The Art of Wag Read online

  Tracy stood and waited for Roxy to finish her activities and waved feebly at Larry Lowell, who was standing outside his law office on the other side of the street, grinning at her. She would undoubtedly see Larry later tonight when he came in for dinner at the restaurant. Although he was a nice-enough guy, she wished he’d get over his little-boy crush on her. After all this time, most of the residents of Alpine Grove were aware that Larry had the hots for her. It was getting embarrassing. A few months ago, she was thrilled to see him eating with some other women at the restaurant from time to time. He’d had more than one actual date. It was a miracle. But then all those romantic aspirations appeared to fail, and now he was alone again, spending way too much time loitering around her hostess stand. Larry had to be the most regular of the restaurant’s regular customers. Apparently, the man never, ever, ate at home.

  Sometimes living in a small town felt like being an animal in a zoo. Everyone could see when you did everything. The fact that Tracy was practically the only person her age living here was also a little disconcerting. All her friends from high school were gone, so most people she knew were either significantly older or younger than she was. The local chamber of commerce held seminars about how the town might attract younger people, so it wouldn’t end up turning into a retirement community. There was a lot of hand-wringing about “brain drain” as high school students graduated and moved away to find jobs elsewhere. Tracy knew why. By now, the rest of her classmates with real jobs probably weren’t eating ramen noodles or living in a 300-square-foot studio above a gift store.

  Tracy turned around and looked down at the little dog at her feet. “Okay Roxy. I hope you’re done, because I really don’t want Larry to run across the street for a little afternoon rendezvous. We’re picking up the pace and getting outta here. I need my nap.”

  After a short but restorative nap, Tracy put on her much-loathed hostess uniform and went to work at job number two. At most restaurants, employees were asked to wear something simple like black pants and a white shirt. But no, at this place, the owner had other ideas. Tracy detested the short skirt that was held up by green-and-red suspenders, but the ruffle-laden blouse was even worse. She looked like a deranged Italian oompa-loompa.

  She opened the back door to the kitchen of the Italian restaurant and found Lou, the cook, stirring a marinara sauce that was simmering in a stainless-steel vat on the huge commercial stove. The rich, savory aroma of basil and oregano permeated the room. The large balding man waved his spoon at her. “You aren’t gonna like it.”

  Tracy turned to face Lou. “Like what?”

  “Jerry’s on a rampage.” Lou’s face was red and it probably wasn’t just from the heat of the stove.

  “Don’t you mean Giovanni?” Tracy said with a smirk. The owner of the restaurant had no Italian heritage whatsoever, but that didn’t stop him from pretending he did.

  “I have a lotta things I could call him, but you’re too young to hear that type of language. I’m just letting you know he’s cranky and sharing the amore with everyone nearby.”

  Tracy nodded. “Thanks for the warning and for protecting my tender sensibilities. I’ll try and stay out of his way.”

  “Oh, and Jenny is pissed at you because she thinks you gave Anna more tables last night. She whined to Jerry when she got here to do prep, which probably didn’t improve his mood. Then she marked up the seating chart with a red pen.”

  Tracy looked over at the chart on the wall and took note of the many angry-looking scribbles on the table layout. Sometimes she added colorful happy doodles to the wall chart, but the skull and crossbones was definitely not Tracy’s work. Great. “I don’t know what Jenny’s problem is. It’s not like I get creative with the table rotation. You get the two-top when it’s open. You get the four-top when the slowpoke campers finally turn over and get out of here. And it wasn’t my fault that the huge guy from Topeka couldn’t fit in that booth.” That had certainly been a difficult conversation.

  Lou wagged his spoon at her again. “She thinks you skipped her on purpose.”

  “I can see it’s going to be a very long evening. Maybe I’ll double-up Jenny’s tables and see how she does.”

  “Now you’re just being mean. You know she’ll yell at you.”

  “She’s going to scream at me anyway, but at least she’ll be more tired and have more tips in her pocket, right?”

  Lou waved his spoon in a shooing motion. “Go on. Get outta here. You got stuff to do.”

  Tracy grabbed a cloth so she could wipe down tables, and then she reached out and gave the gruff older man a hug. “You know you love me. Thanks for giving me the heads-up.”

  Later, Tracy was standing at the hostess stand rolling silverware into napkins when Larry Lowell walked in. Was he stalking her? He hung around her hostess stand all the time when the restaurant was open, but this was new. Bordering on creepy. She looked down at the reservation book. “Hi Larry. I have your reservation for your usual table at 6:30, but you’re a little early. We’re not open yet.” She tried to look extra busy by laying some silverware rolls into a star design on the end table next to her. Maybe he’d go away.

  Larry clasped his hands together in front of him. “I wanted to talk to you before anyone else is here.” He looked like he was praying to the gods of Italian food.

  Tracy plastered on her best customer-service smile. “Do you want to change your reservation? Or are you bringing someone with you tonight? I’d be happy to help you if there’s a surprise for someone special.”

  Larry’s hands tightened, causing his knuckles to turn white. “Well. Yes. Actually, it’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a very long time, but I think you may consider it somewhat forward.”

  “Forward?” Who used the word forward? Was Larry trapped in the 1800s or something?

  “My law school reunion is coming up. It’s a rather important occasion and I was hoping you would be able to attend with me.”

  Tracy put down the roll of silverware she was holding and took a step back from the hostess stand. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Not on a bet.

  “It’s in Los Angeles; I’d pay for everything. You’d have your own spacious room at the event hotel. And free meals. It could be an enjoyable vacation. You work very hard and I’m sure you could use a bit of a holiday.”

  Larry wasn’t wrong that she needed a vacation, but there was no way she was going to La-La Land with him. “You’re right, I could use a break, but I am already going to be taking a class, so I really can’t take any more time off right now.”

  Larry dropped his hands and gazed down at his loafers. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I thought you had a girlfriend, anyway. The woman with the big curly hair?”

  Larry looked back up at her. “That didn’t work out. She said I was too much of a lawyer.”

  “But you are a lawyer.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “It was a confusing conversation. But in the end, we agreed to terminate our relationship.”

  Tracy picked up another roll of silverware and added it to her star design. “I’m very sorry to hear that. But right now, I really need to get back to work. I have a lot of tables to set up before we open.”

  “I think I’ll just cancel my reservation for tonight.” Larry stepped back, away from her. “I have something I need to do.”

  Tracy looked down at the appointment book. “That’s fine. No problem.” At least she would be faced with one less uncomfortable conversation later tonight.

  Larry nodded. “Have a good evening.” He turned and quickly moved out the door, capering out to the street like an antelope fleeing from a starving tiger.

  Tracy started moving the silverware rolls into a big basket so she could start setting up tables. Larry had made it pretty obvious he’d had a crush on her for ages, but the idea of actually going on date—much less a trip—with the guy was alarming. She’d witnessed enough of his dates here at the restaurant t
o know exactly what it would be like. No way.

  Tracy looked at her watch. A half hour until they opened. She grabbed the silverware basket and went out into the dining area, setting up tables as quickly as she could. The door to the kitchen swung open and slammed against the wall. Jerry stomped through the doors, making at beeline for the table Tracy was setting up. He didn’t look happy. Uh-oh.

  The thin, small-boned man stopped in front of her and threw a pile of menus down on the table. He ran his hand over his slicked-back hair, making sure every ebony strand was in place. With his beady eyes and long nose, it was easy to see why Lou often referred to Jerry as “The Weasel.”

  Tracy straightened. “Hi Jerry. Is there a problem with the menus?”

  “It’s Giovanni! My name is Giovanni. You need to call me that.”

  “Okay Jerry. I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard. The guy brought out the absolute worst in her.

  A flush rose on Jerry’s sallow face. It looked like he might explode. “Are you being smart with me? Where did the lawyer go? He’s one of our best customers. And why aren’t you at the stand? I see you out here at the tables too much. You need to be at the hostess stand at all times!”

  Tracy gripped the silverware roll she was holding more tightly. “It’s physically impossible for me to simultaneously stand at the podium and set up tables. Or walk customers to their tables. Or get booster seats or high chairs for the kids. Unless I were cloned. If you need someone to stand at the podium at all times, you need to have two hostesses.” Sure. Like that was ever going to happen. As her salary and the level of employee turnover amply indicated, Jerry was the biggest cheapskate in Alpine Grove.

  He pointed his long index finger toward the kitchen. “Get Jenny to do that! She’s the waitress.”

  “Jenny and Anna are busy serving food. That’s what they do.” When they weren’t whining about tips or snacking on bread sticks.

  “Are you being a smart-ass?” Jerry waved his arms toward the seating area. “You’d better not be talking to customers like that. And I saw on your receipts that you’re spelling your name wrong again. How many times do I have to tell you? You need to end your name with an “i” and put a little heart above it. Customers like it and it’s good for business.”

  “That’s not how I spell my name. It’s T-r-a-c-y. There is no ‘i.’ Sorry.” And the hearts were stupid. What was this, sixth grade?

  “I don’t care. It helps business. And you get more tips.”

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Jerry, but as the hostess I don’t get tips. If you’d like to start splitting some of the tip revenue with me, I’d be happy to accept it.” What she was being paid barely covered the cost of Roxy’s dog food.

  “Stop calling me Jerry. And you didn’t answer me. Where’s the lawyer? Did you drive him away?”

  “I’m not rude to customers. Ever. Take last night, for example. Even when that kid threw 7,000 Cheerios on the floor, I just picked them up and smiled after Jenny told me to ‘get my ass’ over to table four. And then Anna took one of Jenny’s tables.”

  “See! You are supposed to be up here all the time!” Jerry was practically jumping up and down now.

  “Then who was supposed to clean up the Cheerio disaster?”

  “We don’t serve cereal. Why are you letting customers bring their own food? What is wrong with you?”

  Tracy dropped her silverware roll in the basket and leaned forward, putting both hands on the table. “I don’t frisk the customers before seating them. Do you know what kids can do to Cheerios? It’s totally disgusting. I don’t want them bringing cereal in here any more than you do. But if Mom has stashed a box in her purse and smuggled it in, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “You keep changing the subject. What did you do to the lawyer? I looked through the kitchen door and saw him leave. He looked unhappy. You’d better make it right when he comes back tonight for dinner.”

  Tracy looked down at the silverware basket. Jerry wasn’t going to like this. “Larry canceled his reservation. He said he had something to do.”

  The color in Jerry’s cheeks intensified and it looked like he might explode into little quivering weasel pieces. “What? The lawyer eats here almost every night!”

  “If you must know, he asked me to go to a reunion with him. I have another trip planned, so I told him no.”

  Jerry raised his arms and gazed at the ceiling as if imploring a higher power to give him strength. “What have you done? Do you know how much money that man spends here?”

  “He’ll be back. It’s just one night. Like I said, Larry said he had something to do this evening.” Obviously the guy couldn’t or wouldn’t cook and there were only so many places to eat in Alpine Grove. He didn’t have a lot of options.

  Jerry lowered his arms and glared at her. “That man has nothing to do and you know it! You’ve driven him away forever. You’re fired.”

  Tracy grabbed the handle of the basket. “You’re firing me because I won’t go on a date with a customer? You’re not my pimp.”

  Jerry pointed at the door. “Get out!”

  “Fine!” She let go of the basket and put out her hands in front of her. “Ciao, and have a lovely evening.” She wasn’t going to miss saying that 25 times every night. Or much of anything about this place. But paying her bills this month was going to be tricky.

  Chapter 2

  Exit Stage Right

  Tracy walked slowly down the street back to her apartment. On the one hand, she would never have to go back to a job she hated. The endless conflict and stress of working at the restaurant had been exhausting. On the other hand, now she had exited yet another job. This was not going to look good on her already miserable excuse for a résumé. She could just imagine what her father would have to say about her latest employment implosion. He already thought she was an underachiever. Now that she’d been fired from the lowest-wage entry-level job at a restaurant, she’d hit a new all-time career low.

  Tracy opened the door to her apartment. Nothing had changed in the two hours she’d been gone. It was still a mess, but now she’d have more time to clean up. Maybe tomorrow. But where was Roxy? She wasn’t doing the hiding thing again, was she?

  “Roxy? Come on out. I’m really not in the mood for this tonight.”

  A small scrabbling noise came from behind the sofa. Tracy turned and said, “Okay, Roxy. Did you get stuck again? This isn’t cute. Or funny. It’s really not.”

  Tracy bent down to haul the ugly plaid sofa away from the wall. An old beat-up bedspread that normally covered the hideous 70s-era pattern dragged behind the sofa as she yanked it across the wood floor. Tracy shoved some books aside with her foot to clear a space, and Roxy shot out from underneath the sofa toward the kitchen. One of the cabinet doors slammed and some metal pots crashed together. Sometimes having a burrowing dog was a challenge. Tracy kept thinking she should get something to hold the cabinet doors closed, but cabinet locks were absurdly expensive. And she’d just bought some new acrylic paints, which blew all her extra cash.

  Tracy stood up. “Roxy! Come on now. Don’t do this. You know you don’t like it when I pull you out of there.” Her shoulders slumped and she put her arms against her sides. “I changed my mind. I’m not extracting you. Not this time. You can just sit in there and pretend to be a stock pot, for all I care. I’m tired and I’m going to watch TV. On the sofa. By myself.”

  She turned around, shoved the sofa back against the wall, and replaced the bedspread. Grabbing the remote from the pile of clutter on the coffee table, Tracy sat down, put her feet up on the table, and turned on the tiny black-and-white TV. Settling in, she sighed and called out toward the kitchen. “You can stay in there forever, for all I care. I’m here on the nice, warm sofa if you need me.” The only response was a metallic clank as the dachshund readjusted herself among the pots and pans.

  Tracy flipped through the channels and found a whole lot of nothing on TV. Ev
en relaxation was frustrating. She leaned back and stared at the ceiling. The cracks in the paint looked like lightning bolts shooting across a dingy sky. Did astronauts see lightning from the other side when they shot off into space? The patterns and textures of multiple bolts would have to be remarkable.

  As the familiar sounds of a particularly stupid commercial jingle came on, she clicked off the TV and picked up the phone. Since life here in Alpine Grove was depressing, it was time to focus on her trip. She dialed her friend Shelby’s number and smiled when she heard the woman’s sugary southern drawl on the other end of the line.

  “Hey honey, what’s up?”

  Tracy slumped down into the sofa. “I got fired.”

  “From which job? I hope it was the restaurant one. Because that was not a good fit for you, and you know it.”

  “Yeah. Jerry canned me.”

  “You mean Giovanni?”

  Tracy grinned. “Yeah. During our little chat, I kept calling him Jerry. I thought he was going to blow a gasket.”

  “You shouldn’t mess with people like that. It never ends well.” Shelby sighed. “You know I love you, but the cute, perky blonde thing you have going only gets you so far. You just can’t be blurting out the first thing that comes into your head all the time.”

  “I know. But I couldn’t help myself.” Tracy twirled the phone cord around her finger. “I got fired because I wouldn’t go out on a date with Larry. I mean, that’s probably grounds for a lawsuit isn’t it? That’s gotta be some type of harassment if my boss is trying to pimp me out to customers. Yuck!”