Midas Touch

by Frankie J. Jones

  “Guess I’d better go see what’s happening over there,”

  Peterson said. “If we need anything else from you, Ms. Tate, we’ll contact you.”

  Sandra thanked him and followed him to see why the woman was shouting.

  “I’ve called the city about those oleanders a dozen times,”

  she insisted. “I’ve told them someone was going to get hurt.”

  Peterson began talking to her, and the woman’s voice lowered.

  Sandra looked at the bushes. They really were a hazard. She walked into the driveway and stood where a car would normally set before pulling out. She was not able to see the street. She kept moving forward until she could see around the oleanders.

  A car would have to be in the street before the driver could see clearly.

  An EMS technician approached Sandra. “Are you hurt? You seem to be moving around pretty good.”

  “I hit my shoulder, but it’s okay.”

  “Let me take a look at it just to be safe?”

  Sandra started to argue but realized it would be faster and less hassle to go ahead and let him. It would also help her case when she told Laura and Allison. An accident on her first day was not going to look too good. She did not want to think about the lecture she would get from Margaret, if she heard about the accident. Sandra certainly did not intend to tell her.

  “You’re lucky you were wearing a jacket. The pavement

  would have messed you up bad,” the tech said, probing Sandra’s shoulder. “It’s already bruising. You should see a doctor.”

  “I’ll go in later if it keeps bothering me,” Sandra promised.

  She was again watching the woman who hit her bike. She had finished talking to the police officers and was standing by her car staring at Sandra’s bike. Sandra thanked the tech and walked to her bike.

  “I’m really sorry,” the woman said, as Sandra draped her jacket across her arm.

  “You came out of the driveway like a bat out of hell,” Sandra accused, trying to keep her anger in check. She knew the oleanders blocked the woman’s view, but they had not grown there overnight. The bushes had obviously been a safety issue for some time.

  The woman looked at her. “I didn’t see you coming until it was too late. I was trying to get out of your way.”

  Sandra felt sick looking at the mangled wheel of her beautiful bike. She shuddered when she realized what could have happened to her without Dee’s coaching.

  “Are you all right?”

  Sandra pulled on her ripped jacket despite the warmth of the day.”Where do you want the bike to go?”

  Sandra turned to find a tall, thin guy with a clipboard in hand. He was wearing a drab green shirt with a tag that read Feltz Towing Service. She hesitated, uncertain where she should send her bike for repairs.

  “I know a guy who has a shop near here. He’s really good with bikes,” the woman offered.

  “Do you work on a commission? A percentage of everything you can run over and send him?” Sandra snapped, instantly regretting her childish outburst.

  The woman’s voice filled with exasperation and her gaze locked onto Sandra. “I’m trying to help. I’ve already told you I’m sorry about this,” she said, waving her hand at the wreckage.

  “Being sorry won’t fix my bike,” Sandra argued. She turned

  to the tow truck driver. “Is there a Honda dealership in town?”

  The guy removed a battered Spurs basketball cap and scratched his balding head. “I don’t know much about motorcycles. I can call the dispatcher and have her check around.”

  Sandra sensed a major hassle about to start and did not want to spend the next hour dealing with it. “Is your friend really any good?” she asked the woman while staring at the restaurant.

  “He’s the best in town,” she assured her.

  “What’s the address?”

  The woman retrieved a day planner from her car and gave the driver the address.

  Sandra wrote the address and telephone number for Bill’s Motorcycle Repair and Body Shop in her note pad before turning to the driver. “Tell them I’ll be over to take care of the paperwork later.”

  He started to protest, but Sandra nailed him with her best boardroom glare. He shrugged, handed her a clipboard of papers to sign, and went to work.

  Sandra cringed as he hooked the front of the car to the tow truck and raised the front end up enough to pull her bike free.

  The police officers and a bystander helped the driver load the bike onto the back of the truck. He lowered the car, unhooked it, and left. Other than a small dent at the bottom of the door, the car seemed no worse for wear.

  To Sandra’s consternation, the police officers were directing the woman to pull her car back into the parking lot. The woman would now have to pull back out into traffic. “She will probably run over someone else,” she growled to no one in particular and started toward the restaurant.

  “Can I drive you somewhere?” the woman called after her.

  “I was headed to the restaurant to talk to the owner,” she said without slowing.

  “What for?”

  Sandra stopped and turned back to the woman, astounded at her boldness.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman stuttered, sensing Sandra’s shock.

  0

  “I’m the owner,” she explained, turning off the ignition and getting out of her car. “I’m Cory Gallager,” she said, extending her hand.

  Sandra could not help but notice the woman’s long thin fingers, even as the words and their meaning sank in. A part of her had been hoping her mother was the owner of the diner.

  “I’m Sandra,” she said and tried to hide her disappointment.

  “What did you need to see me about?” Cory asked.

  Sandra hesitated. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to say, I was just stopping by to ask how your restaurant got its name. It no longer mattered. This woman could not possibly be her mother.

  Sandra stared at the diner’s sign. She had a gut feeling there were answers here, and her instincts were seldom wrong.

  She looked back at the woman’s green eyes. Could she be the attraction drawing her to this place?

  “Are you from the employment agency about the dish washing job?” Cory inquired, slowly taking in Sandra’s clothes.

  Sandra almost laughed.

  “It’s only part-time. I have an employee out on disability,”

  Cory continued. “So the job’s only good for about six weeks.”

  “That’s perfect.” Sandra looked around to see if she had actually spoken the words or someone else had. She experienced a brief moment of doubt about her decision. Was it curiosity about the restaurant, or about its owner?

  Cory was still watching her. “You know the job only pays minimum wage, and you’ll be working a split shift.”

  Sandra did some quick calculations and tried not to smile.

  Her firm spent more on pencils each month. “That’s fine,” she said.Cory seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you have any experience or references?”

  “To wash dishes?” Sandra asked dumbfounded. “How much experience do I need?”

  A mischievous grin crept across Cory’s face. -Be here at ten tomorrow morning. We don’t serve breakfast, but we have a heavy lunch crowd.”

  “I’ll be here,” Sandra assured her. She contemplated what to do next. She had no idea how far away Bill’s Motorcycle Repair and Body Shop was. The odds were against it being within walking distance. She cursed her decision not to ride along in the tow truck.

  “Let me drive you to Bill’s.”

  Sandra started to protest, but looked into Cory’s green eyes and relented.

  “Do you live around here?” Cory asked as they pulled out into traffic.

  “No,” Sandra replied without thinking.

  “Where do you live?”

  Sandra gave her the only address in town she knew, the apartment where her mother had once lived.

  Cory chewed her lip. “I d
on’t mean to be nosy, but how are you going to get to work? That’s all the way across town.”

  Sandra squirmed. “I have insurance on the bike. I’ll have a rental car until it’s repaired.”

  Cory nodded, but a frown still creased her forehead. They remained silent until they pulled into Bill’s small parking lot a few minutes later.

  “Sandra,” Cory started and stopped. She seemed to be trying to say something, but shook her head instead. She reached into the car’s ashtray and removed a business card. “Here’s the number to the restaurant.” She pulled a pen from over the visor and scribbled on the back of the card. “That’s my home number.

  Call me if something happens or you run into any hassles with getting the car and can’t make it in tomorrow.” She hesitated.

  “Sandra, I’m really sorry about hitting your bike. I’m so grateful you weren’t injured.”

  “Thanks.” Sandra took the card and got out. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Again for a brief moment their gaze held, and Sandra felt a warm shiver race over her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After dealing with the mechanic, the insurance company, and arranging for a rental car, Sandra found a nice motel located near the diner. The check-in clerk almost dropped her teeth when Sandra told her she wanted the room for six weeks. If the search at the diner failed to pan out, she could always leave sooner.

  After settling in her room, she called Laura. It took Sandra a few minutes to convince Laura she was uninjured, but eventually, they were able to laugh together about Sandra’s first day of rambling and her great new job.

  Later, Sandra called Allison and started the process to avenge the mangling of her bike. She knew enough of the right people in San Antonio to get some action started.

  At six she drove to Peepers for dinner and to survey her revenge. She smiled brightly at the city crewmen who were busy cutting down the long row of oleanders.

  Stepping inside the diner was like taking a step back into the 1950s.

  “Booth or counter,” the hostess asked.

  “Booth,” Sandra said, as Buddy Holly began to sing his love of Peggy Sue. The hostess was a bubbly young woman who chattered non-stop as she escorted Sandra to a booth near the back. She sat a glass of water and silverware down and turned to leave.

  “How did the diner get its name?” Sandra asked, trying not to let the anxiousness show in her voice.

  The woman stopped and seemed to consider the question for a moment. “You know, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that question before. I could ask the owner,”

  she offered cheerfully.

  “No!” Sandra replied quickly. “It’s not important. I was just curious.”

  After assuring Sandra someone would be right with her to take her order, the young woman rushed off to seat the next group of guests.

  When the waitress arrived to take her food order, Sandra realized she was starving. Despite its fifties motif, the diner didn’t specialize in just burgers. There was a nice selection of entrees. Sandra was further surprised by its great wine selection. She ordered the baked chicken with wild rice and a glass of chardonnay.

  Sandra studied the activity around her as she sipped her wine and waited for her food. The diner was busy. She had obviously been mistaken about its location hurting business. Enjoying the music, she leaned back and took in the polished black-and-white-checkered tile and chrome gleaming throughout the diner. A large glass display case sat against the far wall. Inside it, Sandra could see several trophies, a poodle skirt, a pair of saddle oxfords, and a large photo of Elvis.

  A long counter ran across the front of the diner. Several people sat on the red vinyl and chrome stools lining the counter. Sandra wished she had checked the menu to see if the diner served ice cream sodas. This was the kind of place her father would have enjoyed. Occasionally, there would be a few extra dollars and he

  would take them out to eat as a special treat.

  The arrival of her food brought her perusal of the diner’s decor to a halt. Sandra ate slowly, savoring every bite. Laura would be pleased to learn she was taking the time to enjoy her food. The chicken and wine were excellent. Sandra could not remember getting better food at any of Dallas’ finer restaurants.

  She paid the tab, adding a generous tip for the wonderful service. She was standing to leave when she bumped into someone. She turned to apologize and found herself staring into those emerald green eyes again.

  “It’s either fate or were both accident-prone,” Sandra said, unable to look away.

  Cory’s gaze broke away and settled on the large tip still lying on the table. Sandra saw the frown reappear. Now she’s wondering how a previously unemployed dishwasher can afford to leave that kind of tip, Sandra groaned to herself.

  “I don’t believe in fate,” Cory stated, and eyed Sandra’s tailored slacks and jacket. An awkward silence fell between them.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sandra said, before making a hasty exit.

  Dressed in sharply creased black slacks and a white silk shirt, Sandra arrived at the diner ten minutes early. Cory sat at a table with four other women. She looked up as Sandra entered, and again, did a visual survey of her clothes before motioning for her to join them. Cory stood as Sandra approached.

  “Everyone, this is Sandra.” She stopped. “I’m sorry I don’t remember your last name.”

  Sandra hesitated. Would anyone recognize her name? Stop being stupid, she admonished herself. It’s not as though you’re a household name. “Tate,” she answered.

  “Tate?” A small frown creased Cory’s forehead.

  Sandra held her breath, as Cory studied her face.

  After a moment Cory shook her head slightly and turned to the group.

  “Sandra will be taking Pat’s place while she’s out. Sandra, this

  is Louise, our hostess.”

  Sandra shook hands with the bubbly young woman she had met the night before.

  “Anna and Ginny are two of our waitresses. You’ll meet the other two tonight,” Cory said.

  Dyke, Sandra thought as she shook hands with Anna, a short woman with curly brown hair and a permanent pout.

  Ginny was a tall, lanky brunette. She wore over-sized, tortoise shell glasses that gave her a wise, bookish appearance.

  “Glad to have you aboard,” Ginny said as she gave Sandra’s hand a limp shake.

  “Ginny is ex-Navy” Anna explained. “She has her own vocabulary.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Cory turned to the other woman at the booth. “This is Maria, one of our cooks.”

  Sandra guessed Maria to be in her fifties. She combed her short salt-and-pepper hair to one side in much the same way as Sandra’s father had worn his.

  “Nice to meet you, Sandra,” Maria said in a voice sweetened by the faintest of accents.

  It hit Sandra suddenly. All these women are gay. Cory had definitely made Peepers a family place.

  The front door opened and a man walked in.

  “And that,” Ginny grimaced, “is a customer.”

  “Time to go to work,” Cory said with a wide smile that made Sandra’s breath catch. Cory picked up a coffee cup from the table.

  “Come on, Sandra. I’ll show you where everything is.” Her eyes again ran over Sandra’s clothing. “I should have warned you to wear something more casual.”

  Sandra looked down at her clothes. She thought she was pretty casual. After all, everybody else was wearing nice slacks and blouses.

  “This way,” Cory directed, leading Sandra into the kitchen.

  “Our system is an older one, but it still works, so I can’t justify replacing it. Basically, what you do is dump the leftovers in this

  barrel, spray the excess off here, and stack the dishes in these racks.” She moved along a gleaming metal table with an odd circular depression in the center that looked similar to a sink.

  “When you fill a rack, slide it into this opening. The clean dishes c
ome out over here and then you stack them over there on those shelves for Maria and Wilma, the other cook.” She turned to look at Sandra. “Any questions?”

  Sandra shook her head and smiled smugly. She had managed a major architectural firm for years. Washing a few dishes would not over-tax her brain cells. “I think I can handle it,” she replied.

  Cory did not look convinced. “Here’s an apron.” She pulled a large plastic apron from a hook and handed it to her. “You’ll have to be fast. The lunch crowd is heavy.”

  A heavy-set, African-American woman came through an outside door on the far side of the kitchen. “That’s Wilma, our second cook,” Cory explained. “After everything calms down I’ll introduce you to her and the other waitresses. I have to get back out front, but I’ll try to check on you from time to time. Just tell one of the waitresses if you need anything. They’ll know where to find me.”

  For the first time Sandra felt a twinge of panic. Two cooks.

  How many more waitresses? How busy would the place get?

  Cory stood by as Sandra pulled on the apron. It was so large it wrapped completely around her. She tied it tightly. Cory was still eyeing Sandra’s clothes. “I think I have an old T-shirt in my car that will fit you. I’ll go get it and you can change? You’re going to ruin your shirt.”

  Sandra felt a stab of annoyance. She had walked through construction sites and city sewers in a suit and heels. She could certainly survive washing a few dishes. Besides, the mammoth apron encased her. There was no way anything could get to her.

  “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  Forty minutes later, piles of dirty dishes surrounded Sandra, and she was completely drenched. In fact, everything within ten feet of her was drenched. No matter how many dishes she washed, a hundred more sprang up to take their place. The work

  area surrounding her became a jungle of steam, water, and dirty dishes. Anna, one of the waitresses, came in, took one look at Sandra and burst out laughing. Hurrying out of the kitchen with fresh pitchers of tea, Anna called over her shoulder to Sandra.