Runaway Mistress

  “Here we are,” Louise finally said, stopping in front of one of the many tiny houses a couple of short blocks from the park. This one and the ones on either side appeared to have freshly painted trim and were well maintained. Louise trudged toward the door of her house. Alice paused only long enough to pee on the grass before they went inside. “Thank you, Doris. I hope you enjoy your time in Boulder City. It’s a nice little place.” Alice looked over her shoulder at Jennifer; her tail sashayed back and forth a couple of times. They disappeared inside the house.

  Jennifer went back the way she had come, spinning the umbrella over her head. When she got to the Tin Can she saw that there were a few more people in there now, and there was a sign in the window that she was quite sure hadn’t been there before. Help Wanted.

  She took the umbrella to the counter and handed it to Buzz. “She’s all set. Stubborn, huh?”

  “She likes that walk. Claims it keeps her on her feet. I think she’s around eighty now and she’s been getting her breakfast here for thirty years.”

  “What kind of help are you looking for, exactly?” She surprised herself with the question.

  “Little of everything,” he said with a shrug. “Place isn’t that crowded during the weekday mornings. I can almost handle it myself, but it’s better when I have someone steady. Waiting tables, doing dishes, sweeping up. If we go through a busy spell and I have to ask the other waitresses to come in at the crack of dawn, they get all pissy. Not real flexible. You know wo—you know waitresses.”

  Adolfo popped into view from the grill. “Sí, we need help for the help.”

  “They’re precious flowers,” Buzz said with a wide grin.

  She looked around, and when comfortable that she wouldn’t be overheard, she asked, “How fussy are you about references?”

  “I’m kind of easy there,” he said. “You sound interested.”

  “I…ah…didn’t really think I was looking for work. I haven’t waited tables since I was in my teens.”

  “It hasn’t changed much over the years. I pay minimum wage, you bus your own tables, keep your tips, split ’em when you work with the other girls, and can have any meals you show up for, on or off your shift. I could use someone when I open. At 5:00 a.m. Pretty rude hour of the day. Especially for the precious flowers.” Grin.

  “I like to get up early.”

  “I guess you don’t have ID?”

  “I…Ah…” She shook her head. “No.”

  “You have a name?”

  “Doris.”

  “Well then, Doris. See you at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow?”

  She smiled in spite of herself, but mocked herself inside—what the devil are you smiling about? Nick is probably shredding your Vera Wang nightie while you’re taking minimum wage in a greasy spoon!

  But it was a little honest work and no one would be ogling her. For sure not with her bald head and the masculine clothes. She could stretch the money she had in her backpack a little further and have time to think this through. This diner was safe and clean and warm, the people so far had been decent, and at this stage she wasn’t about to take that lightly. Plus, there was no way Nick Noble would end up within twenty miles of a place like this—it was just too common.

  It would only be for a little while. She had no idea what would come next, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be equal to that classy condo with the spectacular ocean view. Those days were pretty much behind her, unless she took a notion to find another rich old boyfriend. And from where she stood, that was about as likely as snow in hell.

  “A little tip, Doris. You might try the Sunset Motel over on Carver. It’s not too far from here and the owner will give you a cheap weekly rate and heat. It don’t look like much, but it’s clean and safe. But don’t tell Charlie I told you. I consider him a friend, but he’s tight as a bull’s ass and I don’t see any point in my new waitress freezing to death. And you’re going to have to get a scarf or something. You can’t wait tables in a ball cap and I’m afraid that shiny dome on a girl might upset the tea-and-cookie crowd.”

  “The…?”

  “The little old ladies.”

  “Oh. Sure. No problem.”

  “It ain’t easy work, but it doesn’t pay well.”

  “Sounds that way,” she said, but she said it with a smile. “Thanks, Buzz. You’re a good guy.”

  “Aw, hell, I’m a tyrant. You’ll hate me in no time. Go get me that sign, will you, girl?”

  Hate Buzz? Impossible. He might have been an angel in disguise. An angel with a few rough edges, maybe, but angelic just the same.

  In keeping with her new appearance, Jennifer had her left ear pierced and decorated with five silver hoops. She had to sleep on her right side for a week, but she didn’t resemble the woman who had fled the MGM Grand less than a week ago.

  In the diner she had a little space and time to get back on her feet, to think about where she’d been and where she was going—both physically and emotionally. And she came to realize very soon that Buzz had seen a need in her and filled it with that Help Wanted sign, which he kept on the shelf under the cash register. He probably put it out whenever someone he suspected needed help wandered into his diner.

  Buzz was an old bachelor who had run the diner for forty years. He had a pretty nice house, he told her, but it was lonely there. He liked to be at work—he was usually there from five in the morning until at least nine at night. He bragged that there was no food in the refrigerator at home, and he paid Adolfo’s wife to clean and do laundry for him every couple of weeks.

  He was a simple guy and almost everyone who came into the diner was considered a personal friend, except weekend out-of-towners. And what she realized was, if Buzz had brought her into the fold, they all accepted her as part of the family.

  “I could use you on Saturday and Sunday mornings, early,” he said. “You should take a couple of weekdays to sleep in, but come in for breakfast when you’re up.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Buzz,” she said.

  He took on a mock look of surprise. “You mean you’d eat somewhere else?”

  She wouldn’t dare. At least not yet.

  The thing about the diner was, the food wasn’t particularly delicious. It was good enough and cheap. And not so much on the greasy side. Everything from chicken fettuccini to meat loaf had a slightly Spanish flair.

  “Cheese omelet,” a customer would order. “No cilantro.”

  “I’ll try,” she would reply.

  Jennifer found the Sunset Motel was managed by an elderly woman named Rosemary, who seemed to be expecting her. She cut her a special deal of one-fifty a week if she didn’t require housekeeping, and she made it clear it was a favor to Buzz. The accommodations were a definite improvement, but hardly what she was used to. The thread count of the sheets was so low her skin felt rashy, and the bathroom, while clean, had been hard used with the chips and stains to prove it. It was a long slide down from the MGM’s Grand, but a damn site safer.

  Buzz could easily have handled the work at the diner himself. There were a few people in the morning, mostly regulars she became acquainted with right away. As the morning stretched out to lunch, there weren’t many customers.

  In the afternoons Jennifer went to the library, where she read newspapers, magazines and used the Internet to research news of Nick and Barbara Noble. So far there had been none. The librarian was a woman just a few years older than Jennifer who wore a plastic name tag that read Mary Clare. After seeing Jennifer there every day for a few days and learning that she worked at the diner for Buzz Wilder, she asked Jennifer if she’d like a library card. To have that, Jennifer adopted the last name of Bailey. Doris Bailey. So after finishing her research, she picked up a novel to take back to the Sunset with her.

  She had loved reading since she was a child. It was probably a defense against loneliness; she knew how to plant her eyes on the page and fall headlong into a story, forgetting where she was. She could forget she’d been liv
ing in a condo overlooking the ocean at the pleasure of her wealthy gentleman friend, or had lived in an old station wagon parked in an alley. Stories took her out of herself, and she had long regarded the time she spent reading as a little respite from a reality that she had to continually reconstruct. From the time she was a little girl, to being a successful mistress, to being a bald-headed waitress in a greasy spoon, books had been her salvation.

  As she was walking back to the Sunset from the library, backpack slung over her shoulder and cap on her head, she saw a black limo driving slowly down the street. The over-dark windows concealed the identity of the passengers, but the license plate read MGM12 and Jennifer knew immediately that it was one of the hotel’s cars. She had to tell herself not to pause, not to stare, not to react. It was entirely possible the hotel was taking a guest to view the dam, which she had heard was a magnificent sight to see.

  But it was also possible someone she knew all too well was looking for her.

  Three

  A few days into her new job she was still sweeping up when the afternoon waitress arrived, a high school girl named Hedda. She was a freaky-looking kid with spiked black hair with purple edges, a tongue ring, a little rhinestone nose stud and at least one very large tattoo peeking out at the small of her back over her low-rise jeans. Hedda looked Jennifer up and down intently, and finally a smile broke out over her decidedly beautiful face. “Cool,” she said. “Did you do that yourself or have it done?” she asked, indicating the bald head.

  “I…ah…I didn’t need much help with this,” she said, pulling her scarf off her shiny dome. She felt a sudden urge to explain that she was actually very fashionable and had great office skills; that she could do the accounting for a diner this size in her spare time. And she could dance the tango, drive a stick shift and speed read. Not to mention that acquired skill of finding and snagging rich old guys.

  “You know what would look really cool? A tattoo. Right on your head. I could tell you the name of a good artist.”

  “I’ll definitely think about that,” she said. “But I was actually thinking of trying hair for a change. You know—letting it grow out.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Hedda pronounced. “It makes you look like a really cool alien. A pretty alien.”

  “Wow,” Jennifer said. “I haven’t had a compliment like that in I don’t know when.”

  “And I mean it, too.”

  On her first weekend in Boulder City she met Gloria, who usually served the dinner hour and every Saturday morning. Gloria, a woman in her fifties, looked at Jennifer and said, “Holy Mother of God.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Buzz yelled from behind the counter. “Hedda thinks it’s cool.”

  Gloria shook her head. “Why you girls do the things you do is beyond me. Why don’t you at least draw on some eyebrows? I could help you with that.”

  “Thanks,” Jennifer said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Gloria had a bedridden husband at home and so she kept very flexible hours, something that Buzz seemed to take in stride. While Gloria worked, a neighbor would look in on her husband, and if Gloria got a call, she dashed off, no matter what she might be in the middle of.

  Gloria was best described as a tough old broad. She was a little overweight, but pleasantly so with soft, round curves. She had her short dark hair “done” every week at the beauty shop down the street and it was lacquered into place, not a hair changing from day to day. While her hair was being hammered into place, her acrylic nails were being “filled” and painted bright red, to match her lips. Gloria liked her makeup thick and her eyebrows drawn on in a high arch that made her look perpetually surprised.

  “We could do something with makeup,” she told Jennifer. “Maybe you wouldn’t look so…I don’t know…Naked?”

  “I thought it would be quite a statement, but maybe I went too far.”

  “There’s no maybe about it, honey.”

  “Hedda likes it,” she added.

  “Hedda’s the one who should shave her head and start over.”

  “Hey!” Buzz called. “Don’t start trouble. I got enough on my plate with one bald and one with purple hair!”

  Hedda took to Jennifer right away, perhaps because they were both odd and had very limited wardrobes because of slim means. She often brought her little brother Joey, to the diner with her. He seemed to be her constant responsibility because of their mother’s working hours. She took care of him every night while her mother worked as a cocktail waitress in one of the casinos, and walked him to school in the morning while their mother slept.

  Jennifer stumbled on Hedda’s home while she was out walking one day. She wasn’t far from the Sunset when she came upon a block full of duplexes, fourplexes and tiny bungalows, all of which were run-down and in want of paint and repair. A string of carports stood behind them and the front yards were almost entirely dirt. She saw a German shepherd chained to a tree in front of one house, a truck pulled right up to the front door and a guy working on the engine in front of another, and a little boy playing in the dirt with a toy truck in front of a third. Emerging from the front door of that last bungalow came Hedda, her book bag over her shoulder. The screen door slapped shut behind her and Jennifer felt as though she’d been propelled back in time.

  Hedda could have been Jennifer fifteen years ago, except that Hedda obviously took more risks in self-expression than Jennifer had ever dared. She and her mother had lived in a great many dumps like that one, and worse than that, they’d spent time on the streets now and then. There was a four-month period when they’d lived in an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon, getting the occasional shower at the Salvation Army.

  A woman with stringy hair and wearing a ratty plaid bathrobe opened the door of that same small house and yelled, “Hedda! How many times do I have to ask?”

  Hedda whirled instantly. “Sorry, Mama,” Jennifer heard her say. She dropped the book bag, went back into the house and came out again, this time carrying a trash can. Jennifer was frozen in her spot, watching. Hedda walked around the buildings to the rear where the carports were and emptied the trash into the Dumpster. She dropped off the trash can, picked up the book bag and then, with a pleased smile, spotted Jennifer.

  “Hey, Doris,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just checking out the neighborhood on my way to the library. I’m at the Sunset, right over there.”

  “Yeah? We stayed there for a little while. Then the house came open and it has a kitchen. An old kitchen, but a kitchen. I’m just on my way to work.”

  “With your books?”

  “It’s a little slow in the afternoons. If I get my other stuff done, I do homework,” she said. “And hey, if you ever want to get rid of any weekend hours, I’m looking to pick up time.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I’m thinking of going to the prom,” she said, and became instantly shy when she said it.

  “Thinking of going?” Jennifer asked as they walked along in the direction of the diner.

  “I’m not sure I’m the prom type,” Hedda replied, but while she said it she was looking down. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  It didn’t take Jennifer long to catch on. It had to do with money. You didn’t make much in tips while doing homework. In fact, between breakfast and lunch Jennifer had to look for things to do to stay busy. Before Hedda came in, the diner had been swept, the bathroom was cleaned, the Naugahyde was wiped down and the floor mopped. Adolfo did the cooking and most of the cleanup. Buzz manned the cash register, poured coffee and waited on the counter.

  When Hedda arrived at about two-thirty, she did some chores like refilling ketchup bottles as well as the salt, pepper and sugar containers, and then she took the back booth and spread out her books. She might have a couple of dozen diners in her three-hour shift. Gloria came on at five, and the dinner traffic from five-thirty to seven-thirty was steady again with all the usual suspects showing up. Jennifer knew thi
s because she had stopped in for dinner herself more than a couple of times. Only on weekend mornings did the place stay busy. So Hedda would have trouble saving for the prom on her low wages and meager tips.

  “Well, you should probably try it once, if you can find the right dress,” Jennifer said.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Hedda returned.

  Jennifer had no idea how long her stash and waitress job would have to last her, but there was one thing she did know—she had savings and investments in accounts that Nick Noble knew nothing about. At least not yet. She didn’t know when or how she’d get back to those accounts, but unlike Hedda, Jennifer had them.

  Her first week at the diner had gone well; no one seemed particularly shocked to see her and, all in all, the regulars were friendly. There was Louise every morning, with Alice, and Jennifer very much looked forward to seeing them. She loved the old woman’s gruff and direct manner; it was as though being accepted by Louise meant something. Then there was Louise’s neighbor—Rose. Slender and elegant, Rose didn’t seem to be big on diner food—she feasted on tea and toast. Jennifer loved the way the women, so opposite, interacted. Louise was short, stout, with thin white hair, while Rose was taller, whip thin, with flaming red hair, though she was over sixty.

  One morning during her second week on the job, Marty, who owned the used-book store, greeted her with “You the bald girl I’ve been hearing about?”

  Well, there you go, she thought. You don’t shave your head and go unnoticed. “I guess that would have to be me,” she said. “Word sure gets around.”

  “What else have we got to do around here?” he asked, and grinned so big his dentures slipped around. “Thank God there’s a new face now and then.”

  A couple of Boulder City cops rode their mountain bikes up to the front of the diner, parked them where they could keep them in sight and sauntered into the diner. The sight of them made her instantly nervous and afraid of being recognized, but they seemed more intent on breakfast than anything. Ryan, the pudgier of the two, said, “Well now—what biker gang are you from?”