Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [9]
"No, sweetheart, nothing like that. I just want you to tell me who she was."
"That was Essie Lane. She the cook on duty tonight."
"Well, I have to thank a woman who can cook some rib tips like that. Where is she?"
The waitress didn't look too happy about Theophilus wanting to talk to Essie but she said, "She back in the kitchen," and pointed him in that direction.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he said as he gave her a sexy wink and put some money in her hand.
She put her smile back on her face and said, "I just knowed you was the kind of man who really knows what to do with a woman," as Theophilus got up and headed back to the kitchen.
Sighing with regret, she looked down at her tip. The five-dollar bill she was holding in her hand stretched her smile into a big wide grin. Five dollars was a huge tip for a waitress working at Pompey's Rib Joint.
When Theophilus walked into that hot kitchen, Essie was drinking some ice water and stirring a big pot of collard greens. Sensing someone watching her, she turned around, hoping it wasn't that old drunk who kept waving a dollar bill at her every time she came out on the floor. When she saw that it was the good-looking man in silver-gray, she was kind of relieved but also wondering why he was standing in the doorway looking at her like that. Ready to run him out of the kitchen if need be, she put a hand on her hip and looked him dead in the eye.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Theophilus wasn't surprised by the attitude in her voice. At the gut level he knew she was one of those good women who didn't allow for foolishness from a man. And as nasty as she sounded, he liked her voice. It was the kind of voice that could move swiftly from giving a command one dare not disobey, to girlish laughter, to a deep, throaty sigh. The desire to hear that sigh nestled itself quietly and comfortably in the most private, yet-to-be awakened region of his heart.
"I said, what do you want?"
He wanted to smile at her but didn't want to be chased out of this kitchen before he had a chance to meet her. So he decided to put on his "receiving line" face, which seemed to carry him a long way with most folks he greeted after Sunday morning service. He held that look in place as he tried to think of something to say that would match his disarming expression. The best he could come up with was, "Sister, that food was so good, I just had to come back here and humble myself before the chef," with what he truly hoped had a good dose of the preacher in his voice.
He knew better than to say what he was really thinking, which was, "Baby, you so fine, you make me want to say things that can only be whispered in your ear."
Essie just looked at him and said, "The chef, huh," with a frown on her face. "You are talking about a 'chef ' in a country place like Pompey's Rib Joint? You must think you in New York City. But you ain't. And since you ain't, get out of my kitchen right now, before somebody gets hurt." She edged over to a small table with a big meat cleaver on it.
Theophilus saw her reach for the meat cleaver and backed away, saying, "Hey, wait a minute, baby," before he could catch himself right.
Looking at him like he was out of his mind, Essie said, "Negro, I know you ain't calling me no baby."
Theophilus moved toward her gingerly, trying to placate her. "Look, girl, I didn't mean you any harm. Your food was good and I just wanted to see you—"
"Wanted to see me? For what? If my food was so good, why didn't your cheap self send me a note about my good food, along with a tip?"
Theophilus didn't even try to defend himself on that one, realizing he had been too distracted to tip her. She was looking at him real hard, meat cleaver firm in her grip.
He tried another tack, extending his hand and saying, "My name is Theophilus—"
"I believe I know your name, Reverend. I thought you looked familiar when I brought you your food. Ain't you that revival preacher who was in Jackson this week?"
Before Theophilus could answer her, she