Hotter than Helen (The "Bobby's Diner" Series) (6 page)

The day guard clad in a blue uniform walked at an even slow pace in front of Pinzer, stopping, standing with his shoulder in front of him and looking straight down the hall. He patted a front pocket on his shirt and, lifting the flap, withdrew a cigarette. He slid the white rolled paper under his nose and breathed in deep, as if he enjoyed it. He placed it in-between his lips, holding it with all five of his fingers and licked the butt with his tongue.

He patted the other front shirt pocket and this time withdrew a red plastic lighter. He flicked it and a bright blue and yellow flame shot an inch high. Holding the flame to the end of the cigarette, he sucked in. Then he breathed in and held his breath for four hard beats of Pinzer’s heart. He expelled a chalky cloud of pungent air into the hall and it wafted in all directions, making Pinzer stand back an inch from the bars and sniff the air.

“Oh, that’s good,” the guard taunted, knowing cigarettes weren’t allowed. He pushed his cap up off the front of his forehead and took in another deep breath. Again, he puffed out another peppery cloud of smoke, this time pissing off Pinzer, who leaned his shoulder against the bars.

“Nice. Very nice,” is all he said. Then, the guard dropped the lit cigarette just outside Pinzer’s cage on the floor about two feet away from the bars and, stepping over it, walked down the corridor.

Pinzer’s arm proved just long enough to reach the cigarette. The butt-end felt wet against his lips but dried out after finishing half of his smoke.

“Stupid Biggs.” He sat back on his cot and stared at the mash of paper on the floor. He looked away. Thinking, he set his gaze at the ape in the cell directly across from him, staring at him but not seeing him.

“What are you staring at, faggot?!” the man yelled and stood up, attacking the caging that held him back. He ripped open the Velcro around his waistband and yanked his bottoms down. Wagging a red penis at him, he accused, “Is this what you want, faggot? Is this it?!”

Pinzer didn’t react, but swapped the target of his gaze to the wall that separated the animal from another cell next to him.

“Faggot!” the man said again, pulling up his pants and refastening them.

But Pinzer cared about the criminal as much as he cared about a cockroach. He was busy concentrating on his problem, the new issue about Biggs and the Pyle woman. The note stated Biggs had it “under control,” but Pinzer doubted him now. Plus, in the note, he referred to himself as “we” as if he might not be working alone, something Zach had specifically instructed him to do.

“This is between you and me, only. It’s my job. You work alone.” He remembered their conversation when Biggs came to the prison. Biggs had assured him he would stay in line.

Now this.

Now, he’d gone and slept with Pyle’s widow. Was everyone stupid? Biggs reasoned he’d had sex with her to make her vulnerable. She had finagled the Carlisle woman into giving her half the diner.

His body shook. He wiped his face with one hand and sucked again on his cigarette, nearly finishing it off in one breath. He dropped it under his foot and crushed the ember with his toe, twisting it to extinguish it completely. He blew out a long, solemn stream of air, filling his 8-foot-by-8-foot room, sitting like a ghost within it until it dissipated. If this plan fizzled, he thought but then gave up the worry. He sat forward on his bunk, considering the idea that his plans might dissolve into oblivion. He couldn’t lose the diner, that property again. Wait. He corrected his thinking. He wouldn’t stand to lose it again.

He stood and placed both hands on the bars, staring at the man across from him.

The man looked up from where he was seated.

Pinzer glared into his eyes and, whispering the words so only he could hear them, said, “You ever show me your dick again, you sick motherless retard, I’ll rip it off and feed it to you, rectally.” He didn’t turn away. He pressed his glare harder at the man who let his hands fall from the caging. He stepped backward and deep into a corner, sinking into the darkness.

13

Georgette refused to close the diner. Not for this. Death, yes, but not for infidelity. Your fiancée screwing around with your friend? No way. The customers would have to deal with a few harsh words and some burnt meat. She’d been through worse. There was nothing that could compare with losing Bobby and then Vanessa. Losing Hawthorne to Helen? Well, that was just a weak excuse for pain. Anger poured from her thoughts as she chopped at a pile of mushrooms. She manifested scenarios of what she might say, manifesting the awful-ies is what she like to call how she was thinking. The awful-ies distracted her into carelessness and before she could move her hand, the knife landed on the tip of her left thumb, barely slicing the skin, like a papercut, enough to hurt but more than hurting her it irritated her.

“Dammit!”

Danny, the busboy, jerked around from spraying off dishes to look at her and gunned water onto the wall and counter where he worked. “You okay, mees Carlisle?”

“I cut my freakin’ thumb.”  Danny turned back to his dishes. “Sorry, Danny.”

“S’okay, mees Carlisle.” He kept his back turned. She couldn’t see his face and it irked her.

“No big deal.” Her words pressed like paste through her teeth and she held her thumb checking it to see if it would bleed. It didn’t. She got lucky.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, keeping his focus on the sink, on his task.

“You know what?” She slammed the knife down onto the wooden counter and walked over toward his work area. Her steps thudded to him at a quickened pace. He backed away as she approached. “Look, why don’t you go out and get more plates. I’m sure there are some empties.” She pulled the long hose from his hands. “I’ll finish this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Danny skipped out, almost knocking down Roberta on her way into the kitchen.

“Excuse me, Danny.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s in a hurry.” Roberta directed the words at Georgette, who didn’t turn around.

“Yep.” Georgette lifted her wrist up and wiped her eyes.

“Okay. What’s up. You’ve been a total bitch all week.”

Georgette lifted her arm again, then wiped her nose on her sleeve. She refused to look at Roberta, not now.

“Answer me.”

Georgette shook her head quickly, refusing.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

“Goodness!” Georgette let the sprayer fall into the sink. The sound clanked and echoed.

Roberta looked out from the swinging door to see if their customers had heard, then looked back at Georgette. “What is going on with you?” She walked over to her and spun her around by the shoulders until they were face to face. “What’s… ohmygod. Are you crying?” She pulled Georgette into her and held her. “Ohmygod, Georgie. What’s happened? Tell me.”

“It’s Hawthorne.”

Roberta pushed her back a few inches. Her face strained with her words. “Is he okay?”

Georgette rolled her eyes and pulled out of her hold then she turned back to the sink. She grabbed a smutty dish and angled a strong stream of water at it. The bits of food flew off under its power. “Oh, he’s just fine.” Her voice sounded deeper than usual and exuded a venomous tone that made Roberta’s eyes widen.

Roberta grabbed her left hand. “Where’s your ring? What happened?” She pivoted Georgette around again by the hand and led her away from the sink. “You sit here on this stool and you talk to me.”

Georgette’s body slumped over the metal work chair. She pulled out a used tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose, blowing once, wiping and stuffing it back into the pocket of her apron.

“He’s having an affair,” she didn’t want the next words to come out, they just did, no matter how embarrassing they sounded, “with Helen.”

“What the f…”

“Exactly.”

“Helen and Hawthorne?” Her voice pitched high when she said his name.

“Helen and Hawthorne.” Georgette’s body jerked as she chortled only once, hearing the humor. “Sounds cute, doesn’t it?” she asked, not really meaning it.

“How do you know for sure?” Roberta asked.

“I came home. They were in her room. She was in a robe. She had swollen lips.” She stood and pulled out the tissue again. Walking back to the sink, she wiped her nose. “You do the math.”

“Holy Hernandez.”

“I’m not in the mood for cute phrases, Rob. In fact I’d love to curse a blue streak right now.”

“Oh, Georgie. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, me too.”

“Are you sure they were… doing it?”

“Jeez. Rob. They were doing it!”

“Did you see them… in the act.”

“Oh, good grief. No, Rob. Thank goodness. No.”

“Well then you really can’t be sure.” She paused. “Can you?”

“Oh. I’m sure. Hawthorne said, ‘Sorry you had to find out like this,’ or something to that effect. How would you interpret it?”

Roberta turned away as if she were trying to locate something in the room. Her hand went to her mouth to cover it and then came back down. She wrapped her arms around her waist and kept looking at anything but Georgette.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Don’t feel embarrassed for me, Rob. I don’t think I could handle pity right now.”

“Good lord, George. That little slut.”

14

“Where is she?” Hawthorne’s voice boomed to the girl standing at the front of the restaurant making patrons look up from their food. A glaring light, streaking in from the linty clouded sky behind him through the glass door silhouetted his big frame deleting all color from him.

When she saw him walk in, Cammy, one of the waitresses, barely looked up and without turning her body from the cash register, she pointed behind her, toward the kitchen.

As Hawthorne moved past the cashier’s station and away from the front door his clothes, his face, his hair all began to take on color, losing the grayness from outside’s silhouette. He paused at the swinging door and glanced through the porthole. Tears streaked Georgette’s face and Roberta looked like she was trying to hold herself up with her arms wrapped around her waist. Roberta was speaking but he couldn’t quite catch her words. They hadn’t yet noticed him looking through the window at them. When he pushed on the door open enough to crack it, he heard Roberta stop at the word “slut.” Then she turned around fast to see Hawthorne.

“Nice.” He pushed opened the door fully and held it there.

Both women appeared startled by his presence.

“What are you doing here?” Georgette asked and turned to the sink. Roberta turned to face Hawthorne with her back protecting Georgette.

“Well, don’t you have balls the size of Jupiter?” Roberta challenged.

“Bigger,” he said, challenging her back.

“You know, Hawthorne. This isn’t a good time …”

“This is none of your concern, Roberta. Leave. I need to talk to Georgette.”

Roberta put both of her hands behind her, feeling for Georgette. “It’s up to you, George. I’ll only leave if you want me to.” She glared while she spoke.

Georgette turned and moved to the side of Roberta. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. If I need you I’ll scream.” She glowered at Hawthorne and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she untied it and slung it over the side of the sink. She pulled the rubber band out of her hair, smoothing it down and retying it. “I’ll just scream.” She squinted again at Hawthorne.

“You can leave, Roberta. Like she said, if she needs you she’ll scream.”

His face looked older today and Roberta felt herself smile. “I’ll be right outside the door, Georgie.”

“Mm hmm.” Georgette tipped her chin up and pointed it to the door. Roberta walked past Hawthorne as if he were infected, raising her hands so as not to touch any part of him.

Hawthorne rolled his eyes and waited to hear the whooshing of the door swinging it closed.

“You have a ton of gall walking into my diner.”

“Now, honey …”

“Please. If you say anything at all to me, please do not call me honey. You call me by my proper name. You treat me with at least some cordiality. Especially after having sex with one of my best friends.” Her voice peaked but she pulled it back and it dwindled to normal by the end of the sentence.

“Georgette. Now, listen. I have some explaining to do. That’s obvious. But. I... I… want you to know. My feelings. Georgette. My feelings. For you. Have not… have not changed. Not one iota.” He wiped at his brow then added, “There. That’s what I came here to say.” He spoke as if reading from a script.

She leaned back against the sink and placed both hands on its railing. She looked down at her feet. He couldn’t imagine what she would say next.

“Your feelings. You say. Haven’t… changed?”

“Not one iota, hon… Georgette. Not one iota.”

“You’re saying. And, please stop me if I’m getting this at all wrong. What you’re saying is that you, Hawthorne Biggs, are still in love with me.” She paused and he nodded quickly cracking a brief smile at her. So far it hadn’t gone all that bad. Then she went on. “You can still love me?”

“Yes. Dear. I do. I still love you.”

“Oh, Hawthorne.” She pushed off of the sink and put her hands together in front of her as if she were praying. “You still love me? ‘Cause I was beginning to wonder about your true feelings when I caught you with your Johnson inside Helen. You disgusting pig!”