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Kitten

Bill Tope

    “Cream of Wheat,” said the young woman with a sigh, closing the menu and addressing her waitress. It was 6 a.m. and Georgia had bustled into the Corner Diner, simply ravenous from a hard night’s work. She could have chosen to eat anything. but no, she still had a few pounds to lose, so she would be good. It was very hard, however, and Georgia was in a constant struggle to contain her appetite; she loved to eat. As if scenting blood, the waitress asked, leaning in, “You want anything to go with that, Hon’?” Georgia thought hard for a moment, scowled, then said, “Yes! Three eggs, over-easy, bacon, sausage, a breakfast steak and toast.” The more she thought of food the more she was compelled to order. Okay, so she wasn’t being so good. “And a glass of orange juice, coffee, and a short stack,” she added hastily. Then she said, “do you have biscuits and gravy?” The waitress just stared at her. “Half order,” said Georgia determinedly.
    “Will there be anything else?” asked the waitress sardonically.
    “Yes,” said Georgia. “Don’t forget the hot sauce!”
    “Wouldn’t wanna do that, Hon’,” the other woman assured her, then smiled and flipped closed her order pad.

    Georgia looked past the counter at which she sat and into the kitchen, in the rear of the restaurant. There she spied what she supposed was the cook, a really tiny woman with freckles and a red bandana wrapped round her dark hair. She appeared to be smoking a blunt. Georgia was rather intrigued.
    “Order up,” snapped the waitress, ringing a bell and slipping order receipts under little spring-loaded hooks in front of he kitchen window. “B & G, hamburger, chiliburger, three over-easy, breakfast steak, short stack, full stack and another B & G...”
    Georgia could see the little cook roll her eyes as the waitress rattled on, then take the reefer from her mouth and next tackle preparing the food. The waitress returned, filling Georgia’s coffee cup, said, “Wanna donut? They’re free. These are the old ones. They were fried last night, and we don’t charge for them after 6 a.m.”
    “Sure,” replied Georgia, still voraciously hungry. She glanced at the waitress’s name tag, saw “Marj” emblazoned on the plastic. The ageless waitress ducked her head into a display case and turned up a blueberry donut, served it on a small plate. “I could get you a fresh one, but then I’d hafta charge you a buck.”
    “Thanks...Marj.” The other woman smiled.
    “I’ll just check on your order,” she said, and then swept back to the kitchen. She returned. “Comin’ right up, Hon’.”

    Georgia had a sudden idea. “Say, Marj,” she said, would it be alright if I go back to the kitchen and talk with the cook?”
    “Help yourself, Baby, she could probably use the company. Her name’s Andrea.” Georgia smiled her thanks and slipped off her stool and headed back to the rear. Stealing down a corridor marked by really terrible paintings of children with big eyes, Georgia edged up to a half wall separating the preparation area from the dishwashing area, laid her elbows upon the barrier. “Hi, Andrea,” she said.
    “Hey,” replied the cook, scarcely looking up. And Georgia could see why: upon the grill were arrayed sausages, eggs of every type, hash browns, American fries, French toast and her own breakfast steak. Underneath a bacon press were six slices of sizzling, snapping bacon. Georgia licked her lips.
    “I’m Georgia,” she volunteered.
    “Good for you.” Andrea continued with the frenzied cooking.
    “So...you’re the cook, huh?” Turning, the little cook regarded Georgia. Looking steadily at her, she said, “No, I’m the astrophysicist working this sector of the universe.” Georgia blinked, but then Andrea smiled, robbing her words of any offense. She snatched slices of toast from an array of toasters and slathered melted butter across them.
    “How can you work so hard when you’re stoned?” Georgia asked suddenly.
    Andrea lifted the bacon press, flipped the slices of bacon, wiped her spatula on a wet towel; then she flipped the eggs, rolled up an omelet, plated biscuits and drizzled them with white gravy. Finally she transferred all the cooked meat to a bed of folded paper towels, plated the meat and turned again to face her visitor.
    “The real question,” she said, “should be: ‘how could I not be stoned and still work in this shit hole?’” She crossed her skinny arms and smacked the bell with the blade of her spatula. “Order up!” she snapped out.
    Marj appeared at the window, retrieved the food, said, “It’s slow right now; take a few minutes if you want, Hon’,” she gestured with her head to Georgia, “with your new friend.” Food in hand, Marj withdrew. Georgia furrowed her brow. “What’d she mean?”

    Andrea laughed raucously. “Marj thinks I’m a crazy lesbian and eager to take down any fresh meat that comes within trolling distance.”
    “Are you, a lesbian, I mean?”
    “Why, you interested?” Georgia shook her self, said,
    “No. No, of course not!”
    “Why of course not?” Andrea came back. “You ever been with a woman?”
    “No.”
    “Ever been with a man?”
    “Yes. Of course.”
    “How many?” asked Andrea.
    “Five!” said Georgia defiantly. This gave Andrea pause.
    “Five. Well, you been around some. Five men, huh?”
    Georgia blushed. “Well, no. Two, actually. I did it once with my prom date and then four times with another bo...man.”
    “How old are you, Kitten?”
    “My next birthday, I’ll be nineteen,” said the girl, smiling a little. “Why, how old are you?”
    “Aww, that would be telling,” Andrea replied. Georgia sulked a bit. Andrea laid the blade of the spatula on the grill, said, “C’mon, let’s get high.”
    “You’re already high,” the other girl pointed out. Andrea waved that off and led the way to a storeroom, piled high with stacks of flour, sugar, potatoes, onions and all the rest.

    Georgia examined her new friend: she was small, even pixieish, and swarthy of complexion, like she might have some Hispanic blood, she thought. Her work clothes weren’t much: overalls and a white thermal shirt underneath and the tiniest shoes that Georgia had ever seen. She wore rectangular spectacles upon the bridge of her nose. Her hair was pretty, cut short.
    The two girls found a spot on which to perch, on an enormous bag of oatmeal. Andrea busied herself rolling a new joint. She was quite an expert at it, thought Georgia. Her fingers moved so fast. Completing her task, she handed the cigarette to her companion. Georgia examined it as if uncertain what to do with it. “Light it, Kitten,” said the little cook. “You got fire?”
    “Uh...no, I don’t smoke, usually.”
    “Here, come here.” Andrea scooted close till their legs were touching and flicked her lighter. Lighting the joint, she flicked the lighter shut with a loud snap. Georgia took an enormous toke, instantly began coughing spasmotically. Andrea pounded her on the back. “Jeez, lightweight!” Georgia, still coughing, nodded.
    “I am. I’m sorry.”

    “You ever been high?” Andrea asked.
    Georgia nodded. “Just once. That was here, tonight.” Andrea twisted her lips wryly and shook her head. She took the joint, inhaled with gusto, held the smoke inside, then released it contentedly.
    “Doesn’t your boss care if you smoke grass on-the-clock?” asked Georgia. Andrea shook her head. “Marj? Nothin’ she can do about it.” replied the little cook.
    “How come?”
    “My step-dad owns this joint and, since he’s balling the manager, neither of them have anything to say about it. So long as I keep my mouth shut, things are copasetic.”
    “What about your mom?”
    “What about her?”
    “Don’t you feel guilty, her not knowing?”
    “Hell, she’s screwing at least two other guys herself,” she exclaimed with a frown.
    “You have a weird family.” offered Georgia.
    “Tell me about it.” She waited a beat. “Say, Georgia, do you date anyone now?” Georgia shook her head. “No, I was seeing this guy, Devon, but...” Andrea interjected, “You mean, ‘Mr. four-times?’ “ Georgia nodded..
    “Yes. He told me he wanted to ‘see other people’ and that I was ‘smothering him.’”
    “What a turd! Gets you in the sack and then he dumps you.” She huffed.
    “Do you...think you might be interested in....a girl?” Georgia’s head snapped up.
    “You mean you? Is that a proposition?” she asked, dumfounded. Andrea said nothing. They passed the joint back and forth several times.
    “Why, Andrea, are you lonely?” asked Georgia with genuine concern.
    “Well, yeah, sometimes.” She paused a moment. “I just don’t meet many guys that you know, you can trust, you know what I mean?” Andrea seemed subdued now.
    “Have you had bad experiences with boys?” Andrea nodded. “What happened?” asked Georgia.
    “Give me another hit off that reefer,” said Andrea, then, “It was a member of my own freakin’ family, Georgia.” The other girl’s eyes opened wide.
    “Who? You mean your brother, or your uncle, or...”
    “My father,” she cut her off. “My own freakin’ father.”
    “What happened?”
    “When he lived with us he used to drink, at night. My mom would get pissed and go off and leave him. And he would...come into my bedroom and...”
    “No! Your own father! I’m so sorry, Andrea.” Georgia put her arm around the other girl’s neck, pulled her close. Andrea began to quietly weep. “What happened?” Georgia wanted to know.
    “He hurt me. He really hurt me, then said if I told, he would kill my little sister. I was afraid.”
    “How long did this go on?”
    “Almost a year.” Tears leaked out of Andrea’s eyes and disappeared into the fabric of her blue overalls.
    “How did it end?” asked Georgia.
    “I told my mom and she didn’t believe me at first, and then she actually caught him in the act.” She threw up her hands, blew out a breath. “Nuclear explosion.”
    “And they got a divorce?” Andrea nodded.
    “Then your mom met your step-dad?” Georgia prompted.
    “Uh-huh. He was my mother’s divorce attorney and they ‘fell in love,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
    “How long ago did all this happen? How old were you?” Andrea took a shuddering breath.
    “It happened nearly five years ago; I was fourteen,” she said.
    “You’ve had a lot to deal with,” observed Georgia and hugged her again. She glanced back toward the kitchen. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”
    “No,” said the little cook. “I just prep and the a.m. cook comes on; he was a little late this morning. And then this afternoon I’ll help clean up and prep for the evening cook; leaves most of my day free.”
    “So what do you do all day, when you’re not setting up for the cooks?”
    “Hang around and get high.”
    “Do you see any boys?” Georgia asked. Andrea shook her head.
    “No, I guess I have a problem trusting after what happened with my dad.” She stared at her hands in her lap. “Sometimes it gets hard, Georgia, not having anyone to...touch you.”
    “Do you really...like girls,” asked Georgia. Andrea frowned, shook her head no.
    “I don’t like them, that way,” she explained. “It’s just that girls are a whole lot less scary than boys, you know? I mean, I’ve got a cousin who’s gay and hey, he’s my cousin, I love him. I’m not against gays or lesbians. But, it’s just not who I am.” Georgia nodded her understanding. “That’s how I feel, too. Not all males are human garbage, Andrea.” The little cook sniffed.
    “They’re not?” she asked uncertainly.
    “No. The men...boys, I’ve known haven’t been all that bad. Not monsters, not like your dad. The really bad ones are somewhat rare, I think. You’ll find someone.”
    “I will?”
    “Certainly. You’re cute!” The other girl grinned shyly.
    “Have you made any girlfriends?” Georgia asked.
    “Just one. That was here, tonight...” Both girls smiled.
    “I won’t be your lover, Andrea, but I’ll be your girlfriend; your BFF! Deal?”
    “Deal.” They sat in companionable silence for a few moments.
    “Does your step-father hate you because you’re blackmailing him over Marj and everything?”
    Andres smiled bashfully. “No, I made up all that stuff about Mom and Dad cheating on each other.”
    “Why?” asked Andrea, baffled.
    Andrea shrugged. “I don’t know; to make myself seem more interesting?” She smiled some more. She asked, “are you going to keep your arm around me for the rest of the morning?”
    Georgia arched her brows. “For just as long as you want.” Andrea leaned in and kissed Georgia almost impossibly softly on the lips.
    “Thank you, Kitten.”

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