by Ayo Campbell
But it was an acceptable, dirty little secret that Miss Kitty would also offer particular clientele, men and women, certain other particular services: men and women. And from what Vanessa read on her neighborhood library’s computer, that side of the business was flourishing. Indeed, one article had a photo of a sign at the club reading Unaccompanied Women Will Be Sold. It was clearly tongue-in-cheek, but it gave Vanessa the creeps that Kitty would be so brazen, particularly in this day and age.
The day was warm and bright, and though Vanessa had a bus transfer, she chose to walk back to Roxy’s. She mulled over what she had learned from Arty, and while the man had tried to leave her with some feeling of hope, the fact remained that at any time, someone from the Durkin family could swoop in and take over the diner. And then what?
There was always the possibility that whoever took the place would like it, and leave it running as was; maybe they’d even improve it. Were that the case, it would solve one of her problems, and she could go back to Seattle to wait out the Probate Court; Bootsy and Collie and those Good Man kids well in hand.
Or, perhaps things would just keep going as they were; the Durkin children blissfully unaware, or unconcerned about the place. In which case, Vanessa was back where she started.
Yet, Kitty Durkin was no fool. That little corner lot that Roxy’s occupied was a real-estate plum, and she’d be a fool to ignore it. But neither was Vanessa a fool. She understood that sometime, somehow, in some way, some reckoning would need to be made with the Durkin family. She had never been one to sit by passively and let life happen. She would rather act than react.
But, when it came to her mother’s small fortune, she would have to sit by for as long as the courts took. The only thing that she could do to help move that along was to find her brother and father – or find out what had happened to them. That thought did not sit well with her. She figured that she’d need to hire a private detective, and she didn’t have that kind of money, nor did she know how to go about looking for one. She thought that she should ask Arty about that — and then she kicked herself. She had forgotten to ask him about finding a new manager so that she could go back to Seattle – but if she went back to Seattle, she wouldn’t be there if and when the Durkins descended – but if she didn’t go back, not only would she lose a job she loved, but she would bitterly disappoint Jasmine, one of the few people in her life who cared about her, and – and – and…
As she closed the last load of dishes in the washer, she was tired of thinking the same thoughts over and over, coming to the same conclusion and the same dead ends.
She wiped her hands on her wet apron, tossed it in the hamper, and went behind the counter for a soda. On a whim, she made herself an egg-cream, and went to flop on the office chair. She sipped her childhood favorite, and the cooling savor brought back so many strange feelings. She wondered if her mother, always so cool and always so calm, had ever faced such dilemmas.
She had to. She had two children, no husband, a small business, and so there must have been times when she didn’t know what to do. Vanessa wondered how she had handled them. She set down her soda, and lay her head on her hands on the desk, trying very hard not to cry.
“You okay, boss?” Collie asked.
Vanessa looked up. The girl had the night’s take.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said, wiping her eyes. “Long day. I’m just – just tired.”
“How’d it go with the lawyer man?”
“Confusing.”
“He some kind of shyster?”
“N—No. he’s okay. I trust him. But he kept looking at my boobs.”
“They’re very nice boobs,” Collie said with a grin. “If you don’t mind my saying.”
“You stop looking at boobies,” Bootsy said, waltzing into the office. “That’s not right. You should be with a man.”
“I was,” Collie said. “Several, as a matter of fact. They’re all animals.”
“You got to keep looking. And stop looking at ‘Nessa’s boobies.”
“I wasn’t. Her lawyer was.”
“Oh,” Bootsy said. “The lawyer. He tell you all about that Lillian woman.”
“You know about that?” Vanessa asked.
“Sure, sure,” Bootsy said. “Sometimes when Momma Ellen got the blues, she’d fret about that. Then that Lillian woman died, and Momma Ellen was relieved because things all messed up in probation.”
“Probate,” Collie corrected.
“Yes,” Vanessa said. “But that’s going to end sometime soon, and then, who knows.”
“In Vietnam,” Bootsy said, “you walk away from something ten days, you lose it. Ten days! Here, ten years and nobody knows.”
“That’s ‘cause we’re not Commies,” Collie said.
“Communists get things done,” Bootsy snapped. “Here, it’s all lawyers and lawyers and talk and talk, and still nothing.” Then, turning to Vanessa, added, “I need more corn for tomorrow; Friday fish special.”
Vanessa handed her a twenty dollar bill. Bootsy smiled and nodded.
“See,” she said. “Nessa is no talk. She does things. She’s like Momma Ellen.”
“I think,” Vanessa said, “that I have to talk to Kaitlin Durkin. Maybe I can make some kind of deal, or maybe talk her into something. I don’t know, but I think I need to at least talk with the woman.”
“You gonna go to Miss Kitty’s,” Collie said, laughing. “That I’d like to see.”
“Huh?”
“Huh, what?” Collie said, still chuckling. “A pretty lady like you walking alone into a place like that is dumber than my jerk chicken.”
“What are you talking about?” Vanessa asked. “This is the twenty-first century, not the seventeenth. I walk where I like.”
“It’s a cat-house. Everybody know that. The first thing the bouncers will think is that you’re a stray cat looking for some action. They wouldn’t let you through the door. And once you get pegged as a stray, that’s it for you getting in that place.”
“I will just explain the I need to talk to Kaitlin.”
“You call her Kaitlin,” Collie said, rolling her eyes, “they’re gonna think you’re a cop.”
“Then I will call her Kitty.”
“And they will think that you’re looking for a job. You try walking in alone, they got your number. Trust me, I know. Look, boss, it’s simple; you just go to the club with a date on your arm. Easy as that.”
“Oh, jeez,” Vanessa said. It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Where am I going to get a date?”
In answer, Collie just smiled and batted her eyes.
“You are a very nice girl, Colleen,” Vanessa said. “But I don’t swing that way.”
“I’d just be decoration. Wouldn’t have to be a date.”
“You’re not twenty-one.”
“Shit.”
“Language,” Bootsy said. “And you need to work, Collie. You can’t go shilly-shally at some nightclub. And ‘Nessa needs a man-date, not a girl-date.”
“Where,” Vanessa said with a sigh, “am I going to find a man?”
“Look,” Bootsy said.
“Look where? I am not into the bar scene, and I refuse to go online.”
“No. Look.”
And so saying, Bootsy slid open the office door. Vanessa and Collie peered. Justin was sitting at his stool, sipping his coffee and gazing at nothing.
“What?” Vanessa near hissed.
“You know,” Collie said. “I bet he cleans up nice.”
Chapter 4
“No,” Vanessa said. “No, no, and no.”
“Why not?” Collie asked. “He’s a nice guy.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You don’t know any man in town,” Collie said. “And unless you wanna fly out your boyfriend from Seattle–”
“I don’t have a boyfriend in Seattle.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Collie.”
“Okay, okay,” the girl said. “But look. You want
to get into Miss Kitty’s, and you want to get in legit. You don’t need a date; you need a decoration. Justin is a nice man. He’s educated. He’s polite. Never once has he looked at my boobs, and you know that I flaunt ‘em. And who knows, maybe the guy likes jazz. So, explain things to him. I bet he’d love a Saturday night out with a good looking lady.”
“No,” Bootsy said. “Saturday night is too steady busy. We need our dishwasher.”
“Excuse me,” Vanessa said. “Just who is the boss around here?”
“You are.”
“So.”
“So,” Bootsy said, “you going to leave me to do dishes on our biggie night? Turn folk away because the cook is bussing tables? Boss?”
“Okay,” Vanessa said. “Saturday night is out.”
“So’s Friday,” Collie said. “If we don’t clean up those fish plates fast, this place stinks on Saturday and Sunday. So, that leaves Thursday–”
“No,” Bootsy said. “Thursday is movie night. That’s when the kids come in, both sides.”
“Well, no one goes to a nightclub on a Wednesday.”
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “They do. If Boston is anything like Seattle, Wednesdays are the nights the music lovers come out. The weekends are for show. That’s when the hipsters go and spend a lot of money impressing their dates. But, isn’t Wednesday when the seniors come in here?”
“Seniors don’t care if we’re slow,” Collie said. “They don’t got that much to do.”
“Seniors got plenty to do,” Bootsy said. “They just not in such a hurry like you kids. They learned to be patient.”
Vanessa heard the woman’s words and chuckled inside with the irony. When people were young, and had time, they were always in a rush. When they were old, and time was precious, they were patient. Perhaps it was that the kids, fascinated as they were with the world, wanted to cram in as much as they could, while the seniors had learned to savor every moment.
“So,” Collie said. “You gonna ask him out?”
“I am going to think about it.”
“Chicken.”
“Don’t you need to go home and feed a cat or something?”
Vanessa locked up, gathering the coins that Justin had left and starting Collie’s tip jar. She made herself a cup of hot cocoa, and settled into her apartment to watch the news. But her brain wouldn’t focus. She kept going back and forth in her mind as to whether or not to actually ask Justin – ask him what? On a date? She didn’t like the implications of that word. As an escort? She liked that word even less. It would just be two friends going to a club…but then, they weren’t actually friends.
She stopped thinking about it. She watched the end of the news, and then The Late Show, until she fell asleep on the settee. She woke sometime during a music break. Jon Batiste was leading the band in a very Louisiana version of Lullaby of Birdland. The man’s fingers flying across the ivories brought her back to the time Jon and his band had played at Tula’s.
She missed that club. She wanted to go home, and she realized that the way home was through the maze that was her mother’s unfinished business, and that business started with Kitty. Switching off the TV and taking herself to bed, she decided that she both needed and wanted to go to the woman’s club, and so she began to think of ways to approach Justin.
In the morning it was quiet. There were no breakfast kids. She made herself coffee and eggs. Collie and Bootsy arrived around ten o’clock. They opened at twelve for an-all- you- can-eat fish fry. The lunch rush was a slam. Vanessa was everywhere at once, bussing tables, washing dishes, prepping catfish. Collie was right; the place was definitely taking on a fishy odor. Sometime in all that rush, Justin had taken his stool and his coffee.
After lunch was cleaned, Vanessa and her girls barely had time to grab a quick bite and get ready for dinner. Again, they were slammed. Fish flew everywhere and in every manner of presentation: fried, broiled, grilled – name it. Collie ran her legs off, and while Vanessa had to help her serve at the height of the rush, Collie never griped or complained. And Bootsy, seemingly as old as she was, never missed a plate or messed up an order. She didn’t stop until they ran out of fish. And then she helped Vanessa catch up with the dishes.
“You’ve done this before,” Justin said as Vanessa leaned on the counter with her egg-cream.
Bootsy and Collie had made themselves scarce, cleaning up in the kitchen.
“You’re good at multitasking,” he added.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve done this before. When I ended up I Seattle, it was the only real skill set I had.”
“Right. You ended up in that jazz place.”
“Tula’s.”
“You into jazz?”
“I love it. You?”
“I like the opera,” he said. “I prefer music that I can understand.”
“You understand opera?”
“I do.”
“Okay,” she said, grinning. “But, you don’t understand jazz?”
He shook his head.
“I remember seeing this vocalist once,” he said. “She opened the first six bars in A-flat. Bar seven, she modulate down to F. Bar twelve, she went back up to A-flat but in seven/eight; craziness.”
“Are you, like, some kind of music savant?”
“I dabble in a lot of things,” he said.
“Did she sound good? The vocalist?”
“She had a very pretty voice.”
“Well, if it sounds good, it is good.”
Justin laughed a rich, full, and honest laugh, and there was a thing in that laugh that Vanessa liked. It was genuine. It was real. And as he laughed, there was a sparkle in his eyes. She felt as though that sparkle was almost inviting her closer.
“So, listen,” she said. “I got a situation…”
So, she told him her story, all about Kaitlin and the deed, and her idea. He listened, his face expressionless. She tried to be casual about it, stressing that it would be just like two friends going to listen to some good music. As she talked, she heard the cleaning in the kitchen go a little quieter.
“And so,” Vanessa concluded, “the real point, you see, is for me to get to Kaitlin Durkin.”
“Why not wait for her to come to you?” Justin asked. “I mean, she’s going to figure out that she had title to the property eventually.”
“I haven’t got until eventually. I want to go home, but I want to go home knowing that this place – that Roxy’s and Bootsy and Collie are okay.”
“That’s very noble of you. But you must know that a woman like Miss Kitty is going to want something in return. She didn’t get where she is by being a pushover.”
“And so I have to know what that something is. And, I also figure that Miss Kitty is a rational sort. I figure that’s how she got where she is.”
“Well,” he said, holding up his hands. “It’s your figuring.”
“So…so, you’ll go with me?”
“Let me check my calendar…oh, rats. I left my calendar in my penthouse. Let me check with my social secretary – Colleen!”
“Whaa?”
“What am I doing next Wednesday?”
“Sitting there, drinking coffee,” Collie called back.
“Seems that I’m free,” he said.
“Cool,” Vanessa said, trying not to sound excited. “So, um, listen, it’ll all be on me. Okay? You don’t worry about a thing. And – and if you need – well, I can get you some nice clothes, y’know?”
“I think,” he said, putting his change down on the counter, “that I have a good suit somewhere. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You just be sure to dress smart yourself,” he added, grinning.
“Um, Justin?”
“Yes?”
“Just so that we are clear,” Vanessa said, gathering his change. “Under no circumstances will this involve sex.”
“After such clarity, how could I refuse?”
The moment the doorbell ceased tinkling after he left, both Boot
sy and Collie burst from the kitchen, gleeful as teenagers who had just watched their best friend score the best prom date.
“So, what are you going to wear?” Collie squealed.
Saturday night was constant. There was no rush nor slam, but the three were kept busy. They turned the dining room three times, and from what Vanessa saw it was mostly all cash. Twice, Collie had to empty the till and bring a bag back into the office.
After they closed and cleaned, Collie and Bootsy flopped in her office with their supper, waiting their weekly pay. It was an honor system; the two told Vanessa their hours, and Vanessa logged them and calculated their pay. Then she had to deduct city, state, and federal taxes. But Collie showed her that Momma Ellen had already done that; the two always claimed the same hours, always had the same deductions, and always received the same pay – in cash.
“But,” Vanessa said, staring at the books. “I know that you both worked more that forty-three hours. I mean, that day you worked breakfast for those kids–”
“Sometimes we work more,” Bootsy said. “Sometimes we work less. All of everything evens out in the washing.”
“Consider us on salary,” Collie said. “It’s easier for Momma—it’s easier all around, and we can count on the cash. Okay?”
Vanessa considered her lot as she paced the diner that next Wednesday evening. She had been back in Brookline all of a week, and in those seven days she had found herself back in her mom’s dish room, been charmed by a hooker on probation and an elderly woman hiding from some Asian mafia, discovered a small fortune that she couldn’t touch, and was about to try and endear herself to a club-owner Madam, escorted by a stranger who she didn’t know.
At least the week had been somewhat productive. The receipts from the restaurant were sizable, but then so were the expenses. After giving Bootsy and Collie their wages, and paying off the food distributor, all in cash, there was enough left to pay herself minimum wage, and keep a little something in the freezer against any unforeseens.