“Okay,” Frances said. “Heads up.”
“For …?” Tavon asked. Frances glared at Edie.
“That we’re both having the fish. Surprise!” Edie said, and shoved her menu at Tavon, then flicked her wrist, telling him to go.
“Marcy, the man is going to stop,” Frances said. “He means to speak to you.”
“Okay, Marcy, you should—”
“Nana. Frances. Cover your mic with your hand so I don’t have to hear every thought that tumbles out of your head,” Marcy said, and then, with the ease of a seasoned grifter, abruptly stood with her drink and turned into the man, colliding with him, and spilling her drink in the process. “Oh my God!” she said, in avoice that was suddenly more southern than Frances had heard her speak before. “I amso sorry.Let me get a napkin.” She twisted back to the bar and grabbed a bunch of napkins. When she turned back, she knocked her glass off the bar. It shattered loudly on the floor and the entire restaurant turned toward the sound.
“I’m so clumsy,” Marcy said.
Rocco had turned toward the commotion, too. He frowned. He sat up, squinting in Marcy’s direction.
“It’s really all right,” the man said, and took the napkins she was dabbing against his shirt. “I’ve got it.”
“The mark is looking at you,” Edie hissed.
Marcy glanced over the man’s shoulder at Edie, confused.
“Rocco,” Edie hotly clarified.
Marcy looked in Rocco’s direction. Her eyes locked with his and she froze.
“Can I buy you a replacement drink?” the man asked.
“Umm …” She turned her attention to the man again and smiled charmingly. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I think I just saw a ghost.”
“What?” The man turned and looked behind him.
Now they both had Rocco’s attention. Frances gave Edie a thumbs-up.
“Oh-kay,” the man said slowly. “About that drink?”
Rocco took the bait. He put his napkin on the table, made his friends move so he could shimmy out of the booth, then wended his way through the dining tables to the bar, where Marcy was still trying to dab at the stain on the man’s shirt.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, his gaze on Marcy.
“Bruh, it’s fine,” the man said curtly.
“Oh my God,” Marcy said, her accent very southern now. “Idoknow you.”
“Stop with the clean-up in aisle three,” Edie whispered.
Marcy stopped dabbing the man’s chest. “Rocco?”
The worm smiled. “Marcy! I thought that was you.”
“It’s so good to see you!” Marcy pushed the napkins into the chest of the man, forcing him to take them. She stepped away from him, closer to Rocco. “After all this time. Wow, you look amazing.” She smiled so prettily that Frances felt like she’d just shot back to the seventies and was watching Edie at work.
“So do you,” Rocco said.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked brightly.
“I ah … I own the place.”
“What place?”
