She handed Bill her coffee cup and quickly straightened herself with both hands by doing a little shimmy and tugging at the top of her uniform so it fit snugly and was in the right place on her. Done, she took back her coffee, took a sip, leaned in close to Bill so she could whisper in his ear. When she finished whispering she sipped her coffee again and stood quietly staring at the wall opposite them.
Bill was instantly roused but did not say or do anything. He sipped his own coffee, didn’t move. Another time, another place, if he were single and not on probation, well he would’ve dragged her off to the nearest staff restroom and acted upon what she’d said.
“I can see it’s going to be an interesting time working here,” Bill said.
Rosie smiled. Me and Edel still trying to figure out what you did to Millie the other day.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Whatever,” Rosie said.
“I heard you two talking about her and was wondering cause I didn’t hear what you said.”
“You want to know?” Rosie asked.
“Yeah.”
“What are you willing to pay?”
“What you mean?”
“Nothing’s for nothing,” Rosie said.
“I don’t get it,” said Bill.
“I’ll tell but you gotta do something for me later. Nothing terrible, something fun, nothing that’ll cost you anything.”
“I’m not good with games,” Bill said.
“Something tells me you’re great with them.” Rosie looked at Bill, said, “I gotta get back in there.”
“Tell me,” Bill implored.
“Promise,” Rosie demanded.
“I promise,” Bill said.
Rosie reached up and gave Bill a peck-on-the-cheek kiss. “In a few,” she said.
Titillated and curious, Bill watched Rosie walk back up the ramp and off into the dining room. He stood there awhile waiting for himself to settle down, thinking about the irony of ironies. When he was single he couldn’t get any for anything. But now that he was married it was all over the place throwing itself at his feet. Go figure.
He was still standing there when he saw Victor coming toward the ramp. Victor stopped to say hello and remind Bill they had scrambled eggs and sausage for four hundred in the morning. He told Bill that six would be good, five-thirty would be better. Then he went off to see Kalista and Jimmy G, not for business but because they were family.
This was only his third day in this place and except for the things he had to learn, it already felt to Bill like it was forever. Who would have thought, he thought. The notion of being a cook, of working in kitchens had never once been in his head until that day Moman met him in Bailey’s office and whisked him off to Suburban. He was an English major, a writer. He thought he’d be a teacher to make a living and write. Or, rather, he’d thought that after she came along, his wife now, the dancer. Before her he hadn’t thought about it. Before her there was only writing, only writing mattered. He was a hippie before her, busted once for J-walking downtown. He was singled out of the crowd of J-walkers simply because he was a barefoot hippie and the cops didn’t like the hippies.
Control, he thought. He couldn’t control what happened to his mother. He couldn’t anticipate and still didn’t understand the impact it had on his life, how it led him, maybe, to the places it led him, drugs and alcohol and rebellion and more.
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
He couldn’t control the fact that his father had raised him, been the major influence in his life as opposed to his mother. He couldn’t control that his father had been in Stalag 3B Furstenberg for three and a half years and that that had been a major, the major, influence in his life.
And so it goes, he thought.
