Page 30 of Wham Line
Before I could, though, a raised voice cut through the dining room’s chatter.
“Don’t talk to me like that.Don’t youdaretalk to me like that!”
At the bar, Sparkie Sanchez was sitting stiffly on her stool, glaring at Larry Lizard.Sparkie was dressed more casually today—although still expensively—in a blouse and slacks combo and enough makeup to choke a horse.(Thathasto be an expression.) Larry, for his part, looked worse in the daylight; his skin was even sallower, if that was possible, and his shoulders stooped; only that thick, bristly hair was unchanged.
The bartender was watching them, but for that matter, everyone was watching them.
Larry glanced around, and in a low voice that nevertheless carried, he said, “I’m trying to explain—”
“I don’t need an explanation, thank you very much.”Sparkie, for her part, made no effort to moderate her volume.She swiveled on her stool to face the mirror hanging behind the bar.She took out a small tin, opened it, and, considering herself in the glass, began to rub a salve across a chapped lips.“This conversation is over.”
After another wary look around the dining room, Larry slid off his stool and headed out of the restaurant.
I wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but I knew one thing: Oscar Ratcliff was going to be dining out on these stories for a month.
“Whodoeshave it then?”Bobby asked next to me.“I’m asking you because it’s your job to know.That’s your job, isn’t it?To sell flowers?”
“Whoa,” I said.“Bobby—”
He let out a wordless sound of frustration and slammed his phone down on the table.The empty glasses jumped.Silverware rattled.
Another of those prickly flushes ran through me.I forced myself to take a deep breath.“What’s going on?”
“What’s going on,” Bobby said without looking at me, “is nobody in this whole state has lotus flowers.They’re sold out.Or they don’t carry them.Or they want to ask me why I want them, which is none of their business.”
His volume slipped its leash at the end, and several diners turned in our direction.
He wasn’t angry at me; I knew that.He was stressed and exhausted and hurting.Still, a high-pitched whine started in my head.I planted my feet and drew air deep into my belly and breathed it out again.“Okay,” I said.“That sounds really frustrating.Let me help you—”
“I don’t need anyone to help me!”
More heads turned.
I put my hands on the table and pressed down lightly.
Bobby’s phone buzzed.
“What about an online delivery?”I asked through that high-pitched noise in my head.
His phone buzzed again, and he snatched it up.He gave me a shamefaced glance and mumbled, “I’ve got to deal with this.”
I nodded, and Bobby slipped away from the table.
On the other side of the windows, big, white-capped waves continued to roll in.The light reflecting off the water was so bright that I had to squint, and it was easier to turn my gaze away.Around me, the rest of the world seemed to be continuing along just fine.A woman in a coat that looked like it was made out of wet felt was cutting a single scallop into smaller and smaller slices.A man in an outrageously bad toupee was demonstrating something with a butter knife—it looked like a fencing move.Two girls who had to have been sisters and were both under the age of nine were looking at an iPad, laughing at whatever they were watching.
The kitchen doors swung open, and Nalini emerged carrying a tray of food.She hurried past me, obviously flustered; it wasn’t until she was crossing the dining room that I noticed the hamburger and the fish and chips.
“Nalini,” I called after her.
But not too loud.Because, you know, crowded restaurant.
She carried the food to the bar, had a quick conversation with the bartender, and set the fish and chips down in front of Sparkie.Sparkie said something, and the bartender said something, and Nalini said something.Nobody seemed to know what to do about the hamburger because—as I could have told them—the hamburger was for Bobby, and the fish and chips were for me (not for Sparkie).But Sparkie said something, and the bartender laughed and set about mixing a drink for her, and Nalini returned the hamburger to the tray and hurried back toward the kitchen.
As she passed me, I tried again.“Uh, Nalini, I think that hamburger—”
But she oh-so-purposefully didn’t notice me and practically sprinted through the swinging doors.
Yeah.That wasn’t obvious at all.
