Charlotte Graves' wavy worried lines across her brow. Waiter lurks near a pillar. Brushes back the hair on his balding head. Sneaking a look. As Christian raises a hand. To give a delicate snap of thumb and index finger. And see the sneering bastard's nostrils dilate. As he turns to hot foot it away. And leave my god damn arm stuck up in the empty air.
"I see. Ignored. My own toes are inside these shoes. Which I'm wiggling at the moment. This place was just a factory once. Way out in the woods. They had police dogs to nibble at the unruly. Also a policeman patrolling with a night stick up and down between the tables.''
''Cornelius, this is our first big night out together. Can't we go somewhere else. I'm dressed in the best I have. This belonged to my grandmother. She was married in it. I cut the hem short. It's an heirloom. Don't think please that I mind, it's only that we're here. And I don't want everyone just to notice us.''
"You're a lad Charlotte."
''I'm not a kid. I feel awful. And I can't help it.''
''You shouldn't let these waiters scare you.''
"We could have been taken into that other room where they have the music and dancing. And there's nothing in here.''
Christian turning swiftly round towards the lurking waiter at the kitchen entrance, who just as swiftly turns to disappear through the squeaking swinging pantry door.
"Son of a bitch."
"You see what they're doing to us. We don't even have menus."
"Doubts about my taste are evident. Do you want me to hide my shoes."
"It's too late now. They won't come to us."
"We'll wait. Smile."
"I can't."
"Charlotte you have such a real mouth. And such large teeth. And such a worried frown. Face my shoes. Remember the summer when we were kids. The labor day picnic and parade. I saw you coming out of your house, in a white silk blouse, and the same haystack hair. You gave me the biggest hello I've ever had in my life. I can still hear it. It made me even march in the parade, no I'm lying. I skulked behind the trees, stealing ice cream for my little brother, while the citizens of my country marched. You're such a kid. My shoes are in bad taste. My shoes are in bad taste."
"Please, o my god, don't shout. I don't mind your pink shoes."
"Peach."
''Peach. But should we go.''
"No."
''Can't we ask for something.''
"For them to forgive us. And me for my shoes that might have cost eighteen dollars."
"Just, Cornelius, so that they come and go from the table.''
"Alas. I reckon I do lower the tone.''
"Cornelius."
"I've got such a beautiful name.''
"We come from the same background. Our backgrounds are medium and middle. "We can't be sure we're right, that's all I'm saying. The better people are right.''
''We're not the better people.''
"We may be better than some people. But we're not the best people, that's all I'm saying.''
"Charlotte you were so tan and lovely at the labor day parade."
"Please Cornelius, I just don't want all the best people thinking we can't be just like them.''
"I took you on your first date. Bought you a soda after the movies. I remember distinctly my aplomb. As I said to the candy store man, two pineapple please. I was his customer. He welcomed me."
''Because you were nice.''
"What am I now."
"You're different. You're not the same Cornelius Christian I used to know."
"Who am I."
"You're just not the same as you were before you went to Europe. And before you—"
"Got married."
Charlotte Graves. Her profile. The worriment on the long apple splendour of her face. As she turns to look round her. Two lonely people bobbing way out here in this sea of empty space.
''Please Cornelius. They'll start to listen to us."
"Good."
"You said I was so tan and lovely at the labor day parade. You don't think that now."
"You're still an apple I 'd love to eat.''
"I didn't go swimming this summer. Working in the city I don't get a chance. But the last few days I got a tan. That's why tonight to come out to the country and all."
Christian picking up the salt cellar. Silver and weighty. Hammering it on the table. Shouting.
''Service. Service.''
"O gosh Cornelius that's the last thing I want you to do."
"I am merely asking for service. Service.''
The peeking heads of waiters. Starched wing collared shirts. Airplane bow ties ready to take them off. Down their little runways. Flying the lavish people their suppers. As Christian's voice echoes back down a long corridor. And Charlotte Graves stoops her head.
"Now you have ruined the whole evening. No one has ever behaved in my presence like this before."
"Do you want me to leave.''
''You know I don't want you to leave.''
"Well that's just fine."
"No it isn't fine. You 're being conceited.''
"You do want me to leave. Do you. Tell me. Do you want me to leave."
"Yes. Leave."
Charlotte Graves, her sigh weary voice. Anguished and sad. Smell her perfumed cleanliness. Back in the funeral parlor I could take free sniffs off the roses. Cold sweet fumes out of an ice box. The dead warm up a little when they ferment. Kept the framed coffin photograph of myself close by my bed. And the worst thing that could happen to me didn't seem too bad. Alive now I stand. And as a matter of courtesy, wait. Give her a chance of reprieve. She wants none. Push my chair gently back beneath the table. Walk right in front of this headwaiter. Straightened his back to get a better look down his arched nose at my peach tootsies. As he rocks back and forth on his.
Christian climbing the steps of pale green carpet. Waiters stationed in their dark regalia. One here, one there. Towels over arms. Reach this top landing. If ever I needed to break wind. Now's the time. And it only goes bleep. When you want it to go boom. To feebly jet me out of another spiritual insult. It matters what people think of you. And they'll think a lot. If they think. That if you don't hire a finger to shoot them. Then you'll sue.
Cornelius Christian standing under the starriest sky. Up there on the hill. A roaring trolley goes by all lit up on its tracks. A frost and chill in the air. Summer all over. The backyard games. Put a penny in her slot up under her dress. That you can't play now that she's all grown up and beautiful. Made myself peanut butter and jam sandwiches to bring to school. While a foster mother watched to see if I sliced the bread too thick. And nobody ever brought me to a restaurant. Always thought they were special places for the rich to attend. And can't get myself to go. And leave her. It's a long walk anywhere without her mother's car.
Christian crossing on the pebbles. Strewn over the cinder and ash. And by a shrub. With ballooning pink and purple flowers, kneel at this tiny open window. See all this great room. Held by pale yellow fluted pillars. Where they visited hoot, hiss and who are you, upon me.
Charlotte Graves head bent at the table. All its whiteness meek and round. Waiters pass by with laden kitchen trays. Two wait and whisper. She turns looking up the empty stairs. Where I'm gone. Bites her lips. And her pinkly tinted nails. She was the first one who ever showed me I had moons on mine. She scratches a finger at the table things one by one. Looks up again. At the waiters. Who turn away. Taking their platters held high over shoulders towards the room beyond. Where the gay and better people live and tinkle laughter in their crowded lavishment. And where I should have demanded to go. Me the sultan. Of fistic swat. Only for my arm. I'd slam this place into respect, submission and Christendom.
Charlotte Graves lifting her straw wide hat. Placing it gently back on her straw blond hair. A mouse alone. Out in an open shorn field. The head waiter comes. Stands. Shifting down his cuffs. A hovering hawk. As her head rises. From the black shoes and trousers. To the glistening white shirt front and face.
''Would madam like some ser
vice for herself.''
Charlotte Graves shaking her genuflected head. The gentle bird wings of her shoulders. In the eighth grade in school. She folded her little note into a tight tiny wedge of paper. Gave it to Meager to give to me. It said I love you. And after that I never needed a mother and father. Or anybody else's love.
''Isn't there anything I can get madam. Like water.''
Charlotte's hair shining. Washed in beer. A basin full. Smiled when she told me. Of all those cans I could drink. Foaming cold and delicious. She's seated there so silent and still.
"An omelette for madam. Crepe suzette. Steak. Would madam then, like some explanation."
Charlotte shaking her head up and down. I was cavalier with her love. And taunted her. Heartless I said I don't like you. She blushed pink. And the way girls run, she ran away up the street. Arms clutching her books. You have to do this to someone who is better looking. And I did it to her and she cried.
"Well madam, we have certain unwritten rules. Which it is understood people understand before they come here. We do not mind when persons come where this is not their natural habitat. We try to make them feel at home and not as if they don't belong. Maybe madam would like to be seated in the other room."
Charlotte turning her head back and forth. That son of a bitch. Who does he think he is. Pick on someone his own glandular size. Down there with a shy innocent girl he thinks he can push around.
"I don't want to hurt madam's feelings, but should madam be interested in my advice, I would say he is not your kind. We expected him to leave. But we have a lot of experience in telling who is who. No gentleman would treat a lady the way he has treated you. He shouted for service."
"Because you wouldn't give us any.''
"O no nothing like that.''
"It was like that."
"If madam will permit me, we get lots like him. We know his kind well. Distinctly from the other side of the tracks.''
"He's from my side."
"Look, we know you feel you owe him some kind of loyalty, but boy I wouldn't like to have to count the trains on the tracks between you and him. Girl like you could meet people of top quality. And really frequent places like this.''
"I wouldn't want to."
"You're a hard kid to please, you know that. You don't mind if I say one or two very personal things. You know, I can tell you're a girl who comes from real nice people. Only don't take what I'm going to tell you wrong. But that dress you're wearing looks like it belonged to your grandmother."
Charlotte Graves folding her fragile wings. Honeysuckle flowers close up at night. When the chill and dark comes. The humming in my ears. All the shy souls going up to heaven. Lifted out of evil. Away from this son of a bitch who has hurt her bad.
"Hey kid I'm just trying to help you out. You don't want to misunderstand me. I'm just joking about the dress. O k I think it suits you. But a kid with your looks wants to show them off. Guy with a lot of dough would like to be seen with you. I'm not saying you looked like you stepped out of an antique shop."
"You are."
"No no. You got real good looks. And tone. Excuse me for saying it, but that guy was a greaseball.''
Charlotte Graves, easing her head down. Shoulders slowly heave. Ocean waves when a glowering sky makes them pound. All the looming ogres. They come upon the meek and weak.
"Hey I said something. Look, you're going to cry, Don't cry. I said something. I did, didn 't I. Just tell me what I said.''
This major domo straightening, looking around. Raising his arm to the balding waiter standing at the pantry door.
''Hey Harry, what am I going to do.''
Harry ambling over. Waddling flat footed, toes pointing out. Looks down at Charlotte Graves. Her hair in glossy tresses curled down her back. Slender arms. Sweet skinned. Her crocheted alabaster dress.
"Leave the kid alone. For crying out loud. Here kid. A towel. Help you mop up. Don't worry kid, it's all right. Nobody's going to hurt you. What did you do this to the kid for. She's crying."
"It was that guy."
''So what. No need to make the kid cry.''
"I was trying to steer her straight."
"I suppose big head waiter, you know how to straighten everybody out. What the hell it's none of your business.''
"She came in here with a guy who was a phony. I could tell a mile off."
''So what. Everybody in this place is phony.''
"Look Harry boy, you call Mr Van Hearse and his party in there phony."
"Yeah Fritzy boy, I call them phony. What the hell is he but some guy who makes rubber goods."
"Don't say that in front of women. Mr Van Hearse is a public benefactor."
"Don't start giving him titles. He makes rubber goods."
"You said that once Harry boy, you don't have to say it again."
"I like the sound. Fritzy boy."
"I'm busy. I'm head waiter here. We better clear this table."
"Why don't you leave the kid."
"We got to clear this table.''
"Who's coming. We don't need this table."
"Look Harry boy, who gives the orders around here.''
"And you look Fritzy boy, I'm just telling you to give the kid a break."
''And I 'm giving you an order to clear the table.''
''Thought you were trying to help this kid.''
Fritz cocking his head and waving an upturned palm towards the quivering Charlotte Graves.
"She still thinks the guy who walked out on her is something. When he's a phony. A phony cheapskate.''
"Now look Fritz, cut it out. You're really hurting the kid's feelings."
"Any kid go out with a guy like that deserves to have her feelings hurt."
Harry pushing forward, his face rearing up against the tip of Fritz's nose.
"And I'm telling you, look Fritzy boy. I don't care if I've got to take orders from you. But you're not going to upset this kid any more. Because I'll slug you. That's English. Understand it."
"You touch me and you're fired.''
Harry holding his shaking knotted fist under Fritz's eyeball. Just like brotherly love anywhere, it starts best with a good bust in the face.
"And you say one more thing to this kid and I'll slug you right out the window up there. That's definite.''
"Tough."
"About this. Yeah."
"We'll see. Harry boy."
"You'll see."
"I'll see. Don't worry."
"Go ahead. Pritzy boy. I'm worried.''
''You just clear that table like I said, that's all.''
"And you just leave this kid alone, that's all.''
"Clear the table that's all."
Fritz heading for the pantry with a backwards look over his shoulder. Might have seen me up at the window when Harry said he'd knock him out of it. Makes a punch seem harder if you can sock a guy through a miniscule aperture. If I hadn't just recovered from one brain softening melee I'd go back down there and heap upon the both of them a singsong of fisticuffs most various. But I'd like to have one's knuckles rehardened before conducting any more classes on discourtesy. Open to the public. Many of whom these days, are savage.
Harry leaning over Charlotte Graves. Picking up her knife, spoon and fork. Putting them on his tray.
"Sorry kid I got to do this. Don't worry. This happens to everybody, if not every day at least once in their life. Don't mind that guy, this joint's a dump, believe me. Cockroaches crawl over the kitchen like anywhere else. We just had to give your boyfriend the cold shoulder. Because the owner thinks he's going to make this dive into a classy establishment if he makes a few people think they're not wanted. Some hope he's got, Just clear away these few things. Make more room for your elbows. I know it's kind of late to say these things. But look, I didn't have anything personal against your boyfriend. Here, here's a rose."
"Thank you."
"Look, I tell you what. Why don't me and you go somewhere. I'm quitting this job right now. I know of a swell
place just a couple of miles over on the main highway. Nice floor show, take your mind off this. What about it, huh."
"Thanks but."
"Look, believe me, he's gone. Your boyfriend's not coming back. He's run out on you and left you here. All alone. Come on. We could go to a nice quiet place if you want. With soft lights. Then I'll take you back where you live. Take you right home."
"I can't."
"So o k. I've got to go and do my job. I've got to clear this table then. I'm going to even have to take the table cloth, even the chairs even the table. So no use waiting. That kind of guy just never comes back. What do you want to waste time waiting for. Come on. You going to go out with me. O k sister that was your last chance. It's your life. But I tell you, you're wasting your time waiting. Look kid. Say let me get you an apple. I don't want to see you just sitting there.''
"I'm all right."
"Have an apple. Free. No. Well have a piece of chewing gum then."
Harry taking the small green package from his breast pocket. Slides off the wrapper. Unfolds the silver paper. Holds the thin grey stick out to Charlotte Graves. She shakes her head. And the pantry swing door opening. Fritz. Surveying with his uplifted chin and dark glittering eyes. As Harry turns and points his finger.
''See, see what you done. She won't budge.''
"The table's got to be cleared that's all.''
"Yeah, that's all, that's all.''
Harry muttering. Carrying away his tray. Laden with the little vase and all the feasting instruments. The red rose clutched in Charlotte's hand. As Fritz rears by her auburn elbow.
"Look Miss, I've got my orders and I got to keep my job. Don't listen to this waiter. All he's looking for is some innocent kid who don't know what she's doing to go out with him. He's got three kids. I counted them myself. And his wife's so fat she can't walk. Can't even get near enough to kiss her. Just what he deserves. You see you can't trust anybody. Got to take this table cloth. Like I'm saying I've got to do my job. Just like that waiter, give you a rose that don't belong to him.''
The table cloth drawn from the table. Grey now under Charlotte's lifted arms. Fritz folding the glistening linen as he takes it away. Dancing it from his fingertips at Harry as they pass.