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  Suddenly the tiredness hit her hard. It had been a lollapalooza of a day. She’d made a flaming fashion faux pas, entertained a stranger alone in her apartment who wore waffle weave polyester slacks, learned that her dark kitchen wasn’t invisible to outsiders as she had believed, and all she had left to eat was a few eggs. She hadn’t found any coffee in the back of her kitchen cabinets. She was used to the challenge of putting together a lunch or dinner from next to nothing, but normally she had something around, bread or cereal at least, to call breakfast.

  Concluding that things could only improve in the morning, she decided to go to bed to end this frustrating day and hasten the hope of tomorrow. It was too late and she was too sleepy to make even a brief entry in her English class journal. But she did check the apartment door lock and chain again.

  Then, for the first time, she dragged a chair from the kitchen and wedged it under the knob.

  Chapter Two

  Big Bick’s Restaurant

  Bellomy at Park, Santa Clara

  "Glad to see your ugly face in here," Pilar said as Gina pushed open the door of Big Bick's. Her fellow waitress stood at the cash register handing change to a diner.

  Gina looked at her watch. Eleven-twenty. Her lunch shift started in ten minutes, but already the restaurant was filling up with hungry customers. More than half the tables were occupied and there wasn't a vacant seat at the counter. No wonder Pilar was glad to see her.

  Gina had walked to work this Friday morning. A warm sun shimmered across clear blue sky making the outlines of the low commercial buildings and ancient trees more distinct, dispelling the memory of chilly fall nights. The pretty weather also gave her that glad-to-be-alive feeling as she had crossed Market Street and turned onto Park Avenue on her way to Big Bick’s.

  She went straight for the dimly lit employees' room behind the kitchen where she changed into her chocolate-brown waitress uniform: a short, form-fitting, button-up-the-front dress with a perky white apron, not necessarily sexy, but flattering to her youthful figure. She stashed her purse in her locker and, after checking her face and washing her hands, went out to the work station to the left of the lunch counter to start her side work: wiping down counters, filling ketchup and mustard bottles and salt shakers. Like every day, customers started arriving thickly after eleven-thirty. She had to get as much side work done as possible before waiting on tables took up every minute.

  The restaurant crowd seemed to double in the few minutes she was putting on her uniform, but then, it was Friday, the busiest lunch hour of the week. The place was noisy with clinking plates and chatter and the dining room charged with the rich sizzle and smoke of burgers on the grill when, from behind the lunch counter, Gina saw a man in military uniform walk through the front door. She could not help watching him a moment; her earliest memories, all good, were of her father in uniform. She couldn’t see his face or any other detail, just a striking silhouette created by the backdrop of a midday sun streaming through the restaurant’s large windows, but the regal outline of his dress blues and his self-assured posture told Gina this was no ordinary sailor. This was a man in charge. All in silhouette she saw him remove the classic brimmed officer’s hat and tuck it under his arm, and then he glanced around the restaurant as if he was looking for someone. He stepped toward the hostess and said something to her. The hostess gestured toward Gina’s section. He thanked her and then took a seat at Gina’s one vacant table. His back was to her, but from the colorful chevrons on the sleeve she could tell it was, indeed, an officer of the United States Navy.

  “Look, Pilar, an officer.”

  Gina leaned low to whisper into the ear of the petite Latina. Next to Gina’s five-foot-eight frame, all long legs and long hair, the other waitress appeared doll-like. She stopped scooping ice cream to peer around the freezer case in the direction Gina was pointing. Gina kept her fingers discreetly down by her waist so no one would notice.

  “Ooh, and he’s in your section,” gushed Pilar. “We hardly ever get officers in here. Lucky you. Ask him if he has any friends. You get me a double date with him and a buddy, and you can have my tips for a week.”

  The girls smothered a laugh.

  “Pilar, I’m going into the back a minute to fix my face. Cover for me.”

  “I will, but I’m not making any promises. Be quick or I’ll serve him myself.”

  Gina ducked into the changing room. After a minute she scurried back to the dining area, pulled her order pad from her pocket, and headed toward the table where the officer was seated. As soon as she reached it he looked up and smiled.

  Kevin!

  In one horrible instant Gina realized her mistake. Yellow stripes for officers, red ones for enlisted. Standing right in front of him now, she could see that the patch on Kevin’s sleeve was clearly stitched in red. How in the world could she have mistaken that skinny boy who showed up at her apartment two nights ago for an officer? Kevin looked so entirely different in uniform she had not recognized him. And now here he was, sitting in her section, taking her breath away. Her first response was scalding embarrassment that she had actually thought corny Kevin to be an officer. She stood there, speechless and wide-eyed. Finally she collected herself.

  “Ship sail a little off course today, sailor?” She smiled a half-smile to be polite. He was, after all, a customer. Her whole body was rigid with tension. She hoped she didn’t appear as discombobulated as she felt.

  “This is the right port.”

  Oh he was so obvious! Yes, his attentions were flattering, to a point. What girl wouldn’t be touched that a sweet guy had driven an hour and a half just to see where she worked? He was a charmer, all right, but he was a boy, probably had never even been on a date. Surely he was old enough to shave, but his skin was so smooth it didn’t look like he needed to. Kevin was pleasant-looking enough in his crisp, power uniform, and he was a genuinely nice guy, honest and witty. But he was a kid. In time he would make some girl a wonderful husband, provided, of course, he chucked the polyester pants.

  But she was not that girl, and she wasn’t going to encourage him, not in the least. It was stupid of her to have let him in to her apartment two nights ago. What should she expect him to think? She could have said, No, no, sorry, it’s late, and turned him away and that would have been that and he would have gotten the message loud and clear. But as usual she had acted too fast. She hadn’t thought things through. Now, on top of everything else, he knew where she lived, he knew where she worked, and he knew where she went to school. And she was the one who had blab-mouthed all this information. She had no one to blame but herself for the fix she was in. She should have been more careful.

  All these thoughts jumbled at once as she wordlessly handed him the menu. Compose yourself. Stick to business. She didn’t have time to chat anyway.

  Ding! The metal counter bell at the pass-through between the kitchen and the lunch counter brought her back to the moment. She had never been so relieved to hear the normally irritating sound.

  “I have to get back to the kitchen. Can I get you something to drink before you order?”

  She took his drink order and left, flustered but resolved. She would be more diligent about saying or doing anything that he might misinterpret as interest. Just serve him quickly and get back to her other customers. No small talk. She went to the soda machine to fill his drink order.

  “What happened?”

  Pilar pulled salads from the cooler and waited expectantly for a reply. As she did, Gina enjoyed the sudden breath of frosty air that escaped the cooler. No matter the time of year, Big Bick’s was always too warm at lunch time, or maybe it just seemed that way because the waitresses had to move so fast. No matter, today she felt hotter than usual. She put her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes.

  “I’m an idiot,” said Gina.

  “What?”

  “He’s not an officer, he’s enlisted. Red chevrons. Officers wear yellow. Take a look.” Gina jerked her head toward the table w
here Kevin was engrossed in his newspaper.

  Pilar put down the salads on the counter and stood on tiptoe to see over the counter divider. “So? He’s still nice looking.”

  “Don’t get excited, Pilar. They all look gorgeous in uniform. You haven’t seen him in street clothes. I have. He’s a completely different person. He’s also the same guy who followed me home from Cupertino two nights ago. I was thrown off by the white hat, too. Enlisted and officers wear a similar hat when they’re all dressed up.”

  “Ooh. I see.” Pilar picked up a ladle and drizzled bleu cheese dressing on the two salads though her eyes stayed fixed on Kevin. “And he drove seventy-five miles out of his way in the middle of the day just for Big Bick’s corned beef on rye?”

  The girls exchanged a knowing look and then they both burst out in sniggers. When Gina returned to Kevin’s table with his soda, he ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

  “Is it always busy like this on Fridays?” he asked, handing her the menu.

  “Yes, Fridays are always bad. Sometimes they’re worse than this. We’re short one waitress today. That happens a lot.”

  “I see,” said Kevin as he surveyed the busy restaurant. “You must work very hard.”

  “Indeed. One time I worked a dinner shift where it was just me and the owners. Worst night of my life. Usually three of us handle six tables each, and a fourth waitress handles the counter, but one night I had all eighteen tables. The owners worked the counter and tried their best to back me up and make the whole thing run smoothly, refilling sodas and scooping ice cream and all. But that many tables would have been difficult even for an octopus. I wouldn’t blame those customers if they never came back.”

  “Then I won’t get in your way,” said Kevin.

  “Thanks,” said Gina. She smiled at him, grateful and a little surprised that he was so understanding. She walked back to the kitchen and put his lunch order on the wheel. That was easier than I thought it would be.

  While she busied herself with her five other tables, Gina glanced toward Kevin’s table from time to time, curious more than anything. It was hard not to notice him. Rarely did Big Bick’s serve military of any stripe, because the restaurant was far from any base. To have a GI walk in decked in full dress uniform was even more rare. She couldn’t get over the fact that he had actually driven so far on a weekday. He didn’t just casually choose Big Bick’s for lunch today; he wanted to see where she worked. But then again, he had told her that he spent most weekends with his father at their apartment in San Jose, so maybe he had just gotten off early for the weekend and had decided to check out Big Bick’s for lunch. He was single—he probably ate out a lot anyway. The restaurant was near the border between San Jose and Santa Clara. Maybe that’s all there was to it.

  As she mulled over these questions she was also trying to surreptitiously read his face. But every time she glanced in his direction he had his head behind his outspread copy of the San Jose Mercury News.

  Ding! Gina looked toward the kitchen. George, the fiery little short-order cook, all ninety-eight pounds of maddening, middle-aged meanness, leaned over the pass-through, waved his hand wildly at Gina, scowled, and then pointed to Kevin’s order on the bar. She stiffened. Why can’t that man just ring the bell and forget it? Nevertheless she nodded her head to acknowledge his gyrations, finished taking an order from a couple at another table, and then went back to the side work area to put their order on the wheel. She clipped the order to the wheel and then looked down at the plates under the lamp. Kevin’s cheeseburger was ready, but it was paired with cole slaw, not fries. She pulled the order from under the side of the plate and checked her work. Sure enough, French fries. She leaned into the pass-through window.

  “George, this order is wrong. The customer asked for fries, not cole slaw.”

  George acted as if he had not heard, though Gina was certain he had. After a sultry delay, he jerked a thick lank of heavy salt-and-pepper hair out of his eyes and looked up at her from where he was grilling onions, scraping them back and forth on the flat metal grill. Little bubbles of brown juice scattered along the surface, bathing the onions in tender sweetness. Steam rose up in hot little bursts each time he pushed them across the blistering surface.

  Gina waited impatiently for his response, but all she got for her trouble was sizzle and steam. And not just on the grill. Only God knew how she tried to be nice, tried to be polite. Please, pretty please, George, give me the fries.

  “Look,” said Gina, holding up the order she’d written for Kevin and pointing at her shorthand. “See. F-F. It means FRENCH FRIES.”

  The minute she said it she knew she had made a mistake. Sarcasm was not the way to George’s heart, if indeed, he had one. His eyes snapped with anger, but he just continued to flip and scrape, moving the onions with the spatula to keep them from browning overly much, acting as though the sum total of his responsibility today was to waltz those onions across the grill, back and forth, back and forth.

  She stood firm and waited. She wasn’t going to lose another battle with George.

  “Ain’t got no fries,” he finally said, still flipping and scraping without even glancing at the spatula, his murderous eyes trained on Gina’s equally furious ones. She glanced over at the fryer next to the grill. Two baskets of fries bubbled away in deep bins of amber oil. For a moment she was tempted to go around the lunch counter, bang through the side door of the kitchen, and fetch the fries herself. But there were big knives in the kitchen, not to mention hot grease. Neither should be combined with crazy people.

  In a moment of inspiration, Gina looked down and saw a mountain of fries paired with a club sandwich on another plate under the lamp. While her tormentor continued to burn holes into her head with his evil laser eyes, she coolly pulled the orders from the bar as if she were about to deliver them to the dining area. But instead she paired the fries with Kevin's sandwich. Unfortunately she upset the club sandwich as she removed the fries. She grimaced as the top half slipped to the floor. Oh well. She picked up the soiled food, tossed it into the garbage, and put the ruined order back on the bar. She picked up Kevin’s plate and turned toward the dining room. As she did, streams of blistering curses spewed from the kitchen pass-through window.

  Yes, George. I’m sure your mother is a very nice lady, too.

  Gina set Kevin’s order on the table in front of him. He didn’t need anything more so she left him to enjoy his lunch and newspaper while she tended her other customers. Every once in a while, though, she looked in his direction. My, he looks sharp in that uniform. But then she remembered the pants and sweater he wore on Wednesday night and the corny jokes and was embarrassed to be thinking of Kevin in that way. Like Jekyll and Hyde, only Dr. Jekyll dresses better. One time when she looked toward his table she saw him watching her. Their eyes met and she glanced away. After that she stopped looking in his direction and kept her attention solely on her five other tables. She’d have to get back to him eventually, though, because she had to give him his bill. But she tallied his order before she got to his table so that she would have no reason to linger.

  “How was everything?” she said, placing his bill on the table.

  “Perfect, thank you,” he said, looking directly at her and ignoring the bill.

  She wanted to rush away from his table but she had to remember to treat him like an ordinary customer, though she was certain there was nothing ordinary about this customer. Before she could think of an appropriate exit line he spoke again.

  “You like nice in your uniform.”

  “Thank you.” You do too.

  “You like working here?”

  “It’s convenient. The university is just across the street. Makes it easy to work a shift between classes. With tips it probably pays more than an office job. I could do worse, I suppose.” Though some days waiting on lecherous old men who think they’re God’s gift to women is more than I can bear. “The lunch counter…“ She lowered her voice and motioned with her eyes to
ward the front of the restaurant where a group of middle-aged men munched silently over their plates. “We’re not allowed to be rude to them.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow as if to say he understood, and then he wordlessly folded his newspaper and set it on the seat. Somehow Gina already knew what was coming. The Big Question. She should have avoided the small talk like she planned.

  “Are you busy tonight?” he said.

  “My feet hurt an awful lot after a shift.” She stalled. She wasn’t scheduled to work the dinner shift and she didn’t have a date. Homework always had to be done but that was true of other irritants such as hand-washing pantyhose and mopping up dust bunnies under the refrigerator. She wouldn’t insult him with such lame excuses. He was too sweet. But she wouldn’t lie either. She decided to walk down the middle of the road: truthful but vague. Her feet really did hurt after a shift—a dinner shift, that is—because it was twice as long as a lunch shift.

  “We’ll go someplace where you can sit down.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be working all evening, Kevin. Every Friday night one of the girls gets a hot date and calls in sick at the last minute. Then one of the owners calls me in a panic, begging me to come in. When that happens I take the shift for the extra money.” Now that probably would be the truth by six p.m., but Gina felt guilty, as if she had told a lie.