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*****
December 31st 1977
The Midnight Hour
"Hey Keith, could you give me a hand?" asked a familiar voice from behind the dark-haired teen.
Looking up from the large stainless steel bin that he had been emptying shredded lettuce into, Keith Stone glanced over his shoulder. There he saw Pete Malone, one of his fellow crew mates at the Park Slope Burger Barn, struggling with two large plastic garbage bags.
"Sure thing, Pete," the eighteen year old replied as he turned the bag of lettuce upside down and shook out the last bits. "Just give me a minute to finish up here and get my coat."
After tossing the now empty bag into the refuse pail under the table, Keith took the tray and carried it over to the food preparation area where, lifting out an empty bin, he replaced it with the one he'd just filled. Then he took the old container over to one of the oversized sinks and rinsed it out, laying it on a drying rack when he was done.
Returning to Pete and the trash bags, Keith donned a pair of work gloves he carried in his back pocket before trying to lift one of the bags. Even with only a month's experience under his belt, the teenager knew that the bags were usually heavier than they looked, and the one in front of him proved no exception. Keith had been lifting weights since he was nine, and while no one would describe him as a bodybuilder, it had left him with a well-toned form. Even so, it took the two of them to lift each bag and toss it behind those already piled up in the parking lot dumpster. Much too often, if a bag didn't clear the top of the pile, it would fall right back at you.
"Thanks, Keith," Pete said as the nineteen year old took off his own gloves. "I was already on my way out the door when Conrad snagged me and said to take out the trash before I went. I'll tell you, from the way he was looking at me, I was worried that he was going to ask me to stay a few hours after my shift, and that would've really sucked - especially tonight."
Conrad Wilson was the store manager and notorious for understaffing the schedule, then asking employees to work extra hours at the last minute if things got busy. As he saw it, why schedule people to just stand around with nothing to do if he didn't have to? Twice during his probation he had done that to Keith, knowing that the new employee wasn't in a position to say no. Most of the staff thought Conrad was a grade A asshole.
"Oh, did you have something special going on tonight?" Keith asked, trying to act as if Pete hadn't spent the better part of the last week telling anyone who would listen about having been invited to his uncle's New Year's Eve party down in Brooklyn Heights.
Keith had actually read about Pete's uncle in the Post's entertainment section a few times. Theodore Malone ran a highly successful talent agency in Manhattan and it was a given that any party of his would be filled with beautiful young women, all eager to make an impression on him. It was Pete's fevered hope that at least one of them might be willing to settle for making an impression on Ted's favorite nephew instead. It had been Keith's belief that, nephew or not, few of those women were going to be impressed by someone who worked at Burger Barn, which had been his primary reason for originally saying no.
"You know very well what tonight is, smart ass," Pete said with a grin, "and despite the fact that I don't know why I'm asking, it's not too late for you to change your mind and come with me. My uncle did say I could bring a guest."
That his uncle had assumed that that guest would be female was something that had escaped the tall redhead. He had asked several co-workers to go with him, but all had declined, until he'd eventually worked his way down to Keith.
"Sorry, but even if I wanted to change my mind, I wouldn't be able to go," Keith replied as he stowed away his own gloves. "I'll still be here when the ball drops."
"Wait a second, you're on closing?" Pete asked, a look of confusion on his face. "I thought you were on the noon to eight shift, just like me."
"I was, but I switched shifts," Keith explained.
"On New Year's Eve?" Pete asked in disbelief. "Who the hell volunteers for the late shift on New Year's Eve?"
"I guess I do," Keith smiled. "It's no big thing, really. Someone asked me to do them a favor and I said yes, it's as simple as that."
"That's some favor," Pete said, pausing just before the kitchen door to look back and ask who had Keith switched with?
Before Keith could answer, the heavy door suddenly swung open with such force that Pete had to jump back to avoid being hit by it. His abrupt backward motion caught Keith off guard and, in trying to get out of the way, the younger teen tripped and fell to the ground a few feet away.
Stepping out of the doorway, indifferent to the disturbance she'd caused, strode a short haired, buxom blonde wearing the same brown and tan uniform as the two teenagers - although it had to be said, she wore it much better, or at least garnered more interest when she did. Few people cared or even noticed if any of the guys left a blouse button open. Only two months older than Pete, Brooke Porter displayed a haughty expression, one fueled by the belief that, having recently celebrated her twentieth birthday, she was so above her co-workers still in their teens.
"Jesus, Brooke," Pete yelled once he saw her, "you can't just slam the door open like that. It almost hit me!"
"Almost doesn't count," Brooke replied just as quickly, disdain in her tone.
Trying to ignore Pete, she took hold of the zipper of her winter jacket and pulled it just a bit higher, trying to ward off more of the chilly night air.
Not willing to be ignored, Pete was about to say something else when Brooke looked beyond him and saw the figure picking himself off the ground. It took her a moment to recognize the younger teen, but once she did, her demeanor abruptly changed - and in a manner that totally bewildered Pete.
"Oh my God, Keith, are you okay?" she asked as she rushed past Pete, her voice filled with concern. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"No, I'm fine," Keith said, brushing off some of the dirt that had gotten on his coat when he'd hit the ground.
"Oh, thank goodness," Brooke said, expressing what actually sounded like genuine relief. "I'd never have forgiven myself if you'd gotten hurt because of something I did. I should've been more careful with that door."
"I'm fine, really," Keith insisted, even though his shin was a little sore where he had scraped it against the concrete.
"You're sure?" she repeated.
"I'm sure," Keith smiled.
They stood there for a few seconds looking at each other, until Brooke said that she had to run an errand for Conrad and that she'd see him later. Then she turned and headed toward the open gate that led out into the street.
Pete had been too dumbfounded to say anything about Brooke's bizarre behavior, at least until she was out of earshot. Once she was, however, he quickly turned to Keith in search of an explanation.
"What the hell was that about?" he thundered.
"What do you mean?" Keith asked in a much quieter tone.
