Alligators in the Trees

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “Jeeze,” Priscilla said under her breath. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us now. Can I get you something? Cup of coffee?” she asked, then remembered Philip’s understandable aversion to their house brew. “How ‘bout a coke?”

  “Sure, that’d be great,” Philip said.

  June had sent the first wave of diners Priscilla’s way. She quickly got them seated and handed out menus. She made a point of getting Philip’s coke before she forgot about it. He was hoping to speak with her, that being his sole purpose for returning. But Priscilla was too fast for him. She set his coke down, gave him a tense, fleeting smile, and rushed off to grab a pot of coffee.

  Philip watched as Priscilla, June, Frank and Hector the dishwasher worked at a frantic pace trying to feed the sixty-odd foreigners in short-order fashion. Finally, about forty-five minutes later, the crew got the situation under control. The coffee shop’s decibel level had decreased by half as the majority of the tourists tackled their lunches. The wait hadn’t really upset Philip, as it gave him time to silently rehearse for the hundredth time what he wanted to say.

  “Jesus, Phil—I’m sorry I abandoned you like that,” Priscilla said, as she flipped through her tickets. After trying to sort the handful of checks, she gave up and sat down across from him and laid out her tickets. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, looking up only briefly as she tried to account for everything ordered by every table.

  “No, not at all,” Philip replied pleasantly, enjoying her proximity. It was perhaps the first time they had looked at each other at eye level. Priscilla glanced over in the direction of the kitchen as she became aware of a heated exchange building between Frank and June.

  “Don’t you pull any of that crap on me, Frankie,” she heard June threaten. “It says right here in blue and white—“Past. on rye. Pastrami on rye—plain as day. Nobody ever orders pastrami on wheat bread.”

  “Priscilla, um…this probably isn’t the best time to being bringing this up…” Philip began sheepishly.

  “What’s on your mind, Phil?” she asked. Might as well get this over with, she told herself stoically.

  “I had to go out of town unexpectedly last week, and…well, we really didn’t have a chance to talk after that…invitation I left for you.” Priscilla sighed. It was just as she had suspected.

  “Phil—”

  Philip raised his hand to stop her. “I realized later how wrong it was for me to put you on the spot, and I just want you to know I regret having done it.”

  Priscilla regarded him for a moment. “It’s okay, Phil—really.”

  “It’s just that I enjoy your company so much. I mean, if I get such a lift from our limited interactions during breakfast, I figured doing something fun with you would have to be ten times nicer,” Philip said. Priscilla smiled wanly at his sincerity.

  “But I was thinking only of myself. It never even occurred to me that your boss probably has strict rules about dating—or non-dating—the customers.” If Philip hadn’t looked so serious, Priscilla would have laughed at him. “I mean, I certainly don’t want to get you into any trouble with your employer.”

  Priscilla couldn’t help but snort at that. “You don’t need to worry about jeopardizing my job. That’s not the issue.”

  “So, it did bother you, me asking you out—on a non-date.”

  Priscilla shook her head wearily. “It’s not that it bothered me, so much…it’s just…I don’t know, Phil. I guess it did put me in an awkward position, seeing how you come in every day. I mean, what if we went out on a non-date, as you put it, and it turned out badly, for whatever reason. See how it would be for me—you coming in, or not coming in…you know what I mean? This is where I work,” she stated simply, as if that should be reason enough to end his persistence. She saw no need to address the obvious fact that they were as different as a can of beer and a bottle of champagne, or mention that she wasn’t the least bit attracted to him.

  “You’d better get over to the window—Frank’s having a conniption fit,” June advised as she passed by, arms fully loaded with plates.

  “What’s eating him now?” she asked. June shrugged as best she could under the weight of the food.

  “I better find out what’s bugging our commander in chief,” Priscilla said, as she slid out of the booth.

  “Bobbi! Where she?” Frank hollered.

  “I’ll be right there,” she answered, turning her attention briefly back to Philip.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said excitedly, hit by a sudden inspiration. “If I wasn’t a customer, going out with me wouldn’t put you in that position. So, all I need to do is stop patronizing this place and you would no longer have that dilemma.”

  Boy, this guy’s got it bad, Priscilla thought uneasily. He was going to be harder to shake than she had assumed. She supposed pussyfooting around the real issue was only going to prolong her agony. Well, if he was going to be so persistent, he’d just have to deal with a flat-out rejection.

  “BOBBI!” Frank yelled out, so loudly this time, a considerable hush fell over the noisy crowd.

  “Jesus Christ, Frank—simmer down. I’ll be there in a second.”

  “You no say ME simmer down. You get here NOW,” he shouted back. With the whole coffee shop now swiveling back and forth between volleys, and without missing a beat, Priscilla undid her apron strings and pulled the garment over her head, letting it fall where she stood. She then marched to the cramped closet that served as their changing room and stripped out of her ugly pink uniform for the last time. She grabbed her bag on her way out and glided down the aisle, head held high, not saying a word to anyone.

  “Bobbi—you fire now!” Frank called out in a hysterical singsong voice. Priscilla stopped at the door and swung around to face him.

  “You’re such an idiot, Frank. You never get anything right, do you?”

  The bell on the door nearly shook free of its post as Priscilla banged the door closed. For three or four seconds, no one moved. Then, with the realization of what this meant for her, June was the first to break the silence.

  “Well, fuck me,” she said, taking in all the faces still seated in Priscilla’s section. “What the hell did you say to her Frank? Now, look at all the extra tables I’m left to sort out. If I had any brains, I’d follow her out of here.” June let this threat sink into Frank’s head for one long, cruel moment before casually crossing the floor to pick up Priscilla’s apron and shuffle through her tickets.

  In the heat of her anger, Priscilla had forgotten to take her tips out of her apron pocket. Well, that was at least one compensating factor, June told herself. Furtively, she removed Priscilla’s loot and commingled it with hers. With the tips still to be collected from the remaining customers, June would have the best haul she’d ever gotten in that dump.

  “Damn you, Frank,” she said, not willing to let him out of the hot seat so easily. Her tyrannical boss remained mute as a stone, which was the only smart move open to him.

  Philip sat there speechless, processing what had just transpired. As soon as he had eliminated the last obstacle to a date with Priscilla, she slipped out of his life without a word. Belatedly it hit him his only hope of ever seeing her again lie in catching up with her that very second, or she’d be gone forever.

  He jumped out of the booth, crazed with anxiety, only to pause automatically to dig in his pocket for some cash. He tossed a twenty on the table and dashed off, coming to an abrupt halt as some part of his brain reminded him that Priscilla would not receive the tip.

  He ran the few steps back to the booth and snatched the bill just as June’s radar had picked up on its existence. The two eyed each other suspiciously for a second, then he was gone, out the door, head pivoting wildly as he desperately searched for Priscilla. He caught a fleeting glimpse of her just as she vanished around a corner.

  Without hesitation, he lit out after her, running the length of the block, dodging traffic as he crossed to the other side of the street
. As soon as he rounded the corner, he called out to her. She was half a block ahead of him by now and apparently hadn’t heard him. Winded by his sprint, he called out again, more weakly this time. She still didn’t turn around.

  Philip summoned his reserves and picked up his paced. When he got within shouting distance, he called out again, right as Priscilla was attempting to cross the street. She heard him this time, turning around in the street to face him.

  Philip froze. He had gotten her attention, but at the worst possible moment. He had taken her mind off the business of weaving through traffic, and now she was standing in the middle of the traffic lanes as vehicles raced by dangerously close.

  “Goddammit! Get outta the road, you stupid broad!” a cabbie shouted after coming to a screeching halt just inches away from her. Once Philip recovered from his near heart attack, he staggered toward Priscilla, who was stepping out of the street in a daze.

  “Are you all right?” Philip cried out as he reached her.

  “This really isn’t my day,” Priscilla said.

  “I almost got you killed,” Philip lamented. He was still ashen from witnessing the close call. He bent over, hands on knees, as if he were about to pass out or throw up. Priscilla regarded him and sighed.

  “Phil, why don’t we find a place where you can sit down for a minute,” she suggested. “There’s a park in the next block—think you can make it that far?” she asked. Philip nodded and panted, gratefully letting her lead the way. The place Priscilla had in mind wasn’t much of a park, but it did have a few benches to offer. They found one unoccupied and sat down.

  “I’m sorry,” Philip said.

  “For what?” Priscilla asked. She was hugely out of sorts and quickly loosing what was left of her patience.

  “For everything. For getting you fired, then almost getting you killed. Then almost passing out on you.” Philip couldn’t bring himself to look at her, he was so humiliated.

  “You didn’t get me fired. I quit.”

  “You quit because I got you in trouble with your boss,” he countered.

  “Trust me, Phil—quitting that job was inevitable. I would’ve had to do it sooner or later. It really is miraculous I held out there as long as I did,” Priscilla said.

  It was starting to register that she had actually taken a step in shaping her own future. True, it had been a reactionary move, but it had effectively retired that phase of her life. She had no clue where she’d go from this point forward, but she seriously doubted she could sink much lower than schlepping Frank’s miserable fare.

  “What will you do now?” Philip asked.

  Priscilla wheezed out a sad laugh. “Don’t know. Haven’t had time to think that far ahead yet.” Being suddenly unemployed was going to take a little getting used to. With all the crummy jobs she’d had over the years, she had always adhered to the policy of finding a replacement before she cut the other one loose. Being without a source of income was a rather daunting prospect. But at least she had her nest egg, thanks to the disconsolate man sitting next to her.

  “Don’t worry, Phil. I’ll find work.”

  Philip didn’t look reassured. “If we get a paper, I can help you look through the Classifieds.”

  Priscilla laughed. “I don’t need help reading the want ads,” she said.

  “I just meant…”

  “Believe me, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s look for work.” Philip’s countenance drooped further. “Look, you’re giving yourself too much credit. I don’t have a job anymore, but that was my decision. I’ll get another one. I’m a big girl, I know how to look out for myself. You, on the other hand, look as though your world just fell apart.”

  Philip took a moment to assess his mental state. It was true: he had fled the coffee shop as if he were about to lose the only thing that mattered to him. He had over-reacted, but not by much. Aside from Caitlin, Priscilla had become the only decent part of his day. Still, it wasn’t good to lose his dignity that way. After all, it was one of the few assets he had left.

  “If I hadn’t come after you, I might never have seen you again,” he admitted simply.

  Priscilla thought about this as she looked down the street. “Phil, I really don’t know why you hold me in such high regard, but I have the feeling the reason springs from desperation and not from anything rational.”

  “You shouldn’t think that. It’s not fair, nor is it accurate. It’s true I would’ve never met you if I hadn’t lost most of what I held dear, but I like you because of how you are. The truth is I’ve just recently begun to fully appreciate the type of qualities you possess.”

  Priscilla narrowed her eyes, wondering what “qualities” he could possibly be alluding to: her ability to carry seven plates at once, or perhaps it was her unique ability to decipher Frank’s garbled tongue? What else did he know about her? Nothing, really. Not a single clue about who she really was.

  “I’m sorry—this is pointless,” she said, setting off waves of fresh alarm across Philip’s features. “You’re projecting some lofty characteristics on me that I don’t have. I think you’ve become infatuated with me—and I can’t imagine why—but I’d venture to guess it’s solely because I’m different than anyone else you know.”

  “You are,” Philip said plaintively, missing the crux of Priscilla’s reasoning.

  “Yes, Phil—I am different than anyone you know, and that’s because you’ve probably never been in a coffee shop until a few months ago.” Philip started to protest, but Priscilla cut him short.

  “The world is filled with millions of women just like me, Phil. I’m not unique or special or possessed of uncommon wisdom just because I’ve spent years hovering around the lower rungs of society. I’m a waitress, nothing more glamorous or spiritually evolved than that.” Satisfied that she finally made her case, Priscilla rested her elbow on the back of the bench and watched as Philip assimilated this information.

  “Ex-waitress,” Philip amended softly. His equilibrium took her by surprise. She let his eyes meet hers as she tried to take his measure. He wasn’t a lunatic or a deadbeat; he was evidently from a wealthy background: whether earned or inherited, she couldn’t say for sure. But in any event, he didn’t strike her as a flake, merely as someone who had lost his way. Someone who had hit a streak of bad luck. Priscilla’s mouth twitched as she fought back a smile. Of course he was on a downward cycle; why else would he be drawn to her? She turned away and stared at her hands in her lap.

  “Let me take you out to dinner tonight,” Philip suggested. “It won’t conflict with your job anymore, so you don’t have to worry about that,” he added when Priscilla balked at his suggestion.

  “Uh…” she hesitated, shaking her head.

  “Come on, it’s the least I can do,” he insisted.

  “No, really—you don’t owe me anything,” she said, letting her attention stray back down the street.

  “Priscilla, I’m asking you to share a meal with me, not make a life-altering commitment. You have to eat…right? We can bring Caitlin along, if it would make you feel more comfortable. I will be a perfect gentleman, I swear.”

  The more earnest his pleas, the more anxiety-ridden she became. There was a small part of her that was actually inclined to take his offer; a man like him might be good for her, in a weird sort of way. But the part of her more prone to skepticism and common-sense told her she would really only be accepting his invitation out of pity and a desire to avoid a confrontation with someone who seemed ill-disposed to cope with one.

  Her lack of response had created a gaping silence between them. Both had let their gazes stray in opposite directions, leaving them with the appearance of two strangers occupying the same bench. The breach of conversation weighed most heavily on Priscilla, as her mind wrestled with her dilemma and finding a graceful way out of this situation, plus intermittent flash-bulletin reminders that she no longer had a job.

  Philip, however, took the pause in stride, allowing her time to re
ach her own conclusions. The fact she was still sitting next to him was comfort enough. He watched as she fidgeted silently, until he decided it was best to give her an out.

  “I’m not going to pressure you anymore about spending time with me. I’ve already caused you enough aggravation. I would love to have dinner with you, but only if it’s something you’d like to do. Here’s my number, in case you don’t have it anymore. You can take me up on dinner or a movie or anything else, whenever the time is right for you,” he said, handing her one of his business cards. She studied it for a moment, intrigued to find out something about him that should have been obvious.

  “You’re an architect?” she said, thrown slightly off balance by this revelation.

  “In the sense that you’re a waitress. In other words, I used to be, but I’ve sort of lost my job.” Priscilla consulted the card again.

  “How do you lose your job if you’re the President and Executive Architect?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story.” Philip replied. The credibility of his former position suddenly made Priscilla see him in a different light. “I’d be happy to share my sad tale with you over dinner tonight,” he said, making one last-ditch effort to persuade her. Again, his offer was met with no reply. He let his breath out slowly and turned around to face the street in front of them.

  “I have too much to think about tonight,” Priscilla said. Her excuse was almost worse than her stony silence. “But tomorrow night would be okay.”

  Philip was so resigned to the suspicion he was tilting at windmills, it took several beats to realize she had agreed to have dinner with him.

  “Really? That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. His apparent joy worked like a contagion, infecting Priscilla with a spark of enthusiasm. After resisting his overtures so vigorously, it amazed her how good she felt by simply giving in to her weaker impulse.

  “This is splendid. Where would you like to go? You tell me what kind of cuisine, and I’ll pick the place, how’s that?”