Chapter 3

Roxie sank into the bucket seat of Cal’s new Mustang. It occurred to her that it was more comfortable than any chair in her aunt’s house. The air conditioning was such a welcome relief from the summer heat.

“I could sure get used to this”

“You’re so nice to come pick me up, Cal,” she said aloud in her sweetest voice. “I love your new car.”

“No problem,” Cal grunted. “I wasn’t busy. I don’t know why I bought this car. It’s a lot more car than what I need.”

“I like it a lot,” she replied.

When he didn’t answer she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s a shame you’re too good for me, Cal. I wouldn’t mind riding in this car all the time.”

Cal took a deep breath and then glared at his passenger.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that, Roxie. I hate it when you do that.”

“Well, that’s what Junior said,” she giggled. “He’s your brother. He would know if anyone does. Anyway, it was nice of you to come and get him out of trouble last night.”

“More like this morning,” Cal corrected. “Anyway, it’s Edwin, and what does he know? He hasn’t shown me that he knows too much, except about getting drunk and losing bar fights.”

“I could say he was defending my honor,” Roxie protested. “One of those biker boys got too loose with his hands, if you know what I mean.”

Cal didn’t answer, but Roxie saw him give her a look.

“But since I’ve got no honor, I suppose he was defending his turf,” she continued.

“Like an alley cat,” Cal sneered. “I suppose you never saw it coming.”

“I was just getting a little flirty to have some fun. A girl needs to have some fun now and then. Mostly, I just sit around and watch Junior have fun. Besides, I didn’t know it would go as far as it did. We all had a few too many, I guess.”

“I guess!” Cal answered and then shook his head in disgust.

Roxie didn’t answer back—figured she’d said too much already. She sat back and enjoyed the short ride to the diner. It would have been nice to have been a longer ride so she could play the stereo. She could see that Cal was fuming, and it pleased her that she’d instigated it. She wished she knew exactly what he was fuming about; if she had to make a guess she would say...

“Here we are,” Cal interrupted her thoughts.

He turned into the diner’s parking lot and slid the Mustang alongside Roxie’s forlorn compact sedan.

“You see, Cal? It’s like these two cars. There’s mine; it’s a wreck—doesn’t deserve to be on the road, but it’s got a lot of miles and stories to tell. Here’s yours—brand new and primed for action. Trouble is, it never gets to go over the speed limit. They both got four wheels but that’s about all they got in common.”

“I open it up on the interstate,” Cal protested.

“Do you really?” she teased as she raised her eyebrows and laughed. “If you ask me, you should get yourself a lady-friend and give her a ride.”

She gave him that look that she knew how to give that always made men uneasy.

“In your car, I mean.”

“I might have a girlfriend. How would you know?” Cal fried back at her.

Roxie shrugged.

“Maybe you do, Cal—maybe so. It would be the first time I’ve been wrong about that sort of thing, but maybe you do.”

Cal’s face turned red. Roxie bit her lip to stifle a giggle that was pushing its way out of her.

“Well, who around here is available to date?” he demanded. “Everyone’s taken.”

Roxie allowed herself to laugh a little.

“Maybe you should take something for yourself, Cal. No one’s really taken, unless they want to be. Just take a look around you. There’s a few girls ready to take a ride with you—in your new Mustang. Stake out a claim and see what happens.”

Cal shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roxie. You’re not making any sense at all.”

Roxie answered Cal with another giggle.

“Anyway,” he sighed, “give me your keys. I brought my jumper cables. I’ll try to get your car started while you’re working your shift.”

Roxie pulled a keychain from her purse and deposited them in Cal’s hand. She pushed open the door of Cal’s car and headed for the diner.

“Can’t stay and talk anymore, Cal,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m already late for my shift.”

So she left Cal there to work on her car and pushed her way through the double doors of the diner.

Roxie stepped behind the counter and through the kitchen door to stow her purse for safe-keeping.

“Hi, Millie,” she mumbled as she passed a woman in a waitress’ uniform who was about fifteen years older than she was.

It was Millie Bishop. More correctly, it was Mrs. Stan Bishop, which meant that she was the owner’s wife. That made her Queen Bee of the Blue Bird Diner, but the hive wasn’t very full in those days. Besides herself and Roxie there was only one other waitress. The trade just couldn’t support more than that.

As it was, waitress’ hours were getting trimmed all the time. Of course, it wasn’t the number of shifts a waitress was scheduled for that counted, but if they worked the good shifts—when the tipping was better.

The Sunday night shift was not a preferred time to work. It was never very busy then. There were a few regulars on Sunday night. They were mostly old folks with nothing better to do than to treat themselves to a weekly meal at the diner. They would sit in a booth forever trying to make up their minds. Roxie excused them.

“Everyone needs somethin’ to look forward to at least once a week.”

She knew that she had no right to be angry over the assignment, even if she was the best waitress at the diner. If she wanted the prized Sunday morning shift she would have to give up staying over with Junior. That was what she looked forward to, so it all worked out.

“I’m glad you finally got here,” Millie grumbled as Roxie pushed open the swinging kitchen door. “My feet are killing me and I’ve still got the payroll to do when I get home.”

Roxie stopped at the waitress’ station behind the counter and loaded the pockets of her apron with pencils and order pads. She looked out over the empty tables and lunch counter to make certain that there were no customers to be tended to at the moment.

“I’m not that late, Millie. I was right out there in the parkin’ lot talkin’ to someone about getting’ my car fixed. I got a ride from...”

“Oh, I saw you out there, and I see that the ‘someone’ is Cal Tucker,” Mille said.

“Yeah? What about it?” Roxie snorted back.

“I also saw you sashayin’ your caboose back and forth while you were walkin’ in here so he could get a good look at you.”

“One picture is worth a thousand words,” Roxie murmured as she wiped down a table.

“Well, everyone knows you got arrested with Junior last night. He’s more your speed, dearie.”

“Who’s to say what my speed is?” Roxie argued. “Besides, struttin’ my rear end was just my way of saying ‘thank you’ to Cal for givin’ me a ride in to work in his new Mustang. By the way, Junior and I weren’t arrested, thank you—just detained.”

“So did Cal say ‘you’re welcome’?” Millie asked.

Roxie stepped to the next table and began wiping it down.

“Ha! Cal’s probably the only man in this town who wouldn’t notice a rear end swingin’ for his benefit.”

“They all notice, honey,” Millie corrected. “The difference is what they do about it.”

“Well, if he did he’d be too embarrassed to admit he’d noticed,” Roxie answered.

“That’s Cal, alright—straight-laced all the way. He’s not your type. You stick with Junior,” Millie laughed.

Roxie tossed her washcloth on the table she was wiping down and stood and faced Millie with her hands on her hips.

“Millie, I thought we were friends. Why’re you so fixed on stickin’ a pin in my balloon?”

“Because I am your friend, that’s why,” the older woman replied. “Better to face it now than to dream big and find out later it was all for nothin’. Besides, even if Cal did take a shine to you, you’d weigh him down.

Everyone knows he’s goin’ to be Mayor one day. But, he never could be in the public eye with the like of you taggin’ along. You’d just weigh him down, that’s all.”

Roxie’s hands dropped off her hips; her chin plummeted down to her collarbone.

“I was day dreamin’; it was just a lark. Cal’s not my type,” she sighed. “We’d never get along. I’d take Junior over Cal any day.”

“You see?” Millie sang out in triumph. “It’s all for the better. Everyone’s got to find their own type. It always works out better that way. Now, take Bonnie; she’s Cal’s type.”

Bonnie was the third waitress who worked at the Bluebird, eight years younger than Roxie. She’d worked the morning shift with Millie.

“So you’ve said many times,” Roxie snapped. “Don’t be so sure. Bonnie wouldn’t know what to do with a man.”

Millie had that satisfied smirk on her face.

“That makes two of ‘em. Cal wouldn’t know what to do with a woman.”

Roxie was thinking of something to say back to her when Stan appeared and interrupted.

“I thought your shift ended at two,” he barked at his wife.

He was a short man with narrow shoulders, about fifty. He fought the battle of the paunch at the beltline and the battle of forlorn hope for his thinning hair, which he combed backward over his bald spot. It was a stark contrast to his wife, who was tall and thin, with blonde hair that never began to turn grey when it should have.

Roxie wondered where he was when she first came into the diner. She figured he was out back having a smoke. She saw that he’d changed into a clean white shirt and apron from the linen supply, so he must have been in the Men’s Room.

“I was just talkin’ to Roxie for a minute,” Millie protested.

“Just don’t tell me about your achin’ feet when I get home,” he growled.

“I’m goin’—I’m goin’,” Millie answered in a frustrated tone as she started untying her apron. She retrieved her purse from the back room. “See ya later,” she mumbled a minute later as she pushed herself out the door.

Roxie looked away and kept on wiping down the tables. She finished the last one and then started on the lunch counter. Stan sat at the end of it drinking a cup of coffee. For a while he didn’t say anything. Roxie could feel his eyes on her.

“How long is that crate of yours gonna be in my parkin’ lot?” he asked at last.

Roxie didn’t look up.

“Someone’s out there right now tryin’ to fix it.”

“I saw him—Cal Tucker,” Stan sneered. “You don’t think lawyer-boy is gonna fix it, do you?”

“He offered; I told him to go ahead and try,” Roxie protested. “What harm can it do?”