What we have tonight...is an unfamiliar face.
Apparently, we have no Dawn, or Gladys, or even Leathea tonight...and because of her day job, Rochelle needs time to handle her children. No Tuzelle or Frisco, or even Big Rosalie. We have an unfamiliar face.
Although, certainly, not an unattractive one.
She's a bit older. About five seven, a little heavy. Bright, screaming Philadelphia Phillies red hair, straight, in a cut we knew back in the day as a 'shag'. She's got searing brown eyes, as powerful in their own way as Rochelle's.
The place is sparse tonight. A snowfall has killed the enthusiasm. It didn't stop Don Don, however, from being here to annoy to no end the Korean girl, Jennifer, down at the other end. The look on her face is priceless.
"Can I help you," asks the new waitress. The voice is...a Hibernian one. It carries a confidence.
"Sure. Coffee, and a corn muffin, and your name?"
She is just the slightest bit startled, but regains her composure. "Cookie."
"Your name's Cookie?"
"Yes."
"That was what we called my favorite aunt. Cookie. Her real name was Marion."
"I'm Siobhan. I'm Cookie to the world. And you?"
"George."
"I've been working days, but I moved to nights, so I'm not quite new." The accent is just a bit harsher than the usual Irish tongue that I'm accustomed to. Ulster? "Let me put your order in."
Cookie moves away. She's somewhat shapeless, really. Her walk's more like a saunter. It carries an air of independence to it, that is somehow extraordinarily attractive. I seem to get the impression that this woman's looked after herself for many years.
The satellite feed's playing '80s pop. Right now, it's Naked Eyes' 'Promises Promises'. So far, it's been a parade of overly synthesized, monotoned Brits. I'm half-expecting Duran Duran to line up next with something. I think I heard at one time that a blue jay tried to nest in Simon LeBon's hair, and never came out. I see down the counter that Jennifer's exhorting Donald to leave her presence forthwith, through her animated body gestures. Reluctantly, he visibly gives way, until he's paying his bill with Louise. He then heads out into the snowy night.
"Here you go, George," Cookie says, putting my corn muffin and coffee down on the counter.
"Thanks." She heads back up to greet Rebecca Stills, who's taken a booth seat with her laptop, and two bags filled with paperwork. We both wave at each other. I take two Equals, and put them in my coffee, and cut my corn muffin in half.
"Hey, you." I look up, and see Brenda Morabito coming in. She takes the stool next to mine. "What's up?
"I don't know, what's up with you? You've been very quiet lately. I'd like to know why, of course."
Brenda catches my eye...and nods. "I'm fine. Nothing wrong."
"No, you're not your usually bubbly self. Something's going on. You no canna fool me!" I revert to some funny accent, with a rolling of the eyes. I perceive the slighest smile on Brenda's part, but notice more the weariness.
"I'm fine, I really am. If you ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."
Pause. "Okay. But, if you're not your usually bubbly self by the weekend, I'm gonna pester the shit outta ya then."
"Fair." Brenda sighs, and faces down at the counter.
"Okay."
Cookie comes over, and wipes the counter in front of Brenda. "Can I help you?"
Brenda looks up, and is surprised to see a strange face. "Huh?"
Cookie smiles. "Okay, I'll repeat...can I help you?"
"Cookie, this is Brenda, she's another of the denizens of the night here. I think it's been a long time since she's seen anyone new."
"Hi, Brenda."
"Hi. I'll have two cheeseburgers, lettuce, tomato, onion, and a large French fries. Side of cole slaw too."
Cookie raises her eyebrows, and cocks her head just a bit. "Drink?"
"Coke."
"Oooooookay." She heads back up the counter.
Brenda leans toward yours truly. "Wow, who is that?"
"I told you, that's Cookie."
"She is nice!"
"You like her?" I'm surprised. Brenda does NOT share emotions like that with me. I can't even imagine her sharing them with her sorority sisters. Not even her AA sponsor! "There is something about her, I admit."
"She's adorable!" Brenda's smiling.
"I agree, actually."
Cookie comes back. "You need anything, George?"
"No. So, where in Ireland are you from?"
"Dungannon. It's up north."
"How long you been here?"
"Year and a half. I do like America, I might stay."
"Well, we'd love to have you."
"Thanks. I can think of one thing that's good about America."
"What's that?" asks Brenda.
"My husband's not in it."
"Sounds like a good reason to me!" I exclaim.
"A real dickhead?" Brenda asks.
"Good description."
"Listen, if you're gonna be working nights, then who gets moved off the night shift?"
"Gladys. She can't work these hours anymore. I don't mind, I like 'em."
I secretly rejoyce. I know Brenda's secretly rejoycing, too. Gladys was a pain in the ass, with her celebrity obsession and her seeming insincerity that she wears on her sleeve like the faux gold bracelet she wears on her right ankle. "Welcome to the night shift, Siobhan."
"Thank you, George." She turns to Brenda, and says, "make sure he finishes his muffin, Brenda."
"I sure will. He's not leaving until he does."
"Good." She saunters away.
"New waitress, with a sense of humor," Brenda says, sipping her ice water. "I don't think I'm gonna hear about what perfume Katherine Heigl wears, or what Jessica Simpson's shoe size is, either. Not from this one."
"Yep! Finally, something actually works out."
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