Runaway Mistress

A few days into her new job she was still sweeping up when the afternoon waitress arrived, a high school girl named Hedda. She was a freaky-looking kid with spiked black hair with purple edges, a tongue ring, a little rhinestone nose stud and at least one very large tattoo peeking out at the small of her back over her low-rise jeans. Hedda looked Jennifer up and down intently, and finally a smile broke out over her decidedly beautiful face. “Cool,” she said. “Did you do that yourself or have it done?” she asked, indicating the bald head.

“I…ah…I didn’t need much help with this,” she said, pulling her scarf off her shiny dome. She felt a sudden urge to explain that she was actually very fashionable and had great office skills; that she could do the accounting for a diner this size in her spare time. And she could dance the tango, drive a stick shift and speed read. Not to mention that acquired skill of finding and snagging rich old guys.

“You know what would look really cool? A tattoo. Right on your head. I could tell you the name of a good artist.”

“I’ll definitely think about that,” she said. “But I was actually thinking of trying hair for a change. You know—letting it grow out.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hedda pronounced. “It makes you look like a really cool alien. A pretty alien.”

“Wow,” Jennifer said. “I haven’t had a compliment like that in I don’t know when.”

“And I mean it, too.”

On her first weekend in Boulder City she met Gloria, who usually served the dinner hour and every Saturday morning. Gloria, a woman in her fifties, looked at Jennifer and said, “Holy Mother of God.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Buzz yelled from behind the counter. “Hedda thinks it’s cool.”

Gloria shook her head. “Why you girls do the things you do is beyond me. Why don’t you at least draw on some eyebrows? I could help you with that.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gloria had a bedridden husband at home and so she kept very flexible hours, something that Buzz seemed to take in stride. While Gloria worked, a neighbor would look in on her husband, and if Gloria got a call, she dashed off, no matter what she might be in the middle of.

Gloria was best described as a tough old broad. She was a little overweight, but pleasantly so with soft, round curves. She had her short dark hair “done” every week at the beauty shop down the street and it was lacquered into place, not a hair changing from day to day. While her hair was being hammered into place, her acrylic nails were being “filled” and painted bright red, to match her lips. Gloria liked her makeup thick and her eyebrows drawn on in a high arch that made her look perpetually surprised.

“We could do something with makeup,” she told Jennifer. “Maybe you wouldn’t look so… I don’t know… Naked?”

“I thought it would be quite a statement, but maybe I went too far.”

“There’s no maybe about it, honey.”

“Hedda likes it,” she added.

“Hedda’s the one who should shave her head and start over.”

“Hey!” Buzz called. “Don’t start trouble. I got enough on my plate with one bald and one with purple hair!”

Hedda took to Jennifer right away, perhaps because they were both odd and had very limited wardrobes because of slim means. She often brought her little brother Joey, to the diner with her. He seemed to be her constant responsibility because of their mother’s working hours. She took care of him every night while her mother worked as a cocktail waitress in one of the casinos, and walked him to school in the morning while their mother slept.

Jennifer stumbled on Hedda’s home while she was out walking one day. She wasn’t far from the Sunset when she came upon a block full of duplexes, four-plexes and tiny bungalows, all of which were run-down and in want of paint and repair. A string of carports stood behind them and the front yards were almost entirely dirt. She saw a German shepherd chained to a tree in front of one house, a truck pulled right up to the front door and a guy working on the engine in front of another, and a little boy playing in the dirt with a toy truck in front of a third. Emerging from the front door of that last bungalow came Hedda, her book bag over her shoulder. The screen door slapped shut behind her and Jennifer felt as though she’d been propelled back in time.

Hedda could have been Jennifer fifteen years ago, except that Hedda obviously took more risks in self-expression than Jennifer had ever dared. She and her mother had lived in a great many dumps like that one, and worse than that, they’d spent time on the streets now and then. There was a four-month period when they’d lived in an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon, getting the occasional shower at the Salvation Army.

A woman with stringy hair and wearing a ratty plaid bathrobe opened the door of that same small house and yelled, “Hedda! How many times do I have to ask?”

Hedda whirled instantly. “Sorry, Mama,” Jennifer heard her say. She dropped the book bag, went back into the house and came out again, this time carrying a trash can. Jennifer was frozen in her spot, watching. Hedda walked around the buildings to the rear where the carports were and emptied the trash into the Dumpster. She dropped off the trash can, picked up the book bag and then, with a pleased smile, spotted Jennifer.

“Hey, Doris,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking out the neighborhood on my way to the library. I’m at the Sunset, right over there.”

“Yeah? We stayed there for a little while. Then the house came open and it has a kitchen. An old kitchen, but a kitchen. I’m just on my way to work.”

“With your books?”

“It’s a little slow in the afternoons. If I get my other stuff done, I do homework,” she said. “And hey, if you ever want to get rid of any weekend hours, I’m looking to pick up time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m thinking of going to the prom,” she said, and became instantly shy when she said it.

“Thinking of going?” Jennifer asked as they walked along in the direction of the diner.

“I’m not sure I’m the prom type,” Hedda replied, but while she said it she was looking down. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

It didn’t take Jennifer long to catch on. It had to do with money. You didn’t make much in tips while doing homework. In fact, between breakfast and lunch Jennifer had to look for things to do to stay busy. Before Hedda came in, the diner had been swept, the bathroom was cleaned, the Naugahyde was wiped down and the floor mopped. Adolfo did the cooking and most of the cleanup. Buzz manned the cash register, poured coffee and waited on the counter.

When Hedda arrived at about two-thirty, she did some chores like refilling ketchup bottles as well as the salt, pepper and sugar containers, and then she took the back booth and spread out her books. She might have a couple of dozen diners in her three-hour shift. Gloria came on at five, and the dinner traffic from five-thirty to seven-thirty was steady again with all the usual suspects showing up. Jennifer knew this because she had stopped in for dinner herself more than a couple of times. Only on weekend mornings did the place stay busy. So Hedda would have trouble saving for the prom on her low wages and meager tips.

“Well, you should probably try it once, if you can find the right dress,” Jennifer said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Hedda returned.

Jennifer had no idea how long her stash and waitress job would have to last her, but there was one thing she did know—she had savings and investments in accounts that Nick Noble knew nothing about. At least not yet. She didn’t know when or how she’d get back to those accounts, but unlike Hedda, Jennifer had them.

Her first week at the diner had gone well; no one seemed particularly shocked to see her and, all in all, the regulars were friendly. There was Louise every morning, with Alice, and Jennifer very much looked forward to seeing them. She loved the old woman’s gruff and direct manner; it was as though being accepted by Louise meant something. Then there was Louise’s neighbor—Rose. Slender and elegant, Rose didn’t seem to be big on diner food—she feasted on tea and toast. Jennifer loved the way the women, so opposite, interacted. Louise was short, stout, with thin white hair, while Rose was taller, whip thin, with flaming red hair, though she was over sixty.

One morning during her second week on the job, Marty, who owned the used-book store, greeted her with “You the bald girl I’ve been hearing about?”

Well, there you go, she thought. You don’t shave your head and go unnoticed. “I guess that would have to be me,” she said. “Word sure gets around.”

“What else have we got to do around here?” he asked, and grinned so big his dentures slipped around. “Thank God there’s a new face now and then.”

A couple of Boulder City cops rode their mountain bikes up to the front of the diner, parked them where they could keep them in sight and sauntered into the diner. The sight of them made her instantly nervous and afraid of being recognized, but they seemed more intent on breakfast than anything. Ryan, the pudgier of the two, said, “Well now—what biker gang are you from?”

“Schwinn,” she answered, pouring his coffee.

His partner and a couple of other diners laughed, but Ryan just shook his head and said, “Schwinn? I haven’t heard of that gang. Schwinn?”

She met Sam the Vet, Judge Mahoney, and the girls from the beauty shop. The joggers were Merrilee and Jeanette, and by their third morning they were calling out “Hey Doris” as they came in the door.

A nice-looking young man came in late one morning and Buzz told her to go introduce herself to Louise’s other next door neighbor, Alex.

She took the coffeepot over and said, “Hi, I’m Doris. I see your neighbor Louise in here every morning.”

“Hmm,” he replied, turning the page on his paper and snapping it open with a sharp shake. She poured him coffee.

“And Alice. We keep dog treats on hand for her.” He said nothing. He peered at her from behind the paper, frowning as he took her in. “Bald,” she said. “Completely bald. Cream? Sugar?” He merely shook his head and went back to his paper. “Not friendly at all,” she reported to Buzz.