“Yes, ma’am. If I could have a minute of your time.”
“Are you selling something?”
“No ma’am—not sellin’.” The left side of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile as he repeated the word just like I’d said it. He cleared his throat by putting a fist up to his mouth. “I need to go over this paperwork with you.”
“Paperwork?” I wiped chicken fat off my hands onto the front of my apron and I walked over to him as I tried to smooth back the hair from my face.
“My name is Pinzer, ma’am.” He held out his hand. “Zach Pinzer.” We connected hands. His grip was weak like he was afraid he might hurt me. I still grabbed his strongly and gave him a solid shake. He must have felt the oil of the fat on my hands. He looked at his shaking hand, grabbed a kerchief out of his pocket and wiped it off.
“Oh, sorry. I’m cutting up chicken. Preparing for our evening meals, you know.”
He had a look on his face like he’d eaten a fly. Then, he folded and stuffed the kerchief back into his pocket and continued his pitch.
“I represent Chariot International Incorporated.” “What’s Chariot International Incorporated?”
“Well, we’re a conglomerate corporation who has holdings in many areas. And, we’ve been watching you.” “Watching me what?”
“Your business, ma’am. We’ve been watching your business. This business has grown from a small interest to what it is today.” He smiled like I should be happy about what he was telling me. “And, we think this business would fit well into our corporate strategy. You see we build small boutique malls that have one focal point restaurant. We believe this little strip mall here could be redone and rebuilt to be a fabulous tourist boutique setting. Kind of like a second Sedona, if you will. All we need is for you to sign our letter of intent to start the wheels in motion…”
“What are you saying?” During his pitch I felt like I was dog-paddling—I didn’t know how to respond.
“Chariot International wants to locate along this strip mall, specifically this building—Chariot wants your business. We’re offering to buy it for a very generous amount.”
Vanessa had been listening while she prepped potatoes. She hadn’t missed a beat—I could hear the whooshing strokes from her peeling in the background—until, that is, when she included herself in the conversation.
“Excuse me young man but this business is not for sale.” Vanessa walked up next to me. Her face was hard. “Chariot International’s contract only states a Georgette Carlisle as the primary. I can only discuss this with her.”
“Well, I’m Vanessa Carlisle and I own half of this business. I can speak to this subject as well.” She took a meaningful breath, “And, young man, your contract,” she said it like a dirty word, “is incorrect, this business is not for sale!” She was brilliant. I still stood there dumbfounded.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but do you have an interest in Bobby’s Diner?”
“Yes, she does. She owns fifty percent and has a say in every aspect of this business too.”
“Well, then…” He flipped to a page in the document. “Wouldn’t you both like to know what Chariot is offering?” He’d lost his smirk. Vanessa walked right up to him and backed him out the door. He was now standing on the delivery ramp. He looked surprised. She grabbed hold of the door knob and started to close it. Pinzer yelled the offer just before the door slammed shut.
“Two and a half million…” We could hear his muffled voice continuing outside the closed door. “That’s over a million each!” We looked at each other with high brows when he finished.
“I forgot about that part of the business.” Vanessa headed back to her potatoes.
I stared like a virgin at Vanessa. “What just happened, Van?”
“Some ass-wipe just tried to buy our restaurant.” She giggled slightly and wiped sweat from her upper lip. I put my hand to my mouth and laughed out loud just once.
“Come on, Georgie, we have a business to run. Yuppies make me sick!” By then it was just before dinner and we were still talking about it. Vanessa untied her apron and threw it onto a counter. “This sort of thing used to happen all the time back when me and Bobby ran the place. They think they can bring their big business mentality into our little community and give us something to live for… the bastards.”
“Well, Vanessa. Believe it or not, I was considering selling. A million dollars sounds pretty good right about now.”
“What?” She stopped her chopping duty and laid the knife gently onto the counter where she worked. Her back was turned toward the potatoes.
“Well, yeah. After our fight the other day I made myself a game plan. Part of it was to sell.” Vanessa stood tall when I began talking. “Yep. I had it all figured out. I have nothing here anymore. I figured I’d split. Walk away—do the right thing.”
“Oh, and you think doing that is the right thing? Kind of like penance for your past sins?”
“Sort of.” I backed up against the counter and leaned on it with my butt.
“Well, then what? You were just gonna wash your hands of this diner? Bobby’s? Bobby?” She was getting all riled up again and I knew I was no match for Vanessa when she was like this.
“All I’m sayin’ is, I think everyone would be happier if…”
“Oh, I get it.” She interrupted me. “Now you’re thinking
of everyone else’s happiness. When she emphasized the word ‘now’ I knew what she was implying. I just raised my hands with a surrendering motion. But, then I didn’t need to imply anything after a second when she said, “Well, aren’t you the martyr. No, young lady. I don’t know what your mother taught you. But, mine taught me ‘you make your bed, you lay in it’! No. You’re not selling—I’m not selling. If you’re going to atone you’ll do it with me breathing down your neck for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?” She sounded like the momma I’d always dreamed of—hard, but with a soft river running under her skin.
“So, now you’re gonna tell me how I’m gonna live out the rest of my life, is that it?”
“Well, at least for today. We have dinner to serve tonight.
Get back to work!” She grabbed a tea towel and snapped it at my ass. We would have the diner together for one more night anyway.
Vanessa loved being strong and being in control and she grew an inch each time she took charge of a situation. This was one way we differed. I admired her. I admired my dead husband’s ex-wife.
CHAPTER 13
José had worked at the diner since he was a young boy. He snuck in over the border as an illegal. But after Vanessa got a hold of him, he got his citizenship papers and a green card, and he worked as a legitimate resident. At the time, his entire family lived in Mexico. He would send money to them monthly to help out. Bobby and I would clean out our closets annually and fill boxes up with clothing we no longer wore. And, José would ship them down to his mother and father, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews.
Bobby and Vanessa took José in when he had no one else to turn to. He’d come up from Phoenix where immigration laws were tightening like a noose around businesses who hired illegals. But, a little more north in a small, out of the way town authorities just seemed to look the other way. José was solid and dependable. He showed up like clockwork. Vanessa taught him better English than what he knew when he got to the states.
Bobby and José always fantasized about a garden in the back of the diner. Bobby even went so far as to buy a few books to learn about vegetable gardens. He and José would draw out plans and dream about the layout, the fresh food, the smells, all the stuff that comes with having a garden. But, they never got around to it while he and Vanessa were still married. After the divorce they had to hire an extra person for the kitchen. So, when Bobby started building our garden, I told him I could help him build the diner’s. Well, neither Bobby nor José had one extra second to help, but they did it anyway. I worked early in the morning when the day was cool and they would
help out after their shifts even when the sun was scorching hot. We finished the enclosure one Sunday and Monday, built the potato bin the following Sunday and Monday. After we rototilled the ground and turned the soil with added organics we began setting stakes and putting in raised gardens, walkways around the garden, we even added bloomers so we could have fresh-cut seasonal flowers on the tables. The overall enclosure had two entrances. One entrance a person could walk through and the other we could get a large piece of equipment through it if need be. That entrance had a double-gate. The single gate had a lovely arching arbor that we planted Esparanza— the name of the plant means ‘hope’ in Spanish—to grow up and over the structure. Hummingbirds couldn’t resist its yellow trumpet flowers but the deer wouldn’t touch it, when they came around, that is. And, every so often I’d see a doe walking in the distance. But, the noise from the highway and the bustle around the building usually kept them away for the most part.
Within a matter of a few weeks we started producing annuals—flowers and, of course, vegetables. Lettuce sprung up like weeds, so did the broccoli and green onions. Within three months of building our garden we were using most everything we grew in our restaurant.
People loved it. We loved it. José loved it.
Bobby almost changed the name of the diner to Jardin de Jose. I talked him out of it. Thinking back I might’ve been wrong. But, at the time Bobby’s seemed the best even with the new garden. Bobby’s is what people knew the restaurant to be. Changing the name would change the customer base, I thought. We never told José. I wish we had.
People started to hear about our beautiful garden in the back. José would sneak people outside and around so Bobby didn’t know. Not that he would-a cared, but he thought he might. José would sell tomatoes and lettuce to some of our customers. He’d say, “Mr. Carlisle, someone gives you money for veggies!” He’d shove the cash in Bobby’s hand and walk away like a new father—beaming and all.
One day José called very early and woke us. He’d learned his mother had died and had to get to her funeral. We did all we could to assist him in his time of need. That’s when we found out José had been selling vegetables on Sundays when we were closed. Every Monday we’d come to work to find a pile of cash in the tip jar. Everyone loved Monday’s because the waiters and busboys not only had the regular tips but also the already-filled tip jar at the cashier’s counter. No one would ever fess up to it. We didn’t put it together until José was out of the picture for a few days.
Arnie, one of our regulars had heard about José’s mother and asked what we were going to do about Sunday.
“Sunday?” Bobby said to Arnie. “We’re closed on Sundays.”
“So, we don’t get our weekly veggies?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Out of the garden, you know, José’s been selling vegetables and flowers. It’s a real farmer’s market, by god! We think it’s a great idea, Bobby.” Arnie was talking like it was Bobby’s idea. Then, it all dawned on us, the three of us, right then and there. Everything fell into place. How we never seemed to have any wasted vegetables, how the money appeared like a coin left under a pillow by the tooth fairy after losing a tooth, how everyone loved to talk to José, how we kept getting new plants even when we didn’t remember ordering any. We were so busy with the diner, you see, to keep track of something that seemed to be thriving. We weren’t missing cash, we were getting it. No inventory was stolen, things seemed off, but fun. Not bad, like we had a dishonest employee or nothing’. So, we looked away.
Well, after José got back the jig was up. When we confronted him he looked like a beaten puppy. He started taking off his apron like we were firing him.
“That’s right, José!” Bobby said it real mean. “You get off that apron and…” He paused for a second. “Put your garden gloves on and get to work! We have a busy Sunday ahead of us in a couple of days and we can’t have our little market in a shambles!” José’s face looked like one big question mark. When Bobby broke into laughter José realized he was happy about everything. But, kept saying, like a forgiven sinner, “Thank you, Mr. Carlisle, thank you.”
“Jesus Christ, José. You’re the best. Get out and have fun in your garden. Now go!”
He’d returned the day before from the funeral and Bobby wanted to make sure he had something to live for again. I know how you feel when you lose your mother, like you’ve lost half your body.
We’ve kept up José’s tradition. Any money he makes from vegetables sales that aren’t reinvested in new plants, we put in the tip jar. And, I’ll bet you any amount that we have the only employees who fight to get a shift in on Mondays.
CHAPTER 14
He was big—big and mean-looking and homely as a baboon. He didn’t give a name, why would he. He just appeared like an apparition in a horror movie. He had pockmarks from acne past. And, when he talked his tight skin pulled in odd directions, not like supple soft skin, but like he’d been burnt on a spinning wagon wheel. You wanted to feel sorry for the guy, but he had lava in his veins, hot and raging. So, you felt scared instead.
Vanessa seated him back in the corner like he’d requested. He ate a sandwich and drank one beer after the other, for two-and-a-half hours till mostly everyone was gone. That’s when he asked to speak with the owner. Vanessa told him she was the owner.
“What can I help you with?”
“This place is sweet.” He sucked on a pickle when he said it like he was sucking someone’s dick.
“Thank you sir, we think so.” Vanessa was taken back a little but remained cool and began to walk away.
“It’d be a shame if anything were to happen to it.”
She stopped suddenly and turned back to him. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I stuttered ma’am. You think about what I said, now.” He slid to the edge of the seat to stand.
“How safe are you here running a business like this, being a woman and all. You could get hurt. If I was you, I think I’d sell to the first person who made me an offer.” He got up next to her slow and so close she could smell his rancid breath. “You have a good day now.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin that had been on the table and threw it back onto the seat.
Vanessa stood speechless as he pushed by her out of the restaurant and got in his shiny black Yukon. Its windows were dark so you couldn’t see inside. She walked just outside the doors as he was pulling out of the parking lot. The license plates had been removed from the back.
***
“Georgette?”
“Mm hmm?” I was cleaning up in the kitchen after the lunch rush and didn’t look up.
“We’ve just been threatened.”
“Hmm.” I was intent on reordering the kitchen and didn’t quite catch what Vanessa had said. “I’m sorry Vanessa, I didn’t catch that. What did you just say?” I stopped wiping and put my hair behind my ears. “We’ve been threatened—to sell. He said if we didn’t sell, we’d be hurt.”
“What?”
“That’s right. Some big lug-nut just came in, ate lunch, poured about a keg of beer into his mouth, and then threatened us if we didn’t sell.” “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m telling you, Georgette. It’s what just happened.”
“Who waited on him.” “I did.”
“Why?”
“He just started ordering after I sat him in the booth and so I brought it out to him. Easy enough, I thought.”
“Did anyone else see him?”
“Oh, I’m sure they all saw him. He looked like he’d been run down by horses pulling a wagon full o’ ugly!”
“Vanessa.”
“Shit, Georgette. This guy was nasty. All pockmarked and everything.”
“Vanessa, a person can’t help something like that!” “Inside, too. That’s not the point. He threatened our business—you and me—get it?”
“It’s just so hard to believe. Why would anyone want to threaten us?”
“I don’t know. But,
something’s not right.” Vanessa left the kitchen.
When I’d finished wiping down the counters I went out to talk to her again. She was standing at the front door looking out. She had one hand up to her mouth and the other on her hip and looked like she was in another world.
I noticed something I hadn’t seen in her before. From that position, deep in thought, she looked smaller somehow. Before, she’d always looked bigger-than-life to me. I guess because I always felt a little ashamed around her since Bobby, and all. But, for this brief moment, she looked fragile.
“Has he been back?”
I’d startled her from her demons.
“No. Not yet.”
“Hey, Van. Let’s try not to worry about this, okay? It’s a distraction we don’t need. Nothing’s gonna happen. Don’t you give it another thought.”
She turned away and clasped both her arms around the front of her like she got a chill down her spine. “Have you counted the till?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Well, don’t you think it’d be a good idea if you did?
Come on, Vanessa, let’s close this place up, okay?”
“Sure… of course, you’re right. What’s gotten into me? He really had me going for a second. What time is it?” She looked at her watch. “Oh, Christ! I’m supposed to be at Roberta’s tonight. She wants me to help her with some things around the house—you know, some of Rick’s things. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Wanna come?” When she saw my face lighten up and actually consider being included she quickly rescinded the question. “Oh, I’m joking. I’m certain Roberta would prefer to be alone with her mother.” She said it like it was a sentence in prison. But, to me, it sounded like water to a parched animal in the desert.
“Oh, I wasn’t actually thinking I would go, Vanessa. What’s gotten into you?” I turned it around on her. “That guy really got under your skin, didn’t he?” She rubbed her arms and went back to the cash register to finish her day and I went back into the kitchen to take inventory for the next. My gut hurt like someone had punched me. My gut and my heart.
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