“You just got it a month ago.”
“Yeah, and I got my bus driver’s license when Griff started high school. Been doing this for years. Want to see me spin it in a donut?”
“Chief didn’t approve that.”
“But hedidapprove me selling my fish here this afternoon.” She hands him a piece of paper. “See? Authorization directly from him, right here. You can keep it. I made copies. Had a feeling I’d need a lot of them.”
“It’sover the line.”
“It doesn’t look over the line to me,” a tattooed brunette standing next to the officer says.
She shakes her head, and?—
No, not brunette.
Her short, straight hair has layers of blue and green in it that are only noticeable when the sun catches it right.
“Daphne has excellent vision,” Bea says. “Do you want me to call the chief for a tiebreaking vote? I’m sure he’dloveto hear another of his officers is harassing me today.”
The uniformed gentleman winces.
Truly, I wince too.
This woman—Bea—she’s had a dreadful day.
Because of me.
“I believe I owe this woman an apology,” I say to Pinky.
“Bad idea, boss.”
That’s been the answer sinceIn the Weedsbecame an accidental runaway success two years ago, propelling me into the international spotlight for the first time in my otherwise lackluster career.
Don’t apologize. Don’t admit to wrongdoing. Don’t give anyone an opportunity to sue you when people know you have money.
Excellent advice, truly.
And I intend to ignore it.
I open my mouth to say as much but become distracted by a blond-haired chap who dashes out of the establishment on the corner. “She can’t park that here,” he says to the policeman. “She needs a permit. No permits given today.”
“Chief okayed it,” the policeman says.
The blond man folds his arms and stares at the police officer.
The police officer shrugs and repeats himself. “Chief okayed it. You got a problem with her, take it up with her. I can’t make her move.”
It’s wrong to huddle behind this potted plant and watch this unfold, but I still find myself opening my note-taking app on my phone.
After months of not having any inspiration for a comedy series I’m contractually obligated to provide to the studio that made me famous, I’m feeling a whiff of creativity coming on.
Could be the warm, late afternoon summer air.
Could be the charming little road beyond the burger bus called Secret Alley, which is lined with quaint one- and two-story shops that seem to have come from a different time and where I just located my favorite brand of tea, much to my surprise.
Or it could be that this burger bus woman is utterly fascinating.
She has good energy.
