Lorelei rolled gently as she dropped off another load of dishes. Her calves ached, but she had to hurry. They needed more help on the floor. Charlie had been sick for a couple days, so no one was surprised when he called in. Then Gerry couldn't be reached, probably because Pantera was playing at the Agora. But couldn't Roger have found another busboy somewhere? Nine tables and no busboy made for a busy, busy evening, and faltering service. That created dissatisfied customers, who weren't receiving the attention they deserved. No doubt her tips would reflect this.
Overworked and underpaid. Nothing new about that.
Joan tapped her gently on the shoulder as she dropped her own tray of dishes. "Don't worry, Lori, the rush is almost over."
Lorelei laughed. "At least the dish room staff made it in. It's been a long night, and I'm ready for things to slack off. When I go home I'm taking a nice long bath and curling up with the cat."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Leroy stopped by."
"My husband was here?"
"It was strange. I told him I'd find you, but he stopped. He just gave me the note and said to give it to you when things slowed down." Joan fished the slip out of her apron and handed it over.
It was a small card, enclosed in an envelope with a heart drawn upon it. Lorelei smiled and for the moment forgot her calves. Leroy was up to something. Oh, it might be note saying that he'd gone over to Barry's to wrench on his Alfa, but somehow she didn't think so. That would have been voicemail, not a note. Leroy was very modern in that way.
She opened it. It was one of those cards with the antique pictures on the cover. The picture showed to children, a boy and girl dressed like hobos, looking back at the camera with innocent eyes. The boy carried the customary belongings hung from a stick that all hoboes had to carry on film. Inside he had written:
Meet old Willie where Chessie Cat makes her bed.
Vittles will be served.
Lorelei laughed for an instant. Another of Leroy's eccentric puzzles. They didn't know a single Chessie, unless you counted the rather elderly lady who baked those wonderful oatmeal cookies for the church coffee hour. Willie? What Willie? Willy Mays? Slick Willie? Well, that answer made sense because Leroy didn't write his puzzles unless he wanted her. He liked to play characters, and he had a scene in mind. Unfortunately, that night she didn't feel very desirable. Sore legs, clothes that smelled of cigarettes, and an her apron had been spattered with ketchup hardly presented the picture of an ingenue.
Not that any of this would matter to Leroy, except perhaps her calves. Fourteen years of marriage and he still arranged this little games. They were fun, and the reward was always a nice, hard fucking. His puzzles made her think. They took her mind off missing busboys and screeching toddlers and focused it squarely on her femininity. That at forty he still thought her beautiful. She gathered up her order book and headed back out onto the floor. And the answer came to her between the sirloins and Budweiser. In the corner of the floor stood an old crossbars, symbol of railroad crossing. She was carrying a platter full of shrimp when she understood, and almost spilled the tray as the answer came together: Chessie the cat, Boxcar Willie, the little hoboes one the card. He wanted her to meet him in the park they liked to walk in. There was an old boxcar on display, left over when they took out a spur line. He wanted her there tonight, and he had some plan.
Leroy was horny.
She dropped off platefuls of burgers and a chicken salad. Replaced empty ketchup bottles. Found sour cream and steak sauce. Sour cream and steak; the mind lingered on certain foods, pickles became phallic. On the way to table nine she wondered what she could do to contribute to his scenario.
She parked in the street behind Leroy's Miata, under a giant oak tree that practically hung over the street. Then she looked around. No one in sight, not even the Jenkins boys sneaking a cigarette away from their parents' view.
To get to the box car she cut east down Bleeker, right on Henson at the barricade and where the asphalt gives way to bricks. Passed under the bridge, down into the park. It was quiet now, for the cops had swept through lately, though she could see cigarettes glowing in the distance and the thick, sweet smell of reefer floated amidst the trees. A path wound east, and a narrow wooden bridge crossed the stream. Three birches in a row marked the path, and she could see them silhouetted in the old moon. From there she walked down the abandoned rail line, balancing herself on the rusty rails.
She could see the car ahead of her, blacker than the night. Lorelei decided to whistle a bit so Leroy would hear her coming. Billy Strayhorn's 'Take the A Train' had an obvious, and appropriate hook. Only tonight she would ride the L train. She saw a faint golden glow from inside the old car. And she put her hands behind her back and swung her hips as she sashayed up to the car, exaggerating the swing of her hips.
The back of the car glowed from one flickering candle, stuffed in an old chianti bottle. Leroy reclined in the corner, dressed in old thrift store clothing, sipping from a tall goblet. A basket lay beside him, and he smiled as he saw her head poking in. His hat looked like it had recently belonged to Jed Clampett.
"Where's this train a-heading," she asked, and with her husky voice giving a more than fair impression of Blanche Dubois.
"Memphis I hear tell. They say it's warm there and the people are friendly."
"Memphis is a long way from here. I want to be taken away."
"Well, little lady, I'll be glad for the company. I got some grub, and I got some society wine, and I don't mind sharing if you don't mind sharing this blanket with an old hobo."
"Don't mind at all, so long as the grub is good." He took her hand as she hopped up into the car, and pressed her small body against him, and her lips as well for their hello kiss. Leroy liked to let his lips do the work at first, lots of little kisses around each lip, before pushing deeper. At times his patience was maddening, but she liked the way that felt, and the feeling of his hands in her hair. She could feel the goose bumps on his arms as he pulled her against her firmly enough to feel his hunger, and yet gentle enough to show that he thought her precious. It was one of the things that made him stand out from the other boys, so long ago when they began dating. She swayed against him, savoring the feel of him against her small body.
"So what kind of grub you got there, hobo, because I'm a mighty hungry woman." And she kissed him again, harder, pushing her tongue into his mouth. And to his credit Leroy didn't answer right away, but sucked her tongue in deeper.
But people have to breathe and kisses break, and Lorelei felt a particular need to breathe when her lover's hands were cupping her bottom and lifting. "Good grub," he breathed into her ear, voice almost a hiss. "Found me a lonely widow down Gatlinburg way, who wanted to share. Gave me bread, gave me cheese, strawberries and some red."
"And whipped cream? What kind of a lady you found."
"She was a mighty grateful widow, let me tell you."
