CHAPTER SIX
As William ate his chicken tenders and French fries, he watched his server work.
He recalled her saying that she’d been on her feet for eleven straight hours.
He glanced at his watch. It was just after five pm.
That would have meant she’d been on her feet since six that morning.
He found himself wondering if it was a voluntary double shift to make extra money, or a necessary double shift to make ends meet.
Which was a big difference. But mostly he found himself staring at her.
She was a talker, that was for sure. And so bubbly.
But what was her story? Was she married?
Did she have kids? The only thing he knew about her was that she was a hard worker.
He was seeing her in action himself. Unlike those older waitresses who enjoyed standing around yakking at the mouth rather than serving their customers, that young lady was hustling.
She was running circles around every one of her coworkers.
She was moving fast while they were either standing still yakking, or heading outside for another cigarette break. He wondered if she smoked too?
He doubted it. She just didn’t seem like the type.
When he was her age, which he put her around the early or mid-twenties, he could booze it up with the best of them.
And still could. But he was a party boy until after what happened last year.
She looked like she wouldn’t know what a lost weekend meant.
Which was a good thing for a kid her age. He hoped she kept it up.
Then he caught himself. Kept what up? He knew nothing about that girl and truly didn’t care to know either.
She was different, that was all. Kind of quirky in a non-annoying way.
But he could never fall for somebody that young.
That would be ridiculous. That was why he looked away from her and finished his greasy, but remarkably tasty chicken tenders and fries.
But as soon as he stopped staring at her, she was at his side. Did she notice his constant staring and stayed away until he got over himself? He sure hoped not!
“You okay?” she asked him. “Need anything?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Well I’m tired.” She actually plopped down on his booth seat without being asked if she could sit with him, the way she did with the menu. But this time, instead of sitting so close next to him that she was nearly in his lap, she sat on the seat across from him.
“It’s been almost twelve hours,” she said. “And I still have four hours to go. This is usually my crash time. This is when my body says enough is enough.”
William couldn’t help it. He glanced down her body when she mentioned it.
From her breasts to her slender curvaceousness, he couldn’t help but look.
And that miniskirt was a turn on too. The other waitresses looked as if they rolled out of bed and threw on whatever was available, like a pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes.
But this girl, in her little skirt, her sleeveless blouse, and her heels, looked as if she actually thought about her wardrobe and prepared accordingly.
Even when the restaurant’s apron on, she stood out from the crowd.
She extended her hand. “My name is Joynetta by the way.”
He shook her little hand. A hand that felt even softer than it looked. “But everybody calls you what?”
“My coworkers call me Netta, which is short for Joynetta. Those that don’t know me well call me Joynetta. And Gramps and my best friend Contessa call me Joy.”
“Joy?” He nodded. “That fits you like a glove.”
She smiled. “What’s your name?”
“William.”
“But everybody calls you what?”
He started to say Mister Skeffington because that would be the truth. “William,” he said instead.
“No nickname?”
“Nope.”
“None?”
“None.”
“Wow. You must don’t have any friends.”
That was offensive. “I have plenty of friends. Too many.”
“Then why don’t they call you Will or Bill or Willie or Billy or some other name like that?”
Because they all worked for him in some capacity and their very livelihoods depended on him.
That was the real reason. Affection for him had nothing to do with it.
Even the ladies he occasionally dated only wanted what they could get out of him.
But it had been that way his entire life.
“William is as informal as it gets, I’m afraid. ”
“Nothing to be afraid about. Maybe ashamed about, but not afraid.”
William gave her a harsh look. “Why would I be ashamed of people calling me by my actual Christian name?”
“Because it’s so formal like you said. What kind of friends are they really if they’re so formal with you?”
The presumptuousness of this young lady was beginning to irritate him. Nobody dared to ever try and psychoanalyze him. Who did she think she was? He said nothing more on the subject.
Joy stared at him. She could tell he was pissed. “So what’s your story? You ever worked double shift before?”
“If by double shift you mean long, long hours? Then yes. Most of the time.”
“I’ll bet you don’t pull sixteen-hour days most days though.”
“Do you?”
“Not as much as I want to. Or need to,” she added.
For some reason that admission bothered William. “When do you get a chance to live if you’re working sixteen hours per day?”
“I live whenever I’m not working sixteen hours that day,” she said with a grin.
William smiled too. “Why do you work so many hours is perhaps what I meant to say?”
“I’m trying to stay a few bucks ahead of the poor house. That’s how Gramps put it. Trying to make ends meet is how I put it.”
“Ever thought about applying for a better-paying job?”
“Are you kidding me? That’s all I do when I’m not working. I apply everywhere.”
“But?”
“But nobody wants me.”
William found that an odd way to say it. “Why do you think they don’t want you, as you phrased it?”
“I guess it’s because nobody views waitressing as a marketable skill. But that’s the only skill I have.”
“Not marketable? That’s nonsense! You have the best skill of all. You have a great work ethic. It’s the work ethic that counts far more than how many hours you sat in a classroom or stood on a job.”
Joy smiled. “I agree! Thanks, William.”
“Netta?” Her manager’s voice could be heard in the distance.
“Oh boy,” said Joy. “Ma’am?” she yelled back.
“I’m not paying you to hang out with the customers. Get back to work!”
William was offended. “You take two minutes off and she’s down your throat, while everybody else stands around doing next to nothing all day.”
“Thank you!” said Joy as she began to rise. “But they’ve been here since they were teenagers. I came to work here as a teenager too. I was sixteen. Only they’ve been here for decades longer than me. She cut them plenty slack.”
“Too much if you ask me.”
“Me too! But what do I know?”
William studied her. “Since you were a teenager, hun? How old are you now?”
“Twenty-five. Or I will be in two weeks. I’m getting old.”
“Old? Stop it. I have shoes older than you.”
Joy grinned. “Quit lying. Nobody keeps shoes for no twenty-five years.”
William couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a metaphor, Joy.”
“It’s a bad one.”
He laughed. “Okay, I agree. But you’re hardly old.”
“But you, on the other hand is . . . how old?”
William didn’t answer.
“I can guess you know.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Fortyish?”
“Didn’t your manager tell you to get back to work?”
She laughed. He was a nice guy! Then she thought about Helen’s request. “I don’t see a ring so I also guess you aren’t married.”
“You got that right.”
“You sound like you’re divorced.”
“You got that right.”
“Any children?”
William nearly choked. He fought not to show the anxiety that had suddenly come over him. “No,” he said. “No children.” It wasn’t that he had forgotten his beloved little Kaitlyn, but he found it to be easier not to have to explain.
It worked because Joy didn’t pick up on his anxiety. She gathered up his plate and glass. “Alrighty then,” she said. “I’ll go get your ticket, Old Man.”
William smiled as Joy left his side.
And he couldn’t stop watching her as she left his sight.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was such a breath of fresh air around him. It would be nice to have that around him more.
More? That kid? He didn’t date any woman younger than thirty-five. And never wanted to either. Now he was talking about having her around more? Was he nuts? Where did that come from?
But as he put his reading glasses back in the pouch and then in his coat pocket, he wondered if he could help her or hurt her with the suggestion going through his head.
She was a small-town girl. Chicago with all its allures could contaminate her.
But stuck in this place for the rest of her life like her sorry-ass coworkers could contaminate her more.
When she returned with his bill, his mind was made up. She was a good kid and was obviously struggling. Why not help her out?
He reviewed the bill, which was eleven dollars and twenty-nine cents.
Then he handed her a hundred-dollar bill to pay the bill.
And also handed her his card. “Come by the office whenever you’re in Chicago,” he said.
“I like the seriousness with which you take your work. I’ll see if we can find something that matches your talents. ”
Joy was scared to even ask it. “You mean like a job?”
William smiled as he stood to his feet. “I mean a job, yes.”
“Like a job in an office?”
“Would you like to work in an office?”
“Yes please! That’s my dream job.”
He stopped a moment to consider her. Such a small dream she had. Such humility! “Yes, Joynetta, it will be an office job.”
She was overjoyed. “Thank you, Mr. William,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thank you so much!”
He had to extricate his hand from her grip when she wouldn’t stop shaking it. “No problem at all. Have a good rest of your evening, Joynetta.”
“You too, sir. You too!”
Then he began to leave as she picked up the bill and the money. When she saw that it was a hundred-dollar bill, she yelled after him. “But what about your change, sir?”
He smiled at her. In many ways he found her to be quite innocent. He didn’t think they made’em like that anymore. And maybe they didn’t. Maybe she was a good con artist for all he knew. “Keep it,” he said, and headed for the exit.
Joy was so elated that she quickly rushed to find Contessa. She was asking everybody who worked there. “Have you seen Tess? Is Tess out back? Have you seen Contessa?”
“She’s in the breakroom.”
Joy hurried to the breakroom.