Standing in the Rainbow - Fannie Flagg [132]
“Yep . . . and it all pans out with my theory about the future.”
“What’s your theory?”
“Quantity,” he said emphatically. “Not quality. Fast, not friendly. That’s the secret of making money nowadays, boy. This is the jet age. People want to eat on the move. How fast, how cheap, and how much do we get for our dollar, that’s what folks are interested in today.”
Bobby nodded and thought about it.
“Anyhow, young Robert, what I’m saying is this. I’m looking for a good man to work for me, somebody with personality, good P.R. skills such as my own, and I think that you fit that bill to a tee. Say the word and the job is yours.”
Bobby was flattered by the offer but he did not know a thing about the poultry business. “I sure appreciate you considering me for the job, Mr. Fowler, but—”
Fowler did not let him finish his sentence. “Now, before you talk it over with your wife,” he said as he pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, “I’m going to write down a figure as to what you can expect to earn the first year. And this is just to start, mind you.” He jotted down a number and handed it to Bobby. “Of course, you would have to relocate but I think it is a chance worth taking and I give you my word, son, if I do well, you do well.”
The number Fowler showed him was twice the salary he was making now.
The next morning when Monroe stopped by the house for coffee and Bobby showed him the figure, Monroe, true to form, said, “Whoa . . . that’s some serious bucks.” Bobby was torn. He hated to give up teaching but with a baby on the way and no new teaching offers, he and Lois talked. They decided to get out of the cold of New Hampshire and take a chance with Mr. Fowler.
The Missing Plate
TOT WHOOTEN had never met Charlie Fowler but when Mother Smith was down at Tot’s beauty shop having her hair dyed purple again she mentioned Bobby’s new job. Tot said, “Well, for his sake I hope it works out. But no matter what you do in life there’s a fifty-fifty chance that something will go wrong.” She threw a teacup full of creme rinse on Mother Smith’s head and added, “Of course, with me it’s always been a ninety-nine percent chance that if something can go wrong, it will.”
Tot must have had a premonition.
The following Monday Norma Warren had just returned from driving her eleven-year-old daughter, Linda, over to Poplar Bluff to spend the week with her grandmother, Ida Jenkins. Much to Norma’s irritation, after her father had died her mother had picked up and moved there so she could be nearer to the Presbyterian church. “Now that I’m a widow,” she said, “I need to be closer to my own kind.” It hurt Norma to think her mother preferred the Presbyterians to her own family but she still had Aunt Elner, even though she was a handful. Today was Norma’s at-home beauty day and she was right in the middle of giving herself her weekly Merle Norman facial when the phone rang again for the third time in an hour. She did not answer it but it would not stop ringing so she finally had to pick up.
“Hello, Aunt Elner,” she said, as pleasantly as she could, trying not to ruin her facial, but this time it was not Aunt Elner again. It was Elner’s neighbor Verbena calling from the cleaners.
“Norma, it’s me. Have you heard what happened to poor Tot?”
“Oh God, what now?”
“You know Rochelle, his assistant, that heavyset gal who likes to have a snort or two with Dr. Orr?”
“Yes, what about her?”
“Well, I guess they lost poor Tot’s upper plate over the weekend. Too much fooling around in the office.”
“What do you mean they lost it?” she said, destroying her facial.
“Friday Dr. Orr pulled her teeth out and took an impression of her gums for a set of false teeth and told her to come back Monday and he would have her plate ready . . . and this morning she sneaks up there by the back alley—she said she would just die if anybody saw her without her teeth—so she goes in and sits down. She said she couldn’t wait to get her new teeth. And then Dr. Orr walks in and she said she should have known something was wrong, she could smell the liquor on his breath,