Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [46]
Ida talked with her customary earnestness. "Now when you got to make a customer wait, you can't just leave him sit there, like you done with that old party yesterday. You got to take an interest in him, make him feel you're watching out for him. Like you could ask him if he wouldn't like a bowl of soup or something, while he's waiting."
"At leas' ask him don't he want to feel your leg."
Ida took no notice of Anna's interruption, but went grimly on. When a customer came in and sat down at Anna's station, Mildred motioned Anna back to her coffee. "Sit down, I'll take care of him."
She paid little attention to the customer, except to wonder whether his bald spot was brown by nature, or from sunburn. It was a tiny bald spot, with black hair all around it, but it was a bald spot just the same. While he fingered the menu, she decided for sunburn. Then she noticed he was heavily sunburned all over, but even this didn't account for a slightly Latin look about him. He was quite tall, and rather lanky, and a bit boyish looking in his battered flannels. But his eyes were brown, and the little clipped moustache was decidedly continental. All these things, though, she noted without interest until he put down the menu and glanced at her. "What in the hell am I looking at that for? Why does anybody ever look at a menu for breakfast? You know exactly what you're going to have, and yet you keep looking at it."
"To find out the prices, of course."
She had no intention of making a gag, but his eyes were friendly, and it slipped out on her. He snapped his fingers as though this were the answer to something that had worried him all his life, and said: "That's it." Then they both laughed, and he got down to business. "O.K.—you ready?"
"Shoot."
"Orange juice, oatmeal, bacon and eggs, fried on one side and not too much, dry toast, and large coffee. You got it?"
She recited it back to him, with his own intonations, and they laughed again. "And if you could step on it slightly, show just a little speed—why, I might get to Arrowhead in time for a little swimming before the sun goes down."
"Gee, I wish I could go to Arrowhead."
"Come on."
"You better look out, I might say yes."
When she came back with his orange juice, he grinned and said: "Well? I mean it."
"I told you to look out. Maybe I did too."
"You know what would be a highly original thing for you to do?"
"What's that?"
"Say yes, right away—like that."
A wild, excited feeling swept over her. It suddenly occurred to her that for the moment she was free as a bird. Her pies were all made and delivered, the children were with the Pierces at the beach, the painters would be done by noon, there was nothing to detain her at all. It was as though for just a little while she was- unlisted in God's big index, and as she turned away from him she could feel the wind in her hair. She went to the kitchen, and beckoned to Ida. "Ida, I think the real trouble with that girl is me. I think I make her nervous. And she's got to start some time. Why don't I just quietly get out?"
Ida looked over toward Mr. Chris, who was doing his morning accounts. "Well he'd just love to save a buck."
"Of course he would."
"All right, Mildred, you run along, and I wish you all kinds of luck with your little restaurant, and I'll be out the very first chance I get, and—oh, your check!"
"I'll pick it up next week."
"That's right, when you come with the pies."
Mildred got the bacon and eggs, went out with them. His eyes met hers before she was through the kitchen door, and she couldn't repress a little smile as she approached. As she set down the plate she asked: "Well, what are you grinning about?"
"And what are you grinning about?"
"Oh—might as well be original once in a while."
"Damn it, I like you."
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