Читать книгу Some Go Hungry - J. Patrick Redmond - Страница 11

Chapter Four

December

The Wednesday night before Christmas Sunday, I met Rosabelle and Mae for dinner at the Executive Inn. Even though a month had passed, it was the first opportunity we had to get together since that Sunday phone conversation when Rosabelle called to check in on me after my return from South Beach. The holidays were a busy time for Rosabelle’s and for Daniels’ Family Buffet.

The Executive Inn was a 1940s motor lodge and restaurant on the north side of town, a popular dining establishment with the upper crust of Fort Sackville society. Stepping through the front vestibule was like stepping back in time: the interior well maintained, its knotty pine paneling offered a rustic, Adirondack air, with pine-colored vinyl booths and chairs, wood tables, and a bar in which one might expect to see men in fedoras smoking cigars and drinking highballs along with men in flannel shirts smoking Camels and drinking Stroh’s beer. Rosabelle often said the clientele was more crusty than upper-crust, but that she went there because the cocktails were strong and the food was good. When I arrived I found her and Mae sitting at the bar, waiting on our table.

“Who does someone have to blow to get a cocktail around here?” I whispered in Rosabelle’s ear as I pulled out a barstool next to her.

“Sugar, you’re in the wrong bar if you gotta ask that question,” Rosabelle said, reaching around to give me a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“No shit,” I said, smiling and winking at Mae. “They got a nice crowd tonight.” I enjoyed going to other restaurants—not that Fort Sackville offered a large selection. I especially enjoyed restaurants that offered actual table service, as opposed to Daniels’ get-it-yourself buffet. Rosabelle often said, “Honey, I don’t type, I don’t swim in dirty water, and I don’t serve myself at restaurants. I want to be waited on when I go out.”

The hostess arrived to seat us. The place was packed with locals—a crowd that was not Daniels’ Family Buffet regulars. Looking around, I said, “It’s funny how there’s a whole group of people that eat out but whom I never see in our place. I guess they’re like you, Rosabelle—they want service and a cocktail.”

“What do you think about Daryl moving back to town?” Rosabelle asked me after we settled into our chairs at a table and ordered appetizers.

“It was a bit unsettling to see him in the restaurant. I had such a huge crush on him in high school, and our friendship ended so suddenly, disappeared with him right after graduation. And seeing him married with children . . .”

“Did you guys get a chance to talk?” Mae asked.

“Not really. It was all quite uncomfortable. At least on my end. He has that preacher’s air about him. You know, that almost condescending demeanor. He always was a bit arrogant.”

“A bit arrogant? A lot arrogant! He was an asshole as a teenager,” Rosabelle said. “I can’t imagine him as an adult. His mother was the same way. She thought her family money gave her permission to act like she was the Queen of Sheba.”

“I was just blind to it, I guess. Anyway, he just seems to carry himself with that God is on my side kind of attitude. I can’t stand that.”

“It doesn’t surprise me in the least. I’ve not seen any good come from anybody out of Liberty University. I wouldn’t doubt that Condescension and Indignation are prerequisite courses,” Mae said.

“Trace says Daryl has big plans for the youth choir, and it seems the whole congregation at Wabash Valley Baptist are excited to have him there. What happened between him and me in high school is in the past. I’m sure he doesn’t even think about it,” I said.

“Well, you be careful,” Rosabelle said. “Don’t let his charm suck you in. I don’t trust him. Keep doing what you’re doing, and for God’s sake keep it out of town. You don’t need Pastor Daryl stirring the pot at the restaurant . . . no pun intended.”

“I’m not worried about Daryl. He and I both know what happened between us. He won’t go there,” I said. “Besides, like you always say, we’ll just avoid each other like Baptists in a liquor store.”

“Amen,” Rosabelle said, and lifted her cocktail in the air before taking a sip.