After June went to the kitchen to place their order, Mary Lou said, “Mack, Dot's Diner is an institution in Dot, like the church. We have to do something."
“We?"
“We have some money in the bank—the advances on your two books and that royalty check you received last week."
“I think she probably needs more than fifteen thousand, Mary Lou,” Mack laughed, “and I certainly would not put Dot's Diner in the same category as the church."
“Oh, you know what I mean."
“Yeah, but still, if the bank refused to make her a loan, the chances of us getting back our money would be slim. If things are as bad as June says, a loan from us would just delay the inevitable."
“I wonder why the Dollars wanted to buy a half interest in the place? They must think there is a possibility of future success."
Mack nodded. “They have the Midas touch all right. Dottie ought to listen to them."
“I remember one time Sandy said something about Dot needing a good pizza restaurant that will deliver. I wonder if that's what they have in mind?"
* * * *
Maggie found Greta's cleaning cart outside room A34. She let herself in with a passkey and found Greta working in the bathroom. “We need to talk,” she said as she sat down on the closed toilet seat.
“Okay,” Greta replied and she sat on the edge of the bathtub.
“We received a complaint this morning. Mr. Eddings checked out two days earlier than he intended. He said he woke up this morning about six with you stripped to the waist and fondling him. He claims you offered oral sex for fifty dollars."
“It wasn't me, Maggie."
“There's no point in lying about it. You are the only white employee on our housekeeping staff."
“He ... he asked me to wake him up this morning that way. It was his idea."
“Greta, the motel is not a brothel. Our reputation is very important to Mr. Bennett and me. We will not tolerate prostitution on the part of any member of our staff. If it happens again, I'll fire you."
“You're a fine one to talk,” Greta said defiantly.
“What is that supposed to mean?"
“You're the biggest whore I've ever seen."
“Be careful of what you say, Greta. I'm in a lousy mood this morning, but I'm trying to give you a break."
“Hell. You're sleeping with the boss and getting paid off with a fancy house, clothes fit for a queen and probably a salary that's much more than you're worth."
“I am simply staying in Mr. Bennett's home until I can find a place of my own."
“Like hell you are. I've seen him with his hand on your ass and it don't take no rocket scientist to figure out what the two of you are doing every afternoon in his office."
Maggie stood up, glaring at Greta. “Perhaps I should discuss this problem with your husband."
“Maggie, wait,” Greta called out as Maggie reached the exit door of the motel room. Greta burst through the bathroom door and pleaded, “Don't tell Eddie. He'll kill me."
“I should think he would be very unhappy to learn that his wife is a prostitute."
“Ain't that,” Greta said. “He'd be pissed ‘cause I was holding out on him."
“I don't understand."
Greta sat heavily on the bed and sighed. “We ain't married and I am a whore. He saved my life one night when he found me in an alley with three johns beating the shit out of me. I've lived with him ever since."
Maggie sat on the edge of a chair. “Want to talk about it?"
Greta nodded. “He treats me like dirt. He keeps all the money I make. If he knew I was holding out on him, he'd be furious. I ... I've been saving up a little so I can leave him."
Greta looked so pitiful that Maggie moved to the bed, sat beside her and put her arm around the woman who began to cry softly. “Maggie, I don't know what to do."
“I don't know what to tell you, Greta, but you just can't continue selling your body to our customers."
“Can I tell you something else?"
Maggie tightened her arm around Greta's shoulders.
“There's a ghost that lives in our house and she talks to me sometimes."
Greta's tone was so serious that Maggie was not tempted to make light of the notion.
“Her name's Ida Jenkins. She was a schoolteacher and the previous owner of the house. I know it sounds stupid, but I found a letter she wrote to me before she died."
“Tell me about it."
“Why ain't you making fun of me?"
“Greta, I don't believe in ghosts, but that doesn't prove they don't exist. Tell me about the letter."
“The letter is addressed ‘To Somebody.’ After reading it, I think I am the Somebody she had in mind. She tells a little about herself as a girl and as a woman. She never married."
“What does that have to do with you?"
“I'm getting to that. She said if she could live her life over again, she'd do things differently and then she goes on to tell what she would do."
“I still don't believe in ghosts, Greta, but maybe she has some advice in her letter that fits you. Maybe that's why you think she wrote the letter to you."
“She wasn't anything like me, Maggie. For one thing, I don't think she ever slept with a man in her whole life. She said if she had it to do over again she would find a man and make him the happiest guy in the world, but she would never be a regular housewife. That part didn't make much sense to me. She said she'd still work, maybe as a schoolteacher, but probably not."
“Sounds like she wanted to maintain her independence while enjoying a close relationship with a man."
“I reckon."
“Certainly you don't want to teach school. What other options did your ghost list?"
“Maggie, would you recognize a gold nugget if you saw one?"
Maggie laughed. “I doubt it."
“Miss Jenkins said there used to be gold mines in North Carolina. She said she thought it would be fun to search some of them to see if she could find a hidden vein, whatever that is."
“So, you want to become a gold miner?"
“I don't know anything about it, but I can't get it out of my head."
“You can probably find some books on it at the library in Charlotte."
“I don't read so good, Maggie. It took me an hour to read that letter I told you about. I have to look up so many words in the dictionary."
Maggie nodded. “You know, Greta, prospecting for gold sounds like something I might enjoy."
Greta's countenance brightened and she turned sideways on the bed, facing Maggie. “Would you help me find the gold?"
“Hold on, Greta,” Maggie laughed. “We don't know that there is any gold and we don't know how to recognize it anyway. Do you have any idea where these old mines are?"
Greta's shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “Miss Jenkins said in her letter that she has a whole notebook on gold mines, but I haven't found it yet."
“You think it's in the house somewhere?"
“I guess. Eddie's always there when I am, so I haven't had much of a chance to search for it."
“I have an idea. I have both you and Eddie scheduled to work Wednesday through Sunday with Monday and Tuesday off. If I leave Eddie's schedule as it is, and change yours to working Monday through Friday, then you and I can search for the notebook together on Saturday and Sunday without him knowing."
Greta grabbed Maggie's hands. “Would you do that?"
Maggie squeezed Greta's hands and stood up. “Consider it done. Now I have to get back to work."
As Maggie reached the door Greta said, “I'm sorry I called you a whore and I won't do it no more."
Maggie closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it. Was Greta right about her? she wondered. She wasn't sleeping with George, of course, but their tender moments together were becoming increasingly passionate. Was her interest in George due solely to the benefits he was pouring out on her? She certainly didn't mean for it to ha
ppen that way, but was there anything she truly cared about other than George's money? She shuddered and slowly walked back to the restaurant.
George was standing behind the register. She edged up to him, slyly patted his buttocks, and then remembered what Greta said.
“Why so glum boss man?"
“Sorry,” he replied. “I didn't realize I was wearing my feelings on my sleeve."
“Look, George. You know I have strong feelings for you. It's just that ... it's just that..."
“I know,” he said. “I'm a foolish old man—an old fool to be more accurate..."
“You're not an old fool, George. It's just that..."
“Maggie, I just go nuts when we kiss and stroke each other and then stop. It's driving me crazy."
She watched him put on his cheerful face, greet a customer and ring up the sale. “Maybe it's time for me to move out, George. I never intended to cause you a problem."
“Here comes Ellen, back from her break,” he said. “Let's go in the office."
When they were behind closed doors, he took her in his arms, gripped her buttocks and drove his tongue into her mouth. She felt her body begin to tingle, and was disappointed that his kiss did not linger.
“Maggie, I came to work this morning about quarter to five. When I stopped at the traffic light, Mrs. Frank drove by on the Old Charlotte Road on the way to her diner. The back of her old pickup contained food supplies. Curiosity got the best of me, so I just called one of our suppliers. She is so far behind on her bill that they cut off her credit and will no longer make deliveries. She has to drive to Charlotte every morning and pay cash for what she gets."
So, that's what's really bothering you this morning, she thought. “Does that surprise you? You offered to buy her out and she refused."
“I don't like it, Maggie. I feel dirty. The hardheaded old biddy won't listen to reason and we're losing money. I don't want her to suffer. That was never my intention. Maybe it's time I called the whole thing off—raise prices to a level that will give us a profit and just see what happens."
“I never thought of you as a quitter, George."
“I'm not,” he said defensively.
“You mapped out a business plan and you've been following it. You say Dot won't support two restaurants. You tried to buy her out and, when she refused, you made up your mind to drive her out of business. Now that your plan is about to succeed, you're having second thoughts."
He slumped into the desk chair. “My plan has some holes in it. I didn't think Dottie would hold out this long and I didn't realize how popular the Dollars’ recreational complex would be this summer. Right now, there's plenty of business for both of us. If I call off the price war, we could be breaking even by fall."
She sat in the side chair. “Is profit your concern or Mrs. Frank's welfare?"
“Both, Maggie.” He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. “Maggie, I have never intentionally hurt anybody in my whole life. I don't like it."
“If you give in, George, she wins."
“My point is, maybe we can both win."
She stretched out her arm on the desk and he placed his hand in hers. “Do you love me, George?” she asked.
A pained expression formed on his face. “What kind of question is that?"
“An honest question—a tough question."
“Think of what all I've done for you. Doesn't that answer your question?"
“I am thinking of all you've done for me—the position, the clothes, the house, the money. That's why I'm asking the question. Are you being so good to me because you love me or is it an attempt to pay the young whore for her services?"
He drew back in his chair. “I can't believe you said that! I gave you a job and offered to let you live in my house before you decided to, uh, wash my back."
“You gave me a job as a night cook and offered to let me stay at your house until I could find a place of my own. Since I ‘washed your back’ as you put it, you've practically made me your partner, quadrupled my salary and bought me a closet full of expensive clothes. I ask you again, George Bennett. Is it because you love me or are you paying for the whore's services?"
“You know I love you, Maggie. You mean everything to me, and I remind you, we've never slept together."
“No, but we've come close and you were pissed off this morning when I refused to join you in bed."
“Maggie, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I do love you, Maggie."
She stood up and walked to the door. With her back still turned to him she said, “Then why does Dottie Franks’ distress concern you so?” She turned and faced him. “George, until I get things sorted out in my mind, continuing to work for you may not be such a good idea. I think we both slipped into something we didn't mean to happen, and now we don't know what to do about it."
“Please Maggie, don't do this."
“I have to consider my options, George, and what is best for both of us. I understand Sandy Dollar is looking for a housekeeper and babysitter. Maybe I'll give that a try."
“Maggie, I need you."
“You don't need me, George. I'm just window-dressing. I'm taking the rest of the day off. I have some serious thinking to do."
* * * *
Sitting at the end of the mahogany conference table in the tastefully appointed study at the Dollars house made Maggie uncomfortable. She wished she had not changed to jeans, sleeveless flannel shirt and baseball cap. “Folks,” she began, “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."
“I was shocked when you told me on the telephone that you are interested in becoming our housekeeper,” Sandra said.
“I'm curious about it too. From all I can see, the Korner Kafe and motel seems to be successful,” Tim said.
“They will be,” Maggie replied. “We're ... they're losing money at the Kafe, but George will soon raise his prices a little. George is a fine man and he gave me a super job—it's just not the job I wanted. I applied for a job as a cook, but George wanted me to be the manager. I gave it a try, but it's just not for me."
“Something like the Peter Principle,” Tim mused.
“What's the Peter Principle?"
“A fellow wrote a book in which he charged that corporations promote employees until they reach a level of incompentancy, and that's where they remain the rest of their working lives. The author contends these people, who were competent in other positions, are destroying the corporations. In your case you are saying that you are a good cook, but are out in left field as a manager."
Maggie bristled. “I would not exactly call myself incompetent. I just don't like it right now."
“Do you have any experience as a housekeeper or nanny?” Sandra asked.
“No professional training,” Maggie grinned, “but I come from a family of five boys and one girl. I practically raised my two younger brothers and did most of the housework too."
“I just don't know, Maggie,” Tim said. “Junior is extra special to us. We were hoping to find someone with experience and references."
Maggie swallowed hard. “Everybody has to start somewhere,” she said, “and I know you must be in desperate need. It's been three months since Bobby and Adele..."
“It's okay, Maggie,” Sandra said. “They were very good friends, but we can talk about it now. You were saying?"
“I was going to suggest that you give me a trial period—say a month. If I don't work out I'll go quietly."
Tim and Sandra exchanged glances while chuckling. “I just can't picture you doing housework and babysitting,” Tim said. “You look more like the outdoors type to me."
“I am, Mr. Dollar. I love working outdoors, even in the winter. The best summer I ever spent was when I was seventeen and worked with my brothers in the family lawn care business."
Sandra and Tim again exchanged glances.
“Maggie,” Sandra said. “We actually have two positions open. Adele was our housekeeper, but Bobby was our caretaker. He made minor repair
s around the place, called in professionals when major work was needed and then supervised their work, kept the grass mowed and the flower gardens looking presentable, washed and waxed the cars and ran errands."
“He spent a lot of time roaming around the recreational complex too,” Tim added. “He was very good at pointing out potential trouble spots."
“As much as anything, he was a friend and companion to both Tim and me,” Sandra said. “I don't suppose you'd be interested in something like that?"
With all the earnestness that her face could reflect she replied, “I'd get down on my knees and kiss your feet ten times a day if you would give me a shot at that job. I could never be to you what Bobby was, but I can do the work."
“Sandy, I like the idea,” Tim said, his lips curling into a smile. “Bobby never offered to kiss my feet."
Sandra roared with laughter at the thought of the huge man ever acting subservient in any way. “Maggie, there's some hard manual labor involved, and Bobby used to spend time with Junior too—letting him ride on the lawnmower, taking him fishing, riding around the place on a golf cart—things like that."
“Does George know you are thinking of leaving the restaurant?” Tim asked.
“I told him this morning."
“And he's okay with it?"
“He wasn't happy about it, if that's what you mean."
“Haven't you been living with George?"
Maggie turned to Sandra and said somewhat defensively, “He let me use one of his guest rooms until I could find a place of my own. You may not be aware of it, but all the rental property in Dot is ... well ... rented."
“I do know,” Tim nodded. “Creasy Green has been on my back about it for months. However, I think we might have a ticklish situation with you quitting George but still accepting his hospitality."
“How about Carl's place?” Sandra asked.
“I don't know,” Tim replied.
“What is Carl's place?” Maggie asked.
“Carl Elliott is Bobby's brother and our contractor. Bobby left his house across the street from us to Adele, of course. In the event they both died, the will specified the house was to go to Carl. Carl has cleaned it up, repainted, and plans to rent it."
“If there's any way I can afford it, I would love to rent it. It will be convenient and I'm not concerned about someone trying to kill me."
Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows Page 10