2019-10-18 - The Boy With The Funny Name

It's a bit later in the evening, after the dinner rush. The Fried Fish shack has been on the boardwalk through three generations of the Velez family now, and they've learned a truth universally acknowledged: there will always be a few stragglers who want something from the shack just as they're about to pull down their awning for the night. As long as they make it before the fryers are emptied and cleaned, there's no reason not to accomodate them.

The only thing Julia hates about running the shack - okay, scratch that. There's a lot of reasons Julia resents having to run the shack, but her pride won't allow her to let the quality of the food decline. Her least favorite is the way it makes her smell. Her nightly showers are both a necessity and a pleasure before bedtime. She's feeling generous this evening, so she's let most of the workforce go, and she's just hanging in for those last few minutes in the event of an unexpected customer. One of the college age employees mans the fryer, and she works on restocking the counter lip. The radio's on, tuned to a Latin music station.

There's always someone. At least Rhys appears to be one of the ones who don't assume wherever he's inclined to drop by will and should be just waiting for him. "Still cooking?" he asks as he approaches, "Or should I be checking how my stock of tv dinners is holding up?" He's in jeans and a navy blue henley shirt, but the brown suede suit-styled jacket and boots class it up a little. Moving from straight casual to arguably business casual, though if that's for work it's not clear if he's heading to or from.

"Bite your tongue." Julia replies goodnaturedly, adding, "You can be the last order of the night unless more folks show up while the fryer's still on. menu's right there." She leans forward and to the side, rapping her knuckles on the wooden board mounted by the window displaying the menu and prices. What will you have?" she inquires, and then does a mild doubletake as she peers at him. "Do we know each other?" she asks curiously. "I was born here and did most of elementary school here, so if you're local too, well. Or maybe you've just got that kind of face."

"I could, but that'd taste even worse than the TV dinners," Rhys replies, with a grin, and given he does look a bit relieved, they might not even be particularly good ones. Maybe he buys the budget off-brand kind! Or worse, 'healthy' ones.

Then again, possibly not, since he studies the menu with a firm, "Something fried." It's likely he would have gotten more specific, but the doubletake and question draw his attention back to her, and he blinks once, brow furrowing. A pause, but -- everyone, well every local, knows what family owns this stall, and that makes it a shorter trek down logic lane to confirm that what the back of his mind is telling him is probably actually correct. "Julia?" he asks, brows lifting, "Holy shit! Uh. Sorry, I mean, hi! That is you, right, not like a cousin I didn't know existed?" Because that only feels very slightly less likely, right now. "How long've you been back in town?"

"You're the boy with the funny spelling name. Riss or Reece or something, but with like, a y, amiright?" she asks, brightening. "Nah, we're not related. You're a little pale for that." The last she says teasingly, though she answers his question in her follow-up. "About a year and a half, now. Was living and workng out in San Francisco, but family needed me here. Gray Harbor has a way of sucking you back in, doesn't it?" She starts to put an order in, then pauses. "You like it spicy, or no?"

"'Evans' is a completely boringly spelt name," the b-- c'mon, surely he can claim 'man' by now, right? well, the guy with the funny spelling name mock-protests. "For the record, I'm the boy with the name spelt right. R-H-Y-S. It's Welsh. It's not our fault the saeson diawl can't spell." The grin remains, even if he still looks a little startled behind it. And yeah, it sounds exactly like Reese. Just spelt correctly. Go on, ask him. Again.

"If you were my cousin, I'm pretty sure you'd owe me a decade or so of birthday presents. On the other hand, I guess I'd owe you the same, so at least we're even. Spicy's great, thanks. What were you doing in San Francisco?" A small pause. "Year and a half. Yeah, it does. I've been back-- few weeks, now? Guess I should've given in to the fish craving sooner. Not that it would've got me back in town any earlier, but I could've said hi. And had fish."

"Studied to become a chef, worked a great job. But you know, family." She makes a whirley motion with her hand, a sort of you-know-how-it-goes gesture. She calls out the order over her shoulder for a two piece with fries and while they wait for it, she leans against the window frame. "How about you? What ave you been doing with yourself, then? What brought you back?"

Rhys makes a similar gesture along with a nod. "Family." An agreement, rather than an answer. That comes when he leans sideways up against the outer serving ledge of the stall. "Joined the Army, saw the world, met interesting people, and shot them," he says glibly, "Though not actually as much of steps two through four as I kinda expected. Turns out more soldiers are decent at that than at accounting and Uncle Sam needs some of that too. Hit up UW, got to looking for where to go, turns out Uncle Felix," probably literary, not literal?, "could use some accounting too. Well, administration in general," he makes a vague gesture, "Club needed a manager. And," a shrug, "family." Sounds at the least okay with the situation. "What kinda chef?"

"You work for Felix? You manage Firefly?" Her brows hit her hairline. "That has to be both the most awesome and the most terrible job ever. I'm actually pretty good friends with a few of the folks who work there." She seldom has to wait to get in. At his query, her mouth quirks, some pride evident. "The kind that get sous positions in Michelin star restaurants. But if you're asking me what my specialties are, Cuban food, and farm-to-table."

"Great and terrible," Rhys confirms, "Like the Wizard of Oz." Says it easily, though there's an undertone that does suggest he's fairly pleased with the situation, thus far. "Full of adventure, excitement, and really wild things. Not all of which are customers! Though some of which might be your friends, I don't judge." The grin's back, there. "You'd have to tell me which ones before I could confirm or deny. But Michelin stars, huh? Good work. I'll keep that in mind." Never know, club might need to cater something really classy sometime! Or Felix might. Odds Rhys might, probably somewhat less at present. He looks thoughtful for a moment, glancing over her shoulder into the stall -- or at least, about that direction. He'd have to be taller to really accomplish it effectively, but it's good enough for contemplation. "Cuban food and farm-to-table. Wonder if Gray Harbor could support a place like that? We're good on casual dining, but something a little more upscale? Seems like an empty niche."

"Oh, there definitely is. But my abuelo opened this place, you know?" Julia gently pats the awning frame. "But eventually my family's going to have to come up with a solution that will let me pursue my own dreams." His order's up, and she passes it over to him. "Hannah's one of my best friends...Greg's a buddy, and Andre's kind about getting me past the rope when I'm not coming in with my prima." She points then, at a space on the menu. "You see the chef's special? There's no details because it changes every week. It's a plate I do with seafood ingredients, but not fried, usually elevated. Last week I did a pair of crab cakes."

Rhys gives a small sigh. "I love crab cakes. That's one thing I miss about Seattle, the restaurants..." As the food comes up, he looks at the undetailed spot on the menu, then back to her as he pulls out his wallet. "Trust me, I get the family thing, but, you know... you do really good fried fish here," he says, trading the cash for the the food in question and taking in the scent of it. "Mmm. I thought about it sometimes when I was away, they don't really do it right inland places. But it's not your passion, right?" He doesn't really need that answer, even just from the chat so far. "So I guess it depends a lot what your dreams are precisely, like, do you want to run your own place, or do you want to do the sous thing somewhere that's already got stars, or what, but a lot of chefs out there, they run more than once place. Find folks you can train to do the day to day here to your satisfaction, keep yourself head of it. And open a place around here doing the stuff you dream, if it fits 'em. That's what I'd be looking at, anyway. 'cause it seems to me you've got a niche waiting." A bite of the fish, which gets a mingled 'yum' and 'yeah that's pretty spicy' sound, and he adds a slightly muffled, "Thanks," careful not to turn seafood into a five year old's joke.

Julia laughs at that. "Oh, I want my own place. I want multiple places someday. And not some chain that's the same everywhere you go, but restaurants that reflect the food I'm interested in and want to explore." She starts to get very enthused as she talks, though there's a brief pause as she assures her employee that yes, they can do a clean-out on the fryer and begin close up.

Rhys remains where he is, because apparently it's comfortable and he's got fish and chips to eat. Unlike his writer he probably even thought to order a soda or something, too!

Her reply, and the building enthusiasm, get the grin out of him again. "Now, that's what I'm saying," he says, "You won't be able to be running every one of 'em hands-on, Johnny-on-the-spot every day anyway, unless you invent simultaneous co-location -- which if you do let me know 'cause I could get a lot more done -- so why wait for your family to come up with the solution? Make this Place One, it's already fully established. All you need's one more layer of staff you can trust enough to turn most of your attention to, I dunno, Granja a Mesa Cubana, or you know, some snappier name, I'm working on like four years of Spanish and thirty seconds thought here."

Life has given him a selection of skills, one of which appears to be that of eating while talking without ceasing to be either understandable or bearable to watch. Not one likely to ever save his life, but it's sure handy now. "And I'm definitely not just saying this 'cause I really want somewhere I can reliably get decent crab cakes without needing a second tank of gas. Though, y'know, it doesn't hurt."

Julia says, "All good. I tried to italicize the url and it mucked up the code. Should be alright now."

Julia's smile tenses a little. "It isn't the right time." she explains. "I've taken this place over because there's an illness in the family. Once things are more stable, we'll see how things shake out. What I can do about running my own place. I have time, and family has to come first." Even if they've done very little for her themselves.

Rhys should probably take the hint and shut up. Rhys probably even knows he should take the hint and shut up. Rhys does not, however, actually manage to take the hint and shut up. "Sorry about the illness," does at least come first, "That's always shitty." He glances down at the remaining bit of fish, adding, "Part of why I'm here instead of anywhere else, too, mom's been better." Her parents are still here too, though, Julia might know. Small town, after all.

He takes a small bite as he looks up again. "But," 'cause yeah, there it goes, "I'm not saying, like, abandon your family." Obviously! "Finding someone trustworthy to delegate some of it to's still running the place, it just frees you up to, I dunno, also see whether that casino they're building out there's got its restaurant slots filled, 'cause I guarantee you they're looking for the kind of clientele that thinks Cuban, farm-to-table, or farm-to-table Cuban sounds great. And if they have, well, more of 'em will probably take a little jaunt over here as well if they've got incentive." Like great food.

He gives a slight shrug. "Seems like an opportunity worth looking at, while it's there. Hell, I'll even see what I can find out about the state of that, if you want." The grin, crookeder. "Or I can butt out, I guess. Try, anyway. No promises." It levels out, there, a touch cheekily, and he pops the last bit of fish into his mouth, straightening up to drop the tray into the trash.

Julia laughs softly, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the edge of the service window. "I'm not interested in being under anyone's thumb, but especially not Felix's." She's good humored when she says it, but it's also easy to understand why she might think Felix would have reason to invest in other business opportunities. "You also haven't had occasion to try anything I make beyond the family recipe for fish in the fryer." A fair point. "You might want to consider trying my actual cooking before deciding I'm worth investing your time in. I do sometimes host dinner parties for my friends, and my services are available locally as a caterer or private chef on an at-meal basis."

Rhys laughs as well, lifting and spreading his hands in the traditional gesture of innocence. "Nothing about Felix in there," he says, "Got no reason to think the bank wouldn't have your back. And true, but even though you do make really good fried fish, I'm pretty sure you weren't a sous chef in a starred kitchen on the strength of just that. Which I do only have your word for, but the Julia I remember wasn't a liar." A pause, the grin returning. "I mean, granted, I also remember her being a lot shorter. But I don't remember her being a liar."

He picks up his drink again, finishing it off and tossing the cup lightly into the trash; he makes a brief face at it when it bobbles against the edge before falling in rather than being slickly nothing-but-net. Tch. He settles back into the lean, attention returning to her. "That said? Trying your actual cooking sounds like a good plan regardless. We'll just have to figure out a good chance." His hand moves to a pocket again, this time coming up with his phone; a few taps at it and he's sliding it a couple inches across the counter toward her, in 'contact goes here' mode. "I could just keep dropping by here to ask about schedules, but this seems easier."

"You may not realize it, but that's just about one of the nicest compliments a girl can get." Seriously, being told of her honesty seems to be a huge compliment to her. She takes the phone, taps in her number, and then turns the camera toward herself to take a picture for the contact entry. "I'm sure you'll think of some way to arrange for me to cook for you. I know you don't doubt I'm the real deal, but it's nice to have proof."

Rhys looks faintly pleased to be told so, and when the phone's returned, he sends a quick text to the fresh contact -- 'Unexciting but informative text from Rhys Evans the completely normally spelt' -- then tucks it away again. "I'm sure I will," he agrees. "Edible evidence is pretty much the ideal kind. And now I can just keep dropping by here to eat fried fish." He gives her another grin, then pushes to properly and fully standing again, for what that's worth. "Better let you leave work and get going to mine," he says, taking a couple steps that direction without turning around yet, "Catch you soon."

"Later, gator." She'll kick herself once he's out of sight, because that was super uncool. "Say hi to Hannah for me!" And with that, she's reaching for the awning, letting it gently drop as Fried Fish shuts down for the night.