"Can I get you another drink?" she asked. She was very polite, kind of demure, and blonde. It was a big change from Ginger, the wannabe ballerina who loved to read.
"No, I'm about ready to leave ..."
"What were you drinking? Whiskey? Scotch?" she interrupted, before I could finish. Everybody was interrupting me that day. It was getting to be pretty fucking annoying. She sure was nice about it though. I guess you just had to hear the tone of her voice. She sounded really sweet and considerate.
"I was drinking whiskey and coke but I have to get ..."
"I'll bring you out a fresh one," she said and then she was off before I could say another word. She was quick as lightning. All the waitresses there were quick as goddamn lightning. I'll give them that. And before I could bat an eye, she was back with my drink. But she didn't sit down, all uninvited, like Ginger did. She just stood there with an angelic smile on her face. She was very polite that way. "Anything else I can get for you?" she asked.
"No," I replied. I didn't want to be rude. She was giving excellent service and she was really nice.
"Why did you move from Ginger's section? Do you mind telling me?" she asked, really curious and shit.
"No, not at all." I really didn't mind. It's true.
"I've heard that she can be pretty pushy with her customers."
"If you want to know the truth, yes, she was being kind of pushy and all."
"I knew it," she said, and she was pretty excited about it too. She jumped up and down like she won the lottery or something. "I'm always hearing that from customers, that she's really pushy. I try not to be pushy. I believe your tip suffers when you're overly pushy. Customers don't want that, you know? Customers just want to be left alone unless they invite you to sit down and join them. I never sit down unless I'm invited to sit down. You just don't want to ruin someone's evening by inviting yourself to the party."
"You know, I haven't heard truer words today." I wasn't trying to be rude. Maybe it sounded rude but I wasn't trying to be. She was really nice. I was just being honest. It's true. "What was your name?"
"My name is Felicity. And yours?"
"Simon. Felicity, that's an interesting name. Would you care to join me? I wasn't looking for company but you seem like a really nice young lady." I was feeling pretty hospitable and all. She seemed pretty happy that I asked her to join me.
"Thanks." She sat down and set her tray on the table. The waitresses all seemed to like setting their goddamn trays on your table. She didn't lean on me, though, like Ginger did. I was grateful for that, especially since I was married. I didn't want some strange girl leaning on me. It just wasn't right.
"Would you like something to drink?" I asked.
"No, not while I'm on duty. I'll get all goofy if I start drinking alcohol while I'm working. People will take advantage, you know."
"I understand."
"So, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a writer. I just recently received a big publishing deal. I'll be reading from my new novel, THE RISE AND FALL OF A TITAN, in New York in a few days. I'm pretty excited about it." I was hoping that she wouldn't start blabbing about her dreams like everybody else. I was getting pretty tired of hearing about everyone else's goddamn dreams.
"That's wonderful," she said. And that was all she said. She didn't say anything about wanting to be a writer or an astronaut or a ballerina or a fireman. She just smiled.
"You know, I was waiting for you to say how you have always wanted to do something, like write or paint. People are always telling me how they haven't fulfilled their dreams."
"Well, I haven't really figured that part out yet. I guess there really isn't anything I have decided on doing with my life. I'm still looking, I guess. Right now, I'm just content with working. The only thing I know I want is to be a mother. But I haven't found the right guy yet."
"You know, being a parent is a truly wonderful thing. It really is. I have two kids myself."
"Really? That's wonderful. I'm jealous. I want to have kids too." For some reason, she seemed a little sad when she told me that. I thought of showing her some Christmas pictures I had of Sammie and Jessie. But then I thought that probably wouldn't be such a good idea. I didn't want to seem like I was gloating and all. "You know, you're really nice. There aren't too many nice guys that come into this place. We usually have a bunch of lowlifes that try to pinch my butt or take me home. It can be kind of depressing." I actually knew what she meant. Then she kind of leaned over toward me. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure." She was wearing a mesmerizing perfume. I didn't know what it was but it really smelled sweet, like a rose or something. And it smelled kind of familiar too. You ever walked passed someone who was wearing the same perfume as someone you used to know (like an ex-girlfriend)? It reminded me of a perfume that an old flame used to wear.
"My name really isn't Felicity."
"It's not?" I asked. Man, it was getting too good. This had excitement written all over it.
"No, Felicity is just my stage name. Everyone here has a stage name, in case of perverts, you know?"
"I see. So Ginger isn't really Ginger's name."
"No. Her real name is Bertha May. She was named after her grandmother, I think."
"I can see why she changed her name to Ginger." We both started to laugh. Bertha May was a pretty goddamn ugly name to start with but it matched her personality better than Ginger did. "So what's your name? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
She paused for a second as if she was debating the consequences of telling me her real name. But she didn't think about it for too long. I guess she thought I wasn't a pervert or something.
"My real name is Patty. I'd tell you my last name but that would be going too far. So Patty's all I'll tell you. I shouldn't even be telling you my name because it's against the rules."
I was surprised to hear that name, especially since Jason and I had been talking about pretty blonde Patty Green from school when we were kids earlier today. I kind of gave Patty the waitress a little stare. I tried to be really nonchalant about it too but she noticed I was staring at her. She got kind of embarrassed. I realized I was probably acting like an idiot, staring and all. It's rude to stare, you know.
"What?" she asked, a little self-conscious now.
"Oh... nothing," I said.
"No, what is it? You were looking at me like you were trying to remember something." And I was trying to remember something. She was a real genius. I was trying to remember exactly what little Patty Green looked like. But my memories of her were foggy now. It was a long time ago.
"Have you always lived in Montgomery?" I asked.
"Why, yes."
"And did you go to Jefferson Elementary?"
"Yeah. How did you know?"
And that was the last question I had to ask. I didn't want to go any further. A small part of me thought it would be nice if this Patty was the same Patty Green I knew from back in school. But for some reason, I didn't want to find out. I guess after Tyrone's bastard son ruined my recollections of old Tyrone and the BGP Convenient Store, and after I decided that some things were better left in the past, I think I just didn't want to ruin anything else that night. In a way, it would have been great to see little Patty but not in this way, not in Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza. I just didn't want to pursue it. I decided, right then and there, that it was time to go.
"Thanks for the drink, Patty ... I mean, Felicity. But I have to get going."
I dropped some money on the table, grabbed my things, and was out the door before she could say a word. I knew she was lightning fast so I didn't give her a chance to change my mind. She was really nice and all but that didn't matter. One thing was for sure, I didn't want anything to taint my childhood feelings for little blonde Patty Green. It was too sacred. So I went straight for the beast in the parking lot, except, with all my goddamn luck, I tripped and fell hands-down on the asphalt. I cut a gash in the palm of my right hand and it hurt like al
l hell. But I ignored the pain and embarrassment, hopped in the beast, and took off. I took off and never looked back.
12.
After my chaotic flight and first day back in Montgomery, Alabama, I really expected to have some kind of crazy dream that night. I really did. But you know what? I didn't dream about one goddamn thing. It's true. I just slept so soundly that I didn't even remember going to sleep. Maybe it was the beer and whiskey that knocked me out. But sometimes, I'm conscious when I'm sleeping. It's usually towards the end of my sleep that I become conscious. I usually can see the cold darkness of my deep sleep and I imagine that that's how I probably would feel if I was floating in outer space. Pretty crazy, huh? Anyway, I was enjoying the cold darkness of my sleep when I was violently awakened by a jab to my crotch. I can't think of any other way for someone to wake you up that could be worse than a jab to the crotch. I opened my eyes and discovered a little demon that was the spitting image of Jason when he was a kid. It's true. He looked just like Jason did and was a fat little bastard too. And he had that same cackling, hyena laugh. I sat up and clinched my fist like I was going to take a swing at him. But I think he knew that I knew that I was not going to punch a kid, especially Jason's kid. He just sat there cackling at my sore crotch.
"You must be Jason Jr." I said, fighting the urge to really let him have it. I wanted to knock his goddamn head off.
"That's right, fucker. How are your balls, fucker?" He started dancing a maniacal little jig, laughing at the thought of how my crotch must have felt. He kept cackling and cackling. It was one of the worst ways to wake up. It's true. I really wanted to slug him. "Do they hurt, fucker? Huh? You want some more? Huh?"
"Is that how you talk to your elders? That's not very respectful, you know. You shouldn't use that kind of language." It was obvious that he didn't care anything about what I thought. He kept dancing and cackling and I knew if he had the chance, he'd jab me in the nuts again.
"Is this yours?" he asked, whipping my red backpack around from behind his back. Man, I really wanted to slug him then.
"Yes, it is. And it's very important to me. Now, will you please give it back?" I asked. There really was no point in trying to talk some sense into him. I just had to be direct and to the point. He was a crazy little bastard.
"Come and get it," he said, taunting me by keeping the backpack just out of my reach.
"Please, don't make me get up and get it from you. I'm asking you nicely. Please give me the backpack."
Then a woman started yelling from the kitchen. It must have been Jason's wife, Betty. She didn't sound too happy about having to call her little demon in for breakfast. She had a sweet voice but it was obvious she was at the end of her very short rope.
"Jason, Jr.? You better get in here in FIVE, FOUR, THREE..."
And just like that, he dropped the backpack like it was a hot coal from hell and ran for the kitchen. The countdown always seemed to work with kids. I didn't know what it was about counting down that made them lose their lunch like it does. It just seemed to work every time like you were counting down to Armageddon or something. Even when I was a kid, the sound of the countdown sent me into a frenzied panic. What would my dad do? Break my neck? Kill me? Who actually knew. He never really finished the countdown though. I guess it was the impending doom of what might occur that scared me the most.
And what language Jason Jr. used. I'm telling you, if my parents heard me calling one of their friends a fucker, they would have snapped my neck. It's true. I would have been grounded for months and fed oatmeal and water for every meal. I didn't curse around my kids. It's disrespectful and I didn't want them picking up the habit. My father cursed like a sailor. It always bothered me. Jason's dad cursed too and so does Jason. Now his son was afflicted. Cursing was a goddamn curse.
With my backpack safe and sound, I went into the bathroom for a quick face wash and to brush my teeth. I don't worry about putting on clean clothes until after I take a shower, so I put my dirty shirt back on and ran my fingers through my hair to make myself presentable. I noticed, while raking through my greasy mane, the fresh gash in my hand from the night before. I must have taken at least a hundred layers of skin off my palm when I fell on the goddamn asphalt. It looked and hurt like hell. I thoroughly washed the wound and rummaged through the bathroom for some antiseptic and a bandage. I covered the embarrassing sore and headed for the kitchen for some breakfast and to meet the rest of Jason's family. I hoped that they would be a little more civilized than the crotch-jabbing demon.
The kitchen was setup just like I remembered. It was a moderately sized kitchen that had a breakfast nook and a huge window overlooking the pool in the backyard. The morning sunlight seemed to drench the room with warmth and hope for a good day. It's true. That kitchen always gave off a very positive feeling when I was a kid. Maybe because it was always filled with family and friends and laughter and good food. Jason's two boys were at the table eating cold cereal and Betty was at the counter toasting some bread. It was very much as it should be in there.
"Too bad there isn't any water in the pool, huh? It would be a good day to go swimming," I said. Betty turned around with a big smile and open arms.
"Simon, it is so nice to finally meet you." She threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug. She was a good hugger. She really put herself into it. It was genuine, I could tell. She held onto me for quite some time. "I've heard so much about you."
"It's nice to finally meet you too," I said.
Betty was a rather attractive woman with natural-looking beauty and straight, shoulder-length blonde hair. She didn't wear a lick of make-up and her enthusiasm for her family was apparent. She didn't look a day over twenty one though I'm sure she was close to my age. She reminded me a lot of Jason's mother, not how she looked, but how she carried herself. She seemed confident and natural and full of energy. I stood back and took the whole room in.
"Yes, it is too bad about the pool," she said, going back to her motherly duties. "Jason keeps telling me that he'll be fixing it and he never does. There's just not enough time in the day, you know?"
"That's for sure," I said. It was true. There was only so much time in the day, especially for goddamn housework. Jessica got on me too about not doing housework but when I finally did have a free minute in my otherwise hectic day, why the hell would I want to do housework? I'd rather be writing or watching a movie starring Edward Norton or Robert De Niro or some other Hollywood tough guy.
"Have you met our boys?" she asked. I gave Jason Jr. a little glare and he glared back. He didn't say a word, though. He just sat there eating his goddamn Apple Jacks. Betty turned around and introduced me. "Boys, this is your Uncle Simon." That cracked me up that she called me that, you know, uncle. "This is Jason Jr., our oldest boy."
Jason Jr. extended his hand to me in a young gentleman-like fashion and shook my hand politely. I was waiting for his evil cackling and his maniacal dancing and his crotch poking but he just sat there. He didn't say one goddamn dirty word. But he noticed the bandage on my palm and squeezed really hard before he let go. It hurt like hell.
"Nice to meet you, sir," he said, with the biggest bullshit-eating grin he could muster. I knew it was a bullshit-eating grin because I was the master of bullshit-eating grins. But one thing I knew for sure, he wasn't going to call me a fucker in front of his mom. I bet she would slap the taste out of his mouth if he did that in front of her. I could tell she would. She seemed like the disciplinarian of the house. I bet she wore the pants in the family. Jason was too lazy to wear the goddamn pants in the family.
"And this is our youngest boy, Ryan," she said, pointing to the tiny boy sitting next to Jason Jr. They both were the spitting image of Jason, the poor bastards.
"It's nice to meet you, sir," little Ryan said. He sounded like a little bird.
"And it's nice to meet you, Ryan." I carefully shook his hand and he continued eating his cereal as well.
"Can I get you some breakfast, Simon?" I hadn't h
eard sweeter words in the last twenty four hours. My stomach agreed with my brain.
"Yes, please. That would be fantastic," I said. And just like that, she started whipping up some eggs and bacon and biscuits and orange juice and the works. It was great. The school bus honked its horn out front and the boys hit the floor running. I heard them in the other side of the house gathering their goddamn school supplies and running for the door. They both yelled their goodbyes to their mother and slammed the front door as they left. Betty continued cooking my breakfast, unfazed by the ruckus. It was probably a typical morning for her, except for me being there.
"They can be such a handful, especially Jason Jr. He's such a little sparkplug." Man, was she telling the fucking truth. "I hear you have kids too, Simon. Tell me about them."
The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood Page 10
