I, Gracie

by Sharon Sala

"Man... I wish we'd gotten that on video."

  "He's had that coming for years."

  "I wish I'd had the guts to say that."

  And then Greg came out of his office, red-faced and furious.

  "Get to work! All of you. We open in less than an hour." Then he pointed to a pretty blonde. "Jessica! You'll be working hostess today. Go fix your hair and put on some makeup. And tomorrow, wear something nicer."

  Jessica paled. "Please, not me, Greg. Hostess duty doesn't get tips, and I need the extra money to—"

  "Don't tell me, no! Do it, or you're fired!" he shouted.

  Jessica burst into tears.

  Karen was horrified and feeling sorry for Jessica.

  "I'll do it, Greg."

  He glared at her.

  "Since when does staff start rearranging my scheduling?"

  Karen flinched. "I'm sorry. I was just offering to—"

  "You're both fired!" Greg shouted.

  Now Jessica and Karen were both crying as they went back to the employee lounge to get their things.

  "Then I quit," one waiter said, threw his apron at Greg's feet, and walked out.

  "I quit, too," another said, and then another, and then another, until Greg Lassiter was in the dining room alone.

  His heart was pounding. This had not just fucking happened!

  When he began hearing doors slamming in the kitchen area, he ran back to look.

  It was empty, and every appliance had been turned off.

  The whole kitchen staff was gone, and it was almost time to open! He locked the front door, then ran to the office to call his boss, Henry Owens.

  What he didn't know was that one of the employees had already called him, and by the time Greg called, Henry had already been warned.

  Greg had a scenario all set up for himself as he made the call, and when Henry picked up, Greg added concern in his voice to the mix.

  "Hello, this is Henry."

  "Henry, it's me, Greg. We have a serious situation here at The Beef Master. The whole staff pulled a walk-out and—"

  "I heard," Henry said.

  Greg's heart dropped. Shit.

  "You did? Well, uh—"

  "Yes," Henry said. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and I would like direct answers. Yes or no will suffice."

  "Uh, okay, but—"

  "No buts," Henry said. "Did you have an interview for a hostess job this morning that went awry?"

  "Yes, but it wasn't my—"

  "Yes or no, remember?" Henry said. "Did your applicant actually say to you, and I'm paraphrasing, 'I won't kiss ass for a job. I won't show my ass for a job. And I won't work for an ass to get it'?"

  Greg sighed. "Yes."

  "Did you insult her?" Henry asked.

  "No! Of course not!" Greg said.

  "Then tell me exactly what you said to warrant her outburst, and I'll be the judge."

  Greg took a deep breath, trying to even remember what all he'd been saying. "I was explaining that I needed an attractive woman for the position. She was very tall. I mentioned her height, because you and I both know men don't like women to be taller than them. And I told her we catered to fine dining for our clientele and would want someone dressing in what I called classy chic...and something about sexy."

  Henry interrupted. "You said 'sexy'?"

  Greg frowned. "Yes."

  "Go on," Henry said.

  "I asked her to walk to the door and back, because when a hostess is seating guests, their view is of her is her backside and I want—"

  At that point, Henry lost it.

  "You did not actually ask her to do that!"

  Greg stuttered. "Well, yes, but—"

  Now Henry was shouting. "Were you hiring for a hostess or a hooker? Is there something going on beyond fine dining at my restaurant that I know nothing about?"

  Greg's stomach rolled. "No! Of course not. I didn't—I wouldn't..."

  "But you did!" Henry said. "We'll be lucky if we don't get a sexual harassment suit filed against us. So, what the fuck else did you do to cause the whole staff to walk out? And don't tell me nothing because I don't believe for a second that they walked out in unity over a total stranger."

  Greg's voice had gone from assertive to begging, and he didn't even know it.

  "I guess I was in shock at the way that woman reacted. I mean, it came out of nowhere and—"

  "Bullshit. We have already established that you insulted her, so no, it did not come out of nowhere. Have you been treating the rest of the staff like this?"

  "Not that I was aware of," Greg said.

  "Then what happened?" Henry snapped.

  "I told one of the waitresses she'd have to work the hostess position. She refused, arguing that—"

  "I'm sorry, but that's not what I was told," Henry said. "How about I tell you what I heard, and then you fill in the blanks. You told Jessica she was going to work the hostess shift, and she asked you to choose someone else because she needed her waitress tips. And you lost your temper and fired her. Then Karen offered to do it for Jessica, and you fired her for arguing with you. And right about then, the wait staff started standing up for their own people, and they all walked out on you. Does that sound about right?"

  Greg sighed. "I might have lost my temper, but—"

  "That required a yes or no answer, not an excuse," Henry said. "Jessica has worked for the restaurant since we opened. You have been working there for a little over five years. So, you're fired, and she is not. Lock up, and when you leave, drop the keys in the mailbox out front. I will be at the restaurant within the hour to contact the staff, myself. Now give me the name of the woman you interviewed and her contact info. I need to put out your goddamn fire before she sues us."

  "You don't have to do this," Greg said. "I can—"

  "Yes, yes, I do have to," Henry said. "Send me the info now, then get your stuff and get out," Henry said, and hung up.

  Typing in the name Gracie Dunham made Greg shudder all over again. It felt like he was evoking the devil because she'd scared him that bad. And then he'd taken his shock out on the staff, and now here he was—leaving with his tail between his legs. Well hell, and all that went with it, he thought.

  He got a sack from the kitchen, emptied his personal property from his desk into it, and walked out, locking the door behind him. He dropped the keys in the box, just like he'd been told. This incident would be all over the restaurant industry here before nightfall, so his chance of working somewhere else here was nil.

  He'd always wanted to live and work in Vegas, and since he couldn't show his face here again without being laughed at, it might be time to get away before he got caught up in a lawsuit.

  Unaware of the ensuing fallout of her interview, Gracie was on her way back into Branson, too pissed to even think about crying. The reality of job hunting was setting in, and something told her she might run into more like that restaurant manager.

  Shit happened.

  And now she was over it.

  She needed to find a bank and get her money transferred, and she needed to shop for clothes.

  "What a son-of-a-bitch," she said, again, and kept driving. She knew there were outlet malls in the area, and she'd seen Chico's, White Barn, and some interesting boutiques. She had all freaking afternoon to work off the insult, and then maybe tomorrow she'd try somewhere else. But not today. Not while she still felt like taking somebody's fool head off.

  She was all the way back in Branson and looking for a place to park at Chico's when her phone rang. She glanced at Caller ID and frowned. She didn't know any Henry Owens, but she'd sent out a lot of applications. She pulled in to the first empty parking spot she saw and answered.

  "Hello."

  "Gracie Dunham?"

  "Yes?"

  "Miss Dunham, my name is Henry Owens. I own the Beef Master Grill. I just learned of what happened to you today and wanted to call and personally apologize for the appalling way in which you were treated. I also want you to know that Mr
. Lassiter is no longer employed with me. I hope you will accept my apology, and if you so choose, I would be honored to interview you, personally, for the job."

  Gracie was stunned. "Thank you for the apology, but I don't want back in that work environment."

  "Mr. Lassiter lost his cool after you left, and to make a long story short, the entire wait staff and kitchen staff walked out on him. At this moment, the place is closed. I'm trying to get the staff back for an evening service and will be taking Greg's place myself until I can hire a new manager. So I can assure you, there will be no hard feelings in that respect," Henry said.

  "Good Lord," Gracie said.

  "That's not what I said when I found out about it. I do not condone sexual harassment on any level. That will not happen again on my property, but it's your call. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I understand, but I would still like to meet you...at your convenience, of course."

  Gracie didn't hesitate.

  "I'll meet with you, but that's all I can promise."

  "Wonderful. Thank you for understanding. Do you want to try this again tomorrow...say 10:00?" Henry asked.

  "Yes, I can do that," Gracie said.

  "Excellent! I'll see you in the morning. Call this number when you get here, and I'll let you in, myself."

  "Yes, sir," Gracie said.

  "Thank you," Henry said. "And again, my sincere apology for what happened. By the way...I saw on your application that you are new to Branson. Have you found a place to stay yet?"

  "Yes."

  "Excellent," Henry said, and disconnected.

  Gracie stared at her phone, then dropped it back in her purse. Talk about whiplash. She'd been furious only minutes ago, and then this happened! Not only did she have a second interview, but a big apology from the owner himself.

  She could only imagine his stress level right now. The whole staff had walked out! That would have been something to see. But that was his headache, not hers, and right now, she needed wardrobe and shoes.

  Chico's was first, and then she'd go from there.

  John worked all day with only one thought in mind: hoping Gracie would call him tonight. He was excited and hopeful, and trying not to make too much of a new thing. But he felt fourteen all over again, remembering the day the new girl in school just smiled at him, and when she had, he'd gotten so flustered, he'd walked into the wrong classroom and sat down before he'd realized he wasn't supposed to be there.

  Gracie was the same, wild, excited, unknown.

  He'd bombed out with the new girl, but he had a better feeling about Gracie. Fate had already put them together twice, without either one of them even trying. He was older and wiser, now. This time, he wasn't lost. He knew exactly where he was going.

  When the workday was finally over, he stopped to pick up smoked ribs and sides, then headed home. As always, he began unwinding as he drove, and by the time he reached the cabin, he was at peace.

  He ate ribs on the back deck while watching the deer coming out of the forest and the birds going home to roost. When he was through, he carried everything back inside, cleaned up the kitchen, and then went back out with a cold beer to wait for Gracie's call.

  Gracie had shopped for clothes, shoes, and even underwear, and as she was browsing through a mall, stopped in at a nail salon for a mani-pedi, then had to blink away tears at the luxury of having that done. It had been so long since she'd taken care of herself, that she didn't know how to receive it. She finally left the mall, dumped her bags in her car, and drove away. As she left the parking lot, she saw a Gatlin Landscaping truck pulling a trailer load of equipment, and thought of John. He must be something of a successful businessman to have his own company and multiple crews on the job.

  She wondered about the wisdom of calling a total stranger and was still not convinced she should do it.

  She was hot and too tired to go looking for a new bank. For a day that had started out good, then gone bad, then sort of leveled itself back out, she was ready for it to be over.

  Tonight, she would cook. And she would hang up her new clothes, take a long, soaking bath in her tub, and sleep without fear. And that's all she would ask of this day.

  She stopped at a drive-through on the way home to get a Coke, and by the time she pulled into the garage, she had cooled off, and the Coke was gone. She punched the remote, watching as the door went shut behind her car, and then grabbed her bags and went inside, announcing herself as she went.

  "I, Gracie, am home!"

  The place pleased her. Old velvet, hardwood floors, cool and clean, with a faint, but lingering scent of lemon oil.

  She dumped all of her purchases on the bed, glanced up at the cuckoo clock she'd already hung on the wall. She changed into old clothes then began hanging up the new stuff and putting away new shoes.

  She sat down in the easy chair beside the window to braid her hair, and as she did, looked up, then blinked. Just for a moment, she'd forgotten where she was and had expected to see the dry landscape and rusty corrals beyond the old farmhouse.

  Her view, instead, was neatly clipped hedges, freshly watered flower beds, and huge trees casting long shadows upon the newly mown grass. And it was beautiful.

  She finished braiding her hair, and then got her phone to check her balance at the bank. She hadn't spent a lot of money, but until she had a job and a paycheck coming in, spending anything felt like a risk.

  To her shock, the twenty-one thousand plus balance that she'd had upon her arrival, was now a little over thirty-one thousand dollars.

  "Oh my God," Gracie mumbled, unable to believe what she was seeing.

  It never occurred to her than any of her siblings were responsible. She was just grateful for the added security, which gave her the leeway to find the right job.

  She flipped the braid off her shoulder and headed for the kitchen. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and all of a sudden, she was starving. She made herself some iced tea, then got out a skillet and a little package of pork chops. It had been such a long time since she'd had the luxury of cooking that it felt strange. But the familiarity of a lifetime of kitchen skills soon kicked in, and she was banging lids and turning the perfectly browned chops like a pro.

  Chapter Twelve

  The dishwasher was running, and Gracie was in the living room, kicked back in the blue velvet chair with her feet up on the matching hassock, watching TV.

  The mindless luxury of no longer being responsible for Mama, or answering to anyone else, had become her reality. The weather alert for this area called for thunderstorms. Where Gracie came from, rain was money falling from the sky.

  Then she remembered John Gatlin. She wanted to hear his voice again and ran to get his card, then called the number.

  He answered so abruptly, she wondered if he'd actually been waiting for her to call.

  "Hello?" he said.

  "Hi, John. This is Gracie Dunham."

  "Gracie! I'm so glad you called. I've been hoping you would. Have you had your dinner?"

  "Yes. I'm full of pork chops and watching TV."

  John chuckled. "We both went the pig route tonight. I had smoked ribs, and I'm watching two deer eating my grass so I don't have to mow it."

  She had an immediate image of forest. "You don't live in the city?"

  "No. I have a log home just outside of Branson. It's off the main road, back up in the trees. It's all green and peaceful here."

  "That sounds amazing," Gracie said.

  "It is. I'd love to show it to you sometime...if you'd like." Gracie was suddenly silent, and her hesitation was just enough to warn John not to move too fast. "So, how did your interview go?"

  Gracie realized her silence had been taken as a no, but it was too late to go back and explain how rusty she was in the dating scene. His question was the perfect shift she needed.

  "Using one of my daddy's favorite sayings...it was nothing less than a shit show."

  John laughed, and then immediately apologized.

  "
Oh, God...sorry. I wasn't laughing because the interview was a bust. I was just appreciating your daddy's humor. He must be a pistol."

  "He was," Gracie said. "He's been gone a long time."

  John sighed. Another faux pas. "I'm sorry. Where was your interview?"

  "At a place called The Beef Master Grill."

  "I pass that place every day going to work and coming home. What on earth happened?"

  "I had an interview for a hostess job. I'm beyond being picky about a position anywhere, considering how long I've been out of work. I've had a lot of rejections since I got here, and this was my first positive response."

  "I get that," John said. "It's about ninety percent of why I started my own business. I couldn't even get hired to park cars when I first arrived."

  "Well, that actually makes me feel better," Gracie said.

  John chuckled. "Happy to oblige. So, what happened to you?"

  "I arrive. The manager comments about my unemployed status for the past nine years. I reminded him why, which I'd put on the application, and I point to my resumé, reminding him of my work history along with my degree, and that I had more than enough qualifications for a hostess position."

  "Can I ask why you hadn't been working? Or is that too personal?" John asked.

  "Not personal. Just a fact of my life. My mother was diagnosed with dementia, and I turned down the job I had waiting when I finished college to stay home and take care of her until she died," Gracie said.

  John took a deep breath. "For nine years."

  "Yes."

  "Whoa."

  "That doesn't even come close," Gracie said.

  "Sorry," John said. "So, back to your interview."

  Gracie sighed. "This is where it went downhill. Bottom line, the only qualifications he was interested in were how I looked, what I wore, and if my butt was sexy enough for the job."

  John was stunned. "Are you serious? Do women always have to go through that?" he asked.

  "I don't know what the protocol is these days, but I'm not working for a jackass."

  John frowned. "Are you okay?"

  "Oh, I'm fine, and I got a phone call from the owner, Henry Owens, calling to apologize for what happened."