Any time Herman Mayberly walked into the restaurant, the wait staff scattered. At 76, Herman was like an older John Wayne—but without the charm. Occasionally patrons would hear him in the kitchen clanging pots and pans, yelling at the top of his voice over something that wasn’t cooked according to his standards. He was a bull to work for.
It was wonder he’d ever been able to hold onto staff people. Mostly they stayed around because of Angie. She always had a knack for making people feel good about themselves—in spite of their lousy situation.
Angie liked to think that her father had once been a kind, caring man. But that was before she was born. She attributed his perpetual grouchiness to the loss of his 38-year-old wife while giving birth to their only child. He often said he could see Wanda every time he looked at Angie. And instead of bringing a smile to his face, it seemed to make him angry.
“Where’s Angie?” he barked at a young waitresses.
“I think she’s in her office.”
Her office. Until a year ago, it had always been his office. He had begged Angie to divorce Clifford, promising her full control of the restaurant if she did. It was time for him to retire anyway. And when his daughter finally filed for divorce, Herman begrudgingly kept his promise. At least he tried to—unless he saw something that wasn’t being done right.
“A couple of your waitresses look like teenagers.”
Angie looked up from her computer. “They are teenagers, Dad.”
“Well, that’s too young. You need mature women who know how to treat your customers—not some wise-cracking kids. In all my days of running this place I never hired any teenagers.”
“Yes, you did.”
“What? I did not. Never.”
“You hired one. Me. I started working here when I was twelve.”
“I didn’t hire you. You worked for free.”
“You upped my allowance.”
“Okay, yeah. But that’s different.”
“So, where you have been? I haven’t seen or heard from you in a few days.”
“I told you where I was going. Don’t you ever listen? Me and Bob spent a couple of days up at Sam Rayburn.”
“Oh. Well, yeah, you told me he invited you. But I didn’t think you would go.”
“Well, I figured you don’t need me here anymore, so I might as well try to find something to keep me busy.”
“Yeah, but fishing? I thought you hated fishing.”
“I thought so too. But with Bob it’s kinda fun.”
“Great, Dad. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“So, what’s going on around here? Anything new?”
“No. Not really. We had a little accident on the dance floor last night, but nobody got hurt.”
“Well, why are you dressed up like that?”
“Uh… I’m going to a party.”
“On Sunday afternoon? What is it—a birthday party?”
“Yeah.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Ralph Tenorly. He’s 75.”
“Ralph Tenorly? That old codger?”
“Old codger? Dad, you’re a year older than him.”
“You don’t even know him, do you?”
“Not really.”
“Then why are you… ” Suddenly it hit him. “Does this have anything to do with that grease monkey across the street?”
“Dad… “
“You’re going to the party with him, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Now just settle down.”
“I will not settle down! You know how much I hate that good-for-nothing bum!”
“Come on, Dad—you don’t really hate Edsel.”
“Yes, I do—and you know why!”
“Daddy, that was years ago. Can’t you just finally forgive him?”
“No. I can’t and I won’t!” He stormed out of her office.
Angie checked the wall clock: 1:47 PM. She would finish up the payroll checks, and then walk over to see about Edsel. He was probably still working. If she didn’t make him to stop, take a shower and get dressed, they would be late for the party.
*
Edsel was lying on the creeper under Mr. Jennings’ 1977 Coupe DeVille. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d made the loop around the Golden Triangle last night. He should have been sleepy. But there was no way he could accidentally doze off. Not today. His mind raced with thoughts of how he would tell Angie that he still loved her—that he had never stopped loving her.
He imagined how she might react. There were several possibilities. But only one of them would be the correct reaction. If there was any hesitation on her part… or even the slightest hint of pity in her eyes, it was over. His dreams of happiness would never come true. But why dwell on the negative? He must tell her with confidence. If his whole world was destined to fall apart, so be it.
He heard somebody open the shop door and walk in. Had to be Angie. Probably checking to make sure he was getting ready for the party. “I know what you’re gonna say. I should have already been in the shower by now. But don’t worry. I’m about to quit.” He quickly finished tightening the last bolt on the oil pan. “Angie?”
She didn’t answer.
*
“Looks like business is starting to slow down,” said Cindy Banya, sitting in a booth at The Biscuit with Craig Buttard.
“Yeah, most of the church people come in between 11:30 and 1:00. By mid-afternoon it’s pretty much dead.”
“What’s going on in the back room?” Cindy watched as a waitress walked by carrying a large electric coffee urn.
“Somebody must be having a meeting or a party.”
“I see.”
A waitress brought their coffee and dessert. “Two coffees and two strawberry biscuit cakes.”
“Surprised?” said Craig.
“Strawberry biscuit cakes?” Cindy studied the dessert. It was one Buttard Biscuit, covered with fresh strawberries and whipped cream with a cherry on top. “I should have known it would have a biscuit in it.”
“Taste it.”
She frowned at him, and then picked up her spoon and sampled the dessert. “Not bad, actually.”
“See. I knew you’d like it.”
She took another bite. “Yeah, I hate to admit it—but you were right. It’s delicious.”
“Good. And now that you know you can trust my judgment, I’ve got something else for you to try. And it’s also delicious.”
She gave him a dirty look. “Funny. Is that all you think about?”
“Well… yeah, when I’m around you. You get to me. You’re just so doggone sexy.”
Cindy almost fell for it, but then caught herself. “Wonder how many times you’ve used that line. How many times, Craig?”
He grinned slyly. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe a few hundred.”
She lowered her voice. “You are such a tramp.”
“Well, I’ve been called a lot of things, but—a tramp? Maybe in Russia that makes sense, but in the U. S. that word is only used for women—not men.”
“It has nothing to do with Russia or America. You’d be a tramp in any country.”
Craig lost his grin. “Hey.”
“So, you don’t consider yourself a tramp?”
“No, of course not.”
“Even though you’ve slept with dozens of women?”
“Well… “
“But you want to turn me into a tramp. Right?”
“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Really? Explain.”
Craig liked Cindy more than any woman he’d met in a long time, but he knew he was on the verge of killing his chances with her. He reached across the table and held her hand. “Look, Cindy. I’m sorry. Sometimes I try too hard to impress people. I’m not really like this. It’s just an act.”
Cindy looked into his eyes. She wanted to believe him.
*
“Do you really think Norma needs our help? I hate to get there early when only she and my dad are there.” Greg pulled into the parking lot of The Buttard Biscuit Restaurant.
“Why?” said Cynthia. “Because you’re afraid you’ll have to talk to your dad? You need to talk to him. There’s got to be a way for the two of you to get past this bitterness. And it’s sure not going to get any better unless you try.”
They walked into the restaurant and headed for the meeting room, passing Cindy and Craig’s booth along the way. Greg recognized Billy-Eye’s older son. He wondered if the attractive woman in the booth with him knew about his reputation.
“Hello. Happy Birthday, Mr. Tenorly,” said Cynthia as she rushed over to Ralph and gave him an unexpected hug.
“Thanks.”
Norma went to Greg and hugged him. “I’m glad y’all came early.”
“We’re here to help,” said Cynthia. “What can we do?”
A waitress walked into the room. “Are one of you Greg Tenorly?”
“Yes. I’m Greg.”
“There’s a call for you.”
He followed her to the cashier’s counter. She handed him the phone.
“Hello? This is Greg Tenorly.”
“Greg… “
Her voice was so shaky that he didn’t recognize it at first.
“… there’s been a terrible accident.”
Then he realized it was Angie Silverstern.
“Edsel is in the emergency room.”