Chapter 8 Geneva
Geneva
Monday morning came, and I found Eric sprawled out on the couch, his entire body, including his head, buried beneath the green and gold striped comforter.
I could just imagine what time he’d come in that morning, so I tried my best to be as quiet as possible as I pulled two frying pans from the cupboard and set them on the stove.
In one I placed four strips of bacon, and in the other, two eggs.
While the food was cooking, I pulled the ironing board from the closet and set it up in my bedroom.
I should have pressed my uniform the night before, but I was just too damn tired to be bothered. So now I had to multitask.
Touching my finger against my tongue, I hesitantly tapped it against the iron. “Damn,” I muttered. It was still cold.
Moving back to the stove, I turned the bacon and slid the eggs out onto a plate.
“Charlie, you got your clothes on yet?” I yelled from the kitchen, forgetting about Eric.
“No.”
“Charlie, please get dressed, baby!”
“I can’t, Mommy, I don’t know how.”
I rolled my eyes and marched into Charlie’s room. “I’m not in the mood for this nonsense today. You hear me, girl?”
Charlie was sitting on the edge of her bed, cradling her doll in her arms and staring at Bugs Bunny on the small color television Noah bought her when she was just five months old.
“If you turn off them cats and rats you’ll be able to get dressed, little miss missy,” I bellowed, and reached for the remote. Charlie let loose a glass-shattering scream.
“Stop it!” I shushed, and then warned, “You keep screaming like that and people in here will think I’m murdering you. Then BCW will come.”
“Who’s BCW, Mommy?”
“Bureau of Child Welfare,” I said, tweaking her nose. “Just make sure you keep using your inside voice and you won’t ever have to find out.”
Pulling her onto my lap, I reached for the pink and blue T-shirt I’d laid out for her.
“Socks first, Mommy,” Charlie instructed. Since she was able to speak, she’d always been very precise about which article of clothing should go on first.
“Then the shirt,” she added.
“You know how to do this yourself, Charlie.”
“Now the pants,” she ordered, all the time keeping her eyes on the television.
When it was time for the shoes, she fell into a fit of giggles as she wiggled her feet this way and that until I got so frustrated with her, I screamed, “C’mon, Charlie, now! Dammit!”
“Potty word! Potty word!”
I was just about to threaten my child with a toss out our fifth-floor window when the smoke alarm began to blare. Dropping her off my lap, I rushed into the kitchen.
The bacon had burned to ashes, leaving the smoking grease behind.
Reaching over the sink, I struggled with the window until it finally flew open. The smoke began to sail out, but the alarm was still blaring. And on top of that, Charlie was mimicking the sound!
Grabbing the closest kitchen chair to me, I climbed up onto the seat and pulled myself onto my tippy-toes, trying desperately to reach the silent button on the smoke alarm.
I thought, I must be shrinking, because I’ve had to perform this act a million times and never had this much difficulty reaching it.
“Did you burn the breakfast again, Mommy?” Charlie asked in an exasperated tone.
I ignored her, trying hard to keep my balance on the chair while I reached for the button.
“Can I have oppie meal then?”
“It’s oatmeal, shorty.” Eric’s voice came first and then his hand was on the small of my back, while he reached effortlessly up with his other hand and pressed the button.
I was spent and it was only seven thirty in the morning.
I wanted to cry, but I knew there was no time for tears, because I still had to press my uniform, fix Charlie’s breakfast, get her shoes on, drop her off at the nursery, and still get to work on time so that I could smile my way through an eight-hour shift.
“Mom,” Eric said through a yawn as he helped me down from the chair, “get yourself together, and I’ll fix the squirt here her oatmeal and drop her off at the nursery.”
“Hey, I ain’t no squirt!”
***
“You late again, guuurrrrl!” the overweight fry cook, Arthur, yelled at me as I dashed in.
“I know that,” I snapped, and hurried past him, down between the boxes of canned vegetables and into the two-by-four-feet storage closet that doubled as a locker room.
“Abe been looking for you!” Arthur shouted back to me as he poured a mixture of egg, sausage, and red peppers into the skillet.
“Yeah, what else is new?” I said sourly as I tied my apron around my waist.
Out in the dining area I plucked a blank order pad from beneath the counter and rushed toward my station, where five annoyed patrons sat waiting.
“Hey, girl,” Darlene, the short, bowlegged, blond-haired Dominican waitress, greeted me.
“Hey.”
After I took the orders, I went to make sure all the coffeepots were full.
“You know, Abe was looking for you,” Darlene said as she sidled up beside me.
“Yeah, I know,” I responded, stooped down now behind the counter searching for a box of Equal.
“He seemed kind of pissed.”
“Oh, he always pissed. That old man gotta—” I started as I brought myself erect again and came face-to-face with my boss, Abe Myerson. “Heart of gold,” I finished, offering him a sweet smile.
“Eva.”
“Geneva,” I corrected him. “I’ve worked here for damn near three years, Abe. It was Geneva when you hired me, and it’s still Geneva.”
“Yes, yes, whatever you want to call yourself, you’re late again,” he said, tapping the crystal face of the pocket watch he always seemed to have pressed into the palm of his sweaty hand.
“Yes, I know that.”
“I told you I need people to be on time. I told you I would have to let you go if you were late again.”
I didn’t even say a word; I just slowly removed my apron, folded it neatly in half, and rested it down on the counter.
“What are you doing?” Abe asked, his eyes bulging with surprise.
“Well, you’re firing me, aren’t you?” I said coolly.
“Eva.”
“Geneva.”
“I don’t want to fire you. You’re the best waitress I have here, but you leave me little choice. I’m running a business. When you come late you cost me money.”
“I totally understand and you’re right. Me being a single mother of two should have no bearing on why sometimes things happen that would prevent me from getting here on time, even if I stay late to make up the time.”
Abe sighed.
“I mean, the fact that you trust me to close and to even drop your money off at the bank—the fact that you can trust and depend on me should count for something.”
Abe blinked, and the color in his face began to get all blotchy.
“Don’t feel bad, Abe. You gotta do what you gotta do.”
Abe’s hand came up and slowly pushed the apron back across the counter toward me. “Just try a little harder to make it here on time, please,” he mumbled before turning and walking away.
I smiled triumphantly. I’d won again.
***
By the time four o’clock rolled around, Darlene and I were sitting at the counter, sipping coffee and reminiscing on the days when one could enjoy a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Those days were long gone. At least in New York State they were.
The bell rang on the entrance door, and Darlene and I exchanged looks. “Rock, paper, scissors?” I suggested.
“Okay.”
“Shoot,” I said, and we each threw our hands out. Mine in the shape of a scissors, and Darlene threw out a fist.
“Scissors beat rock, don’t it?” I said jokingly.
“In what universe?” Darlene laughed. “But I’ll take this one just because I’m cool like that,” she added, hopping off her stool and walking over toward the customer.
On her way back, the bell on the door rang again, and Darlene’s head turned, then did a quick double take before she let out a low, provocative whistle.
I made a face at her and turned around to see who it was her fast ass was salivating over this time, and to my surprise there stood my son, dressed in basketball shorts and Nike T-shirt, holding a basketball and grinning like a damn fool.
I gave Darlene a hard slap on her arm. “Don’t be looking at my son like that,” I warned before I turned to Eric. “What you doing here, baby? You come to take your mama out to dinner?” I teased.
“Nah.” Eric blushed. He was having trouble keeping his eyes off Darlene’s bosom.
“Don’t you have something to do?” I turned on Darlene, who gave Eric one last appraising look before reluctantly moving off to the other end of the counter.
“I’m here. Over here,” I said, snapping my fingers in Eric’s face. His eyes were glued to Darlene’s tight behind as she swished slowly away.
“Oh, yeah, um,” Eric started, then finally looked at me. “Yeah, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to Philly tonight with Deeka.”
“Philadelphia?” I questioned. “What for?”
“Well, Deeka got us a gig down there.”
“Who the hell is this Deeka person?”
“Mom, I told you, Deeka Jones, he’s our acting manager.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Philly, I don’t know about that,” I said warily.
“Oh c’mon, Mama,” Eric whined, and bounced the ball nervously.
“Don’t bounce that ball in here, boy.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, how are you all going to get down there?”
Eric nodded his head toward the diner’s front window. “Deeka’s gonna drive us down in his whip.”
My eyes followed Eric’s to the glass pane, and I saw a big black SUV parked along the curb.
There was a man seated in the passenger seat, talking and laughing on a cell phone.
His eyes were clad in dark shades. His jawline was sharp.
I screwed up my face; I already didn’t like him and I hadn’t even met him.
“Is that him?” I said, squinting. “He looks familiar. Have I ever met him?”
“Nah.”
“I don’t know, Eric. How well do you really know this guy?”
“Ma, he’s cool.”
“Yeah, but that ain’t answering my question.”
“C’mon then, let me introduce you.”
I smirked at my child. I knew I needed to stop treating him like a baby, but he was still my baby and it was hard.
“No, I’ll meet him some other time when I don’t smell like grease,” I said. “But write down his name, phone number, and license plate number,” I added, handing him my order pad and ink pen.
Eric took the items from me and hastily scribbled down the information.
“I don’t know the plate number, but everything else is there,” he said, pushing the pad back at me. “I’m going home to change and then we’re out,” he said, leaning down and pecking me quickly on the cheek.
“When will you be back?”
“Late, so don’t wait up.” Eric double-dribbled the ball as he started toward the door. I opened my mouth to chastise him again, but before I knew it he was out the door and climbing into the SUV.
The truck pulled off, and I ran over to the door and watched it until it disappeared.
I just shook my head. I didn’t know about this Deeka fellow.