Midas Touch (17 page)

“No,” Sandra replied without thinking.

“Where do you live?”

Sandra gave her the only address in town she knew, the apartment where her mother had once lived.

Cory chewed her lip. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but how are you going to get to work? That’s all the way across town.”

Sandra squirmed. “I have insurance on the bike. I’ll have a rental car until it’s repaired.”

Cory nodded, but a frown still creased her forehead. They remained silent until they pulled into Bill’s small parking lot a few minutes later.

“Sandra,” Cory started and stopped. She seemed to be trying to say something, but shook her head instead. She reached into the car’s ashtray and removed a business card. “Here’s the number to the restaurant.” She pulled a pen from over the visor and scribbled on the back of the card. “That’s my home number.

Call me if something happens or you run into any hassles with getting the car and can’t make it in tomorrow.” She hesitated.

“Sandra, I’m really sorry about hitting your bike. I’m so grateful you weren’t injured.”

“Thanks.” Sandra took the card and got out. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Again for a brief moment their gaze held, and Sandra felt a warm shiver race over her.

After dealing with the mechanic, the insurance company, and arranging for a rental car, Sandra found a nice motel located near the diner. The check-in clerk almost dropped her teeth when Sandra told her she wanted the room for six weeks. If the search at the diner failed to pan out, she could always leave sooner.

After settling in her room, she called Laura. It took Sandra a few minutes to convince Laura she was uninjured, but eventually, they were able to laugh together about Sandra’s first day of rambling and her great new job.

Later, Sandra called Allison and started the process to avenge the mangling of her bike. She knew enough of the right people in San Antonio to get some action started.

At six she drove to Peepers for dinner and to survey her revenge. She smiled brightly at the city crewmen who were busy cutting down the long row of oleanders.

Stepping inside the diner was like taking a step back into the 1950s.

“Booth or counter,” the hostess asked.

“Booth,” Sandra said, as Buddy Holly began to sing his love of Peggy Sue. The hostess was a bubbly young woman who chattered non-stop as she escorted Sandra to a booth near the back. She sat a glass of water and silverware down and turned to leave.

“How did the diner get its name?” Sandra asked, trying not to let the anxiousness show in her voice.

The woman stopped and seemed to consider the question for a moment. “You know, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that question before. I could ask the owner,”

she offered cheerfully.

“No!” Sandra replied quickly. “It’s not important. I was just curious.”

After assuring Sandra someone would be right with her to take her order, the young woman rushed off to seat the next group of guests.

When the waitress arrived to take her food order, Sandra realized she was starving. Despite its fifties motif, the diner didn’t specialize in just burgers. There was a nice selection of entrees. Sandra was further surprised by its great wine selection. She ordered the baked chicken with wild rice and a glass of chardonnay.

Sandra studied the activity around her as she sipped her wine and waited for her food. The diner was busy. She had obviously been mistaken about its location hurting business. Enjoying the music, she leaned back and took in the polished black-and-white-checkered tile and chrome gleaming throughout the diner. A large glass display case sat against the far wall. Inside it, Sandra could see several trophies, a poodle skirt, a pair of saddle oxfords, and a large photo of Elvis.

A long counter ran across the front of the diner. Several people sat on the red vinyl and chrome stools lining the counter. Sandra wished she had checked the menu to see if the diner served ice cream sodas. This was the kind of place her father would have enjoyed. Occasionally, there would be a few extra dollars and he

would take them out to eat as a special treat.

The arrival of her food brought her perusal of the diner’s decor to a halt. Sandra ate slowly, savoring every bite. Laura would be pleased to learn she was taking the time to enjoy her food. The chicken and wine were excellent. Sandra could not remember getting better food at any of Dallas’ finer restaurants.

She paid the tab, adding a generous tip for the wonderful service. She was standing to leave when she bumped into someone. She turned to apologize and found herself staring into those emerald green eyes again.

“It’s either fate or were both accident-prone,” Sandra said, unable to look away.

Cory’s gaze broke away and settled on the large tip still lying on the table. Sandra saw the frown reappear.
Now she’s wondering
how a previously unemployed dishwasher can afford to leave that
kind of tip,
Sandra groaned to herself.

“I don’t believe in fate,” Cory stated, and eyed Sandra’s tailored slacks and jacket. An awkward silence fell between them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sandra said, before making a hasty exit.

Dressed in sharply creased black slacks and a white silk shirt, Sandra arrived at the diner ten minutes early. Cory sat at a table with four other women. She looked up as Sandra entered, and again, did a visual survey of her clothes before motioning for her to join them. Cory stood as
Sandra approached.

“Everyone, this is Sandra.” She stopped. “I’m sorry I don’t remember your last name.”

Sandra hesitated. Would anyone recognize her name?
Stop
being stupid,
she admonished herself.
It’s not as though you’re a
household name.
“Tate,” she answered.

“Tate?” A small frown creased Cory’s forehead.

Sandra held her breath, as Cory studied her face.

After a moment Cory shook her head slightly and turned to the group.

“Sandra will be taking Pat’s place while she’s out. Sandra, this

is Louise, our hostess.”

Sandra shook hands with the bubbly young woman she had met the night before.

“Anna and Ginny are two of our waitresses. You’ll meet the other two tonight,” Cory said.

Dyke,
Sandra thought as she shook hands with Anna, a short woman with curly brown hair and a permanent pout.

Ginny was a tall, lanky brunette. She wore over-sized, tortoise shell glasses that gave her a wise, bookish appearance.

“Glad to have you aboard,” Ginny said as she gave Sandra’s hand a limp shake.

“Ginny is ex-Navy” Anna explained. “She has her own vocabulary.”

Everyone laughed.

Cory turned to the other woman at the booth. “This is Maria, one of our cooks.”

Sandra guessed Maria to be in her fifties. She combed her short salt-and-pepper hair to one side in much the same way as Sandra’s father had worn his.

“Nice to meet you, Sandra,” Maria said in a voice sweetened by the faintest of accents.

It hit Sandra suddenly.
All these women are
gay. Cory had definitely made Peepers a family place.

The front door opened and a man walked in.

“And that,” Ginny grimaced, “is a customer.”

“Time to go to work,” Cory said with a wide smile that made Sandra’s breath catch. Cory picked up a coffee cup from the table.

“Come on, Sandra. I’ll show you where everything is.” Her eyes again ran over Sandra’s clothing. “I should have warned you to wear something more casual.”

Sandra looked down at her clothes. She thought she was pretty casual. After all, everybody else was wearing nice slacks and blouses.

“This way,” Cory directed, leading Sandra into the kitchen.

“Our system is an older one, but it still works, so I can’t justify replacing it. Basically, what you do is dump the leftovers in this

barrel, spray the excess off here, and stack the dishes in these racks.” She moved along a gleaming metal table with an odd circular depression in the center that looked similar to a sink.

“When you fill a rack, slide it into this opening. The clean dishes come out over here and then you stack them over there on those shelves for Maria and Wilma, the other cook.” She turned to look at Sandra. “Any questions?”

Sandra shook her head and smiled smugly. She had managed a major architectural firm for years. Washing a few dishes would not over-tax her brain cells. “I think I can handle it,” she replied.

Cory did not look convinced. “Here’s an apron.” She pulled a large plastic apron from a hook and handed it to her. “You’ll have to be fast. The lunch crowd is heavy.”

A heavy-set, African-American woman came through an outside door on the far side of the kitchen. “That’s Wilma, our second cook,” Cory explained. “After everything calms down I’ll introduce you to her and the other waitresses. I have to get back out front, but I’ll try to check on you from time to time. Just tell one of the waitresses if you need anything. They’ll know where to find me.”

For the first time Sandra felt a twinge of panic.
Two cooks.

How many more waitresses? How busy would the place get?

Cory stood by as Sandra pulled on the apron. It was so large it wrapped completely around her. She tied it tightly. Cory was still eyeing Sandra’s clothes. “I think I have an old T-shirt in my car that will fit you. I’ll go get it and you can change? You’re going to ruin your shirt.”

Sandra felt a stab of annoyance. She had walked through construction sites and city sewers in a suit and heels. She could certainly survive washing a few dishes. Besides, the mammoth apron encased her. There was no way anything could get to her.

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

Forty minutes later, piles of dirty dishes surrounded Sandra, and she was completely drenched. In fact, everything within ten feet of her was drenched. No matter how many dishes she washed, a hundred more sprang up to take their place. The work

area surrounding her became a jungle of steam, water, and dirty dishes. Anna, one of the waitresses, came in, took one look at Sandra and burst out laughing. Hurrying out of the kitchen with fresh pitchers of tea, Anna called over her shoulder to Sandra.

“Better get a move on. The rush hasn’t even hit yet.”

Seconds later, Cory rushed in looking rather harried. “Anna said you were having problems. Do you want me to come back and help you?”

Sandra was mortified. “No, I’m fine.”

Cory looked at the pile of dirty dishes. “Then get moving.

You’re way behind,” she said and left.

Sandra considered ripping off the apron and stuffing it down Cory’s throat, but pride forced her to finish what she started.

She took a deep breath and looked at the mess around her. This was ridiculous. It was time to take control of this chaos. All she needed was a system. It was a simple matter of organization and project management. She moved the rack for the rinsed dishes to her left, pushed the dirty dishes into a pile closer to her and shoved the scrap barrel until it was at her right side. It took several minutes for her body to learn the new movements of the job, but slowly the repetition grew into a rhythm and she began to catch up. By the time Ginny came in with what she promised was the last of the dirty dishes, Sandra was only four trays behind.

Cory came in as Sandra was pulling the last tray out of the sterilizer. She stopped, open mouthed, and stared. “I’m impressed,” she said, nodding her approval. “I was afraid I’d have to rent a back hoe to dig you out by now.” Her smile sent a ray of sunshine into Sandra’s heart.

Inordinately pleased by Cory’s praise, Sandra could not keep from smiling as she pulled the apron off.

“I’ve never been so physically tired in my life,” Sandra admitted as she turned from hanging up the apron.

Cory groaned.

Sandra followed her gaze and was shocked to see she was soaking wet. The sleeves of her shirt that she had rolled above her elbows were a kaleidoscope of colors ranging from ketchup

to broccoli.

“Don’t suppose I get paid for wearing the menu, huh?”

Sandra joked.

Cory flashed a lazy smile. Her deep throaty laugh caused Sandra to forget all about the struggle of the past two and a half hours.

When Sandra returned at four to start the second half of her shift, she was dressed in a Spurs T-shirt and faded jeans. A shopping trip to a discount-clothing store netted her a new work wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts. She treated herself by purchasing a new pair of sneakers with thick rubber soles.

Cory nodded and smiled when she saw Sandra going into the kitchen. Sandra felt the unfamiliar flame shoot through her again. The remainder of the shift was much easier, thanks in part to her new routine and in part to the warm memory of Cory’s smile.

After the dinner crowd left, the entire staff sat around and chatted while the waitresses counted their tips. Sandra was so exhausted she felt numb. Cory appeared with a tray of beers.

“Sandra, do you want a glass?” she asked, setting the tray down on the table.

“Not if it has to be washed,” Sandra managed.

Everyone but Anna, who kept staring at Sandra, laughed and took a beer.

Cory settled into the chair beside Sandra. Her leg brushed lightly against Sandra’s, causing an electrical jolt to shoot through Sandra’s body.

Sandra tried to keep up with the idle chatter, but between her exhaustion and the havoc Cory’s closeness was creating, it was too much effort. She wanted nothing more than to be able to collapse into bed. She stole a glance at Cory; but refused to let her imagination slip away to where it was attempting to go.

As soon as the drinks were finished, everyone but Cory and Anna rose to leave. Grateful, she was free to escape, Sandra stood.