Rosie and Edelgarde ate after they’d served their last tables. Jo Ann stuck around to make sure everything was okay with the customers while they enjoyed their dinners. Bill fed them the same as what he’d served Jo Ann and Kalista.
They sat in back, out by Kalista. While they ate, since there were no more orders, Bill came out and got himself a coffee. This was on top of the espresso Jimmy had brought for him when he’d gotten the chance.
Bill fed Caesar the same food. He had a good mind to just give him the regular sauce they served in the room on a regular basis. It would have been good enough because it was good and it was high quality. But the sauce he’d made simply by adding a reduction to the basic sauce was eons better.
At the last minute, not for any kind of appeasement or anything of that nature, but simply because he reasoned there was no need to start anything, especially needlessly and especially since it appeared he’d already won with Caesar, he put his sauce on the roast tenderloin. Caesar picked up his plate and went off to eat.
Jimmy G and Bill went straight into clean-up. As it was, it was already late and they were not getting out until an hour past their usual time. This meant by the time they got home it would almost be time to turn around and head back in.
No dilly dallying this night. Since the room was closed and no new orders would be coming in, they could wrap everything, break down everything, load their cart and head off. And that’s what they were about doing. Bill turned off the broiler. Jimmy cut off the fryers and the steam table. They set the film between them and each did their thing.
“Ya,” Jimmy said, “we did more than ever before tonight.”
“How do you know?” Bill asked.
“Cause I’ve been here a long time and I’ve never seen it like this.”
Rosie confirmed what Jimmy G said. On her way back from eating, she stopped at the kitchen entrance and told them they’d done two hundred-two covers, a new record. She knew this, she said, not because Caesar would share it, but because Jo Ann had gone over to the tally sheet and counted up the markings. There was no doubt about it. Two-o-two and no complaints that anyone knew of. She said, even after they’d tipped the busboys they all made a fortune. Especially this night when they were all extra dependent upon each other they’d pooled their tips.
“Buy you a drink when we get out of here,” Rosie said.
“Love to,” Bill said, “but I’m back for the breakfast banquet.”
“Well, how about tomorrow?”
“Long day tomorrow.”
“Well, we’ll find a time.”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“We never did get to swap info.”
“No. But we can play tomorrow if you like.”
“Play what?”
“Tit for tat. Isn’t that the game we have going?”
“You bet. I didn’t forget.”
“Wanna see what I have in mind?” Rosie asked.
“Why? You wanna show me?”
“Not here,” Rosie said. “Meet you at the rest rooms.”
“Another time,” Bill said.
“Sure,” Rosie said.
Everyone having eaten and the last of the diners trickling out of the room, they all worked. Caesar closed out his paperwork and did his cash register tabulations. The waitresses, as is the rule everywhere, cleaned off all the tables and re-set them with clean linens and fresh silverware. As best they could with the supplies they had, they filled the service stations too so that the entire room was readied for the next day.
Jimmy G and Bill, having loaded the cart and wrapped their tools—tonight was the night the tools went to the banquet chef for sharpening—said good night and headed on their way back to the main kitchen.
Caesar stayed quiet. The girls counted their tips.
By Peter Weiss
Together, give or take, Tom Styer and Michael Bloomberg have spent about 125 million dollars on advertising for their political campaigns. It’s estimated that it would cost around 650 million dollars the first year and about 350 million per year after that for California to house its entire homeless population in shelters.
So what’s wrong with this picture?
The money spent on political campaigns is simply obscene.
Overall, for both sides, the 2016 election cost 2.4 billion dollars. The 2012 election cost 2 billion. 2008 cost a mere 785 million for Obama alone.
To spend that money that way is worse than outrageous. It’s obscene.
When you start to think about all the things that could be done with that money, all the ways the government could put that money to use, all the ways the government could and should better control how our taxpayer money is spent… It just boggles the mind.
For the most part, that is money being put in the garbage. Worse, with today’s multi-billionaires working out front and behind the scenes, what you see is the buying of elections, money now controlling who gets elected, who gets elected as judges and governors and senators and state district attorneys, and on and on.
So what’s wrong with this picture?
Or is it not clear?
While those Despicable Democrats lambaste Trump for being rich and lambaste the rich for getting richer, they, themselves, are buying into the whole process of buying political jobs, elected and otherwise.
And this, having money, the uber-rich, buying and/or effecting elections with their own money is the same as saying you can buy your own agenda to be run in this country.
And it is. And that’s how it goes.
The very fact that more that 60 per cent of our congressmen and senators are millionaires, most of those people multi-millionaires, well, that pretty much says it all.
We’re being played.
Now there’s nothing wrong with people being very rich. There’s nothing wrong with Bill Gates and Michael Bloomberg, and Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg having all the money they have. And by the way, Trump, who is so hated for his being rich, is poor compared to these guys. But there’s something wrong with them being allowed to use that money to buy America, to control thought in America, to control media such that while it claims to be free press it is biased press.
And there are others behind the scenes who are maybe worse. But that’s not the point. The idea that a small group of people can control a good chunk of social media and news media and can literally buy local state elections—there’s something wrong with that.
So, when you come to look at the cost of this new election and all that’s involved in it, from the money spent by the politicians and their parties to the control exerted by the media moguls to effect who wins, it all becomes extremely obscene.
The way to change things by ending our political class, the American Politburo who are now American oligarchs, is clear: simple term limits across the board. And the way to stop the obscenity of the wasted money for political campaigns is to simply ban spending past a certain amount.
The money being spent on politics is obscene and we are being played.
By Peter Weiss
The American oligarchs, our new class of people that are not so new anymore, the American Politburo, have a motto: me, myself and I.
They have no shame. They have no sense of self-consciousness. They don’t care that they are on tape contradicting themselves. They have no sense of anything other than seeing to it that they say and do anything to keep themselves getting re-elected and in power.
So we see it over and over again on the TV, or maybe it depends upon what station you actually watch. Some of the stations, part of the mainstream media, are owned and run by the lapdogs of the American oligarchs. They share that motto: me myself and I.
Shakespeare is a good lesson here. You know, me thinks she doth protest too much.
Listen to those Despicable Democrats, the panderers, particularly the ones running for the Democratic nomination. They will say and do anything to get attention, yet they won’t give up their privileged place in our society. Or, their primary goal is to keep enriching themselves: me, myself and I.
They are making a mockery of this country and the American people. Pelosi and her Democrats are saying that the elections we have don’t count, or that the voice of the American people doesn’t count.
Great Britain most recently set the example for this. Three years ago and then some they voted for Brexit. But the leaders did not like that, so they hemmed and hawed and put it off and tried to have it overturned. They tried to tell the people that they did not know what they were doing when they voted for it.
Really? Because it didn’t fit the leaders’ agenda?
Sound familiar?
What we’re going through in America is no different except that Nancy Pelosi and friends are much more reckless. Harry Reid started messing with the rules in the Senate and his changing of the rules set a dangerous example. If you remember, by the way, he lied about Romney’s taxes and then said it was okay he did that because Romney didn’t get elected.
The hell with us all as long as they can serve themselves the me, myself and I.
If you’ve been around long enough, you remember the “I’d rather be dead than red” slogan from the cold war. Well, because the me, myself and I Despicable Democrats find themselves in jeopardy, in danger of not getting their way, they are willing to tear down the entire structure of our government.
Me, me, me. Me, myself and I.
We are only eleven months from an election where the people can talk for themselves. Why not let that happen? Especially since, as it seems, that urgency of impeachment the lying Dems held to doesn’t seem to be so urgent, it would be appropriate, the Democratic thing to do, to let the people speak.
That they are so unwilling to let that happen in a free and fair election tells it all. My way or the highway our American Politburo oligarchs, the Despicable Dems, say. Now isn’t that the epitome of me, myself and I?
By Peter Weiss
For the first time in a good while, as Bill was told, Caesar held the room open late. Jo Ann had to stay until Caesar closed, until they knew there would be no new tables and all the tables they had were covered and handled. All the girls worked really hard, so much so that Rosie and Bill never did get that chance to find out what they wanted to. They also didn’t get the chance to see what the payment was.
Because they worked so hard, and because really they had no break, the waitresses had to run, and they ran all night. After all, there were only three of them. They had two bus boys who worked during the busy hours, from seven to nine. They were part of the banquet crew, paid by the main kitchen and subject to Jimmy Banquet Chef’s supervision. The rest of the time the waitresses had to bus and set up their own tables.
So on Bill’s third night they surpassed the great business they did on his second night. In fact, although Caesar would never tell him, they set a weekday-night record of just shy of two hundred covers. Unhappily, Jimmy G had to work straight through from the moment he re-joined Bill in the kitchen until after 11:00 when they were working the orders from the last three tables. Only then did he have a moment to go out to Kalista for two espressos and to smoke a cigarette.
No rest for the wicked.
As soon as they had cleared the board, first thing, late as it was, Bill fed Jo Ann. He fixed her the same dinner he had given to Kalista and she was blown away by it. When she saw her plate she asked if he was sure it was okay. Bill told her that it surely was and she could thank the banquet chef if she wanted. But he did make sure to tell her that he had fixed the sauce and doctored all the rest to make it, without bragging, gourmet quality.
While Jo Ann sat quietly in the back and ate, Rosie and Edelgarde ran. They finished serving the last tables and immediately went to clearing those tables that had not been cleared. As they did that work and set up what they could for the next night, they also tended to the customers. The last tables were still on their main courses. Some others were on coffee and dessert or clearing out after having paid their bill. Caesar, like always, took the payments and handled that.
For the first time, Bill saw both Rosie and Edelgarde sweat. He saw several locks of their hair fall out of place and saw them harried and almost chasing their tails. At one point, when Rosie seemed as if she were about to get flustered, he called her to the side of the kitchen by the entrance.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
“What,” she said. “I haven’t got time for this.”
“Give me your hand,” he repeated.
She reached out her hand to him and he took it in his. As Robert had once done to him, he took Rosie’s wrist and shook it so her hand shook loosely.
“Check out your mind,” he said. Then he said, “Take fewer steps and make each one count for more.”
Rosie listened, gathered herself and got herself back into rhythm.
“I owe you,” she said when they were just about done. “You saved my ass.”
“You bet I did,” Bill said. “I save all your asses.”
Not only did Bill slow Rosie down and get her back on pace and in the groove she needed to be in, but he led her and the two others on through their tables by picking the food up in an order they could handle and by sorting the orders on his server shelf under the heating lamps and personally directing who took what with what.
Or, as well as do his job, he expedited and made sure there were no mistakes that would set them back and behind.
By Peter Weiss
They had another gangbuster night. Early on they had a good first seating, the early diners, couples with young children staying in the hotel and some businessmen, singles who maybe had business appointments later on.
Bill and Jimmy G were still getting used to each other, learning the dance. Jo Ann had the bulk of the early tables. She was all business but she continually told Bill how pleased she was that he had found his way to them. She emphasized that he couldn’t possibly know what it had been like without a regular cook, and she let slip that last night they’d had a lot of compliments which Caesar had refused to pass on.
During the early seating kids ate hamburgers. They also served deep-fried chicken strips for kids. Jo Ann had most of the orders at first, but as it got busier, and then busy even in that early turn, Rosie and Edelgarde had to step in, had to make sure everything from their end out there ran smoothly.
Caesar was subdued. For the most part he stayed away from the kitchen. If on the first two nights he had come into the kitchen to check out the food, this night, Bill’s third night, he was absent. Bill didn’t miss him, to be sure, and neither did Jimmy G because in the first lull he told Bill precisely what Jimmy Banquet Chef and the executive chef had told Caesar.
Bill couldn’t help but be pleased. The two chefs had given Caesar much more than a cease and desist. Overall, it was, what they delivered, more like an order of protection.
“So,” Jimmy G said in that first lull, “you can do as you pretty much see fit. The two chefs aren’t going to bother you about anything except the food quality. That’s your baby now.”
“And…,” Bill said.
“And you’re in charge. And that’s all there is to it. So I could call you boss.”
“You’re senior cook,” Bill said.
“Not me,” Jimmy G said. “I can do what I want because I’m family and I’m no longer on probation. And I want no responsibility.”
“Neither do I,” Bill said.
“Well, too bad for you. Caesar’s stewing because this was his room. But now it’s more yours than his.”
“Get out of here,” Bill said.
“No,” Jimmy G said. “It’s all yours from the kitchen end and that’s what drives the business.”
“Responsibility sucks,” Bill said. “That sucks.”
“Don’t steal and don’t do anything terrible. You want to bang Millie or the two gorgeous Germans, knock yourself out. The chefs won’t say boo. Jimmy told me already.”
Bill took it in. He didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything. He and Jimmy worked the orders they had and when the board was mostly clear, Jimmy disappeared for a good while, long enough so that Bill worked a good amount of orders on his own.
“Looks like we’re gonna be really busy,” Rosie said when she was turning in an order. “You okay without Jimmy here?”
“I’ll make out fine until he comes back,” Bill said.
“Caesar’s fuming,” she said.
“Ain’t nothing I did,” said Bill.
“Oh, yes it is,” Rosie said. “And he deserves it. What goes around, comes around. But he’s likely to take it out on us girls.”
“You let me know if he does,” Bill said.
“Why? What are you gonna do?”
“I got an in with the chefs,” Bill said.
“Already?”
“You bet.”
“How so?”
“You wanna know?”
“Course I do.”
“Well, what are you willing to pay?”
Rosie laughed. “Touché,” she said. “Whatever you want, baby boy.”
Jimmy G stayed away a long time, so long that Bill cleaned off the board all by himself. Not even seven-thirty and they had turned the room once. Bill sneaked out when he could to get himself a coffee. Jimmy was sitting with Kalista, his aunt. They were talking. He was smoking a cigarette. Kalista smiled at Bill, a big, warm smile.
“That dinner was wonderful,” she said.
By Peter Weiss
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.
By Peter Weiss
It’s clear that the Despicable Democrats are deranged, suffering from GAD. It’s obvious they are going mad. One could argue that these days the whole country is going mad if one actually took the time to make the argument. It wouldn’t be too hard. But then making arguments these days, in case you hadn’t noticed, is not too hard either. You can say any old shit and have the lapdog mainstream media, Pravda USA, report it, and voila, you’ve got an argument.
Maybe the ones who aren’t going mad are those who’ve tuned politics and our leaders out. They’re smart. Or maybe they’re just smart in the short term because long term if we don’t pay attention to what they’re doing to us (note well it says to us, not for us) we’ll be so far up the creek without a paddle that there will be no coming back at all, ever.
Nero fiddled…
Another topic for another time is the nature of argumentation, forensics, and the whole disintegration of the English language at least insofar as it is used in the United States. Without exception, grammatical mistakes, misused words and non-existent forms of words appear regularly now as if they are correct. No one seems to care, to think anything of it, and everyone seems to think it’s okay. When the old dinosaurs are gone, the ones who studied the language when English was a major as opposed to language arts, well, the language is already on its way to hell in a hand basket.
As for argumentation, if they can keep getting away with all their false statements as if they are facts and then keep quoting their own false statements as fact—get the idea?
So, mad in this sense, used here, is meant in its double role, that of being crazy, kind of insane, and that of being angry.
The Despicable Democrats are both, and some of the Republicans aren’t much better. The fact of this matter, and the real root cause of why we are this way nowadays, is that we have a political class that rules us instead of elected officials who represent us. The end result of having a ruling class, the American Politburo, a class of rulers who are in many ways comparable to the oligarchs, is that their only concern is their own well-being, their own wealth, their own betterment. Or, they only represent themselves and their own personal interests.
Once again, look at where our Hollywood people have taken us, what they’ve presented to us as their visions of where we are going. Escape from New York, Mad Max, The Hunger Games, Resident Evil—these are the images of our world with the common people in chaos and the leaders always safe and protected.
The ultimate goal of our political class is to protect itself. In large part that is why the Despicable Democrats are so GAD-crazed-mad about Trump. The very idea that a non-politician might do a better job at running things than the politicians would definitively shows what a scam they’re running on us and what a sham they are as leaders.
The Despicable Dems, GAD and MAD—they are afraid Trump might show them to be wholly superfluous.
By Peter Weiss
After she won her election the Congresswoman from Michigan at her celebratory appearance said “Now we’re going to impeach the MFer.”
The first article in the media, not even a full day after President Trump was inaugurated came out saying that now the impeachment begins. Just today Congressman Al Green said that the impeachment began even before Trump was elected.
In one of her (Freudian?) slips, Nancy Pelosi, that beacon of light as our third in the line of succession, said that they’d been working on the impeachment for more than two years. This was accidental, an unintended comment in response to the media’s question of why they were in such a hurry to impeach the President.
Maxine Waters, another of those guiding lights as a leader, has held to the mantra of Impeach 45 for years already. Even worse, she implores her followers to harass Trump cabinet members and White House workers. She tells her followers, and with a serious face too, to harass them in restaurants and gas stations and all over the place. She said, and also with a straight face, that they were immoral because they work for Donald Trump and don’t deserve to be left in peace.
Al Sharpton, Tawana Brawley Al Sharpton, income tax evader Al Sharpton, another of those Democrat beacons-of-light leaders, calls the president a con man and says he should be impeached, that he is unfit for office.
Adam Schiff said he had definitive proof/evidence that Trump colluded with Russia in the 2016 election. In his barely-alive-mentally testimony, thirty-five million dollar man Mueller did not have such evidence. But Schiff has it, except he won’t show it.
In their GAD hyper-state, the Despicable Democrats asked the thirty-five million dollar Mueller-man if he could fully exonerate Trump. He wouldn’t indict Trump. How could he exonerate him? But since he wouldn’t and couldn’t, those GAD-stricken Despicable Dems and their Pravda USA lapdogs, the mainstream media, argued and still argue that Trump must be guilty [of something].
Guilty of something: Schiff has evidence, definitive, but won’t show it. The articles of impeachment that Nancy Pelosi (she’s worth about a hundred twenty million) won’t send over to the Senate, the ones that were drafted so hastily because “Trump is an imminent threat to our national security,” those, don’t accuse him of any specific crime.
He’s guilty of something, but they can’t say what. God knows they’ve tried everything even running what they try in national polls to see what’s most effective. That’s like the old throwing the spaghetti up against the wall to see if it sticks as a way of determining if it’s ready. Now it’s used by the GAD-stricken Despicable Dems to see what they might actually get away with, or pull off [the wall].
So, speaking of the wall? Isn’t it clear enough yet?
Any way you slice it, no matter what you think or what your politics are, we are already into 2020 and will be having an election in eleven months. This is supposed to be a representative democracy and the people are the ones who are supposed to determine the president. Shouldn’t they be allowed to do this unfettered, freely and fairly?
The GAD-suffering Despicable Democrats apparently don’t think so. For no clear reason and without any specific justification (all they’ve got is the spaghetti they keep throwing at the wall none of which sticks) they’ve been trying to tell us since Trump got elected that we made a mistake, that they will undo it, and that only they know who should be elected in 2020.
The GAD-stricken Despicable Democrats are a clear example of leaders who need mental health services.
By Peter Weiss
On the way to the laundry, down the ramp directly leading to The Falstaff Room he ran into Rosie and Edelgarde. They were both in civvies, very tight-fitting jeans and tank tops.
“Hey,” Bill said coming down to them.
“Hey,” Rosie said. She reached up and kissed Bill right on the lips so quickly and unexpectedly he did not have time to react. But he kissed back, and when all was said and done, Rosie smiled at him. On the way past, she gently rocked to bump hips with him.
“Jo Ann there?” Edelgarde asked.
“Yeah,” Bill said.
They went their ways, Rosie and Edelgarde like fraternal twins, side-by-side, happy and laughing to the The Falstaff Room, Bill on his way to the laundry. He did turn around to watch them go up the ramp, checked them out, noted they both wore high-heel ponies. Goddamn, he thought.
Millie was still there. She was sitting off to the side reading her magazine. She got up when she saw Bill and came up to him on her side of the counter.
“Hey, baby,” she said. “Jimmy G said you’d be by.”
“Well, here I am.”
“How did the banquet go?”
“Was fine, why?”
“Your first one, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“The banquet chef told me you did great.”
“Why would he tell you?”
“Cause I asked him.”
“Millie,” Bill said, “you do know I’m married.”
“I know,” Millie said. “I’m not asking you for anything. I’m just being friendly.” She smiled. “You working breakfast tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Bill said.
“What time you coming in?”
“Don’t know yet. Around six, I imagine.”
“Well I work eight to five. That’s the time the laundry is open like this. At other times there’s always people here but we don’t issue uniforms so this is closed up. Come on around and I’ll show you.”
“It’s okay,” Bill said.
“No, really, come on around. I don’t bite unless you want me to.”
“I’m good,” Bill said.
“Well I bet you are,” Millie said. “When I see you tomorrow, give me all your dirty stuff. I’ll always have good uniforms for you.”
“Thanks Millie. But I have to be up front with you. Don’t be expecting anything from me.”
“I don’t expect anything, sweetie. And I don’t want anything.”
“Well, thanks for just being nice then,” Bill said.
“You’re welcome, baby.” Millie handed him clean laundry then, actually just a chef’s jacket because that was all he turned in.
Back in The Falstaff Room, nothing much was going on. Everyone was there, everything was done and ready. Jimmy G was reading a Greek magazine. The waitresses were hanging out. Kalista was reading a Greek book back on her station when Bill passed her by. Even Caesar, it seemed to Bill, was being quiet.
Having nothing to do, Bill went back out by Kalista. He drew himself a coffee and went a bit down the ramp where he stood all alone against the wall to drink it. A moment later Rosie came out. She was in her uniform now, a black maid’s outfit today with dark stockings and white apron. Yesterday they wore red. When they wore red they wore white stockings.
Rosie stopped by Kalista and took a coffee for herself too. Then she walked down the ramp and stood leaning against the wall right next to Bill.
“What’s up?” she said.
“Ain’t nothing shakin’ but the bacon and it’s taken,” Bill said.
Taller than Rosie, when he looked at her he couldn’t help but see the low-cut uniform and her cleavage which showed everything almost down to the nipples. Rosie knew he was looking and thrust her bosom forward.
“You like?” she asked.
“You know I do,” said Bill.
Rosie reached one finger into the front of her outfit and pulled it slightly away from her breasts so Bill could see everything. “That nice?” she asked.
