Page 66 of Of Literature and Lattes
“I haven’t redone the ordering in a while. You can shove the Fritos over to make more room.” Jasper tucked his rag into his shirt pocket.
“But the Fritos sell. Tell you what, rather than me changing any more oil—”
Jasper chuckled.
“I’ll pump gas, fill tires, and do all the easy normal stuff out that door.” She pointed to the station’s two islands. “But when no one is out there and you’re back there”—she pointed to the service bay—“why don’t I standardize all your ordering and inventory? Put it on a single system that will cue you as to what sells and what needs to be reordered.”
“You can do that?”
She dropped the pork rinds back into the box. “It’s about the only thing I can do.” She grabbed her laptop out of her bag and opened it on the counter. A navy blue Porsche rolled up to the full-service pump. “As soon as I finish with this customer I’m going to wow you, Jasper.”
He chuckled again, a full belly laugh this time, as she pushed through the door and headed to the Porsche.
Chapter 29
The next afternoon, Lexi was laughing at Alyssa too, except her laugh was high and clear and bright. “What are you on?”
“I have no idea.” Alyssa flopped back in the booth. “Collagen and slow-stewed vegetables, I think, but I feel good, Lex, really good. I have all this energy.”
“But?”
Alyssa stared at her best friend. “No but.”
Lexi shook her head. “Not buying it. You have a touch of frantic about you too. Something’s up.”
Alyssa shrugged and snapped her laptop shut.
They had spent the last two hours going through Lexi’s data as Alyssa gave her the final report and recommendations. What started with an assessment of every penny spent and every penny earned ended with the recommendation that, while the PR company had focused on downtown Chicago media, 80 percent of Mirabella’s reservations and clientele came from the north and northwest suburbs. There was a lot more to do locally for a lot less money—including offer more chicken dishes and fewer organ meats.
“Tell you what. You can tell me everything while we walk to the lake.” Lexi stretched her back. “I can’t thank you enough for all this, but I also can’t think anymore. I need sunshine, and I’ve got a couple hours until I’m needed back here.”
Alyssa slid from the booth and followed her friend out the restaurant’s side door.
Ten minutes later, at a power-walk pace, they hit the beach. Every kid in town was there—laughing, playing, swimming, and chasing the waves. Lake Michigan looked like an ocean with its swells and deep blue.
Lexi pulled off her sandals, Alyssa her flip-flops, and they crossed the sand, heading for their favorite outcropping of rocks.
“You gonna talk now?”
Alyssa settled on her old favorite flat stone while Lex took the one next to her. Both looked out at the waves.
“I don’t think I can stay two more months, Lex. Mom and I? We’re good, then we’re not, then— I don’t get her and everything I do is wrong. I offered to help her hold an art show yesterday and she basically said it would make me sick.”
“She cares about you.”
“That’s not care. She just didn’t like the idea.”
“I doubt that. But you’re her first priority. Can’t you understand that? She’s doing her best, but she sees things differently than you.” Lexi nudged Alyssa. “If you and I saw things the same way, I wouldn’t have just paid you three thousand dollars. So there. Proof.”
“That’s not the same thing at all.”
“Sure it is... Remember our fourth-grade art class?”
“How’d you get there? How do you even remember that class?”
“I remember that you hated it. You’d get so mad you’d crumple and pitch every sketch and painting. You were a pain the entire year, and that’s when I figured out you don’t like the unknown.”
“That had nothing to do with the unknown. I hated art class becauseshemade it intolerable. She came to our end-of-year show and criticized every single piece.”
