally an old man he hadn't seen before came in with some cooked orders, glanced at Danny, and handed them to Stavros.
"For you," Stavros called.
"What happened to the girl who usually serves in here?" Danny said casually.
"She's taken the night away," said Stavros.
But I saw her through the window before I came in, Danny almost said to him. Maybe she was knocking off at midnight and left it a few minutes late.
She might have waited for me, he thought, suddenly resentful. Wonder where she's off to?
Bernie was taking a later lunch tonight - two of the proofies had called in sick, so the others weren't having lunch till 1 a.m. Soon after that, Bernie came in with his souvlaki, and led Danny into the office.
"Message for you," he said. "Vewy indirect and polite, but crystal clear: her family don't want her to talk to any one customer too much. They noticed the way you hung around for a whole hour last night."
"Bastards," said Danny. "They think they're still in the dark ages."
The next night, the Midnight Deli was crowded when Danny went in: the busiest he'd seen it yet. Sylvia was there, flat out taking orders. They managed to exchange just one sentence.
"Hey, Stavros!" said Danny, when a pause came.
"How you know my name?"
His English wasn't nearly as good as Sylvia's. He must have gone to school back in Cyprus.
"Heard somebody say it, I guess. That your blue Bongo van parked over the road there?"
"How you know that?"
Danny shrugged. "The thing is, mate, there's a brown bomber woman coming down the road, and you're not meant to park there more than half an hour. Better move it if you don't want a ticket."
"I refuse to believe," said Stavros. "They don't bomb at night."
"Just telling you," said Danny.
The next night he came by himself again - Bernie had made rolls tonight, but Danny had declined one. Only a couple of customers were there, and Sylvia was talking to an old woman who looked very like the one that he'd scared away with the mask on Sunday afternoon.
"Mr Wills!" Stavros called out to somebody.
Danny was watching Sylvia, admiring the curve of her face.
"Danny Wills!" said Stavros.
"Me? Sorry - what is it?" What have I done now? he thought. Aren't I even allowed to look at her?
"I am so sorry to ignore you the other night. The truth is, I didn't believe the parking bombers would work so late. It took a ticket for me to believe you." Stavros pointed cheerfully to a pink notice pinned to the wall. "Parking fine, signed Maria Castoni, warden. Next time you tell me something, I will believe."
One up to me, thought Danny. "Would you believe me if I said I'd like a yiros?"
"Of course," Stavros smiled, going into the back room. Telling them what I've ordered, thought Danny. Telling them to make it a super-duper one.
Stavros didn't come straight back. Perhaps he was going for a piss, thought Danny, and I'm only getting an ordinary yiros.
The old woman was leaving, and Sylvia came up to Danny. Somehow, her closeness affected his breathing.
"Don't be mad at Uncle Stavros," she said sweetly. "He's only trying to protect me. I told him you have a girlfriend called Simone. But I didn't tell him she looks like a horse." She laughed. "I have heard she is actually very beautiful indeed."
Bloody Bernie's been shooting his mouth off! I'll kill him, Danny thought.
"So now Stavros is not worried if you talk to me," Sylvia continued, glancing behind her to make sure he wasn't there. "If Simone was your wife, he would worry about my virtue. But because she is only your girlfriend, and she is so beautiful, he isn't worried. That's how Cyprian men think. Aren't they strange?"
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