“You know about that?” I asked disbelievingly.
“I was there.” She pushed the edge of her jacket aside to put her hand on her hip, revealing a dark holster filled with a 9mm pistol.
Though I’m sure it wasn’t meant as a threat, I got the distinct impression that this woman was very protective of that waitress. Why I don’t know, but would love to find out.
“I assure you, Ms. Blackstone only wishes to apologize, and perhaps offer her a compensation for her trouble.”
Ms. Bumgartner was about to say something when her wife touched her arm, and then looked at me.
“Allow me to show you out, Mr. Kirk.”
*
I leaned back on the edge of the desk and watched as Frankie showed Mr. Kirk out, a million questions going through my head. Blackie Blackstone had a reputation that caused mother’s to grab up their children and run away in fear. Her answer to everything was money. If she got into trouble, which she did often, she’d write a check and the problem disappeared. If she wanted a friend, she’d write a check and a hundred people were instantly her friend. If she wanted a new toy, she’d write a check. If she wanted to apologize to a waitress she had fired, she’d write a check.
For reasons that I’m privy to, yet, Mr. Livingston wanted to give Blackie some leeway and see where it led to. I had told him everything I knew about Blackie, but it didn’t seem to impress upon him the danger of having an alcoholic billionairess around his daughter. He told me just to keep a close eye on her and report back to him. My fear was that by the time I could determine what Blackie was really after; she would have wreck havoc on Chrissie before I could stop her.
“So, what do you think?” Frankie asked when she walked back in.
“I think Blackie wants more than to apologize, and I hope this time, she doesn’t get what she wants.”
***
New Beginnings ‒ Christine Livingston
The bane of my existence is doing laundry and taking the garbage out. I have to take the garbage to the chute two floors beneath me, and the reason I hated doing it was because the chute was always full and supposedly, we’re not allowed to leave our garbage bags sitting in the hallway. So that means I have to trudge down the stairs with my garbage, and carry it back up again with it if the chute is full. It’s not that I’m out of shape, it’s because the stairwell has no lights, and smells of urine.
As I was returning from one of my trips to the garbage chute, I heard a door creak open and I braced myself. I had become so paranoid, and so jaded, that I wasn’t sure who might come out of that apartment and attack me. But to my relief, it was a little old lady who was as scared of me as I had been of her. She had a garbage bag in her hand, which she quickly set in the hallway and slammed her door shut. I heard a chain slide across the latch, a double bolt lock click and a security bar thump against the door knob. Feeling generous, I picked up her garbage and went back down to the chute. Her bag is really heavy, jeez, how much garbage can one old lady have? Finally, with my chores done, I laid down for a much deserved nap.
Thirty minutes later, the kitten, who was happily plump and vermin free, not that she had any fleas to begin with, had Eskimo kissed me awake.
“I start my new job tonight, Blackie.”
I treated her to a bit of tuna, while I prepared my new uniform, which consisted of a pair of my blue jeans and the restaurant’s crested T-shirt. The restaurant, called The King’s BBQ, is down on Beale Street, wedged between two other barbeque restaurants, and a steakhouse, and all of them have a live band playing at night. Realizing that, I jumped up and took two aspirins from the bottle and tucked them into the empty coin pocket of my purse, just in case the music tonight wasn’t any good. Frankly, I was looking forward to some festive music and good food. Since I lost my first job, thanks to the evil Melinda Blackstone, I’d been walking the streets, checking every restaurant window for a help wanted sign. There was nothing in my area, so I got up early yesterday, the day after my birthday, and walked over to Beale Street. It took me over an hour, but it was worth it, I saw the help wanted sign almost immediately.
The manager actually seemed grateful. Had I been more experienced, I might have seen that as a bad sign. Maybe he didn’t have enough help, which means that I would have to pick up the slack. I convinced myself that I would be so tired I’d actually sleep through the night for a change. Considering my shift wouldn’t end until two in the morning, it was a safe bet.
Then it dawned on me, I would be out walking the streets of Memphis for an hour, at two A.M., I felt a sudden shiver of trepidation. I’d been on those streets before at that time of night. I was usually unconscious, but I always felt safe, or was that because the liquor drowned my fears? I’m not so brave anymore, nor so stupid, so I resolved that I would use some of my tips to take the bus home. An instant feeling of relief enveloped me. I wonder how much it costs to ride the bus. If this job works out, I will have to move closer to the restaurant, just for my own peace of mind.
Maybe I’ll have a chance to see some old friends down on Beale Street. I use to hang out there when I was a teen. We’d pick a club, show our fake I.D.’s and dance the night away. That was so much fun. The problem was that we also drank the night away. Now that I’m sober, I’ve realized that it wasn’t as fun as I made myself believe it was. I’m going to have to be real careful not to fall into that trap again. After all, I have someone who depends on me now.
I picked up Blackie and scratched her head. “Isn’t that right, Blackie?” the kitten purred for me, “you’re my baby now, and I’m going to take good care of you.”
I snuggled with my kitten one more time, then put her down on the bed and watch her play with the tassels on the bedspread that had to be left over from the seventies. She was still playing with them as I got dressed; catching her tiny little claws in the yarn, and then growling when she couldn’t break loose right away. I made sure her little water bowl was full and spread out some old newspaper in the corner, for her to use as a bathroom. As soon as I get paid, I’ll get her a plastic litter box and use shredded newspaper instead of buying litter. Satisfied that my child was taken care of, I grabbed my purse and keys to the apartment, and headed to work.
New Beginnings ‒ Melinda aka Blackie Blackstone
“What do you mean they wouldn’t tell you where she lives?”
George described his visit with the two detectives. My first thought was to pay them a visit myself, and force them to tell me what I wanted to know. But that damn little voice in the back of my head was telling me not to. I had never listened to that voice before, but for some reason, I was now. Why are things so damn complicated lately?
Ever since I met that frustrating woman, things have gotten complicated, as if she had jinxed me somehow. Things won’t get back to normal until I find her and set it right, but I fear it may be too late. Something has changed inside of me, and the problem is that I’m starting to like it. It’s the new me.
“It’ll be harder to talk to her over the music, but that’s fine, I can still do what I need to do.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to bother her while she’s working?”
He had a point. My last encounter with her at a restaurant did not turn out well for either one of us. She was fired and I grew a conscience, all because we stopped to eat at the first dive we came to. Never again, Blackie.
“Okay, I’ll wait until her shift ends, and then I’ll talk to her.”
And that’s exactly what I did, almost, and it still ended in disaster.
Chapter Four
Making Amends ‒ Christine Livingston and Blackie Blackstone
“Miss, this isn’t my order.”
“Oh, right, you had the Shake, Rattle and Roll onion rings, with The King Has Left the Building spareribs, and he had the Memphis Blues Brother’s steak with a side order of Beale Street French fries.”
I switched their plates around, wondering why they couldn’t just do it themselves, when somethi
ng drew my attention to the main entrance, and that's when I caught sight of her. Oh my God, is she following me? I kept my head down, but watched from the corner of my eye, as Blackie Blackstone was escorted to a large round booth in the corner, away from the band playing sixties music. The owner himself, Robert Kline, scooted the table out so she could easily sit in the center, and then he scooted the table back in, removing extra utensils and empty glasses.
Why me Lord, why me? Kline found me hiding in the kitchen. He took my elbow and pulled me to the side.
“We have a very important guest here tonight who has asked for you personally, and on your first night on the job. I’m impressed.”
“You probably shouldn’t be, Mr. Kline. Blackie and I have, shall I say, exchanged words before, and I think it might be best if someone else waited on her tonight.”
“Oh, so you know her then, so much the better. Now get out there and treat her like a queen.”
He didn’t hear a word I had just said. When I hesitated, because I really liked this job and wanted to keep it, he gently but firmly, shoved me out the door.
*
I saw her coming out of the kitchen with a scowl on her face. Yep, that’s the waitress who threw her apron at me. Well sweetheart, Blackie is here to.., I gulped, suddenly dry mouthed, to apologize.
I had been sitting in the car, waiting for her to leave work, but that became too boring. So against George’s advice, I had come into the restaurant an hour earlier than planned. I just couldn't wait any longer to get this over with. After introducing myself to the owner of the establishment, Robert Kline, I asked that he arrange for Chris to be my waitress.
I had rehearsed several times, what I wanted to say to Chris. Things like, let me make it up to you by giving you five thousand dollars. No seriously, I want you to have it because you lost your job. Lame. I find you sexy and want to sleep with you. Lamer, but enticing. I could just combine the two and tell her that I’ll give her five thousand dollars if she’ll sleep with me and put me out of my misery. For some reason I didn’t think she’d appreciate that either.
I watched her walk towards me looking tired, looking beautiful, and looking like she was afraid. I don’t think it was fear of me, but fear because of me.
*
I walked over to the water dispenser and grabbed a pitcher of ice water. Taking in a deep breath, I told myself to stay calm and treat her like any other customer, then I walked to Blackie’s booth.
“Are you here to watch me squirm, maybe have me beg you for mercy, or just to get me fired again?” Damn, that’s not how I wanted to do this.
“I’m here to make amends.”
I looked in her eyes, eyes the color of charcoal, dark and foreboding, like she was. Except.., her eyes turned a slate gray, as if to tell me I could trust her sincerity.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. May I take your order, please, Ms. Blackstone?” I asked her as I poured a glass of water. I concentrated on my job, trying to block out the probability that she would throw a tantrum at any minute and have me fired again.
“Can I get a whiskey sour on ice, please?”
“Certainly, Ms. Blackstone. You can have anything you want.” According to my boss, you’re the queen.
“And if I want you?”
My face betrayed me, as I gaped at her in shock and disgust, but I was quick to recover, “I’ll hand you my apron again, and find another job, again.”
“Really, am I as bad as all that. Since you know my name, you know who I am and that I’m fully capable of providing you with compensation. And if you don’t want to have the time of your life with someone who knows how to live it up, then let me make it up to you with this money.”
She pulled a flat, leather wallet from her back pocket and took out five, one thousand dollar bills. Perhaps she thought that I would be surprised or grateful. I looked at her incredulously.
“Let me assure you, your money cannot assuage your guilt,” I know this personally. “nor can it buy my forgiveness. And I know all about living it up. That’s how I ended up a waitress.”
She looked at me with confusion, but I wasn’t about to go into my past indiscretions. Instead, I sought to give her a compliment for her efforts, “I am impressed with your reasoning for wanting to make amends, and in fact I commend you. But the two options you presented are not going to work with me. I’ll get that drink for you now, Ms. Blackstone.”
I left her sitting there, completely shocked. I knew what she was thinking because I had thought the same thing, once upon a time. I bought, or rather, my parents bought my way out of more than one infraction, and inevitably it left me a broken shell. I honestly didn’t want to see that happen to Blackie, who, in spite of everything, had me feeling sorry for her. Damn it.
*
What the hell? This is so not how I thought things would go. Why is Chris being so hard headed? What the hell is it that she wants from me, if not my money or my sex? That’s the only two things I have to offer her, so now what do I do? Desperate, I pulled out my cellphone and called George.
“George, it’s Blackie and I need your help, I don’t know what to do.” That was another first for me, asking for help regarding a woman.
“Do about what, Blackie?”
I explained my conversation with Chris and how she wouldn’t allow me to apologize to her. George turned the tables on me and explained how I wasn’t really apologizing, I was bribing her. What a fascinating, psychological way to put things in perspective. He had a point. Of course I was bribing her. That’s what I do. I bribe people to entertain me, satisfy me, and be my friend. Oh that is pathetic!
“Okay, George, what should I do now?”
“Simply say you’re sorry and leave it at that.”
“Just say I’m sorry?” Another concept I had never considered.
“That’s right. Say you’re sorry, leave her a reasonable tip, nothing outlandish, and leave the restaurant and her behind.”
“I just leave? That’s seems really anticlimactic to me.”
“Sometimes, life needs to be anticlimactic; it’s good for the soul.”
I looked up and saw her walking my way, “She’s coming back, George, wish me luck.” Before he could, I hung up and put my phone on the table.
“You’re drink, Ms. Blackstone.” She said sternly. “Do you need anything else?”
“Yes, I need you to sit down here for a second, so we can talk.”
“I’m sorry, that’s against the restaurant’s policy.”
I gave her my saddest look and assured her that I would square it with her boss should he say anything. She shifted her feet, as if they were hurting, and then slid into the booth, sitting on the very edge of the seat.
“I can give you five minutes, Ms. Blackstone.”
“That’s all the time I need, Ms. Livingston. May I call you Chris? It’s such a pretty name.”
She nodded her head, indifferent to my attempt at being charming.
“Chris, I just wanted to say‒”
The owner of the restaurant chose that very moment to interrupt me.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, Ms. Blackstone?” He asked, glaring at Chris.
“The queen asked me to sit beside her.” Chris said with a slight edge in her tone.
Before he could blow a gasket I intercepted him, “Yes, I was asking Chris if she would like to work for me in my father’s hotel just down the street, but unfortunately she declined my offer. She seems to like working for you more, Mr. Kline.”
He gave me a big cheesy grin and then smiled at Chris, before he left us alone.
“I guess I should thank you, for saving my job this time.”
“I didn’t do it for the gratitude. Look, all I want to do is apologize to you for getting you fired at the other job. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.”
“I… I don’t know what to say, Ms. Blackstone‒”
“Please, call me Blackie.”
“Do you have any o
ther choices?”
“Any other choices?” What the hell? “Okay, my real name is Melinda. You can call me that if you’d rather?”
“Yes, I’d prefer to call you Melinda. Thank you, Melinda, and I accept your apology.”
She rose to leave and I reached over and touched her arm. It was a soft, warm arm that tingled beneath my fingers.
“Please, can’t you stay a bit longer and chat? I’d love to know how you could live it up on a waitress’ salary.”
Although it was not intentional, I had insulted her, and the tiny bit of ground I had made with her, was washed away in a heartbeat.
“It’s really none of your business, Ms. Blackstone, but it was because I lived it up, as you like to do now, that I had to become a waitress. I had one too many drinks and lost everything. Now I’m forced wait on insufferable people like you in order to survive. Remember that the next time you bully a waitress, or crash your expensive car, remember that it can all be taken away from you in an instant. Oh, just forget it. I’ve accepted your apology, consider us even. Goodnight, Ms. Blackstone.”
Before I could say anything more, she left. I rubbed my thumb over my fingertips and felt her tingling skin against them.
Stark Realties ‒ Christine Livingston and Melinda Blackstone
To my surprise and gratitude, Melinda left me a regular tip. Not thousands of dollars to bribe me, just a ten dollar bill, which for having only ordered a drink, was unheard of, but still, she made the effort to restrain herself. I was probably too hard on her but the woman just kept pushing the wrong buttons. I think it’s because I was so like her once, throwing money around, bribing people to be my friend, drinking myself under the table, that I fear Melinda. When I look at her I see myself not too long ago, and that makes me afraid. That’s why I didn’t want to call her by her nickname. It represented everything I was trying to leave behind.
From Riches to Rags Page 4
