His question catches me off guard. “No,” I stammer. “Was just looking to grab a bite to eat.”
One brow shoots up. “Well, okay then. Why don’t I seat you here where I can keep an eye on you?” He winks like the big bad wolf to my little red riding hood.
My stomach is suddenly tied in knots. What was I thinking coming in here?I straighten my shoulders. “I’d prefer to sit back there.” I point to a corner table where it’s a little darker. Clutching my bag to my chest, I stiffen. “Why don’t you save your chauvinistic behavior for Betty?” I snap, attempting to look tough as my gaze bounces nervously around the joint.
Nice, Char. What did that even mean?There’s no way this is a chain restaurant. I doubt there’s anyone named?—
“Calm down, little filly.” He extends his muscular, ink-covered arm in the direction of the table I requested as the haggard patrons of the place, all men, drink their beers and stare. “She’s out back.”
My eyes connect with his in question, so overwhelmed by my day I’ve lost grip on the current conversation. “Who?”
“Betty,” he drawls out slowly as if I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. “She’s smokin’.”
Geez, there really is a smokin’ Betty?Suddenly, the sign for Fat Patty’s comes to mind, and I swallow down a laugh.
He grabs a menu from off an adjacent table and lays it in front of me, probably assuming I’m mental. Hell, he might not be far off the mark. “You want me to get her? Didn’t think she was your type.” He winks again. This one not as menacing.
My brows pull together, wondering if I’ve stepped into some alternate universe. “No. Just here to grab some dinner. Thank you.” Maybe I should make a break for it when he walks away. Hell, I’m a little nervous to order anything to drink with my meal now. He wouldn’t put anything in it to retaliate, would he?
As if he’s read my mind, he asks, “You want something to drink?” There’s an edge to his voice. His eyes seem focused on my mouth briefly before dropping lower.
I gulp. Pushing up from my chair, I blurt, “I think I?—”
“Well, who do we have here?” A buxom older woman with wild gray hair piled atop her head interrupts, making me jolt in place. “Gerald, go man your station and leave this poor woman alone.” She waves him off like she’s the house mother of a raucous fraternity. Her pale skin is equally covered in tattoos, her mouth painted with bright scarlet lipstick. She slides an arm through mine and leads me to a well-lit table next to the bar. “What on earth is a sweet child like you doing in a place like this?”
Why is this woman moving me back toward the bar? Can’t a girl enjoy a meal without feeling she’s got a spotlight on her? My stomach is doing backflips now. I should just call it a night at this rate. Maybe the motel vending machine has some snacks or something.
“You stick with me. These guys aren’t going to lay a hand on you,” she reassures.
“Doesn’t mean Betty won’t,” an older man with a comb-over slurs from the bar.
“I think Carl has had his last beer of the night, Gerald,” Betty shouts over to them.
“Damn it,” Carl mutters into his pint glass.
Betty leans in. “Nothing personal, doll. But you’re not exactly my type. I’m more of a Melissa Ethridge than a Portia de Rossi kinda gal.” She winks. My frazzled nerves ease a fraction. “But it looks like you could use a fairy godmother. Hell, you keep strolling into places like this, and you’re going to need one on speed dial.” I give her a curious tilt of my head. “What would you like to drink? You look like a margarita girl.”
My shoulders instantly relax. “Yes. I mean, no.” Without judgment, she waits for me to clarify with an almost motherly expression. “What I mean is, Iama margarita girl. But I don’t think I’ll be drinking anything tonight.”
“Good call. I’ll get you a glass of water while you decide what you want.” She points a long, bright red, pointy-tipped nail at the menu. “Our jambalaya is the best around.” She walks toward the bar, smacks Carl on the back of his head, glares at Gerald, and then reaches for a glass. “Do I have to do everything around here?”
“What? I’m taking care of the bar?” Gerald splutters defensively.
“I could plainly see what you were trying to take care of. Knowing full well a woman like that wasn’t givin’ you the time of day.” She wipes her hands on a bar towel. “Hell, Gerald. We ain’t got time for skirt chasing.” She extends both arms up before pointing to herself. “Mamma got bills to pay. You better work, bitch,” she says with a flourish.
I choke down a laugh. Oh my god. I love this woman. She might actually be the low-country lesbian fairy godmother I never knew I needed.
Her eyes occasionally connect with mine, but not in the leering way Gerald’s had earlier. Her continued observation is familiar. Reassuring. It reminds me of someone who’d given me hope when I thought all was lost. A woman who reminded me that while trust was earned, if careful, it was a virtue I could embrace once more.
Betty walks back over to the table, placing my water glass down beside me. “So, what’ll it be?”
“I’ll have the jambalaya.” I give her a grateful smile.
“Listen. This old bird has been around awhile. I know someone running when I see them.”
“I’m not?—”
She raises her hand. “I mean no disrespect. But it ain’t normal for a beauty like you to stroll into a place like this alone. You might not be running now. But I’d bet Carl’s last tooth there’s a story there.” I notice Carl over Betty’s shoulder, staring at me with a gummy grin. He kinda reminds me of one of the dwarves fromSnow White.Dopey.
