Faithful (5 page)

“This isn’t embarrassing at all,” I mutter. Startled by his sudden jog down the porch steps, I fling my arms around his neck.

“Don’t worry,”—he smiles at me—“I have you.”

“I’d let him cart me off anywhere he wants to go,” a young woman remarks as Cooper carries me through a group of people.

“Hear that?” He arches his eyebrows at me.

“The question is why are you doing this?”

He deposits me at Lauren’s car which is only a few feet from his bike.

“I’m doing this so you don’t make a mistake,” he replies, opening the passenger door for me.

“What did I miss?” Lauren shoves her cell phone in her pocket.

“You need to take Imogene home. She’s had enough to drink, and she shouldn’t be anywhere near Anton.”

“I had two sips of beer. I’m painfully sober, and I was only talking to the guy. Who made you the dating guru?” I refuse to sit in the car, so I edge away from the door.

“The last party I saw you at, you jumped me.” He puts his hands on either side of me, against the car’s roof. “I would hate to see you mistake Anton for me.”

“Oh, snap,” Lauren says dryly, adding a belated snap for effect. “I’m getting really bored with this tug of war you two keep playing. Get in the car, Imogene. We’ll go pick up a pizza.” Lauren slides in and starts the engine.

“I have to go to The Rack to make sure Leo isn’t getting clobbered by sore losers, so please get in the car,” Cooper insists.

“I’m only going because Lauren wants to leave, and I would hate for Leo to be pinned to the dart board by angry bikers.”

“You’re so thoughtful.” He smiles and leans in closer to kiss my cheek. “And, I am jealous enough to make you leave this party. Anything to keep you away from Asshole Anton. I don’t trust him.”

“And I’m not sure I trust you.”

Cooper steps back. “I’m going to work on that, but you have to give me a chance and stop comparing me to other guys.”

After I slink into my seat and reach for the door, he doesn’t let me close it until he gets in the last word. “And maybe you could stop pretending that I’m invisible when you see me at the diner.” He winks and then closes the door.

As we drive away, I watch him put on his helmet and straddle his bike. Before we make it out of the long driveway, Cooper’s bike roars ahead of us and loses us on the road home.

Five

“I can’t do this much longer,” I remind my mother as she gathers laminated menus together.

We’re standing behind the long counter, scanning the packed diner. I am, of course, ignoring my tables. I assume they have everything they need, and my regulars are used to my lollygagging lately. The tourists are probably scouring their table for a comment card, something where they can post a lengthy write-up on their inattentive, smart-mouthed waitress. Fortunately, thanks to me, those wretched, little opinion cards had a sad little mishap one day when the whole box of freshly-shrink wrapped cards ended up in the dumpster out back under a pile of discarded produce. Also, my tables are mysteriously missing all of the paper muffin cups we fill with peppermints for the customers.

My parents and grandmother are hopeful that I’ll power through this mean phase of mine and either become my usual, crusty self or have a financial boon with the Imogene & Lauren business, enough so that I can hand in my resignation.

“I know it’s hard for you,” my mother says, “but until the other girls can pick up the full-time hours and your business takes off, these are the breaks, sweetie. Now get to work.” She swats my ass with the menus and heads back to the hostess stand.

“Oh, crap,” I groan as I watch my section fill up. “I’m so tired of this and so bad at it. I should be fired,” I say to Kelly and Samantha, the two high school girls sitting at the counter.

“How is your jewelry business going?” Samantha asks as she slurps on her soda.

“It’s going great if you like a life of poverty,” I respond, leaning against the counter.

“Your stuff is fabulous,” Kelly, the cute blond, says. “Someday, we’ll see actresses wearing them on the red carpet at the Oscars.”

“Oh, honey, that’s sweet. But they wear Harry Winston at the Oscars.”

I’m only seven years older than these high school seniors, but I feel ancient.

“Harry who?” the girls ask in unison.

“Diamonds,” I reply. “I don’t do diamonds. They’re out of my league.”

“I still love your funky jewelry, and it’s so cool that you have your own business,” Samantha insists. She’s that naïve eighteen-year-old I once was.

“It’s a fucking dream come true,” I mutter.

“Imogene,” my grandmother snaps from behind me. She’s sneaky like that. She’s supposed to be sitting down and letting my mom handle managing the restaurant, but Grandma Bonnie can’t seem to let go of the diner life, the customers she visits with daily, and the general hubbub that goes on. She keeps moving around from the hostess stand, the tables, the kitchen, and to the back office, making sure everything is running the way she wants.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down.” I point to the stool behind the hostess stand.

“You’re supposed to stop cursing. These are impressionable, young women. They don’t need to hear the foul things that come out of your mouth, Imogene.” My grandmother plants a quick peck on my cheek and ambles over to my mother at the hostess stand.

“Shit,” I say and quickly cover my mouth. “Sorry.”

The girls giggle.

“Just say the words backwards, then you’ll still feel the joy of swearing without offending anyone. They won’t know what you’re saying,” Kelly explains.

“What?” I half-heartedly listen to her stupid idea while I look out at my tables, wondering if my presence is needed anywhere. Every single person in my section seems to be chewing. That’s good enough for me.

“Say
kcuf
! Or
Kcuffing-A
!” Kelly is smiling at my confused expression. “See? I’m saying it backwards, so no one knows I’m swearing.”

“Because you’re not. It sounds like some kind of nutty language you invented.”

“It is,” she says with pride.

“So what’s the point if you don’t get that same immediate satisfaction from letting a curse word rip?” I question.

“You do. Just try it, and you’ll feel like you’re cursing, but no one will get mad at you for saying it,” Samantha continues.

“No, but they’ll think I’m crazy.”

“So, what else is new?” Kelly says with a laugh.

I’m about to respond when Leo walks in the door with Cooper.

“Oh, kcuf,” I snap.

“That’s it. See how easy it is?” Kelly asks then swivels in her stool along with Samantha to see what I’m looking at.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Yum.” Kelly is delighted.

“Mr. Double Yum,” Samantha adds.

“Who are you talking about?” I ask testily. They aren’t swooning over Leo. It’s not his lanky, boy-next-door sweetness that has them enraptured. It’s Easy Rider, as Dylan likes to refer to Cooper.

When the guys from Carson’s factory come in for lunch, they usually turn heads. Building and hauling furniture gives them very nice, muscle-toned bodies, and the way their dusty jeans show off their cute butts doesn’t hurt, either.

Cooper is in the special league, the one with Dylan and Carson. They have the extra potent touch that goes beyond good looks. Women have always adored the Blackard brothers. Carson was adopted so they look nothing alike, but they both tower well over six-feet. Carson with his shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes, and Dylan with a shaved head riddled with scars that don’t deter from his boyish charm. Their good looks do nothing for me, but Cooper is another story.
Kcuf!

Cooper’s hair looks more golden today, as if he’s been spending a lot of time in the sun. It frames his sculpted features, giving him a Norse god-like appeal. He’s a
kcuffing
Viking. I was never good at geography, and I doubt Mackenzie fits into the Viking surnames, but who gives a
flying kcuf
. I’m getting good at this.

“Cooper is delicious,” Kelly says dreamily as she watches him being escorted to a booth by my traitorous mother.

“He’s at least ten years older than you. Stop looking at him like that,” I hear my mother’s voice coming out of my mouth.

“Why?” Samantha laughs. “He’s gorgeous. Like a—”

“Like a guy that’s too old for you. Seriously, stick to your high school boys,” I say bitterly and swipe the counter in front of them with a wet rag.

“That’s the problem, they’re immature
boys
,” Samantha responds.

“I’ve got news for you, men are just as immature. Most of them are wankers.” My riveting lecture doesn’t end there. “Didn’t anyone teach you about the famous
Just Say No Campaign
? It works on every person and every topic. Stay in school and just say no.”

“You lost me at wanker.” Kelly sighs.

“What’s a wanker?” Samantha asks.

“It’s a male kcuffer,” I reply dryly.

“Oh, please. You dated Cody Aasland, the god of the football team. You went to homecoming and prom together. He must have been a good guy if you stuck with him for your whole senior year.” Kelly points her straw at me.

“Yes, I did date Cody, and he was as dumb as a sack of hammers. No offense, but teenage girls aren’t always the brightest bulbs when it comes to boys. In college, I dated more beautiful, stupid hammers.”

“Hammers and wankers.” Kelly rolls her eyes.

“Listen, if there’s anything I’ve learned from my mistakes with men, go for the intelligent ones. Find the guy who is smart and kind.”

“Like Jeremy?” Samantha smirks.

“Right,” I sigh at my pointless symposium on finding Mr. Right. “Jeremy was intelligent and … kind.”

“Last week, you called him a twat,” Samantha adds.

“That’s because he broke up with me from two thousand miles away, so yes, he’s a kcuffing twat.” That has the girls giggling. “He was spineless. You need to be selective and date the ones that are smart, kind, and have a spine. And just say
no
. There. That will get you through college. Where are you going by the way?”

“We’re both going to NYU.” Samantha beams.

“Okay, well, in the city, you really need to learn how to say no.”

“Hey,” Cooper says to me, suddenly appearing behind the girls.

They both turn and stare at him, saying “Hi!” in unison with frozen smiles plastered on their faces.

Cooper smiles and nods at them.

“Yum,” Kelly whispers to herself, yet we all hear it. Cooper glances at her and then back at me with a concerned frown.

“Well, you two just wasted my time,” I mutter to them and then give Cooper a shrug. “Sorry, we’re real busy. I’ll send Lauren over to your table.”

“No. I’m sitting in your section. I’ll wait for you. I just came over to see how you’re doing, but I see you’re busy corrupting the next generation.” With that, he flashes a smile and walks back to his booth.

My teenage students are still in a foggy rapture from Mr. Yum’s presence.

“Imogene,” Lauren says angrily as she rounds the counter with an empty tray. “I ran food to three of your tables. I’m in the weeds! Bust a move and get out there,
now
.”

“I need you to take Cooper’s table.”

“No way. He paid me a hundred dollars so you’d wait on him.”

“What? Why?”

Lauren pulls the bill from her apron and snaps it in front of my face. “Don’t know, don’t care. I love you, but today, I love this more. Now get to work.”

I walk over to Cooper and Leo’s booth, pull my ticket pad out of my apron, and click my pen. “Hi, Leo.”

I am every customer’s worst nightmare: the disgruntled waitress they fear will spit in their food.

“Hey, Imogene,” Leo says as he peruses the menu.

I want to get this over with, but sweet, stupid Leo, who has been ordering the exact same lunch for two years, has his head buried in that damn menu and is ruining my plan to use him as the point man to keep from having to look at Cooper.

“Does it make it healthier if I substitute the bun for a wheat one?” Leo asks.

Goddammit, Leo!

“Of course not,” I say, grabbing the menu out of his hands.

I give an annoyed glance at Cooper who is refraining from laughing. Even reclined against the back of the booth, he’s tall and fills out the bench. He crosses his arms, stretches out his legs, and then crosses his ankles. As his large, heavy-duty work boots stick out, almost touching my leg, I have the sudden urge to kick them back under the table.

I don’t even recognize myself when I’m around him. It’s like I’m turning into a twelve-year-old. That, of course, makes me think someone should have been smart enough to come up with a snappy, smartass nickname for me years ago so I wouldn’t have to go through life with a deceased relative’s old-timey, three-syllable name.

“Imogene, it’s quite possible that you are the crabbiest waitress,” Leo states, causing a short laugh to escape from Cooper.

“I know, right? I should be fired. So, you guys want two burgers with the works and Cokes?”

When Leo contemplates this for a moment, I want to smack him. The guy hasn’t broken his routine in two years, and now he wants to think about it? I’m ready to jam the jumbo laminated menu down his throat.

“Leo?” I ask sharply.

“God. Yes. Burger. Coke. Geesh.”

“Wait,” Cooper says. “Imogene, I’ll have an extra order of fries with mine.”

I jot it down, making a point of stabbing the pad with my pen. I’m still not making full-on eye contact with Cooper because I’m reliving the terrible little speech about men I gave moments ago to Kelly and Samantha. I would make a lousy teacher. Probably a lousy mother, too. I wish my parents or grandmother had the balls to fire me today so I wouldn’t have to live with this indecision about waitressing anymore, and I wouldn’t have to serve Cooper.

“And Imogene?” Now Cooper is just intentionally fucking with me.

“Good Lord, what?” I glance at him quickly.

When Cooper smiles, his gray eyes that screw with my mind finally win over, and I really look at him hard this time. He’s incredibly calm about the obvious breakdown I’m having in the middle of the lunch rush. If Dylan were here, I’d beg him for some of his anti-anxiety meds. I have a good mind to march over to Lois’s yoga studio, Beyond the Pants, and score some pot from her. She may be sixty-something, but she has more experience than me in the area of drug-induced relaxation. I’m sure she’d be happy to teach me how to use her bong.