Strangely Normal - By Tess Oliver Page 0,80
coating as the apartment. “Right,” I mumbled to myself, “this is all I need.”
***
The graffiti covered, sour smelling phone booth stuck up from the corner like a crooked tooth. It was just past an unsavory looking bar that had its windows covered in black paint and seemed to be in full swing at ten in the morning. It took a couple of tries to slide open the door of the booth, and I tried my best not touch anything inside of it. My first purchase was going to be a phone.
Mom answered in an anxious tone. “Hello.”
“Mom, it’s me.”
She broke instantly into sobs. “We were so worried. What happened? I called but there was no answer.”
“Well, things sort of went haywire. But I’m fine.”
I could hear Dad in the background asking a hundred questions.
“Where are you?” Mom asked, finally pulling herself together.
“I’m working at a diner on the east side of L.A. It’s a long story, and I don’t have much time because I’m on a pay phone. But as soon as I have some money, I’ll buy a prepaid phone and call you again. How are things up there?”
“They’re great. Why don’t you come up here, Eden? I don’t want you to be alone down there.” Her offer was tempting, and like always, just hearing her voice made me homesick.
“If this doesn’t work out, I’ll come up there. But I have to try it first.”
“I understand, Edie. But please come home if things don’t work out.”
“I will. Love you. I’ll call as soon as I get my own phone. Try not to worry and kiss everyone for me.” I hung up and wondered how badly Dad would take the news that I was no longer working with Nicky King and that his dream of meeting him had vanished with my summer job.
***
Megan, a slender brunette with a lot of lipstick and vivid blue eyes, definitely had the hard edge Billy had warned about, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. She did, however, seem to dislike me within moments of our introduction.
“Do you see this apron with the M on it?” Megan pointed a pink fingernail at the apron hanging on the hook. “It’s mine. So don’t touch it . . . ever.”
“I’ll try my best to keep away from it,” I said, holding back a smile and wondering if she was being serious or facetious. She was hard to read.
Charlie scooted past and rolled her eyes. “And why would she want to touch that ugly, old apron of yours, Meg?”
“Because it’s the best apron we’ve got.” Apparently, she was being serious. “That’s why I marked it with an M. Now, go ahead and fill the napkin containers, Eden. The lunch crowd will be pushing through that door any minute.” She reached below the counter and pulled out a package of napkins. “Do you know how to fill them?”
“I think I can figure it out.”
Charlie slithered between us with a tray of freshly filled salt and pepper shakers. “By the way, Meg, he’s not over there today either.”
“I know. I checked for him earlier. It’s going to be another dreary day around here.” Megan started pulling clean water glasses out from the rack.
I ripped open the napkin package and pulled out a stack. “Who’s he?”
Charlie started placing salt and pepper shakers along the counter. “He’s this dreamy guy who works over at the construction site. The guys who work over there are mostly volunteers, so they don’t always show up.”
“But when he does come,” Megan patted a stool at the counter, “this is where he sits.” She shot me a hard as ice glare. “And he’s my customer, so hands off.”
“Did you put an M on him too?” I asked.
Charlie’s laughter was halted by Megan’s admonishing scowl. “Well, it’s not really fair that you always get to wait on him, Meg.” Charlie looked over at me. “Aside from being breathtaking, he’s a really big tipper.”
“Just remember he’s mine.” Megan pointed her long finger at each of us. “End of discussion.”
I concentrated on my napkin task and hoped that Megan was done laying claim to aprons and customers. Time passed quickly while we readied the restaurant for the lunch rush. And, as if on cue, a large group of boisterous and dust-covered men and women traipsed through the door at noon.
It had been more than a year since I’d waited tables, but after a few stumbles, and a disastrous fumbling of a box of straws, I got into the rhythm.