Where One Goes

by B. N. Toler

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asks, turning to face me.

  “No. No. Nothing like that,” I assure him. “I just feel like something is going to happen, and having a tough guy like you around might keep things from getting too crazy.”

  “What are you up to, Charlotte?” Ike asks, and of course, I ignore him. I don’t know why he bothers asking me questions when I can’t answer him.

  Sniper eyes me suspiciously. “Okay,” he says, with uncertainty.

  “Thanks.” I smile brightly, leaving him to his fryer full of fries.

  “Charlotte,” Ike warns, but again I ignore him. He’ll find out what’s going on soon enough, and I’m sure he’ll be pissed about it.

  Misty is behind the bar, eyes dull and unfriendly as she takes me in. “Hey, Misty,” I chirp as I tie my apron on and pass by her to the hostess stand to check where my tables will be. It’s no surprise I got the crappiest section as I’m the new girl, but I try to remain optimistic. I just have to show George I can do this and he’ll give me better tables.

  I head over to my tables to check all the salt and pepper shakers and sugar caddies when Misty approaches.

  “Listen. If you want to keep your job here you’ll keep your mouth shut about what you saw last night,” she warns, her blue eyes scorching into mine.

  “You mean how I saw you sniffing coke?” I counter and Ike groans. He thinks I’m making it worse. He’s probably right.

  “Look, bitch,” she chuckles softly in disdain, as if she doesn’t consider me a threat. “Keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way, and maybe I’ll let George keep you on.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ike yells as he punches her in the face. He’s the kind of man that would never hit a woman, not for real anyway, but I guess since he knows he can’t hurt her, he’s giving it to her. Of course, his blows don’t affect her at all; his hands just go right through her. I can’t help it, I laugh, which causes Misty to glare because she thinks I’m laughing at her.

  “Let him keep me on?” I question as I cross my arms. “The sign outside says Ike and George’s. Misty must be in fine print.”

  “George and I have an understanding,” she says, simply.

  I grin at the absurdity of her words. “Is that what they call fucking these days?” Misty’s eyebrows touch her hairline.

  “Jesus, Charlotte,” Ike mumbles.

  “I’m sorry, Misty. I’ll tell you what. You stay out of my way and play nice, and maybe I won’t tell your boyfriend you’re fucking your boss,” I say as I smile brightly at her.

  “George will fire you if he thinks you’re trying to stir up shit,” Ike adds.

  Ike is right, but he won’t have a chance. George’s world is officially about to collapse, and Misty will be out of the picture for good. Misty’s eyes go wide as she stares at me blankly. She’s not sure how to respond to my threat.

  “You don’t know who you’re messing with, bitch,” she bites out. She doesn’t chuckle this time. I guess I’ve moved up on the threat meter.

  “Just walk away, Charlotte. She’s probably high right now, and who knows what she’ll do,” Ike warns, and as much as I want to lash back at her, I decide he’s right. Besides, her life is about to drive head-on into a shit storm.

  “Can I get to work now, or do you want to continue glaring at me?” I ask casually, as if we’re not in an intense quarrel.

  She backs away slowly, her eyes saying everything her mouth isn’t; threatening me in all ways possible. When she finally spins around and walks away, I turn to my table and whisper to Ike, “Stop talking to me. It’s distracting and hard to ignore.”

  “Fine. I’m trying to help.”

  “I know, but dial it down, please,” I whisper again. “Maybe you could give me some space while I work.”

  “As you wish.” He nods and disappears.

  I check all of my tables just before George comes out from the kitchen and unlocks the doors. Through the glass pane of the door, I see Mr. Mercer with I assume is his wife, waiting to enter, and George greets them as he holds the door open for them.

  “Good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Mercer. How are ya today?”

  “We’re good, George,” Mr. Mercer answers. “How have you been?”

  “Not too bad,” George replies as he makes his way to the hostess stand. “I got a table ready for you if you’ll follow me.”

  “Actually,” Mr. Mercer interrupts. “We heard you have a lovely new waitress working here. Might we sit at one of her tables?” Mr. Mercer’s eyes meet mine and he winks before turning his attention back to George.

  “Uh . . . sure,” George agrees, grabbing two menus and two rolled-up silverwares. “You ready for a table, Charlotte?” George asks when he sees me.

  “Of course.” I smile brightly. “I can seat them myself.” I hold my hands out to take the menus and silverware from him. When he hands them to me, his fingers skim the skin of my hand, sending tingles shooting through me. Our gazes lock for a moment until he jerks away. What the hell was that? Did he just feel that, too?

  Snapping to it, I say, “Right this way, folks.”

  As they follow me to my section, Mr. Mercer makes introductions. “Charlotte, this is my wife, Mrs. Mercer. She’s been looking forward to meeting you.” Mrs. Mercer is a petite lady with blonde hair, laced with gray streaks. Her dark eyes look tiny behind her glasses, which are perched halfway down the bridge of her nose.

  “I’ve been looking forward to it as well,” I answer honestly as I indicate what booth I’d like them to sit in. As they slide in, I add, “You have no idea what your kindness means to me.”

  “Well, Bill here came home and told me about you, and it just broke my heart. But when he mentioned the necklace you gave him to hold and showed it to me, I knew it was a sign. Do you believe in signs, Charlotte?” She stares up at me as I place their menus in front of them.

  “I guess so,” I reply. “But how was my necklace a sign?”

  “Our daughter, God rest her soul, left us almost ten years ago. She wore a necklace almost identical to yours every day of her life.” Mrs. Mercer’s eyes lower, appearing somewhat pensive, almost as if in reflection. “But she didn’t have it on the day she died and we’ve never been able to find it. You showing up with your necklace . . . it felt right to help you. We’d like to invite you to dinner as well.”

  “I’d love that. And I will repay you for everything. I promise. You really have no idea how much your kindness means to me.”

  “How about next Wednesday?” Mr. Mercer asks. I try not to look surprised at how soon that is.

  “Why not? We’ll make sure you’re off for it, Charlotte,” George interjects as he approaches. I nearly jump out of my skin with his words. He snuck up on me.

  “You should come, too, George,” Mr. Mercer adds.

  “Actually, I have to work, but thank you for the invite.” George nods in appreciation. “Did Charlotte take your drink order yet?” he asks, and I can’t help rolling my eyes. He’s trying to make me look incompetent—or he’s just trying to piss me off.

  “We’ve been chatting.” Mrs. Mercer pats my hand where it rests on the table.

  “Wednesday sounds great, and what can I get you two to drink?”

  “We’ll both have iced teas, and we’d like to split the chicken Philly with fries,” Mr. Mercer says.

  “I’ll be right back with your teas.”

  As I walk away, George says something I can’t hear to the Mercers before trailing behind me. When I reach the kitchen, I call out my order to Sniper as I grab two glasses and fill them with ice. As I fill the first glass from the tea urn, George enters and stops, watching me.

  “I’m quite capable of taking drink orders, Mr. McDermott, but thanks for coming over and trying to make me look like an idiot.”

  “You think I was trying to be a dick?” He snorts out a laugh.

  “There was no trying there,” I add as I take the second glass and begin filling it, but can’t help the
smile I’m fighting as I hear Sniper chuckle in the background.

  “Hey, I was helping. They’d have talked your ear off if I hadn’t come over there.”

  “So? Is it a problem if they like me and want to talk to me? Or would it interfere with your anti-Charlotte parade?”

  “I’m not on an anti-Charlotte parade,” he laughs, and I’m taken aback by how incredibly handsome he looks when he smiles. Both Ike and George look alike, but their smiles are different. When Ike smiles, it feels real, like his happiness is his aura. It feels like a warm, sunny beach when you’ve seen nothing but snow and ice for months. When George smiles, it’s a gift. It’s like the way the sun peeks through storm clouds. It feels like hope.

  “Look at that,” I say, dryly, jutting my chin to Sniper, whose elbows are resting on the top shelf that separates the front and back line, watching George and I quarrel with great amusement. “He actually laughs!”

  George crosses his arms, the humor in his eyes fading fast. “I have no problems with you, Charlotte. Seriously.” He gets back to the point.

  “Well, your girlfriend doesn’t care much for me.” I roll my eyes.

  “My girlfriend?”

  There’s no way I’m letting him off the hook. The whole town might, but I won’t. “Really? You’re going to play coy? Misty?”

  “She’s an employee. A friend. That’s all,” he says, matter-of-factly.

  “Who you happen to fuck . . .” Sniper interrupts from behind the line, peeking over the metal shelf that separates the kitchen from the front line. I copy George’s stance and cross my arms, giving him a knowing look, feeling good that Sniper backed me up.

  “Fuck off,” George snaps at Sniper before he shakes his head and instead of addressing Sniper or my proclamation, he pivots back toward me. “Jealous, Charlotte?” His eyes scan me from head to toe, his eyes darkening as he does. I know he’s trying to unnerve me, avoiding talking about Misty, but I can’t stop the heat that crawls up my neck and blankets my cheeks. It’s been so long since a man looked at me like that. I quickly shake it off and get back to business.

  I snort. “Wow. So desperate to avoid the topic of Misty, you’d commit sexual harassment. Nice move, boss.”

  “Just admit it, George. Misty hangs on your sac like a monkey on a tree,” Sniper calls from behind the line. “Ooo-Ooo-Eee-Eee,” Sniper heckles as he tromps around, scratching under his arms. I can’t help it, I burst in to laughter.

  “Put a sock in it, Sniper!” George calls, anger lacing his tone. I bite my lip to stifle my giggles and busy myself putting lemon wedges on the glasses of tea.

  “No worries, boss. No judgment here,” I manage as I smile and take the drinks.

  As I exit the kitchen, I hear Sniper say, “She’s a saucy one, isn’t she?”

  “She’s something, all right,” George mumbles.

  Two hours later, the lunch rush has died down, and I busy myself sweeping under my tables and filling my sugar caddies. I’m alone on the floor as George and Sniper are in the back, and Misty went home feigning a headache. Apparently, she plans to return for the evening shift.

  Awesome.

  “How much did you make today?” Ike asks as he sits in one of my booths, watching me.

  “Fifty,” I reply and shrug. For a small town lunch shift, it’s not horrible, but it’s not great either.

  “You work tonight, right? You’ll make more,” he assures me. He knows I’m worried about money. Thus far, I’ve had to rely solely on the kindness of strangers, and I can’t stand it. It makes me feel worthless. I feel better about my motel room, but Ginger only has me staying in and cleaning one of her rooms. I’m not sure how likely it is I’ll really be ‘earning’ my stay.

  “You know, you look like a young Audrey Hepburn,” Ike adds suddenly. “I always thought she was hot.” I snort and shake my head at his ridiculous lie of a compliment. I look nothing like Audrey Hepburn. She was classic, timeless, and regal. I’m . . . well . . . me. “What?” he asks, as if he’s offended. “I mean it. Why would I lie? It’s not like I’m trying to get in your pants. I mean . . . I’d like to, but you know . . . the whole dead thing and all would make it kind of difficult. ” I can’t help it, I laugh out loud. Good thing I’m the only one on the floor . . . well only one alive anyway. “There it is,” he sighs as a satisfied smile spreads across his lips. “You have an amazing smile, Charlotte.” I can’t help it. I blush. Ike McDermott is a natural charmer through and through. He can’t help himself. I wish for a moment I could’ve seen him when he was alive, living day-to-day. I imagine the chipper demeanor I see now is only a glimmer of what he was like when he was alive. My heart pangs at the thought.

  Just as I finish sweeping and head to the kitchen to put the broom and dustpan away, Anna comes in, a little, blonde girl trailing behind her. I know immediately she’s Anna’s daughter; they look so much alike, it’s as if Anna spit her right out of her mouth.

  “Hey, Char,” Anna practically sings as she pulls me in for a hug. I’m a little stunned. I’m not much of a hugger as it is, and I didn’t think Anna and I were anywhere near that kind of friendly affection in our short friendship. But I pat her back awkwardly with one hand in reciprocation.

  “Hey, Anna. Who is this little beauty?” I beam at the little girl as I pull away from Anna’s bear hug.

  “This is River,” Anna replies, and nudges the little girl forward. “River, this is Mommy’s good friend, Char.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Char,” River says, shyly, as she smiles.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” I reach a hand out to shake hers, which she takes.

  “Char, could you keep an eye on her for a minute? I need to talk to George about my schedule.”

  “Sure. Would you mind taking the broom and dustpan back for me on your way?”

  “Sure wouldn’t.” Anna takes them from me and scurries to the back.

  “Mommy gave me two dollars in quarters before we came in so I can play the jukebox.” River reaches in her pockets and pulls out the quarters. One falls to the floor, rolling away and she chases after it, hunched over as she goes.

  “She’s adorable,” I whisper so only Ike can hear.

  “I always wanted daughters,” Ike notes, and I can’t help the sadness that squeezes my heart for him. Not many men want daughters. They usually want sons. He would’ve been a great dad. I’d like to say something to him, to comfort him, but I can’t. Not in front of River.

  “So, what do you want to play?” I ask as she collects the quarter and tromps over to the jukebox.

  “Justin Bieber,” she chirps happily.

  “Oh God. Please no!” Ike groans, making me giggle quietly to myself.

  “I don’t think there’s any Justin Bieber on here, honey,” I tell River.

  “You pick the first one,” she orders as she hands me two quarters.

  “You sure? This is your money.”

  “Yeah. Pick one, and then I’ll pick one.” Running to the jukebox, her blond hair bounces as she goes.

  “Please culture this child and play her some Johnny or Elvis,” Ike pleads. I decide on Elvis as Johnny Cash tends to sound a little deeper and Elvis’s songs are peppier.

  Inserting the quarters, I select the song as Ike stares over my shoulder the entire time. When I glance at him, he smirks. “Good choice.”

  As the jukebox clicks, preparing to play the song, I bend down and ask River, “Do you know any Elvis Presley songs?”

  “Elvis?” River scrunches her nose, obviously having never heard of him.

  “Anna should be reported for child neglect,” Ike snorts. “This child has obviously been starved of any type of culture.”

  “Are we going to dance?” I ask River, ignoring Ike and holding out my hand to her.

  River shoves her quarters back in her pocket and giggles. “You first,” she orders.

  The first chords of Jailhouse Rock stream through the speakers, and I hurry to the bar and grab George’s sunglasses, s
lipping them on.

  As the words bellow out, I lip-synch and move my legs in my best imitation of Elvis’ dance moves. Ike plops down in a chair at the bar. “And she can dance?” He clutches his chest. “Be still, my heart,” he moans dramatically.

  When it gets to the second verse, I grab River’s hands and sing.

  Let’s rock; everybody, let’s rock.

  Everybody in the whole cell block

  was dancin’ to the Jailhouse Rock.”

  River laughs hysterically as I twirl her and shake my hips like crazy. I, too, am lost in a fit of giggles when someone seizes my arm and jerks me until I slam into a hard body.

  “Let’s show her how it’s done,” Sniper purrs as he twirls me around. He spins me in a series of maneuvers while River squeals with delight. I can’t deny I’m impressed with his dance moves. When the song almost ends, he picks up River, twirling her while she holds her arms out and laughs. When the song finishes, we’re all giggling until the sound of loud handclapping sounds throughout the room.

  George stands in the doorway, one eyebrow quirked. “Maybe I should put you two on the floor to entertain the guests. Dinner and a show,” he says, dryly.

  “I was thoroughly entertained,” Ike chirps.

  “You’re just jealous of my moves,” Sniper jests as he twirls River around in his arms.

  “Put her down, Sniper!” Anna feigns disapproval. She knows Sniper is harmless, but giving him a hard time is her way of flirting with him. I think she likes him by the way she always slaps his arm playfully in the kitchen and always gives him shy smiles. “Who knows where your hands have been.”

  Sniper places River on her feet and strides up to Anna. “No worries, love. I only like matured women,” he adds as he waggles his brows and takes her in his arms and spins her around.

  “Are you saying I’m old?” she scoffs.

  “I’m saying I like MILFs, love. And you . . . are a MILF.”

  Anna turns bright red. “What’s a MILF?” River asks innocently, her brows scrunched. We all laugh.

  “A mom I’d like to be friends with, love,” Sniper answers. “Very good friends, that is.” He winks at Anna who turns an even darker shade of red.