“Where’re we going?” I grip the stair’s railing, happy that Clyde’s pace has slowed, but he only tells me again to hurry.
He whisks me onto Elm Street and points. “See all ’em down there?”
I squint. “Yeah?”
“Those lassies are outside Marco’s Café.”
“Okay?”
“Marco’s has got a spot open for a waitress.”
Clyde drags me again, my mind still playing catch-up. There’s got to be twenty, no, at least thirty women crowding the entrance to the café, all of ’em hollering ’bout being picked for the job.
I laugh. “How do you reckon I’ll be the one to get it?”
He half turns toward me, winks, pulls me faster.
“How is there even a job up for grabs?” I ask, between ragged breaths.
Clyde taps his noggin. “Marco’s being smart, gonna stay open twenty-four hours a day, hoping to become the spot where everyone goes for gossip ’bout our damned country. He needs one more lassie to add to his rotation.”
My stomach hitches with excitement. Marco’s Café is in the heart of Dallas. That means one thing: it pays well, much more than my old diner did. I’d be stupid to pass this up.
Within steps, we’re at the back of the crowd, the very overwhelming crowd of women, all with their claws out. The door to the café opens and out walks Marco—or a man I assume to be Marco. The volume of pitched voices rises. He points to a woman, asks her if she’s ever waitressed before. He waves her off, points to another. Women jockey for Marco’s attention. Elbows jab. Hats fall.
I bite my lip. Going up on my tiptoes does nothin’, and it ain’t looking good for me, way back here. I shoot Clyde a panicked look.
“Get up on my shoulders,” he yells over the roar.
“What? No. I’ll crush you.”
“Please, you could fit in my pocket.”
“If you had a bigger pocket.”
His eyes shine with amusement, but also earnestness, as he motions to the frenzy of women in front of us. “It’s now or never, Bonnie. What did I say before, ’bout sometimes having to pry open that door of opportunity? Uncle Sam certainly won’t do it for you.”
I groan. That’s for damn sure. Clyde drops to one knee, and I climb onto his shoulders. We wobble—once, twice—’til he’s steady on his feet. I fling my arms into the air, waving my hands. My coat slips off my shoulders and Clyde tightens his grips on my thighs.
I feel like a loon, but I also feel good, determined, as adrenaline courses through my body. I match the other women’s screams for attention, and then it happens: Marco points directly at me, up here on Clyde’s shoulders, taller than the rest.
*
Blanche spoons some cheese grits into her mouth, making a very satisfied-sounding moan.
On my feet, I glance ’round, shushing her. A man and woman at the adjacent table lift their brows, though the husband’s expression differs from his wife’s. His is nonchastising.
“These here grits are to die for.” Blanche licks her spoon, and I refrain from peeking again at the man. “Much more suitable to Blanche’s standards than your old diner’s.”
I refill her coffee, my head bobbing. “Pay’s much better, too.”
Blanche drops a sugar cube into her coffee, eyeing me. “Does that mean you’re going to get off my couch soon? Can’t blame you for not wanting to share a room with Billie no more, but I’ve lost track of how many nights you’ve stayed with us.”
Nine, starting the night we got back from the Gulf.
Three nights with Clyde on the floor, me on the couch, arm dangling over the edge, not wanting to let go of his hand.
Six nights with Clyde on the couch, me in his arms, holding me against him, the warmth of his breath caressing the back of my neck, heating my entire body.
I don’t plan on stopping now. “Now we’re even, after you stayed at my ma’s house all those nights.”
Blanche presses her lips together. “I wasn’t doing any funny business on your couch.”
I laugh. “Well, I don’t got enough for my own place. And Clyde’s had no luck finding another job.”
Blanche’s eyebrow arches. “You ain’t going to deny necking with him?”
I hold up my pointer finger, telling her to give me a second, and slip away, leaving Blanche with her mouth hanging open. I go from table to table, refilling coffee, checking on orders, pleased the morning rush has been busy. Between here and Doc’s, I’m busy enough to help Ma pay our bills. I’m thankful she’s still at the factory, and with only a slight dip in her hours. With Buster striking out at finding something new, my tips wouldn’t be enough by themselves.
Blanche’s booth is in the corner, always giving her a clear view of me. I chuckle to myself—even more when I walk back toward her and her stern face.
“Well?” she says.
Wiping my hands down my apron, I say, “This is me, not denying that”—I lower my voice—“necking.”
Blanche’s face lights up. “Petting, too?”
“I ain’t going to answer that.”
Blanche’s interest finds its way back to her bowl, and I think to myself, Petting, too. But no more than that. I finger my wedding band, not certain why I keep this thing on. Another reminder, to go along with my tattoo, perhaps? Maybe I’ll toss aside the silver band once I finally make something of myself. Not as a teacher. I ain’t trying for that right now. Not only has life stood in the way but also that wound feels too fresh, too painful to push on right now. So I’m doing as Clyde suggested, taking every day as it comes but keeping my sights set on the big things that await us. “Anything,” he said. Anything could await us.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing,” I say to Blanche, “to make it big, to see your name in lights one day? Clyde and I could do it together. He’ll play. I’ll sing.”
Blanche smirks, a spoonful of grits halfway to her mouth. “I reckon Clyde’s more likely to see his name in black and white than in lights.”
“Nope.” I let the end of the word pop. “Not anymore. He’s given that all up.”
“So I’ve seen.” She taps her spoon on the edge of her bowl. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind if Buck did, too.”
I let out an exaggerated gasp. “I thought the fact he’s been arrested was scandalous and delicious?”
“Clyde’s idea of a quiet life on the farm don’t seem half bad. Buck in overalls, nothin’ underneath, sounds mighty scandalous and delicious to me.”
I glance over my shoulder. A few people are doing that thing where they nonchalantly raise their chins to look ’round, for me. “I worry ’bout that.”
“Buck in overalls?”
“No, farming. It ain’t an easy way to make a living.” Though I could see myself in that life with Clyde. Really, any life with Clyde.
Blanche shrugs. “Not sure there’s an easy way for anybody nowadays.” She points to her empty bowl. “Can I get more of this?”