Chapter 9
Bennett
“SO, SOLDIER, I haven’t seen you around lately.” Her chipper tone was masking something else. Accusation, maybe? Chance assigned Jillian and me to the buffet line, so we stood side by side at the edge of a full to bursting dining room, serving food with the expertise of two old ladies working the lunch rush at Luby’s. She was serving steaming green beans with bits of bacon in them and I was slicing brisket with an electric knife, but we were in close enough proximity for small talk.
“Wow, Princess. If that’s the best pickup line you’ve got, you’ll never find your prince.” Teasing her was fun. Maybe a little too much fun. There were few things I liked more than watching Jillian’s cheeks explode from a light, golden tan to pomegranate, and that seemed to happen fairly often. Was it me or did that happen all the time?
“Oh my God, stop it. You know what I mean… ” She talked from the side of her mouth in between serving up artificially sweetened smiles as she scooped beans onto the sectioned plates.
“You know, the first time I saw you here, I thought you were like them.” Her chin jutted in the direction of the full dining room. “You know, a customer?”
“I’m not sure ‘customer’ is an accurate term.” Most of these people hadn’t been actual customers in a place this nice in a long time, myself included.
“Okay, guest then?”
I nodded. That seemed appropriate.
“Well, what if I told you I was a guest?” I continued to cut the smoked brisket as the line of people ambled past us, but I watched her from the corner of my eye. No reaction. I’d been around girls like Jillian Walker. The ranch where I spent my high school years fed into an incredibly well-off district. It was the kind of place where, if you didn’t drive a BMW, it was only because Daddy gave you a Mercedes instead. One thing about the rich and spoiled; they all seemed to buy their personalities from the same factory. But instinct told me this girl was different.
“I guess I’d lose respect for you, taking handouts like that. This organization was built for the community, not for students.”
Chance relieved me of my meat cutting duties, so I grabbed a big metal spoon and took up residence at the potato salad—same distance from the princess, just on the opposite side. “I heard you, you know. A few weeks back, talking to Chance out in the parking lot? I heard when you said that drifters and bums were just taking advantage of him.”
I continued serving, as if I’d just spoken of the weather. She continued too, mask firmly in place. But I could tell my overhearing their conversation made her uncomfortable, a fact I found encouraging. Maybe I was right and she wasn’t a Stepford daughter.
“So, what’s your point?” She played it cool.
“I just want you to know you’re wrong. These people,” with an open hand, I swept my hand across the room, encompassing everybody, “the ones in this room, each have a story. If point A is a safe, secure life and point B is having to rely on the generosity of strangers to survive, these people can tell you there are many paths from one to the other. They aren’t here by choice, not really.”
She tilted her head in my direction, a snarky snort escaping her smirking lips. If I had to guess, I’d say the noise was automatic, involuntary. She was too classy to lose control like that.
“You’ll never convince me of that.” Superiority and entitlement could be such ugly accessories. They could ruin even the most beautiful of creatures.
“You wanna make a bet?” That was the army talking. With very little by way of entertainment, we gambled. On anything and with anything. Lots of guys had women back home and they’d send cookies and candy. One guy even got tiny little bottles of Jack Daniel’s since his lady worked for the airlines. Once a month, that guy was everyone’s best friend.
“What are you mumbling about?” She grabbed her empty bean tray and headed for the kitchen. All the people had come through and were busy eating and chatting with each other, giving us the green light to start breaking things down and getting them clean. I grabbed my almost-empty tray and followed her.
“A bet. You know, a bet? I tell you I can do something and then we put stakes on it. If I succeed, I get this, and if I don’t, I have to give you that.” Only this time, we wouldn’t be playing for MREs and mustard packets.
She rolled her eyes. “I know what a bet is, jackass. So what is it you want to bet on?” She grabbed the sprayer and started hosing out the stainless steel container with vigor. Her attempts to seem unaffected at my standing so close were unsuccessful. She licked her lips and avoided eye contact, but still stood with a confidence that couldn’t be bought for any price.
“I bet that I can change your mind… about those people out there. Give me,” grabbing a number off the top of my head, “four weeks and I bet I can change your opinion of the guests that come here.”
She flipped the water off and returned the nozzle to its hook, then spun around, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking one eyebrow like she’d done so many times tonight. “And if you don’t?”
“If I don’t change your mind after four weeks, I’ll never touch your apron again.”
She laughed, big and strong, before sending a pointed look in my direction and waving a perfectly manicured finger inches from my face. “Oh, you’ll never touch my apron again no matter how this plays out, but I’m intrigued. You forgot to mention one thing, though.” If her laugh had been a song, I’d play it again and again until I couldn’t get it out of my head.
“What’s in this for you? What happens if you succeed?” She’d included air quotes around that last part and it should have pissed me off. But it didn’t. It was almost cute.
“Well, if… no, when I succeed… you help serve Thanksgiving dinner here, at the cafe.” I felt my heart beating in my throat and wondered if she could tell, and for a moment, I begged the words to jump back into my mouth. But it was out there, and couldn’t be unsaid, so imagine my surprise when she offered up one little word.
“Deal.”