“But I’d never seen anything like it when you staggered into the Beef Club six months ago.”
Deshler looks at her in a twist of confusion.
“I mean, yeah, you were just some dipshit valet from downstairs and the place was packed with execs.”
“Why didn’t they just kick me out?”
“Remember what you said to Christopher Winters? I hadn’t seen the old retired bastard— gentleman —look so pleased in years. You walked around like you owned the place. Kind of sexy.”
“ The Christopher Winters? The governor and the hamburger guy? The dude who invented the electric toothbrush?”
“God, he loved you. You’re such an idiot. I mean, how would you not think Clifford Findlay would get goo-goo eyes, too?”
Playing along, nodding. “That was so long ago. I don’t even feel like the same person. I hardly remember it.”
“Yeah, no wonder. You’re always drunk. Lucky for you nobody notices. The others are just as hammered.”
“I don’t—” he gives up in embarrassment.
“Remember that night you got in an argument with our accounting chief about the world’s most delicious sandwich?”
“Of…course.”
“I can’t believe he claimed the club sandwich was perfect. And, hah,” a fast hand covers her mouth to stop laughing. “And your response, I never told you, but it’s kind of a catchphrase around work now.”
Deshler’s fingernails ruffle his scalp, wishing this morning was over. He anticipates a cringe. Forgotten Cliff Drinking stories always get embarrassing fast.
“You told Greenie Bowling, the head accountant guy, that ‘compared to a Monte Cristo sandwich, the club tastes like crapped pants.’”
A breath of relief sneaks in. This story isn’t so bad. “Does that even make sense?”
“You tell me. In less than a month we were deep frying Monte Cristo burgers in fifteen test markets. And then, well, boom!”
She smiles in a way that makes the room a few shades clearer. Her face graduates from faintly flirty to plain flirty. Deshler’s heart smacks. An ashy thought of kissing her reshuffles the information about Beef Clubs and executives and fried sandwiches.
“Oh, that old thing,” Dean mumbles. He suddenly cools down with the need to sleep. Lying, he quickly learns, is exhausting. “That was just an accident, you know? Anybody could have done…what it is I do.”
“Don’t be modest.” Before Deshler takes another hot black sip, her fingers are massaging his shoulders. “Lots of stuff comes about on accident. Bubble gum, thousand island dressing…”
“Thanks, that’s a big help.”
Malinta stops rubbing, leans over his shoulder and kisses his forehead. “Wow, you really are an idiot.”
He steadies himself and stands. “I’d rather not talk about it.” Fingers go shaky touching her hips through the robe.
Before Dean finishes speaking, Malinta pulls back, arms and hands darting again. “Oh, this again? Not so fast. I still haven’t forgiven you for letting Winters sink in his claws. What a jerk.”
“Easy, have some respect, that guy just died.”
“Duh, Roland. What did he say to get you on their side?”
“Side? Like a fight?”
“It’s bigger than a fight, dummy,” she says. Dean loses concentration when her robe unties a bit and showcases some thigh. “Don’t act like the slut of the hamburger world doesn’t know it’s a fight.”
“Slut?”
“Slut’s not a bad word.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Playing both sides of the Beef Club. Mister double agent.”
“Oh, crap,” he catches these words as they slip out. He turns the lie crank in his head and, “Sometimes I forget that stuff,” plops out.
“It works. You really saved your own ass coming up with the Space Burger and that whole cosmonaut thing.” Noticing Dean’s wandering thigh eyes, she cinches the robe in a yank. “You are shattering what used to be a friendly rivalry.”
“How me? Don’t blame me.”
“When you swung back to Bust-A-Gut’s side, I saw a
Deshler looks at her in a twist of confusion.
“I mean, yeah, you were just some dipshit valet from downstairs and the place was packed with execs.”
“Why didn’t they just kick me out?”
“Remember what you said to Christopher Winters? I hadn’t seen the old retired bastard— gentleman —look so pleased in years. You walked around like you owned the place. Kind of sexy.”
“ The Christopher Winters? The governor and the hamburger guy? The dude who invented the electric toothbrush?”
“God, he loved you. You’re such an idiot. I mean, how would you not think Clifford Findlay would get goo-goo eyes, too?”
Playing along, nodding. “That was so long ago. I don’t even feel like the same person. I hardly remember it.”
“Yeah, no wonder. You’re always drunk. Lucky for you nobody notices. The others are just as hammered.”
“I don’t—” he gives up in embarrassment.
“Remember that night you got in an argument with our accounting chief about the world’s most delicious sandwich?”
“Of…course.”
“I can’t believe he claimed the club sandwich was perfect. And, hah,” a fast hand covers her mouth to stop laughing. “And your response, I never told you, but it’s kind of a catchphrase around work now.”
Deshler’s fingernails ruffle his scalp, wishing this morning was over. He anticipates a cringe. Forgotten Cliff Drinking stories always get embarrassing fast.
“You told Greenie Bowling, the head accountant guy, that ‘compared to a Monte Cristo sandwich, the club tastes like crapped pants.’”
A breath of relief sneaks in. This story isn’t so bad. “Does that even make sense?”
“You tell me. In less than a month we were deep frying Monte Cristo burgers in fifteen test markets. And then, well, boom!”
She smiles in a way that makes the room a few shades clearer. Her face graduates from faintly flirty to plain flirty. Deshler’s heart smacks. An ashy thought of kissing her reshuffles the information about Beef Clubs and executives and fried sandwiches.
“Oh, that old thing,” Dean mumbles. He suddenly cools down with the need to sleep. Lying, he quickly learns, is exhausting. “That was just an accident, you know? Anybody could have done…what it is I do.”
“Don’t be modest.” Before Deshler takes another hot black sip, her fingers are massaging his shoulders. “Lots of stuff comes about on accident. Bubble gum, thousand island dressing…”
“Thanks, that’s a big help.”
Malinta stops rubbing, leans over his shoulder and kisses his forehead. “Wow, you really are an idiot.”
He steadies himself and stands. “I’d rather not talk about it.” Fingers go shaky touching her hips through the robe.
Before Dean finishes speaking, Malinta pulls back, arms and hands darting again. “Oh, this again? Not so fast. I still haven’t forgiven you for letting Winters sink in his claws. What a jerk.”
“Easy, have some respect, that guy just died.”
“Duh, Roland. What did he say to get you on their side?”
“Side? Like a fight?”
“It’s bigger than a fight, dummy,” she says. Dean loses concentration when her robe unties a bit and showcases some thigh. “Don’t act like the slut of the hamburger world doesn’t know it’s a fight.”
“Slut?”
“Slut’s not a bad word.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Playing both sides of the Beef Club. Mister double agent.”
“Oh, crap,” he catches these words as they slip out. He turns the lie crank in his head and, “Sometimes I forget that stuff,” plops out.
“It works. You really saved your own ass coming up with the Space Burger and that whole cosmonaut thing.” Noticing Dean’s wandering thigh eyes, she cinches the robe in a yank. “You are shattering what used to be a friendly rivalry.”
“How me? Don’t blame me.”
“When you swung back to Bust-A-Gut’s side, I saw a
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