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Chris always said if he ever married again, Eleni was the
only woman he wanted. He never stopped loving her. Chris's
father died in 1995; he and Dimitri went to the funeral
in Chios. Back in the States, Chris didn't want to leave
Dimitri again. Eleni was grief-stricken by her former father-in-law's
death too, so they comforted each other. They never legally
remarried because they felt they were still married in God's
eyes.
One
day, two and a half years ago, 62-year-old Chris didn't
feel well. "He just seemed real draggy," Dimitri
says. He had a bypass that afternoon. Chris started walking
on the treadmill and getting better. He wanted to go to
Greece to see his mother. Eleni asked Chris to wait a couple
of months so she could go with him. Her daughter was buying
a house and she wanted to help her move. "Please stay,"
Eleni begged. But he left.
Chris's mother died August 8; two days later he got a fever;
a week later, he was in the hospital. Eleni flew across
the ocean, but he died while she was on the plane. "I
have very bad luck," she says. The whole island came
to the funeral. Talking about it, Eleni's eyes are wet;
she clenches her fist and won't let the tears fall.
She wears Chris's wedding band on her right hand. Living
downstairs from her daughter, she plays with her four-year-old
granddaughter, cooks, cleans, works in the restaurant and
spends her nights watching the three Greek channels on her
satellite dish. Usually she volunteers at the church's annual
Greek Fest, but this year she was too sad to laugh and joke
and tell people that Greek coffee will improve their sex
life. She tells Dimitri she needs to die soon so his father
won't find another woman in heaven.
Fries are boiling; pita bread is browning on the grill;
slabs of lamb and beef spin and sweat. By 11:21 Friday morning,
the line at Niko Niko's stretches into the back. Dimitri,
28, stands at the counter in his black rubber Birkenstocks
looking like an extraordinarily friendly bouncer; he takes
orders, greets customers and answers the phone all at once.
He tears through the line calling every woman "dear"
or "sweetheart" in a way that's endearing, not
irritating. Behind him three women work double-time: One
slices the gyros; another spoons up tzatziki sauce; the
third slices and peels potatoes all day. Dimitri bought
the restaurant from his mother three years ago. He's trained
the staff so they all know how to do each other's jobs.
"Like a casino where all the dealers switch from table
to table every 20 minutes," Dimitri says. "Everybody
should know every game here."
"Can I get the dog-mates?" asks a guy with a
thick Texas accent.
"Dolmades," Dimitri says, correcting his pronunciation
for stuffed grape leaves. He says it'll take about 15 minutes.
The guy looks upset and orders a shish kebab (which takes
about the same time).
"Where you going, man?" Dimitri asks. "You
in a rush?"
The
food Niko Niko's sells isn't fast food -- the Mexican women
in the kitchen may serve it in ten minutes -- but the roasted
potatoes boil on the stove for two hours then cook in the
oven another 30 minutes. In the back, one woman is patiently
painting butter onto strips of phyllo dough as she layers
baklava; another is slicing the fat off 20 pounds of baby
lamb shanks. She's going to spend all afternoon seasoning
and roasting them.
The lamb kebab is thrown on the chargrill, and flames engulf
it; the air smells like spiced meat and mushrooms. By noon
the tables are all full. Customers are standing around,
and bags of to-go orders line the counter. Dimitri recently
donated the pink-and-blue home he grew up in to indigent
housing; the house will be picked up and moved to a new
location, so there will be room to expand the restaurant.
He wants to add another ten tables. No matter what time
of day, Niko Niko's is packed. The lunch crowd tapers off
just as the dinner rush begins. Dimitri watches the windows,
and if he sees a homeless person wave to him or pet his
German shepherd, Athena, Dimitri orders a gyro or fries
to go. If someone is hungry, he feeds them.
While he works the register, Dimitri tastes every sauce
and soup that is made before it's served. He can tell if
something needs a pinch of salt or another clove of garlic.
"Shit," he says. "All I know how to do is
eat."
At 12:45 Eleni arrives. Her daughter accidentally took
Eleni's car keys, so Eleni begged the men painting her house
to drive her to Niko Niko's. She stands by the counter in
a gray pantsuit smiling and greeting customers. She doesn't
have to yell at anyone nowadays, the staff is so well trained.
She gently says "Señora" and gestures to
a table that needs cleaning, but there's an urgency in her
eyes that the staff doesn't miss.
Pete Pappas has been telling Dimitri it's time for him
to expand the business, and Eleni hates retirement. She
wants to evict Dimitri from his home next door and open
a Greek bakery. She doesn't like sitting at home drinking
coffee, doing nothing, feeling old.
She wants to work.
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