and wiggled her toes
in her black heels. He laughed again, but all she could manage was
a rueful smile.
"Well you got twenty minutes." He glanced at
the clock before moving down the bar to take an order. "Catch a
breath of fresh air if you want, but don't be wandering out there,
okay?"
"Sure." She didn’t move from where she was
sitting, although it was too warm. She wasn’t moving from this spot
for the next twenty minutes if she could help it.
She’d never known the Starlite was so busy.
The noise around her was an unbreakable wave of sound. Above her
head, a color television blasted out a football game. The Detroit
Lions were leading Dallas by seven and that miracle had everyone
putting their two cents in.
Those not watching the game had acquired the
use of the half a dozen pool tables at the far end of the bar. One
guy stood at the old Pac-Man game in the far corner. He’d been
there since she’d arrived and, she thought wryly, he was the only
one in the place she hadn’t served at least three times.
She’d wondered how it was possible for Lee
to turn a profit in a small town like Larkspur, but she had no
trouble now seeing how he managed it. There were about fifty people
in the bar, and day to day, they were all the same faces. He made
his profits in the sheer volume of alcohol consumption.
She’d been working for three nights running,
and she was developing a nasty blister on her right heel. It was
the shoes. Although the heels were only about two inches, they
still pinched, but nothing else went with the "uniform"—a black
mini-skirt and a plain white blouse. Over this, she wore a black
vest with tiny gold stars on it, the back of which said "Starlite"
in gold letters.
A hand came down on her shoulder and she
whirled around. Sam Lewis, who was what Lee called his "clean-up
man," was smiling at her.
"Hi, Sam." She smiled back, glancing past
him toward the door. More arrivals. It was eight o'clock and still
early for the partiers. "Have a seat."
He shrugged, pointing to the man sitting in
the seat next to her.
“ Excuse me,” Dusty said to
the guy with a brush cut. She’d never seen him in there before.
“Would you mind moving so my friend can sit by me?”
The guy took a look at Sam, did a
double-take, and then sneered. “You want to sit next to this
feeb?”
Dusty gasped, her eyes flashing. “Listen, I
asked you a favor. Nicely. There’s no need to insult my
friend.”
The guy snorted, picking up his beer.
“Whatever, lady. If your taste in men runs to idiots, what is it to
me, right?”
“ Dumb hick asshole,” Dusty
whispered as he walked by. She knew he heard her, by the way his
eyes shifted, but he didn’t turn back.
“ I’m sorry, Sam,” she
apologized, patting the stool next to her. “He was a
jerk.”
He shrugged as he sat down, glancing over
his shoulder. “Uh-Uh-I’m yuh-used to it.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry for that, too.”
"So, huh-huh-how is it guh-going?" He leaned
forward to rest his elbow on the bar. His eyes were a shocking and
beautiful blue as he looked at her.
"All right," she replied with a smile. "I’m
getting used to the pace of things." She liked him, in spite of his
stutter and the slow, jerky movements that frustrated Lee whenever
Sam pulled a keg up front. He was sweet.
“ How are you tonight?” she
asked, just making conversation.
"I’m pretty guh-guh-good," he replied,
looking shyly over at her.
"Good." Dusty kept her eyes on the door. Her
twenty minute break would be up sooner than she liked.
"Huh-huh-have you seen Gruh-Grady?" Sam ran
a hand through his dark, wiry, short-cropped hair.
"The cat?” Dusty glanced at her feet. “No, I
haven't tripped over it yet tonight."
"Are yuh-you looking for someone?" His eyes
searched her face.
She looked over at him, startled. "No," she
denied. "No one in particular."
"Oh." He stood up, shoving his hands into
his pockets. "If you suh-see him, wuh-will you tuh-tell me?"
"Who?" Dusty asked,
in her black heels. He laughed again, but all she could manage was
a rueful smile.
"Well you got twenty minutes." He glanced at
the clock before moving down the bar to take an order. "Catch a
breath of fresh air if you want, but don't be wandering out there,
okay?"
"Sure." She didn’t move from where she was
sitting, although it was too warm. She wasn’t moving from this spot
for the next twenty minutes if she could help it.
She’d never known the Starlite was so busy.
The noise around her was an unbreakable wave of sound. Above her
head, a color television blasted out a football game. The Detroit
Lions were leading Dallas by seven and that miracle had everyone
putting their two cents in.
Those not watching the game had acquired the
use of the half a dozen pool tables at the far end of the bar. One
guy stood at the old Pac-Man game in the far corner. He’d been
there since she’d arrived and, she thought wryly, he was the only
one in the place she hadn’t served at least three times.
She’d wondered how it was possible for Lee
to turn a profit in a small town like Larkspur, but she had no
trouble now seeing how he managed it. There were about fifty people
in the bar, and day to day, they were all the same faces. He made
his profits in the sheer volume of alcohol consumption.
She’d been working for three nights running,
and she was developing a nasty blister on her right heel. It was
the shoes. Although the heels were only about two inches, they
still pinched, but nothing else went with the "uniform"—a black
mini-skirt and a plain white blouse. Over this, she wore a black
vest with tiny gold stars on it, the back of which said "Starlite"
in gold letters.
A hand came down on her shoulder and she
whirled around. Sam Lewis, who was what Lee called his "clean-up
man," was smiling at her.
"Hi, Sam." She smiled back, glancing past
him toward the door. More arrivals. It was eight o'clock and still
early for the partiers. "Have a seat."
He shrugged, pointing to the man sitting in
the seat next to her.
“ Excuse me,” Dusty said to
the guy with a brush cut. She’d never seen him in there before.
“Would you mind moving so my friend can sit by me?”
The guy took a look at Sam, did a
double-take, and then sneered. “You want to sit next to this
feeb?”
Dusty gasped, her eyes flashing. “Listen, I
asked you a favor. Nicely. There’s no need to insult my
friend.”
The guy snorted, picking up his beer.
“Whatever, lady. If your taste in men runs to idiots, what is it to
me, right?”
“ Dumb hick asshole,” Dusty
whispered as he walked by. She knew he heard her, by the way his
eyes shifted, but he didn’t turn back.
“ I’m sorry, Sam,” she
apologized, patting the stool next to her. “He was a
jerk.”
He shrugged as he sat down, glancing over
his shoulder. “Uh-Uh-I’m yuh-used to it.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry for that, too.”
"So, huh-huh-how is it guh-going?" He leaned
forward to rest his elbow on the bar. His eyes were a shocking and
beautiful blue as he looked at her.
"All right," she replied with a smile. "I’m
getting used to the pace of things." She liked him, in spite of his
stutter and the slow, jerky movements that frustrated Lee whenever
Sam pulled a keg up front. He was sweet.
“ How are you tonight?” she
asked, just making conversation.
"I’m pretty guh-guh-good," he replied,
looking shyly over at her.
"Good." Dusty kept her eyes on the door. Her
twenty minute break would be up sooner than she liked.
"Huh-huh-have you seen Gruh-Grady?" Sam ran
a hand through his dark, wiry, short-cropped hair.
"The cat?” Dusty glanced at her feet. “No, I
haven't tripped over it yet tonight."
"Are yuh-you looking for someone?" His eyes
searched her face.
She looked over at him, startled. "No," she
denied. "No one in particular."
"Oh." He stood up, shoving his hands into
his pockets. "If you suh-see him, wuh-will you tuh-tell me?"
"Who?" Dusty asked,
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