Page 75 of The Party Line

I led him to a booth near the back of the dining area and slid into the seat across the table from him. “How do you know that?”

Two of his fingers shot up. “One is that she didn’t sayy’all, and the other is that she ain’t got no accent.”

The lady hurried right over to us when she finished getting the orders from the other folks. She laid a menu in front of each of us. “My name is Kiki. We are offering our basic burgers all the time, but starting on Sunday, the rest of the menu changes each week. That way no one gets bored with the same old menu all the time. We also have vegetarian options.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kiki. We like our bacon and our chicken-fried steaks, so we aren’t interested in a vegetarian menu,” Jasper said. “You ain’t from around these parts, are you?”

Kiki tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “No, sir, I am not. I grew up in a little town outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. What can I get you guys to drink?”

“Sweet tea?” Jasper asked.

“We only have unsweet, but I can bring you some sugar packets,” she said.

“Then I’ll have a root beer.” From the set of his jaw, I could tell that we would be going to Dairy Queen next week.

“Same here,” I said and then studied the menu. For the next six days we had a choice of three different kinds of soup, six sandwiches or wraps, and salads. And of course, several different burgers, all with cute little names.

In only a few minutes, she brought a glass of ice and a can of root beer for each of us. “Ready to order?”

“I’ll have the soup and sandwich—club and baked-potato soup.” I handed her the menu.

“I want a burger and fries,” Jasper said.

“Which burger?” Kiki asked. “The top three are made with hamburger. The last are black bean burgers.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I want meat in mine.”

“Then do you want the brunch burger with meat, eggs, and cheese; the one with mushrooms and slathered with brown gravy; or the standard one with mayo, lettuce, and tomatoes?” she asked.

“The last one, only I want mustard and pickles.”

“We always put a pickle on the side with our sandwiches,” Kiki told him.

“I want dill pickle slices on the burger.” His voice left no doubt this would be our last visit to this place.

“Sorry, sir, we don’t do that with our burgers,” Kiki said with a big smile. “But they do come with potato chips.”

“Are you open seven days a week?” he asked.

“No, sir, closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. My sister, Deanna, is now the owner of the former Madge’s Diner, which is now Pastalicious, and she will be open on those days and closed on the weekends. She’s serving up pasta and different kinds of sauces, plus an assortment of salads and flavored teas.”

“Like chicken-fried steak?” Jasper asked.

Kiki’s smile seemed forced. “No, but she is also open for breakfast and offering bagels with lox and cream cheese, and her pasta and salads for lunch. My hours are eleven to six Wednesday through Sunday. I’ll get your order right out. Oh, I forgot to ask how you want that burger cooked. Rare, medium, well done?”

“Well done,” I answered for him.

“Dairy Queen next week?” I whispered when Kiki was out of hearing distance.

“I’d walk all the way to San Antonio to eat Sunday dinner before I would come back here,” he said out the corner of his mouth. “A steak is mighty fine with pink in the middle, but not a burger.”

My sandwich and soup were pretty much the same as what I’d gotten at a lunch place in Austin. But Jasper’s burger was open-faced, with a lettuce leaf, a slice of tomato, and a pickle spear on the side, along with a package of mustard. An individual bag of potato chips was on the other side of the fancy oblong plate.

“Enjoy,” Kiki said and rushed away to wait on another group coming inside.

“Do I get a discount for building this thing myself?” Jasper asked. “The bun hasn’t even been toasted, much less put on the grill until it’s nice and brown. We need to send Gina Lou down here to teach these people to cook.”

“Next time maybe you should order a cold sandwich and hot soup,” I suggested and got his noon pills out of my purse.

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