by Thom Whalen
* * *
Now that I knew that I wasn’t going to be fired, at least not any time soon, my mood should have improved. But it didn’t. I had far bigger problem than getting fired from Elsa’s Grill.
I had no idea what it meant to be Randal’s door gunner. There’s nothing as worrisome as the unknown.
On top of that, trying to bring Halliday up to speed was worse than I feared. The problem wasn’t only that he was unmotivated and hostile. The bigger problem was that he was stupid. Literally. He did not understand most of what I told him and did not remember the little that I did make him understand.
I could see that he used his hostility as a screen to hide his shortfall of intelligence. It was an interesting insight but it didn’t give me any more sympathy for him. His hostility only made my job harder.
Randal was no help. Buddies watching out for each other didn’t extend to him helping me teach Halliday to cook.
The kitchen was a small, enclosed space but Halliday found sly ways to stay out Randal’s way. He was no rocket scientist but he was smart enough to know not to cross Randal. Halliday acted tough; Randal didn’t have to. A punk like Halliday knew when he was outclassed and he had enough street smarts to be scared of the guy who outclassed him.
On Tuesday, Katie joined me on my break. Since she refused to go out with me, I had stopped taking my break early. To join me, Katie had gone out of her way to stay for a half hour after she’d cashed out.
I was surprised by that.
She sat across the picnic table and watched me eat my grilled chicken and fries for a few minutes.
I’d never seen her be quiet for this long but I felt no need to entertain her with conversation. I’d played that card before and had come up busted every time.
Eventually she broke the silence. “Gwen likes you.”
That was news to me. Over the past few days, I’d been growing increasingly frustrated by Halliday on one hand, and on the other, worried about what Randal was going to expect from me as his door gunner. Distracted, I’d barely spoken a dozen words to Gwen. I’d noticed that she had compensated by talking to me like I was a human being rather than ordering me about like a serf, but I’d read nothing into that.
“She thinks that you’re sexually frustrated.”
I almost choked on a french fry.
The last thing that I needed was for Gwen and Katie to be discussing my sex life. Or lack thereof. I thought that they’d stopped doing that a month ago.
“Are you Catholic?” Katie asked. Lightening coming out of a clear blue sky didn’t shock me so much any more.
I shook my head, not able to speak with a french fry stuck somewhere in the back of my throat. I took a long swallow of Coke.
“Methodist,” I croaked. Lapsed Methodist would have been more accurate. I hadn’t been to church since puberty. I was on the verge of becoming ex-Methodist if the truth be known. For my mom’s sake, I wouldn’t cross that bridge until I moved away at the end of the summer. But it wouldn’t be long before I publicly proclaimed atheism.
“We thought that maybe you were planning to become a priest.”
I shook my head in wonder.
“You know, because you want to be celibate.”
“I don’t want to be celibate.” The idea made me indignant but the opportunity to declare it could work to my advantage. Maybe she would get the hint. Why had she raised the topic of my virginity unless she were offering to relieve me of my unfortunate condition?
“Oh,” she said. “Because you were making me think that it might be nice. You know. Not having to worry about sex any more. That’s why I decided to become a nun.”
I wanted to scream in frustration. This was why she wanted to talk about my sex life? To torture me? Not only was she not offering to relieve me of my virginity, she was telling me that I didn’t have a hope in hell with her. North Korean interrogators had nothing on American teenage girls when it came to psychological cruelty.
“I didn’t know that you were Catholic.” Maybe that was why she wouldn’t go out with me – because she only dated within her own faith.
“I’m not.”
I stared at her. “I don’t think that there are any Protestant nuns.”
“I know that. I’m going to convert.”
“Yeah?” I tried to imagine her wearing a wimple. Some lucky priest would get to hear her confessions. It was almost enough to make me want to follow her into Catholic service. Except that pesky celibacy thing would be make the whole exercise futile. Nobody’s Hell is as subtle or as cruel as the Catholics’ Hell.
“So you’re taking Wednesdays off now?” she said.
“Yeah. I changed my schedule.”
“You want to do something on Wednesday?”
She was asking me out? On the day I’d committed to Randal? After she had established that she never wanted to have sex again? Would the torture never end? “I think Randal’s got plans.”
“You’re doing something with Randal?” Her eyes grew wide.
I interpreted that as awe. She never guessed that I was cool enough to hang with Randal. “That’s why we’re both getting Wednesdays off.”
She looked confused. “Randal used to date Gwen.”
First, I was nonplussed by her non sequitur, then, after I extracted her meaning, was shocked by her revelation.
“You mean… Gwen and Randal were… They… Both of them… Together?”
“Yeah. They were even living together for a few months. It didn’t work out. He’s crazy, you know. She couldn’t stay with a crazy guy. But they still like each other.”
My blood ran cold. Chief Albertson was trying to fit Randal with Billy’s murder on the theory that he had stolen his bike. But that was a weak motive. If Albertson found out that Randal had been sleeping with Billy’s ex-wife, and that Billy had come back to hassle her, giving her a black eye, he’d ascribe a whole lot stronger motive to Randal for wanting Billy dead.
Randal knew that it was only a matter of time until Albertson started putting the whole story together. That was why he needed someone to man the guns for him.
Me.
Randal’s new buddy. His door gunner.
“So Randal likes women,” Katie said.
I couldn’t see why Katie was stating the obvious. Then finally, I began to follow her meandering logic.
I flushed. “So do I.”
“Oh,” she said. “When you wanted to go out with Randal instead of me, I thought… You know.”
“Go out with you? You mean like have an actual date?” My mind was reeling from one blow after another. “But you’re going to be a nun.”
“I’m not a nun now. I’m not even Catholic yet.”
“Then, yes, I want to go out with you, too.” The best that I could manage in my flustered state was simple, honest declarative statements. “But before you said that you didn’t want to go out with me.”
She shrugged. “I changed my mind.” Her casual tone suggested that changing her mind was no big deal for her. But I’d already figured that out.
“Okay.”
“Pick me up at seven.”
“Okay.” I hoped that Dad would let me borrow his car.
She gave me her address and bid me adieu.
I was about to go on my first date and I had no idea what to do. Not a clue.
But even guys like Halliday go on dates so it must be simple enough. Surely there’s no way that I could mess it up.