Page 24 of Spike

“You aredefinitely the same boy I remember from all those years ago,” she said,studying me as if she were an art student and I was a painting on a museumwall.

I closed my menuwith a ‘thwap,’ knowing what I was going to order before we’d even walked in.“Think of how many times she’s said that in her life.”

“What?”

“Hi, my name isBeth…and that whole thing about the specials being on page two…blah, blah,blah. I could never stand to do something so scripted all day long, ya knowwhat I mean?”

“I think I do. Isthat why you’re a biker? Is it the freedom to do whatever you want thatattracts you to that lifestyle?”

“I love how youkeep calling me abiker. It’s cute as fuck,” I said, the curse slippingthrough my stupid lips. “Sorry.”

“And I think it’scute as fuck that you keep apologizing to me every time you swear,” shewhispered, her cheeks glowing red.

“You’ve never saidthat word before, have you?”

“Not in public.”She bit her lip before sliding her menu up to hide her face as she slumped downinto her seat.

Beth came to thetable with two official Shari’s mugs, a ramekin of individual creamers, and asilver coffee carafe. “You folks figured out what you want to eat?”

“I’ll have theDenver omelet, please,” Trixie squeaked from behind her menu fort.

“Make that two,would ya,” I said, handing my menu to her. “Oh, wait.” I paused. “Does a Denveromelet have bell peppers in it?”

“Normally, yes,”Beth replied.

“Well, what citymakes an omelet that’s exactly like a Denver omelet, but without the bellpeppers?”

Beth stared at mefor a long time. One could say uncomfortably long. It was as if we weregunfighters, and this family friendly chain restaurant was our saloon. Years ofwaitressing had led to this very moment and Beth was ready.

She was readyfucking spaghetti.

After what feltlike an eternity in diner time, the wizened waitress spoke, “I’d have to sayCleveland.”

I smiled at her,feeling as satisfied with her answer as I could have possibly been, andreplied, “I’ll have a Cleveland omelet please, Beth.”

I swear I’d fighta rabid bear in a cage match to know exactly what Beth scribbled down on hernotepad before turning and heading back to the kitchen. From the look on herface, it could have been anything from ‘Denver Om - 86 Peppers,’ to thebeginnings of her suicide note.

“You can lower yerfences, my darlin’. All is safe on this here ponderosa.”

“I swear, I’mgoing to die, I’m laughing so hard,” Trixie gasped from behind her menu. “Youhave to stop.”

“But if’n I stop,she’ll know that we’re city folks. She’s liable to call the sheriff n’ round upa posse.”

“I’m seriouslygoing to pee, Spike, you need to quit.”

I grinned. “Okay,okay, I’ll stop.”

She took a fewdeep breaths and wiped her tears away. “Thank you.”

I poured Trixie acup of coffee, adding the cream and sweetener to her specifications, pausingfor her to take a drink before I moved on to mine.

“Wow. You holddoors open for women, pour coffee, and placed your napkin on your lap withouthaving to be told. You’re quite the gentleman for a biker.” She met my eyes.“Actually, you’re more of a gentleman than most of the guys I’ve known.”

“There’s that ‘b’word, again,” I teased.

“Okay, if notbiker, then what?”

“We usually referto ourselves as club members, or Saints,” I replied.

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