Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
W hen the alarm went off at four Monday morning, I rolled over and thought about crying.
But the kind of energy that required wouldn’t kick in ’til five.
The lazy sun hadn’t even made an appearance by the time I walked into Micky’s Diner and reported for my first day of work.
“You sure about this?” Loretta asked, swigging from a mug of coffee.
“I think so.” I went to the carafe not labeled decaf and helped myself.
She took another sip and assessed the blousey hang of my super-sized t-shirt I had uselessly tried to shrink in the dryer. “You gonna work two weeks then get knocked up and leave like my June hire?”
“No plans to get preggo.”
“You gonna be the best darn plate balancer ever, then run off with my fry cook like Miss November?”
“I can’t balance anything.” Though hooking up with a fry cook could have its perks.
“Or you could be like Miss February and give extra bacon and burgers to your drug dealers.”
“My dealers are vegans. ”
Her lips quirked. “Maxine said you were sassy. You get that from her?”
Not one drop of Maxine’s blood coursed through my veins. “Probably so.”
“She also said you’re gonna help us run Thrifty Co. out of town. Nominated you as our new leader in your dad’s absence.”
I choked on my classic roast. “I’m all for helping, but that sounds a little over my head.”
“You got a fancy college degree.”
“And if you want me to teach you all how to express your protests in mime, then you’re in luck. Otherwise, I’m not really qualified to take charge.”
“Either you give it a shot, or I put you on dish washing duty for the rest of your career here.”
“I was secretary of our Brownie troop in second grade, so I will take your kindly given challenge.” I could not catch a break if someone handed it to me.
“I’ll get you a list of our group’s contact info. The property owners are gonna meet before the real show gets started, and you can jump in then. Maybe you can bring some fresh ideas.” She threw an apron at me. “Put that on. And be at the town hall meeting an hour early.”
“Do I need a secret password?”
“Yeah.” Loretta waddled off, her spikes especially pointy. “Thrifty Co. sucks.”
“You ready to get started?” Kourtney with a K chewed on a pink piece of gum with lots of snap, crackle, and pop.
I banished all the thoughts of my happy days on the stage and thought about my sad, sad bank account. “Let’s do this.”
Before Kourtney with a K could tell me how to be a waitress, she decided to give me a fifteen minute tutorial on bleaching your own hair.
“I do it all the time.” She held up her fried ponytail that was colored a shade of orangey-white not usually found in a stylist’s palette. “I could do yours if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe when I get paid.” And when I no longer had brain matter.
She then took a whopping five minutes to explain the rigors of waitressing before the doors opened and sleepy In Betweenites trickled in like harmless zombies.
“Orders are pretty simple at breakfast,” she said, shoving me toward my first table. “Just keep the coffee flowing.”
It sounded so easy.
Half an hour later, I was thinking performing heart surgery or splitting isotopes might be simpler.
Did everyone have to be so picky? Tea with light ice.
Could I substitute hash browns for an extra egg?
Semi-crisp bacon only. Was the ketchup organic?
And then there was Mr. Sherman, eighty on his last birthday, trying to give me a bum-pinch every time I walked by.
I carried out three plates of biscuits and gravy, proud of myself for not spilling so much as a crumb, and delivered it to table number seven, three ladies from the In Between Garden Club.
“Hi, there, Katie.” Mrs. O’Reilley settled her napkin in her lap as I placed a plate in front of her.
“Good morning, ladies.” It was hard to smile at this hour on such little sleep.
“We heard you’re gonna help us save our town from the evil claws of commercialism.”
“Uh-huh.” I watched another customer bustle in like her pants were on fire. “Did you want more coffee?”
“No.” Mrs. O’Reilley patted my arm. “The Garden Club welcomes your help. We know you don’t want to see the Valiant and our other fine establishments come to ruin.”
Across the diner, a wide-eyed Maxine locked me in her sights and waved with her entire upper body. She clearly was trying to make her way toward my direction, but various chatty diners were not letting her pass without a howdy-do.
“Mrs. O’Reilley, I’m going to try and help,’ I said, “but I just got into town, and I’m not ready to roll out any big guns at tonight’s meeting.”
“But you must go,” said Ms. Delmonaco, vice-president of the club, whose claim to fame was growing the tallest sunflowers. And luring the police chief away from his second wife .
Their tablemate Mitzy Kipper poured sugar in her coffee. “It’s a done deal, girls. Katie would be wasting her breath to go tonight.”
Mrs. O’Reilley huffed. “This is a town divided. Half are for this behemoth of a store, entranced by dollar signs and empty promises. And the other half are on the side of reason and protecting the integrity of our fine town.”
“Yoohoo!” Maxine pushed past the mayor and finally reached my side. “Good heavens, that man is long-winded. Like I care about his denture saga.” My grandmother took a cleansing breath and blessed the Garden Club with a brittle smile. “Ladies.”
“Maxine,” said Mrs. O’Reilley. There was bad blood between the Garden Club and my grandma, but I had no idea what it was. I had lost track of all who had dared to cross Maxine Dayberry and find themselves on her hissing list. “You look as wilted as a fern in Florida. Something the matter?”
“I need to talk to my granddaughter.”
“I’m working,” I said.
Maxine’s grip on my arm tightened. “Surely you have five minutes for your dear grandmama.”
“I have to go take table twelve’s order and—”
“Here.” Maxine grabbed Kourtney as she sailed by.
“Kiki, go see what those folks want to eat.” She gave her a healthy shove in that direction.
“And pull up that shirt. Are we selling breakfast or boobies here?” With clasped hands and a face of feigned innocence, Maxine returned her attention to me. “A word, if I may?”
There was only one way to get rid of Maxine, and that was to give her what she wanted. “I’ll be right back to check on you,” I said to the Garden Club.
Maxine linked her arm in mine, then turned back to address my table. “Oh, and by the by, the yoga club loves me. They made me president.”
“There’s no such thing as a yoga president!” Mrs. O’Reilley called.
Maxine hauled me into a corner next to the only empty booth. “Your hair is just glorious this morning,” she said. “New shampoo?”
“I haven’t washed it in three days. What do you want?” Apprehension sizzled around me like a griddle of fried eggs, as Maxine didn’t suck up for nothing.
“Poopsie, I might’ve made a little human error.” She chuckled and waved a hand. “We all do, right?”
“Did you enroll me on a dating site without my permission again?”
“No!”
That fiasco had taken me weeks to straighten out.
“Dear, it’s quite possible I really bungled things up this time. But I had the very best of intentions.”
“Like the time you got me a wax session for my birthday?”
“Sweet Pea, you know Grammy loves you, right?”
Oh, geez. It was bad. And who was Grammy? “What did you do, Maxine?”
“I. . .” Her hands loosened their death grip on me to twist and twirl the gob of beads at her throat. “I didn’t know the circumstances, or I never would’ve called. But I was desperate for help. At one of our committee meetings they told us to think outside the box, so that’s what I did.”
“Can you just spit it out please? I have tables waiting on me.”
“I didn’t mean to stir anything up. Well, I wanted to stir up a solution. And who better to advocate for a dying theater than a theater professional? And I just wanted advice. I didn’t think he’d come here. I mean, imagine, traveling all this way and—“
“You didn’t. He didn’t.” I shook my head, pushing her words from my rattled brain. Nope. Not possible.
“I did.” Maxine’s contrite face clanged the alarms in my head. “He does have experience with these sort of things. He’s been involved in theater preservations before. And I didn’t know you were broken up and you were on your way home or I would’ve never—“
“You called Ian?” At the stares of table five, I dropped my volume. “What were you thinking? How did you even have his number?”
“Please,” she said. “Give me some credit. I didn’t call him.”
That was a small measure of relief.
“I sent him a Facebook message,” Maxine amended. “I’m hip like that.”
The panic had returned. “And he responded? ”
She nodded miserably. “In a big, big way.”
“And he said he’s coming here?”
She made a strangled sound in her throat.
“To In Between?”
“Yes.”
The haze dissipated like a slow-lifting fog. “Ian’s in the throes of a production. In another country. He’s not going to leave London, leave his cast, and fly here.”
“But that’s what I’m here to tell you.”
“Maxine, I have work to do. It’s my first day, I have no idea what I’m doing, and we’re swamped. Go home and rest easy. It’s not even remotely possible he’d hop on a plane and come to In Between.”
“Katie.” Kourtney pointed to the giant clock on the wall behind the cash register. “It’s your lunch break. See you in thirty.”
I untied the little apron where I kept my order notepad. “I’m meeting Frances at Vivi’s Bridal Boutique. She wants to try on this dress again.”
“But I’m not through talking to you,” Maxine said.
“What I’m trying to tell you is—” Maxine’s eyes widened and she began to make little venom-spitting noises.
“Sissy McKinney sitting with the Garden Club? The only gardening that woman does is watching her twenty-one year old Latin landscaper trim her shrubs. I will not have it!” Maxine stomped off to vent her wrath, and I left the diner, grateful to breathe fresh air and think on anything but Ian Attwood.