What I Remember Most (21 page)

“It’ll be a few minutes. I’ll be right back out.” I resisted the urge to call her Miss Priss.

“This will affect your tip.”

“No, it won’t,” said the man sitting next to her. He was balding and blushing. “Not at all.”

“Thank you.” I smiled brightly at him, letting my gaze linger because I knew it would piss her off. He smiled back.

“We’re still tipping!” the other woman said. She had a round face and a worried expression.

“Thank you, too,” I said cheerily. “That’s kind.”

The priss humphed.

I turned away with the offending, undercooked hamburger.

I told one of the chefs, Carlos, we had a priss in the dining room who wanted her hamburger well-done. I pointed the woman out. He rolled his eyes. “That’s Anna. Rich. Spoiled. Can’t stand her. Tildy hates her. I heard she was getting divorced, took her ex to the cleaner and ripped him a new one in back. I don’t know who the guy next to her is.”

I returned to the bar and made two gin and tonics, two Kahlúa and creams, and poured a few beers. When Carlos hit the bell and yelled, “One hamburger ready for the priss,” I laughed and brought the hamburger out to her.

“Okay,” I said. “Why don’t you check it and see if it’s to your liking.”

The woman took the bun off, then cut into the meat. “No.” Her voice was nasty, furious. “This is not
well-done
. See? There’s still a line of pink.”

“No, there’s not,” said the man who I thought was her husband but wasn’t. “It’s fine. Give it to me. I’ll eat it.”

“It is not fine.” Anna the priss shoved the plate toward me so hard, it skidded across the table and I had to catch it before it went straight over. “Well. Done. Do you know what that means? It means cooked. I don’t want to get sick from any bacteria you all have lurking in that kitchen.”

“We don’t have any bacteria lurking in the kitchen,” I said.

“We asked all the bacteria to leave last night. They got on their roller skates and took off.” The men laughed, and so did the other woman, who put her hand over her mouth. I had a feeling she was enjoying watching the priss get her comeuppance.

The prissy woman was livid. “I did not ask you to make fun of me. What’s wrong with you? High school degree, or did you drop out? And the job is still too hard for you, isn’t it?”

“That’s enough, Anna!” the nonhusband snapped.

“Stop it,” the other man hissed. “Damn, Anna. What’s wrong with you?”

She hit a nerve, oh, she hit a raw, frayed nerve. “The job is not too hard for me, except for in times like this. This is a trying time. As in, I’m trying to hold onto my temper. But I’ll take your hamburger back and make sure that it’s well-done. Not a scrap of pink.”

“I have never had such bad service.”

“I’ve never had such a bad customer.” I smiled, tilted my head.

The nonhusband put his head in his hands and said, “I’m glad for that.” The other man said, “I can’t believe you, Anna.”

The woman with the worried expression laughed. Didn’t bother to cover it.

“I want to speak to your manager,” the priss said.

“I’ll get her. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the conversation. Don’t tick her off, though. She has a bat.” I turned away with the offending hamburger. “And she has a gun.”

I told Tildy I would be back at the bar in a second. She said, “Okay, Grenady. I see you have Anna Sachs tonight. Better you than me. I always want to smash her with my bat.” She cleaned a glass. “Or shoot her. Don’t take any crap from her, ya hear? I’m about to kick her out for the rest of her worthless lifetime.”

I took the hamburger back to the stove and cooked that sucker myself, flames high. “Fry me a pig and shut up, Anna, you witch,” I muttered.

Carlos laughed. “This is gonna be good.”

When it was charred and flaming, I took it off, put it back on the bun and, smoke billowing, walked back into the dining room, people’s heads turning as they laughed. I put the plate in front of the priss, the meat still smokin’.

“Oh.” Anna’s face scrunched up even tighter. “You bitch.”

I don’t like being called that word. It reminds me of a whole lot I need to forget. I was now as hot as that flaming hamburger.

“Now you’ve done it.” I leaned forward across the table. “You’ve gone and pissed me off.”

Her nonhusband said, “I’m out of here.” He took out his wallet and gave me a hundred-dollar bill. “I apologize.”

“You asked for it well-done, Anna,” the other woman said, laughing. “It’s well-done.” She whispered to me, “This is the best night ever. Thank you!”

“It’s on
fire,
” the prissy Anna shrieked. “I want to speak to your manager right now.” She pointed a manicured finger at me. “Now!”

“Okay,” I said. “But first, let me put out the fire on your burger.” I picked up her glass and turned it over onto the hamburger. It smoked more. “There. Now it’s not on fire, but it is well-done. Eat up, Anna. And don’t you ever call me or any other woman in this place a bitch. Do you understand?”

“This is a disgusting, red-necked, white-trash swampland.”

“And you are a prissy, vain, silly person who needs to figure out why you’re so unhappy so you will stop trying to make the world unhappy with you.”

Something flashed in those eyes, and I knew that this time I’d hit a nerve with her. We were nerve for nerve now.

“I’m not unhappy!”

“You are. Now eat your flaming hamburger and shut up.” My temper kept rising, high as the sky, then it flew around, unfettered.

I didn’t know Tildy was behind me; someone must have told her.

“Who did you call a bitch, Anna?”

Anna’s friend with the worried expression pointed at me. “Anna called our waitress a bitch, Tildy. But I didn’t. I didn’t say it. I didn’t think it.” The friend pointed at Anna so we could find her at the table. “She did it.”

Tildy had the bat. She tapped it on the table. “Get out. I’ve had it with you. Never come to my restaurant again, Anna. You disrespect my staff every time.”

Anna went white.

Anna’s friend groaned, “But that doesn’t apply to me, does it, Tildy, does it? I didn’t say anything mean at all.”

“It will if you’re with her, Tracy.”

The nonhusband started scooting out of the booth. “I’m sorry, Tildy. Sorry to you, too.” He nodded at me. “This is the worst date of my frickin’ life. It was a blind date. I didn’t know it was her. Somebody should have told me.” He turned to the other man. “That would be you, Austin. You should have told me.”

“She’s a terrible waitress!” Anna’s mouth reminded me of a sharp claw. “She almost burned me with that hamburger. She almost caught my hair on fire.”

I was so ticked at being called a bitch, I was so ticked at being talked down to, I grabbed the bat from Tildy and smashed it right in the middle of that overcooked hamburger. It made a huge, popping noise, the tomatoes squishing out, the ketchup spurting.

“Get out!” Tildy and I both told Anna.

Anna screamed when the bat bammed and cracked the plate, then started to scramble out.

“No one, especially a dropout
waitress,
talks to me like that! Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is? You’re nothing,” Anna said, but her voice wobbled. “You’re going to regret this.”

“You’re going to regret calling me a bitch,” I said. I smashed the bat on the table, right where she was. “And I am not nothing.” Whoo. My temper was out of control. I hit the table again.

“Worst date ever,” the man said to Austin, totally exasperated. “Ever. How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends!”

“We are, buddy. Man, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry.”

“Is this a joke? Do you hate me?” He turned to me. “I apologize, again.”

“Tildy, please,” Tracy begged, “I like our waitress. She’s fun. Can I stay? Do you have peach pie tonight?”

Anna went to the police to file charges. Thirty minutes later, I was yet again talking with police officers Justin Nguyen, Sergeant Sara Bergstrom, and Lieutenant Mark Lilton.

Tildy told them, the bat safely behind the bar, that she felt threatened by the woman’s rage. “I was frightened. I was worried that she would hurt me. Cause harm.”

“Yes, harm,” I chimed in. “I believed my physical and emotional health was at risk.”

I could tell that Lieutenant Lilton, Officer Nguyen, and Sergeant Bergstrom were having a hard time not laughing out loud. Officer Nguyen stared at the ceiling, but the dimples showed in his smile. Sergeant Bergstrom’s mouth twitched. Lieutenant Lilton’s jaw locked and he fiddled with his glasses.

“She was unpredictable, irrational,” Tildy said. “She moved her hand, and I knew she was thinking of stabbing my face with her table knife. My pretty face.”

“You do have a pretty face, Tildy,” Lieutenant Lilton said.

“No one wants anything to happen to your face,” Sergeant Bergstrom said.

“And the worst part,” I said, “was that Anna called this a disgusting, red-necked, white trash swampland.”

Officer Nguyen actually gasped. “It is not!”

“No way. Especially not with the pies,” Lieutenant Lilton said.

“Dang right, it isn’t!” Tildy said.

“Do you have any blackberry pie, by the way?” Officer Nguyen asked. “I mean, I would like it when I’m off work tonight, after we finish a complete and thorough investigation here.”

The officers asked people at the bar and in the restaurant if they saw anything “suspicious.”

Grizz, his gray and white hair rebelling, as normal, said that Anna was like Jekyll and Hyde, only she was always Hyde.

“I’m reading
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
right now,” Lieutenant Lilton said. “I like it.”

Grizz said it was excellent reading material and he did not see me or Tildy swinging a bat. “I did not see Grenady smash a bat flat on Anna’s hamburger. That’s a flat-out lie. Outrageous! There are no bats in this fine establishment.”

Chilton, my snake man friend, said, “Gren was sweetness itself, like a cupcake, and brought Anna her burger perfectly cooked. No, there was no smoke and no fire. Anna’s all smoke and fire. Who told you that doggone fictional story? Well, that’s Anna for you. Making stuff up like a rattler. Squeezing the life out of everyone like a python.”

Another woman said, “Anna’s the threat. She’s a threat to this town with her gossip. She spread a rumor that I had vaginitis. I do not have vaginitis. I have had it, but I don’t now. I was treated. I hate Anna.”

A man in his thirties with full sleeve tattoos who had been sitting at a table across from Anna said, “I was in the army for fifteen years. I see three hundred and sixty degrees at all times. I can see a mouse hiding behind a chair leg. If someone had a bat up in the air, I’d be up and defending the victim. There was no bat. All I saw was that high-maintenance woman giving Grenady hell. She called Grenady a bitch, which was untoward and impolite.”

“I thought I made her a delicious hamburger,” I said. “I made it to her specifications. No pink. Not even a smidgen.”

“You cooked it well-done,” Tildy said. “As requested.”

“I’ll take a well-done burger when I’m off shift in an hour,” Sergeant Bergstrom said. “That sounds delicious.” She turned to me. “But not
flaming
well-done. Well-done. Regular. No fire. No smoke.”

“What other pies do you have?” Officer Nguyen asked. “My mother texted me. She heard I was here dealing with Anna. She wants to know if you have chocolate cream?”

There were no charges filed.

“Eudora, can I borrow the camera?” Hendricks’ Furniture has a high-quality company camera. The furniture—in particular the most impressive, personal pieces—was photographed and the images uploaded to the website.

“Yes, you may.” She handed it to me. “There are better cameras, slim as a pen. Cameras in books, cameras in brooches . . .”

“Do you have a brooch camera?”

She winked. “Used to.”

“A lipstick camera?”

“Yep. Some people said those were fictional. They were not. I know.”

“Tell me more about your cameras and where you used them.”

“Can’t. I can simply say that my father was an expert, too.” It was Friday afternoon, so it was quieter than usual, and I went around and took photos of the furniture and, sometimes, the people working on it. It was a nice way to chat with people and get to know them better. Except for Marilyn.

Marilyn said, “And what are you doing with a camera?”

“Smile, Marilyn, as if you’re a friendly person.”

“I’m sorry, Grenady. I’m not comfortable with you taking my photo.”

“Okay.” I could tell that twisted her panties up. I took Eudora’s photo with her lying on her side on her desk, her beaded necklace suggestively in her mouth, like a “royal courtesan from the nineteenth century who has recently bedded a sheik.” I laughed so hard, I had to put the camera down.

Rozlyn opened her shirt, flashed me her chest, crossed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. We just about died laughing.

When I was done, I knocked on Kade’s office door. “Hi. Do you have a minute?”

He looked busy. He had tons of folders and papers spread out over his desk. He stood up and said, “Sure. Come on in.”

“I’m going to take your photo.” He was wearing a short-sleeved black T-shirt.

“Must you?”

“Yes, I must.” I smiled.

He smiled back. “Why?”

“Because you told me I could decorate the lobby and I need your photo.”

“No one needs my mug in the lobby.”

“I do. Smile pretty for me.”

“I don’t know how to smile pretty.”

“Pretend then, stud man.”

He laughed. “Stud man?”

“Yep. Smile.”

I told him to pretend he was modeling a suit and tie. He said, “Ties make me feel like I’m being strangled.”

I clicked away. “Pretend you’re in your favorite place.” His eyes darkened, he grew serious, and I took that one, too. I took a few more. “Let’s go into the factory.”

He let me take five photos of him in front of his furniture. He was a testosterone-driven hunk of a semi dangerous he-man. I did not utter that. As I took the photos his employees joked with him and said, “Aren’t you the handsome one, boss?” and “Tilt your head back so we can admire those brown eyes!” and