Liberty or Death (5 page)

My body wanted to stay horizontal. I was ready for sleep. Four and a half hours of hard physical work had put me back in touch with reality,reminding me that all that thinking I usually did, all those reports I wrote, and all those meetings I went to, weren't as essential to the running of the world as feeding people. And that insomnia I suffered? I could cure it in a day, just by getting a real job. If I was ever impatient with a waitress again, God should strike me dead.

I groaned and pushed myself back up. Twenty minutes. I'd been lying here for twenty minutes and it felt like two or three. And I had no idea how long I was entitled to. For that matter, I had no idea what my hours were or whether Theresa expected me to work three meals a day, or only two, and whether anyone else was coming in to help. Forget one day at a time. I was taking it one plate at a time.

When I got back down to the kitchen, Theresa was sitting at the table with a cigarette and a cup of coffee, her feet up on the other chair. Another boy had joined Natty with the food prep and another woman, wearing an apron, was making coffee. "Dora, meet Kalyn," she said. "Kalyn works lunch and helps out with dinner when we're real busy, which is most of the time, lately. She'll show you the ropes at lunch, and then help out with dinner tonight. I don't want you wearin' yourself out your first day here. This afternoon I'll make a schedule and then everyone'll know when they're working. Okay?"

I nodded a greeting at Kalyn and acquiescence at Theresa. "Guess I ought to study the lunch menu."

Kalyn handed me one. "Just like breakfast," she said. She was tiny, the biggest thing about her was her hair—hair red enough to glow in the dark. She had hot-pink lips and nails to match. "Everything's got numbers. Just with the sandwiches, remember to write down whether they want 'em toasted or not, and with the soup, what kind. We do the soups. Over here." There was a row of kettles along the counter. She pointed. "Clam chowder. Split pea. Chicken noodle. And bowls are here. Don't forget the crackers, either, 'cuz a lot of the guys complain. They're just like kids, aren't they, Theresa? Gotta have their crackers to play with."

"It's harmless," Theresa grunted, drawing on her cigarette.

"Theresa!" a voice boomed from the other room. "Can't we get no service in here?"

Theresa cast a weary glance at the door. "Don't get up," Kalyn said. "I'll take care of it."

As the door shut behind her, Theresa sighed. "Being in business means there's always some folks you wish would go away and leave you alone. He's one of 'em."

I sat down across from her, longing for one of her cigarettes and my own cup of coffee. And I don't even smoke. It was just that right now the process of raising and lowering it, and inhaling, seemed very relaxing and luxurious. "Is it always this busy?"

She shrugged. "This ain't so busy. Wait'll you see dinner. Folks get up here on vacation, comes late afternoon and the kids are whiny, and all they can think of is maybe it'll help if they eat out. Never occurs to 'em to play a game with their kids. Get out some cards, or read a book. Lotta these camps, people rent 'em without asking if there's cable, and then they get up here, haven't brought toys or books or puzzles and stuff, and then start bitchin' because we don't have all their city amenities out here in the backwoods."

She snorted and got up from her chair. "I got no patience with that sort of thing, even if it does pay the bills. You wanna have kids, you gotta raise 'em, not let the damned boob tube do it."

"You have kids?" I asked. I couldn't remember what Rosie had said.

"Four. Two turned out okay. One of 'em's still working on it. One's a useless sack of shit."

I put my hand under my chin and pushed my mouth shut before a fly flew in. Theresa's frankness went beyond blunt. I checked my apron pockets. Pencil. Pad. Straws. "Guess I'll go learn about lunch."

Theresa stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and grinned. "Shocked you, didn't I? I'm not
the
Mother Theresa, you know. Just one of 'em. You didn't have any kids?" I hesitated, then shook my head.

Kalyn rushed in, stuck up some orders for Clyde, and said, "I could use some help out here." I followed her back into the dining room.

Around 2:30, feeling like a candidate for a double amputation, I limped out of the kitchen with what I hoped was my last order for a while and found one of my tables filled with four big men. I grabbed four menus and was about to hand them out when the man sitting closest to me said, "Don't bother, honey. We know what we want. Four of them clam rolls with fries, four draft beers, and what you got for pies?"

I tried to remember, but all I knew was that we were pretty low and that Theresa had sent Natty to see someone named Josie to pick up some more. "We're low," I said. "I'll have to check. What kind did you want?"

"Blueberry."

"Cherry."

"Apple."

"Raspberry, if you got it; if not, lemon."

A little bit of individuality, anyway. "I'll go check." I scribbled their order on my pad on my way into the kitchen. "Honey," the first speaker called after me. "Send Theresa out, will you?"

Honey went into the kitchen, gave Clyde the order, and checked on the pies. Their order would wipe out the cherry and the blueberry. And the raspberry guy was getting lemon. We still had plenty of apple. Theresa wasn't around. "Some guy out there wants Theresa," I told Kalyn. "Any idea where she is?"

She jerked her chin toward the back door. "Over to Lemoines. Every Monday afternoon. They talk about money."

I went into the bar, got the beer, and carried it to the table. Didn't bother with glasses. No coasters and no little drink napkins. The surface of these tables must have been half an inch thick polyurethane. Nothing was getting at the wood. The guy who seemed to be their spokesman had an olive T-shirt, faded camouflage pants, and a dingy bandana around his neck. Thick, hairy arms with indistinct tattoos ended in big, dirty hands with broken nails. He had a belly so big it barely fit in the booth. His greasy graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Except for the belly, he would have been sort of attractive if he was cleaned up. I couldn't tell, despite the hair, whether he was closer to forty or to fifty. The other three were variations on the same theme.

He grabbed his beer out of my hand and drank off about half the bottle. "You tell Theresa I wanted to see her?"

I shook my head. "She's gone out."

"That's bullshit," he bellowed, seizing my arm and hauling me closer. "Now lissen. You go back in that kitchen and you tell Theresa that Roy Belcher is out here and he's got a message for her. You got that, honey?"

I stared down at the fingers that held me captive. They were going to leave bruises. "Roy Belcher?" I repeated.

The beast actually smiled. "In the flesh."

"Kalyn?" I called. She was across the room, putting silverware in bins. "Can you send Clyde out here a sec? We got a problem." She took in what was happening and didn't hesitate.

"What the hell?" Roy Belcher said, puzzled. "I didn't ask for Clyde. Goddammit, I told you. I wanna see Theresa."

"You
didn't ask for Clyde. I did," I said, as he came through the doorway. He was carrying something that looked like a cross between an ax and a sledgehammer. Swinging it low and easy at his side, though it must have been heavy. A Clyde transformed from the delicate, mountainous engineer of the perfect egg into something considerably more dangerous.

He sauntered up to the table and joined me in staring at the fingers that gripped my arm so roughly. "Roy Belcher," I said. "Mr. Belcher seems to be having some difficulty understanding the nature of my job."

Belcher released my arm and rested his hands on the table. I resisted the urge to rub the spot he'd been holding. His fingers had left deep red marks on my forearm, with little purplish white circles where his nails had dug into the skin. "Aw, hell, Clyde. I didn't mean nothin'. Just tryin' to explain to this new girl that I wanted to see Theresa."

I lowered my eyes to the floor, trying to hide my anger. Trying not to make a scene, to let Clyde handle this. "I told him she wasn't here. He didn't believe me."

Clyde's eyes made a slow circle of the four men before coming back to Belcher. "She tell you Theresa wasn't here?"

"Yeah," he said sullenly.

"You know this girl?"

"Hell, no. She's new, ain't she?"

"You don't know her but you decided she was a liar?"

Belcher shrugged. "I just wanted to see Theresa. You know. I'm supposed to give her a message."

Clyde grunted. "You're a damned fool, Belcher, you know that? Every Monday, long as I can remember, Theresa goes to see Lemoine." He shrugged. "Why should today be any different? We just got us this great new girl, works her tail off, nice as she can be, and what happens? Asshole like you comes in, her first day on the job, and you do something like this!" His fingers fluttered over my bruised forearm, gentle as butterfly wings. "You a moron or what? You know how Theresa feels about customers pickin' on her help..." The big shoulders rose and fell. "Theresa decides to shut you out, that's it. You don't eat here no more." His eyes circled the table again. "All four of you, not just Belcher."

He set the swinging mallet, or whatever it was, on the floor with a thump. "I gotta go see about those clams. You got a message for Theresa, you can give it to me and I'll tell her when she gets back."

I kept my eyes down, trying to remember that I wasn't tough-as-nails Thea Kozak, who didn't take stuff like this from anyone. I was Dora the waitress, a battered wife on the run from her husband. Timid and apologetic. Used to being beaten on. Roy Belcher's attack was no more than I deserved. I raised my eyes. "I'll go get your food." Looked shyly at the raspberry-pie guy. "There's no raspberry left. You sure lemon's okay?" He nodded.

Clyde turned to leave. "Hold on," Belcher commanded. "You ain't heard my message yet. Tell Theresa that Jimmy's got some important business on Saturday and he needs the truck. Okay? He'll be out at the camp."

Clyde said, "Okay," and hurried out of the dining room.

I took another order and went to get the clam rolls. There was no one in the kitchen. Through the screen door, I could see Kalyn and Clyde out on the back porch, smoking. Four plates with clam rolls and fries were on the counter. I put the four of them on a tray, added little containers of tartar sauce, and carried them into the dining room. I handed them around and left before the men could ask for anything else or grab me again.

I sat down at the table and put my head down on my arms, shaking from exhaustion and pent-up anger. Two days ago, a bride in a glorious dress. Now a waitress being mauled by Neanderthal customers. It was my own life and I could hardly keep up with the changes. I wanted to go upstairs and sob into my pillow, climb in my car and run away, but I had nothing to run to. The door slammed as they came back inside. I didn't look up. I wanted to snatch a little more rest before it was time to go risk my life delivering pie to those pigs in the other room.

"Hey," Roy's voice boomed. "Hey! Can we get a little service out here?"

Reluctantly, I raised my head. "You stay sitting down, Dora," Kalyn said. "I'll go see what those jerks want."

"They want their pie," I said, gesturing to the plates I'd prepared.

I lowered my head again. A warm hand rested lightly on my shoulder. Clyde had a very light touch for such a big man. "You haven't eaten anything since breakfast," he said. "Can I fix you something?"

I considered. What were Mason or Oliver or Claudine in the mood for today? I was too tired to even think about eating. "Whatever you fix is fine," I said. "Surprise me." I laid my head down again and closed my eyes. My feet were throbbing and my legs ached from top to bottom. My arms trembled from the weight of all the trays I'd carried.

I'd come into this thinking I was in pretty good shape. Fresh from Coach Lemieux's training camp. Andre was a fitness nut. Well, Andre was a nut about all sorts of things physical. He loved running and swimming and skiing and in-line skating. Weight training. Dancing. Sex. And eating. Andre would have been in heaven here in Clyde's kitchen. And for six months, I'd been right beside him, becoming as buffed and tough as he was. I had the arms and shoulders not of a beauty queen, but of a fitness queen. They had looked gorgeous rising out of the lace and satin of my dress. Now they were good for carrying trays. At least I'd stay in shape until my coach came home. If my coach came home. I took a deep breath, ashamed of myself. There could be no "ifs." He was coming home.

I heard the clink of ice and a thunk as something was set on the table near my ear. A tall, frosty glass of lemonade, followed by a fork and a napkin. Then a plate. I sat up. Lobster roll and fries. Chunks of juicy lobster meat, mayo and celery in a buttery, toasted roll. I smiled over at Clyde. "You are an angel," I said. "I love lobster rolls."

"I can only do it when Theresa's not around. She practically counts the pieces. But after what happened?" He shrugged. "We don't want you to quit on us."

I took a deep drink of lemonade. Icy cold, tangy, and refreshing. I could feel it chill my empty stomach. I smiled at Clyde. "Thanks. This is perfect." I watched him moving around, getting things ready for dinner, cleaning up the grill, hauling in a replacement tank for the soda machine. "Don't you ever rest?"

"Three months every winter. In Florida. Sitting on the beach. Going to baseball games. Catching fish. I don't even cook. Eat out every night."

Kalyn came in, deposited the dirty plates, picked up the four slices of pie, and went out again. Her energy made me feel guilty, but I wasn't ready to get up and start bustling about. Didn't yet feel like filling little paper cups with tartar sauce or applesauce. Natty and the other boy were gone. Despite the air-conditioning, the kitchen was warm. "Clyde, Theresa didn't tell me anything about my schedule. Do you think she'd mind if I went upstairs for a while?"

He shook his head. "That's a good idea. Get some rest before dinner." He reached down under the table and handed me a big enamel basin. "So you can soak your feet."