Mustard on Top (5 page)

After a long pause, Frank said, “He’s a kid fresh out of college trying to make his mark. He hasn’t learned the ropes yet. Let me handle matters on my end first.”

“What’s his name?” Helen demanded.

“I am not supposed to give out that information. Can you give me a week?”

“Frank, you’ve seen my house. Would you want to live here for a week without starting repairs?”

“Mom.” Theo interrupted.

Helen snapped her gaze up surprised to find Theo and Ben on the other side of the house in the dining room. “What?”

“Tell him the kitchen ceiling is leaking.”

“Did you hear that?” Helen asked.

“Yes. It’s raining and windy as hell outside. I’m guessing the wind tore the tarp free.”

Enraged, Helen stayed silent and waited for Frank to do the right thing.

Finally, Frank said, “I believe the fire department will reattach the tarp if you call them.”

“Thanks, Frank. Thanks a lot.” Helen seethed. She heard a bang and glanced around. Theo and Ben were gone, she assumed they’d went outside.

“I am sorry, Helen. This is not how I wanted things to go,” Frank apologized.

Helen growled. “I need to go.”

“I understand. I’ll keep you updated.”

When Helen heard a thud coming from the backyard, she opened the back door. Wind caught the flimsy screen, and the door slammed against the wall breaking the hinge. “Theo!” Zealous rain inhaled her voice.

A light wavered overhead, and she looked up to find Ben on a ladder pitched against the side of her house. Her camping lantern dangled from one of his hands as he worked to secure the tarp.

Theo gripped the ladder’s base, holding it steady.

A pang of guilt made her frown. This was her house. Her responsibility, but they were already soaked, and she didn’t see the point in make them stop. She shivered and retreated back inside. The ceiling dripped in three places. Burying her frustration, she cleaned up the water and left mixing bowls out to catch the drips.

Shower
, she reminded herself.

Helen stepped into the bathroom, and accidentally kicked an ice-filled cooler that had been left in the middle of the floor. Helen growled under her breath. No doubt Theo purposefully left the cooler in her way as a not-so-subtle reminder for her to take her shot.

Her diabetes was one more thing to manage. Helen got a needle from the medicine cabinet and the insulin from the cooler. If the insulin had been ruined in the fire, she hadn’t noticed the effects. She stuck the super-thin needle through the bottle’s lid and extracted the prescribed amount. After pinching an area on her belly, she inserted the needle and pressed the plunger, ignoring the familiar sting. She tossed the needle in the trash, put her medicine away, and started the shower.

After putting on fresh jeans and a fitted blouse, Helen twisted her wet hair in a towel and returned to the living room. Theo had changed into dry clothes while Ben sat on the couch wrapped in her brown blanket.

“Were you able to tie the tarp down?” Helen asked.

“Ben did,” Theo said.

“Thank you.” Helen nodded in Ben’s direction. A gap in the blanket revealed a sliver of dark chest hair sprinkled through with gray. A tug of desire lit her insides and Helen dropped her gaze to his bare feet. “Where are your clothes?” she asked sharply.

“They were soaked. I put them in your dryer,” Ben said. “Do you mind?”

Helen opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Of course not.”

“So we can wait for them to dry then go to dinner, or we can order a pizza,” Ben offered.

Helen pulled her gaze away. “Theo? What would you like?”

“Pizza.”

“Then Pizza we shall have. Theo, can you call?”

“Sure.”

Helen went to the bathroom and pulled the towel off her hair. She assessed her appearance in the mirror then grew irritated. She didn’t want to be attracted to Ben. Disappointed with herself, she chose not to put on the bit of lipstick and dash of mascara she normally wore and swiped her locks into a messy ponytail.

Helen was relieved to find them discussing cars. Theo sat forward in the chair with the box Ben had given him open at his feet. Their conversation halted, and they turned to her. The room accommodated two people comfortably. With Theo on the only chair and Ben on the love seat, there was nowhere else to sit other than next to Ben. Stiffly, Helen sat beside him. “Did you order the food?” she asked Theo.

“Yep.”

“I’m buying the pizza,” Ben announced.

Not in the mood to argue, Helen glanced sideways at Ben. “Fine. Thank you.”

“I overheard some of the conversation you had with your insurance agent,” Ben said. “Maybe I can help.”

“You’re kind, but I’ll fight my own battles.”

“I’m an attorney; a letter from me might do the trick.”

“Yes. Cooper Manning,” Helen said. “My agent’s already submitted an appeal.”

“I’d be happy to cover your deductible, do some work around the house to keep the cost down, or both.”

His smile, from less than two feet away, was like a beam of light, hard to look at, but impossible not to notice. Even his slightly crooked tooth on the bottom row added to his appeal. “You can’t buy us,” Helen said.

“Mom,” Theo interjected, “if he has the money and the time and you don’t—”

“I don’t need his money,” Helen ground out. Theo shrunk back into the chair, and the trio fell silent. Helen pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose as she tried to think of something pleasant to say. The buzzer from the dryer broke the quiet. Helen jumped up. “Your clothes must be done.”

“I’ll get them,” Ben rose. “You relax.”

Not quite a guest, definitely not family, Helen didn’t know how to handle the situation. “Go ahead.”

The pizza arrived a minute later, and Helen was getting her purse when Ben, shirtless and with his wallet in his hand, hurtled into the room, coming to a stop in front of the delivery boy. His toned, muscular chest had her gaping. At least he had the decency to have the chalky-white skin of a mortal.

Ben, wielding the pizzas, stepped by her and asked, “Dining room?”

“There’s no electricity in there,” Theo said.

Preferring to sit at the dining-room table rather than inches away from Ben in the living room, Helen said, “Candles might be fun.”

Ben set the pizza on the table, while Helen tried to forget the way his muscles shifted when he moved. If he didn’t get dressed, Helen wouldn’t taste the food. Ben pivoted and caught her ogling him. He grinned, and Helen, her face growing hot, looked away.

“I’ll get dressed,” Ben said.

“Good idea.”

****

As Helen lay awake in bed, visions of Theo and Ben together played in her mind. Their reunion had summoned many emotions: motherly love topped the list, followed by worry, hope, fear, anger, joy, and jealousy. Even with her jumbled feelings, Helen had begun to believe things might turn out okay.

Ben seemed more like an old friend than a forgotten foe. She wondered if the familiarity was due solely to Ben and Theo’s resemblance. She smiled, remembering how they’d stretched their legs out beneath the table, crossing them at the ankles at the same time. As she spoke, they both cocked their heads to the left and watched.

The sight was alarmingly disarming.

In the wee morning hours, Helen gave in to slumber. She awoke to the sun peeking through her curtains. She dressed then stepped outside the house to assess the situation with her tarp. Agatha, on hands and knees, was weeding one of her flowerbeds. “Looks great.” Helen called.

A distinct line separated the two yards. On Agatha’s side, healthy, vibrant grass flourished amid shrubs and flowers. Helen’s yard was scraggly in comparison.

“Helen.” Agatha put one foot on the ground then pushed up to a stand. “DerFoodle Franks.”

“Excuse me?”

“DerFoodle Franks. You should add them to your menu permanently.” Agatha brushed the dirt off her kneepads.

“Okay,” Helen said with a shrug. “I will.”

“Follow me. We need to talk.”

Helen inwardly groaned. She had homework due for her chemistry class in a few hours. After school, she had a shift to work at Hot Diggitys, but Agatha had been so helpful after the fire and uncharacteristically patient that Helen acquiesced. She hoped the meeting would be quick, and, grabbing a rake, she followed Agatha to her gardening shed. They went inside, and Agatha gestured toward the dining-room table. “Wait here, I’ll be just a moment.”

Well polished, the table gleamed in the sunlight. A shiny, retro-style, silver toaster with an old-fashioned
GE
scrawled across the bottom front sat in the center. Helen dropped into a chair and picked up the toaster.

“Here we go.” Agatha stepped back in the room carrying a couple of file folders.

“Where’d you get this cute toaster?”

“From Hazel and Paul Templeton as a wedding gift.”

“Wedding? It looks brand new.”

“Let me think.” Agatha squinted at the ceiling. “It’s thirty-five years old.”

“And you’ve never used it?”

“What are you talking about? We used it thirty-five years. I’m taking it in for maintenance today.”

Helen set the toaster down and eyed at Agatha. “Maintenance? On a toaster?”

“Of course. Every five years I get all my appliances cleaned and tuned up.”

“Your appliances are on a maintenance schedule?”

“How else would I keep them running? I keep a calendar in the kitchen that I consult—”

“I don’t need to know,” Helen interrupted, holding a hand up between them.

“I’d like to go over my recommendations for Hot Diggitys,” Agatha said as she laid two folders on the table then lowered herself into the chair next to Helen. “The contents are identical, so pick one.”

Helen took one and opened it. The label read
Hot Diggitys: Analysis and Recommendations.
The first page was titled
Summary
.

“I thought it would be best if I would put my recommendations in writing,” Agatha peered at Helen over the top of her glasses. “Keep in mind, I don’t have all the data I’d like.”

“I’m working on that.” Testiness seeped into Helen’s tone.

Agatha drew in a deep breath and pulled off her reading glasses. She leaned forward staring Helen in the face. “Helen, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think before you answer.”

Helen’s mouth was dry. She hoped Agatha wasn’t giving her an ultimatum. Their styles clashed mightily, but Hot Diggitys and Agatha were good for each other. “What’s your question?”

“Are you serious about Hot Diggitys?”

“Serious? What do you mean serious?”

“Do you truly want to make money or is Hot Diggitys more for… entertainment?” Agatha waggled a hand in the air for emphasis.

“Entertainment?” Helen chuckled. “You’re funny.” Agatha wore a deadpan expression. “Hot Diggitys is my livelihood. You know that.”

“Yes. Are you serious enough to actually run your restaurant like a business?”

Annoyed, Helen pursed her lips. “What do you mean,
run
Hot Diggitys like a business? I pay employees; I invent new recipes. Speaking of which,” Helen’s enthusiasm built, “I got these food additives I’ve been experimenting with. I’ve created some interesting flavors. There’s—”

“I’m not talking about the product line,” Agatha cut her off. “Listen, I’ve been pleasantly surprised these past months. You’re sitting on a gold mine.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Exactly,” Agatha said.

Helen was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Since I’ve started working with you, you’ve been ignoring my recommendations—”

“Agatha. That’s not entirely true.”

Agatha poked a finger inside her hair bun and scratched. “If you implement the recommendations I’m giving you, I’m certain Hot Diggitys will increase in profitability by fifty percent within a year.”

“No, you’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Listen to me, Helen. This is only the beginning. If we work together, I think we could be even more profitable. Who knows how far Hot Diggitys can go.”

Helen thought of her house and the $2,500 payment the insurance company was offering. Helen had been scraping by for so long, she could hardly imagine life any other way. Now more than ever, a fifty-percent increase in profits would come in handy. “I’m listening.”

“First of all, you have to accept that Hot Diggitys must evolve. The recommendations will change as your product line changes and as new data is available.”

“Listen to you Agatha, you sound like a regular—” Helen’s amusement was met by Agatha’s sobering stare. “Sorry,” Helen said.

“Our best asset is the fact that you control hot dog production. Our costs are low, but they can get lower. I’ll address that later. We have a unique product line, and need to get to work right away getting trademark rights on the names of your dogs and patents on your recipes.”

A product line? Her hot dogs needed patents? Trademarks? She clenched her jaw to keep from laughing.

“We’ll need a patent on the hot dog maker Theo made for you. Now look here.” Agatha turned to page three in her folder. “These are things we should implement right away, meaning today or tomorrow.”

Helen furrowed her brow in consternation as she turned the page.

“As I said earlier, the DerFoodle Dog is one of our best sellers and should be a permanent menu item. We’ve got to drop the AvocaDog.”

“Why? It sells well,” Helen said.

“But the AvocaDog is the only item on the menu with avocado. Avocados are expensive, and they go bad quickly. According to my calculations, you lose money on this hot dog due to spoilage. I haven’t even considered labor costs.”

Helen pursed her lips. “What else?”

“I’ve noticed missing inventory nearly every day.”

“Employees get free meals.”

“More than that, ten- to -twenty hot dogs above employee meals.” Agatha arched an eyebrow. “I’m concerned employees are giving free food to their friends. Stealing.”

Helen pressed back into her seat. “I take food to my homeless friends on the nights I work.”

“You’re giving away inventory?”

Helen shrugged and nodded. “I’m not going to stop.”

Agatha sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with helping people, but if you record the donations on the books, you can deduct them on your taxes.”

“They don’t live in a shelter or anything. I take the food to the woods where Roger meets me.”

“Roger?”

“A friend.”

“You need to run the donation through the register, so your inventory will balance.”

Helen didn’t want to, but figured Agatha was probably right.

Agatha flipped the page then pointed to a figure on a spreadsheet. “Look at this. On the nights you work, the sales are about thirty-three percent higher. Why do you think that is?”

“I knew we made more, but a third?”

“I’ll tell you why. You up sell and you’re more efficient than your staff.”

“I do? I am?”

“Yes. You ask ‘Would you like a cookie with that?’ and ‘Do you want a shot of vanilla in your coffee?’ The rest of your staff doesn’t up sell. They need training. Maybe we could work out some sort of incentive plan, where they get bonuses based on their sales. We can analyze that later.”