2
718 Words
2When I stepped inside the restaurant, the shiny brightness dazzled me.
Chilled air swirled across my skin. Sweat evaporated from my arms.
The aromas of baking waffles, fresh coffee, and frying bacon blotted out all other scents.
I spied an empty stool at the counter. Headed for it.
As frequently happens on the job, I was the only light-skinned person in the room.
At least these natives were speaking English. I was happy to find other females here, too.
Half the tables were filled by young women with their phones in easy reach.
I made a quick survey of their scanty apparel, heavy makeup, and high-maintenance hairstyles.
Most appeared to be on break between service calls to the hotels circling the airport.
I guessed that the men filling the remaining seats were mainly taxi drivers. I’d seen half a dozen marked cabs scattered among the vehicles parked outside.
Spotting nothing alarming, I dialed down my alertness.
A chubby eighteen-year-old in a pinstriped black apron and matching cap appeared on the other side of the counter. She filled my coffee cup and took my order.
I swallowed go-juice and texted my boss.
Told him the earliest I could meet him tomorrow was 12:30 PM. I’d wait for him at the facility’s admin building.
I added a C U Sat. Tucked the phone in my high-capacity bag. Ordered myself to relax.
Through no fault of my own, I won’t make it to tonight’s shindig.
I won’t apply expensive body-boosting product to give my newly-styled hair that natural-looking lift.
Line, shadow, and mascara my eyes to bring the fading green color back to emerald.
Don the gray Armani pants suit carefully stowed in my checked luggage. The saleswoman swore it was a perfect copy of one worn by Judi Dench in a James Bond flick.
She convinced me the Armani was the look I wanted.
But I won’t transform into Bella-the-Beautiful after all.
Won’t parade on stage and hear the applause for my stellar efforts on behalf of the company.
Masquerading as Agent 007’s boss isn’t really my thing.
Truth is, I’m happier stuck in this delicious-smelling eatery. Surrounded by people cheerfully taking care of business. Taking no interest in me whatsoever.
I’ve been in worse situations.
A loaded plate appeared on the countertop. I sampled the high-rise cheddar-and-bacon omelet. The dish had an eggy puffiness I’ve found nowhere else on earth.
Only southern grill cooks know the secret.
I heaped my fork. The mix of fluffy egg, melted sharp-tasting cheese, and crisp, salty bacon sent my spirits soaring.
I ate every bite. Mopped my plate with homemade biscuits.
Content, I stayed happy until ten o’clock.
Curious about the anniversary party, I called Latoya Moore for a report.
Latoya’s in charge of human resources for Caprock. She organizes our special events.
She was at the Virginia training facility, doing behind-the-scenes stuff.
Backstage was damn noisy, I discovered when she answered.
Shouting over the hum of voices and clatter of dishes, Latoya told me to hang on.
The rumbling in my ear slowly diminished. Hinges squeaked. A door thudded shut.
A chorus of crickets told me she’d gone outdoors.
“Damn, girl.” Latoya spoke softly in her rich contralto. “What happened?”
“Airline screwup. I’m stuck in Atlanta till morning. I texted Jeff. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Not a word. I had no warning. Suddenly, Carter Ramsey was done speaking and I was scrambling to get the next act out front.”
“Poor you.”
Three years ago, Caprock was sold to an umbrella corporation. We became one of seven subsidiaries of Synergy Group, providing risk management services in fifty countries around the globe.
The Synergy CEO Carter Ramsey is also chair of the corporation’s board of directors.
I felt my forehead wrinkling into a frown. “Jeff said he drafted a five minute speech for Ramsey. I guess the man cut a few things?”
“He cut everything. His speech totaled seven words. I’ll repeat them for you.
Latoya cleared her throat and said, “Bella Hinton was unable to join us.”
Her words came out in perfect imitation of the CEO’s deep growl.
I grunted. “Sounds like Ramsey isn’t happy with me.”
“You got that right.” Latoya’s voice returned to normal. “What’d you do to piss him off?”
“Damned if I know,” I lied and ended the call.
Earlier this week, I ended a month of globe-trotting at our San Diego training facility. Some disturbing rumors reached me during my two-day stay in southern Cal.
Mentally, I added sausage, country ham, and smothered hash browns to my breakfast order.
The odds that I was a condemned woman just went up.
I seize any excuse to enjoy a hearty meal.
- Writer
