Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [8]
Just as Big Johnnie Mae ended this last song and started up on one with a calmer rhythm, a different woman came toward Theophilus with a plate of food in one hand and a big glass of ice water, a napkin, and silverware in the other.
"You the man who ordered the rib tip sandwich and glass of ice water?" she asked.
He said, "Ummm-hmmm."
She pushed the food out toward him.
"Here, this is yours and you owe me $1.25."
Theophilus took the plate, silverware, and glass of water from her and put them on the bar. He reached back to get his empty tea glass off the bar and then fumbled in his pocket for some money.
Watching him, the woman had to agree with the waitress, who was now stuck helping the bartender fix drinks, that the man in the "silver gray outfit" was sure enough a "big and pretty chocolate man." She tried to steal a better look at his face without his noticing it. She knew that you didn't look at the men coming in here too hard unless you wanted to send them a message you hoped they wanted to answer.
Then he smiled at her, handing over the money while looking her over so thoroughly until she wished she had worn her large cook's apron. It covered a lot of her body but she hated bringing customers their food in that barbecue- and grease-splattered thing. But at least that grimy coverage would have slowed down the speed with which this man's eyes took in her body. She was standing there in a shirt and Bermuda shorts, so her only defense was to narrow her already slanted eyes and give him a nasty look. He wouldn't be the first man to get this look. But he was the first one who made her wonder if she had looked at him just a little too mean when she walked back to the kitchen.
Theophilus shrugged off the glare that little woman had given him and turned toward the bar to eat his food. The sandwich was so thick and juicy he had to eat it with a fork. The tips were tender and dripping in some of the best barbecue sauce he had tasted in a long time. And there was a generous helping of potato salad spread evenly on each slice of bread. The waitress hadn't lied about this sandwich. It did taste good enough to make you "want to do something real bad and nasty."
As he ate, Theophilus found his mind fixed on the image of that mean-acting little woman. She sure was a fine little thing, with that dark-honey-colored skin, thick reddish brown hair held in place with a light blue headband, heart-shaped face, full lips, and those sexy slanted, light brown eyes cutting him in two when he stared at her too hard. And she looked cute in those baby blue Bermuda shorts with her petite, hourglass figure and her backside swinging her own natural, uncontrived rhythm when she walked away from him.
"Umph, umph, umph," he thought to himself. "If that girl didn't have some big pretty legs, I don't know who did."
Just then the waitress came switching back to him to ask if he needed anything else from her. Figuring she was offering more than just another glass of tea, he thought that he had better add a little extra sugar to his smile before he asked a question he knew she wouldn't want to answer.
"Who brought me my food, sweetheart?"
She looked confused and said, "Something wrong with your food?"
"No. I just want to know who was the woman who brought me my food. She didn't look like she was a waitress. And judging from the way she just walked off with my money after I paid her, she didn't act like one, either. I mean, look at you. You're standing here all sweet-like, making sure I'm all right."
"She wasn't nasty-actin' was she?" the waitress asked. She knew Essie