by Robin Cook
Carl put down his cowboy hat and stepped over to the sideboard. Kim noticed he seemed to have a proprietary manner.
“I saw that interview Kelly Anderson did with you a month or so ago,” Carl said as he shoveled several ice cubes into an old-fashioned glass.
“I’m sorry,” Kim said. “I was hoping most people missed it.”
Carl splashed a generous dollop of liquor over the ice and then handed the drink to Kim. He sat back down on the couch next to his cowboy hat. Kim lowered himself into a facing club chair.
“You have a right to be angry about it,” Carl said condescendingly. “It wasn’t fair. TV news has an irritating way of twisting things.”
“Sad, but true,” Kim agreed. He took a sip of the fiery fluid and inhaled before swallowing. He felt a comfortable warm feeling course through his body.
“I certainly didn’t buy her premise,” Carl said. “You guys earn every penny you get. I mean, I personally have a lot of respect for you doctors.”
“Thank you,” Kim said. “That’s very reassuring.”
“Seriously,” Carl said. “In fact I was premed for a couple of semesters in college.”
“Really? What happened? Didn’t you like it?”
“It didn’t like me,” Carl said with a laugh that ended with a peculiar snorting sound. “It was a wee bit too demanding, and it began to cut into my social life.” Carl laughed again as if he’d just told a joke.
Kim began to wonder what Tracy saw in the guy.
“What do you do?” Kim asked to make conversation. Besides, he was interested. Considering the lower-mid-dle-class neighborhood, the yellow Lamborghini outside had to belong to Carl. Plus there was Tracy’s comment about not flying commercial. That was even more worrisome.
“I’m CEO of Foodsmart,” Carl said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”
“I can’t say that I have,” Kim said.
“It’s a large agricultural business,” Carl said. “Really more of a holding company. One of the largest in the state, actually.”
“Wholesale or retail?” Kim asked, not that he knew much about business.
“Both,” Carl said. “But mainly export wholesale involving grain and beef. But we’re also the major stockholder in the Onion Ring burger chain.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Kim said. “I even own some stock.”
“Good choice,” Carl said. Then he leaned forward, and after furtively looking around as if he thought there were a chance of hidden eavesdroppers, he whispered: “Buy some more Onion Ring stock. The company’s about to take the chain national. Consider it an insider tip. Just don’t tell anyone where you heard it.”
“Thanks,” Kim said. Then he added sarcastically: “I’ve been wondering what to do with all my discretionary income.”
“You’ll be thanking me a thousandfold,” Carl added, insensitive to Kim’s tone of voice. “The stock is going to go through the roof. In a year’s time the Onion Ring will be out there challenging McDonald’s, Burger King, and Wendy’s.”
“Tracy mentioned you two are flying to Aspen on a private plane,” Kim said, changing the subject. “What do you fly?”
“Me personally?” Carl questioned. “I don’t fly. Hell, no! I’d be the last person to get into a plane with me behind the controls.”
Carl laughed again with his peculiar style, making Kim wonder if the guy snored when he slept.
“I’ve a new Lear jet,” Carl added. “Well, technically it’s Foodsmart’s, at least according to the IRS. Anyway, as you undoubtedly know, for such an aircraft the FAA mandates we have two highly qualified pilots.”
“Of course,” Kim said as if he were intimately aware of the rule. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal his ignorance of such things. Nor did he want to let on how angry it made him feel that a businessman who did nothing but shuffle paper could have such perks while he, who worked twelve hours a day on people’s hearts, was having trouble keeping his decade-old Mercedes on the road.
A clatter of footfalls on the uncarpeted stairs heralded Becky’s arrival. She had an overnight bag and her skates thrown over her shoulder. She dumped both onto a chair in the front hall before racing into the living room.
Kim hadn’t seen Becky since the previous Sunday when they’d spent a happy day at a nearby ski area, and Becky acted accordingly. She made a beeline into Kim’s arms and gave him an enthusiastic hug, momentarily making him lose his balance. With his face pressed up against her head, Kim could feel that her brunette hair was damp from a recent shower. The remnant odor of the shampoo made her smell like an apple orchard in bloom.
Without letting go of Kim, Becky leaned back and assumed a mock reproving expression. “You’re late, Daddy.”
Kim’s aggravations of the day melted as he regarded his darling, precocious ten-year-old daughter who, in his mind, glowed with grace, youth, and energy. Her skin was flawless, her eyes large and expressive.
“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” Kim said. “I understand you’re hungry.”
“I’m starved,” Becky said. “But look!”
Becky turned her head from side to side. “See my new diamond earrings? Aren’t they gorgeous? Carl gave them to me.”
“Just chips,” Carl said self-consciously. “Sort’a late Christmas present, and something for letting me borrow her mom for the weekend.”
Kim swallowed. He was taken aback. “Very impressive,” he managed.
Becky let go of Kim and went out into the foyer to gather her things and get her coat out of the front closet. Kim followed and went to the door.
“Now, I want you in bed at your normal time, young lady,” Tracy said. “You understand? The flu’s making the rounds.”
“Oh, Mom!” Becky complained.
“I’m serious,” Tracy said. “I don’t want you missing school.”
“Chill out, Mom,” Becky said. “You have fun and don’t be so nervous about . . .”
“I’ll have a great time,” Tracy said, interrupting her daughter before she could say something embarrassing. “But I’ll have a better time if I don’t have to worry about you. You have the phone number I gave you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Becky intoned. Then, brightening, she added: “Ski the Big Burn for me.”
“Okay, I promise,” Tracy said, as she took Becky’s coat from her daughter’s arms. “I want this on.”
“But we’ll be in the car,” Becky complained.
“I don’t care,” Tracy said, helping her daughter into the coat.
Becky ran to Carl, who was standing in the doorway to the living room. She gave him a hug and got her mouth close to his ear. “She’s real nervous, but she’ll be okay. And thanks for the earrings. I love them.”
“You’re welcome, Becky,” Carl said nonplussed.
Becky ran to Tracy and gave her a quick hug before dashing out the door held open by Kim.
Outside Becky ran down the stairs and waved to Kim to hurry up. Kim broke into a trot.
“Call if there’s a problem,” Tracy yelled from the porch.
Kim and Becky waved as they got into Kim’s car.
“She’s such a worrywart,” Becky said, as Kim started the car. Then she pointed ahead, through the windshield. “That’s a Lamborghini. It’s Carl’s car, and it’s awesome.”
“I’m sure it is,” Kim said, trying not to sound as if he cared.
“You should get one, Dad,” Becky said. She turned her head to look at the vehicle as they drove by.
“Let’s talk about food,” Kim said. “I was planning on picking up Ginger. I thought all three of us could go to Chez Jean.”
“I don’t want to eat with Ginger,” Becky said poutingly.
Kim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The stress of the day at the hospital, even the meeting with Carl, had him on edge. He wished he’d had time to play some tennis. He needed some form of physical outlet. The last thing he wanted was a problem between Becky and Ginger.
“Becky,” Kim began. “We’ve been through
this before. Ginger likes your company.”
“I just want to be with you, not your receptionist,” Becky complained.
“But you will be with me,” Kim said. “We’ll all be together. And Ginger is more than my receptionist.”
“I don’t want to eat at that stuffy old restaurant either,” Becky said with emotion. “I hate it.”
“Okay, okay,” Kim said, struggling to control himself. “How about we go to the Onion Ring on Prairie Highway. Just you and me. It’s just up the road.”
“Fabulous!” Becky perked up, and despite her seat belt, she managed to lean over and give Kim a peck on the cheek.
Kim marveled at how adroitly his daughter could manipulate him. He felt better now that she had reverted to her normal, vivacious self, but after a few miles Becky’s comment began to gnaw at him again. “For the life of me,” Kim said, “I don’t understand why you have this thing against Ginger.”
“Because she made you and Mom break up,” Becky commented.
“Good gravy,” Kim snapped. “Is that what your mother says?”
“No,” Becky said. “She says it was only part of it. But I think it was Ginger’s fault. You guys hardly ever argued until Ginger.”
Kim went back to drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Despite what Becky had said, he was certain Tracy had to have put the thought in her mind.
As he turned into the Onion Ring parking lot, Kim shot a glance in Becky’s direction. Her face was awash in color from the huge Onion Ring sign. She was smiling in anticipation of their fast-food dinner.
“The reason your mother and I got divorced was very complicated,” Kim began, “and Ginger had very little . . .”
“Look out!” Becky cried.
Kim redirected his gaze through the windshield and saw the blurry image of a preteen on a skateboard off the right front fender. Kim jammed on the brakes and threw the steering wheel over to the left. The car lurched to a stop but not before colliding with the rear of a parked car. There was the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.
“You smashed the car!” Becky shouted as if it were a question.
“I know I smashed the car!” Kim shouted back.
“Well, it’s not my fault,” Becky said indignantly. “Don’t yell at me!”
The skateboarder, who’d momentarily stopped, now passed in front of the car. Kim looked at the child, and the boy irreverently mouthed: “Asshole.” Kim closed his eyes for a moment to control himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Becky. “Of course it wasn’t your fault. I should have been paying more attention. And I certainly shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“What are we going to do?” Becky said. Her eyes anxiously scanned the parking area. She was terrified lest she see one of her schoolmates.
“I’m going to see what happened,” Kim said as he opened his door and got out. He was back in seconds and asked Becky to hand him the registration packet from the glove compartment.
“What broke?” Becky asked as she handed over the papers.
“Our headlight and their tail light,” Kim said. “I’ll leave a note.”
Once inside the restaurant, Becky immediately forgot the mishap. It being Friday night, the Onion Ring was mobbed. Most of the crowd were young teenagers in a ridiculous collection of oversized clothing and punk hairstyles. But there were also a number of families with lots of small children and even infants. The noise level was considerable thanks to fussy babies and competing ghetto blasters.
The Onion Ring restaurants were particularly popular with children mainly because the kids could doctor their own “gourmet” burgers with a bewildering display of condiments. They could also make their own sundaes with an equivalent number of toppings.
“Isn’t this an awesome place?” Becky commented as she and Kim got into one of the order lines.
“Just delightful,” Kim teased. “Especially with the quiet classical music in the background.”
“Oh, Dad!” Becky moaned and rolled her eyes.
“Did you ever come here with Carl?” Kim asked. He really didn’t want to hear the answer because he had an inkling she had.
“Sure,” Becky offered. “He took Mom and me here a couple of times. It was cool. He owns the place.”
“Not quite,” Kim said with a certain satisfaction. “Actually the Onion Ring is a publicly owned company. Do you know what that means?”
“Sort of,” Becky said.
“It means a lot of people own stock,” Kim said. “Even I own stock, so I’m one of the owners too.”
“Yeah, well, when I was here with Carl we didn’t have to stand in line,” Becky said.
Kim took a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s talk about something else. Have you thought any more about skating in the Nationals? I know the entry deadline is coming up.”
“I’m not going to enter,” Becky said without hesitation.
“Really?” Kim questioned. “Why not, dear? You are such a natural. And you won the state junior championship last year so easily.”
“I like skating,” Becky said. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“But you could be the best.”
“I don’t want to be the best in competition,” Becky said.
“Gosh, Becky,” Kim said. “I can’t help but be a little disappointed. I’d be so proud of you.”
“Mom said you would say something like that,” Becky said.
“Oh, great!” Kim exclaimed. “Your know-it-all therapist mother.”
“She also said that I should do what I think is best for me.”
Kim and Becky found themselves at the front of the line. A bored teenage cashier gazed at them with glassy eyes and asked them what they wanted.
Becky looked up at the menu mounted over the bank of cash registers. She screwed up her mouth and stuck a finger in her cheek. “Hmmm . . . I don’t know what I want.”
“Have a burger,” Kim said. “I thought that was your favorite.”
“Okay,” Becky said. “I’ll have a burger, fries, and a vanilla shake.”
“Regular or jumbo?” the cashier asked in a tired voice.
“Regular,” Becky said.
“And you, sir?” the cashier asked.
“Oh, hell, let me see,” Kim said. He too looked up at the menu. “Soup du jour and salad, I guess. And an iced tea.”
“Comes to seven ninety,” the cashier said.
Kim paid, and the cashier handed him a receipt. “Your number is twenty-seven.”
Kim and Becky turned around and left the order area. It took some hunting, but they found a couple of empty seats at one of the picnic-style tables near the window. Becky squeezed in, but not Kim. He handed her the receipt and told her he had to use the men’s room. Becky nodded absently; she had her eye on one of the cute boys from her school who happened to be sitting at the next table.
It was like a broken-field run for Kim to make his way across the restaurant to the anteroom leading to the restrooms. There were two phones, but both were tied up by teenage girls. Behind each was a line. Kim reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his cell phone. He punched in the numbers, leaned back against the wall, and held it to his ear.
“Ginger, it’s me,” Kim said.
“Where the devil are you?” Ginger complained. “Have you forgotten our reservations at Chez Jean were for seven-thirty?”
“We’re not going,” Kim said. “I’ve had to change the plans. Becky and I are grabbing a bite at the Onion Ring on Prairie Highway.”
Ginger didn’t respond.
“Hello?” Kim said. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Ginger said.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Of course I heard,” Ginger said. “I haven’t eaten, and I’ve been waiting. You haven’t called, and besides, you promised me we’d eat at Chez Jean tonight.”
“Listen,” Kim growled. “Don’t you give me a hard time too. I can’t please everybody. I was
late picking up Becky, and she was starved.”
“That’s nice,” Ginger said. “You and your daughter have a nice dinner together.”
“You’re irritating me, Ginger!”
“Well, how do you expect me to feel?” Ginger asked. “For a year your wife was your convenient excuse. Now I suppose it’s going to be your daughter.”
“That’s enough, Ginger,” Kim snapped. “I’m not going to get into an argument. Becky and I are eating here, and then we’ll come by and pick you up.”
“Maybe I’ll be here and maybe I won’t,” Ginger said. “I’m getting tired of being taken for granted.”
“Fine,” Kim said. “You decide.”
Kim cut off the connection and jammed the phone back into his jacket pocket. He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath. The evening was hardly progressing as he would have liked. Kim’s eyes involuntarily strayed to the face of a teenage girl waiting for one of the wall phones. Her lipstick was such a dark red it bordered on brown. It made her look like someone who’d succumbed to the elements on the north face of Mount Everest.
The girl caught Kim staring at her. She interrupted her cowlike gum-chewing long enough to stick out her tongue. Kim pushed off the wall and went into the men’s room to splash water on his face and wash his hands.
The level of activity in the kitchen and service area of the Onion Ring was commensurate with the number of customers in the restaurant proper. It was controlled pandemonium. Roger Polo, the manager who regularly worked a double shift on Fridays and Saturdays, the Onion Ring’s two busiest days, was a nervous man in his late thirties who drove himself and his staff hard.
When the restaurant was as busy as it was while Kim and Becky awaited their order, Roger worked the line. He was the one who gave the burger and fries order to the short-order chef, Paul; or the soup and salad orders to the steam-table and salad-bar worker, Julia; or the drink orders to Claudia. All the restocking and the routine, ongoing cleanup was done by the “gofer,” Skip.
“Number twenty-seven coming up,” Roger barked. “I want a soup and salad.”
“Soup and salad,” Julia echoed.
“Iced tea and vanilla shake,” Roger called out.
“Coming up,” Claudia said.
