Page 7 of By A Thread
The son of a bitch wasn’t even going to let me close out my tables. I had at least another thirty bucks in tips coming. Maybe I should burnhismother’s house down. But the woman made a hell of a cannoli and caught me up onGeneral Hospitalwhen she came in. I’d burn down George’s house instead.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the woman said.
“Yes, it is,” Charming snapped.
“She’s fired, and I’ll bring you another pizza. On the house,” George insisted. “Good?”
Charming, still looking at me but now with the slightest, victorious curve to his snarly lips, nodded briskly. “Fine.”
I already knew George would be taking the cost of the two pizzas out of my last paycheck.Jackass.
Without a word, I headed back into the kitchen. I grabbed my coat off the rack, scooped the money out of my apron, keeping my bank and the tips and throwing the rest on top of George’s primavera.Take that.
“You fired?” The cook called from behind the stainless-steel worktop where he was rolling out dough.
“Yep,” I said, shrugging into my coat.
He nodded. “Good for you.”
I gave him a wry smirk. “Yeah. Fingers crossed, you’ll be next. George would love to have to make and serve his own pizzas.”
He gave me a floury two-finger salute as I slipped on my backpack and went back into the dining room. I could have gone out the back door into the alley, but I was already fired, so there was no harm in making a scene.
“You two could learn something about how to treat people,” I said, pointing my finger in their direction.
Physically they couldn’t have been more different. George with his barrel-shaped body, greased hair, and too-small polo shirt. Charming with his tailored suit and fancy boots. He probably got manicures and facials and then accused the spa staff of looking him in the eye.
“This might come as a surprise to you both, but we’re all people. We’re not herejustto serve you. We have lives and families and goals. Andyourlives might start looking a hell of a lot better if you remembered that.”
“Get outta here, Ollie,” George hissed. He made a shooing motion with his beefy hands.
Charming was smirking at me.
“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there’s no hope for you,” I said to him. I knew his type. Well, not personally. But from a safe distance where I could armchair quarterback it. “Rich, miserable, empty. Nothing and nobody ever lives up to your expectations. Including yourself.”
That chiseled jaw clenched, and I knew I’d hit a bullseye.Good.
“Get out!” George screeched. “And don’t come back!”
“Don’t even think about stiffing me for my paycheck, buddy,” I told him. “I know where your mother lives.”
He turned a worrying shade of purple, and I decided it was time to exit. I swept toward the door and felt pretty damn good about my speech.
“Here. You deserve this.” The girls at Table Two pressed a crisp twenty into my hands. “We used to work in food service.”
I wanted to not need it. I wanted to sweep out of here with my dignity intact and my head held high. But I needed every damn dime.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
The young couple from Table Twelve held the door for me. “Here. We were going to the movies, but you earned it,” the guy said, holding up a few crumpled dollars.
“Take it,” his girlfriend insisted. She beamed at me. And I realized that them giving me their last seven bucks was going to make them feel better than me refusing it.
I couldn’t afford to have any pride.
“Thanks, guys.”
“Pay it forward,” the guy said.
