Piece of My Heart Page 6

  “And under no circumstances is she to have any more to drink,” Dale piped in. “In fact, no alcohol for any of us.”

  “Right-O. I’ll pass that along to the waitress,” the hostess said. “If you’ll follow me, I have the perfect spot for your party.”

  Cindy and Jenna helped Martha-Liz-Melody along to the table. She reached out to snag a drink off a tray as a waitress walked by. Dale slapped her hand away and said, “No,” like she was talking to a bad puppy.

  “You’re just like my George. You’re all flops! I am the earth mother and you’re all flops!” Martha-Liz-Melody said, waving one arm around in a grand gesture.

  “We’ve got to get her sobered up,” Jenna whispered to Dale.

  The hostess must have agreed. She increased her pace until they stood before a booth back by the lavatories and the kitchen’s swinging door. “Is this okay?”

  Jenna felt like a second-class citizen. A table this badly located shouldn’t exist. “Sure, but do we get a discount for not having a view?”

  The hostess looked at her, puzzled.

  “It’s fine,” Dale said. “This is just fine.”

  “Your waitress will be here shortly.”

  “Tell her to bring a pot of coffee,” Jenna said.

  Despite the location of the table, Patsy, the waitress, arrived with coffee and menus within minutes of getting Martha-Liz-Melody poured into the concrete molded seats of the booth.

  “How is everyone this evening?” Patsy asked, dealing out the menus like a Vegas blackjack dealer.

  “I’d be doing great if you could just get me a wittle dwinky-poo,” Martha-Liz-Melody said.

  “How about a nice hot cup of coffee instead?” Patsy asked.

  “How about you stop being a fuddy-duddy like my husband George, and just get me a damn dwink,” came the retort.

  Patsy’s smile grew tight. “Got ourselves a feisty one tonight.”

  “I am so sorry,” Dale said. “She has this thing about Elizabeth Taylor and tonight she is…”

  Patsy pointed at Martha-Liz-Melody. “I get it. You’re cos-playing. My kid does that dress up thing. Likes to wear tails and ears and stuff. You studying for a role or something?”

  “I am, George, I am,” Martha-Liz-Melody said, clasping a hand to her breast.

  Jenna had no idea if that was a line from the movie or if Martha-Liz-Melody was making crap up.

  “The look really works for you,” Patsy said.

  “You are one smart lady,” Martha-Liz-Melody said. “Now can I have a dwink? Bergen and water, please.”

  “Sure darling, I’ll be right back,” Patsy said. She set down the coffee carafe and a bowl of Half-and-half containers.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Agnes said in a small voice.

  “You just shut your piehole,” Martha-Liz-Melody said, jabbing a finger at Agnes.

  “I got this covered,” Patsy said and she winked at Jenna.

  What was with all this winking lately? Had winking come back into vogue or had it never left? It was a handy gesture because Jenna had a feeling a faux alcoholic drink was coming Martha-Liz-Melody’s way.

  “I don’t need your advice. You’re not the boss of me,” Martha-Liz-Melody said to Agnes. She clicked her long fingernails on the Formica table top and said, “Let me tell you a little something about life. You look like you need it. You’re not perfect, even in your designer grays. You’re just like all of us—loser bitches.”

  Agnes stared hard at her. She seemed to transform before Jenna’s very eyes. Like she grew two feet taller. Agnes grabbed one of the linen napkins, wadded it up, and stuck it in Martha-Liz-Melody’s open maw.

  “That’s much better,” Agnes said, snapping open her menu.

  They all stared as Martha-Liz-Melody pulled out the napkin. “I didn’t think you had that in you, Agnes. I wish you’d teach George to be forceful like that. Especially in the bedroom. I just want him to hump...”

  This time it was Cindy who stuffed the napkin back into Martha-Liz-Melody’s mouth. “I don’t want to hear another word about George.”

  Patsy returned with a wine glass. “We were out of Bergen, so I brought you our best Merlot. On the house,” she said. “But you might want to take that napkin out of your mouth first.”

  Martha-Liz-Melody pulled the wadded up napkin out of her mouth. “I knew you were a good sort,” she said, accepting the wine glass. She sipped. “Hmm, that’s good.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Now, have you ladies decided what you want?”

  “We need another minute, please,” Jenna said.

  “Okay. I’ll be back.”

  Martha-Liz-Melody raised her wine glass. “Bring another one of these when you come.”

  “Sure thing, darling.” She winked at Jenna. There was that wink thing again, Jenna thought. And then Jenna got it. Merlot was code for grape juice.

  Martha-Liz-Melody guzzled the rest of her grape juice. She must be super-snockered if she thought Welch’s grape juice was merlot, Jenna thought.

  Jenna leaned over and quietly asked Dale, “So what exactly happens at the end of Martha’s movie?”

  “I don’t know,” Dale said. “I fell asleep halfway through. But I bet it’s not pretty.”

  “We should make this a zippy dinner then,” Jenna said. She sipped her coffee and studied the menu. As expected, everything came with mushrooms. All Jenna knew about Portobello mushrooms was they turned almost black when you sautéed them. She’d discovered this while making Lee a beef stroganoff dish for a romantic surprise dinner. Jenna was not a cook by any stretch. They’d ended up going out to dinner. “Don’t order anything where they sauté the mushrooms. You won’t like the color,” Jenna advised.

  “I’m planning on dwinking my dinner,” Martha-Liz-Melody said, wagging her empty wine glass in the air.

  Jenna noticed that Cindy was collecting all the Half-and-half containers. Cindy noticed Jenna staring at her little pile of containers, so she poured two of them into her coffee. Even Jenna, who prided herself on being able to stomach almost all coffee, couldn’t hack this stuff. “You could stand a spoon up in it,” she said, adding more sugar.

  “I think I’ll have the Pigmeister Portobello Burger with a side of sweet potato fries. What about you?” Dale asked.

  Jenna stared at the menu. It all looked disgusting to her. “I don’t know. Same thing, I guess.”

  “What exactly are we supposed to be learning on our dinner date?” Agnes asked.

  “How not to behave like that,” Jenna said cocking her head at Martha-Liz-Melody who now had her head down on the table. Drool was leaking out of her mouth.

  “Yes, lesson numero uno: Don’t drink too much at dinner,” Dale said. “Okay, let’s learn from our past mistakes. Who can tell me what has gone wrong while you’ve been on a dinner date?”

  Now that was a loaded question, Jenna thought. How about everything?

  “I lack social skills in general, so I never know what to talk about,” Agnes said.

  “Okay, let’s work on that,” Dale said.

  “No chatting about Walmart, Hobby Lobby, or lesfic,” Jenna said. “Those are landmines for lesbians.”

  “What’s left to talk about?” Cindy asked. She was tossing a single Half-and-half container from one hand to the other. Jenna stared at her. Cindy set the container back on the table and moved the bowl with the rest of them across the table.

  Martha-Liz-Melody perked up. She grabbed a Half-and-half, peeled back the lid, and slurped it out of the container. She noticed everyone staring at her and said, “Tastes just like a White Russian if you already have enough voddy in your bloodstream.” She crinkled the little container and threw it toward the kitchen door. “Where is that waitress with my dwink?”

  “She’s coming. Here, drink more cream, and let’s order you something nice and greasy to soak up all that alcohol,” Dale said.

  “Here comes the waitress. Does everyone know what they want?” Jenna aske
d.

  Everyone looked shell-shocked.

  “I can see ordering a meal in a restaurant might not be our forte. We should work on that. An indecisive dinner date is a put-off. You need to look like you know your mind,” Jenna said. “So order with confidence. You might even need to order for your date. Perhaps looking at the menu online and figuring out a meal ahead of time might be a good idea.”

  “I think that’s a great idea but it doesn’t help us right now,” Agnes said, looking panicky. “This is where Naomi comes in handy. She knows what she wants.”

  “Yes, I got that feeling from her,” Jenna muttered.

  “I’ll be right back,” Agnes said. She popped up and walked away from the table.

  “Where are you going?” Jenna asked.

  “The restroom,” Agnes replied.

  Patsy passed her on the way out. “It’s down the hall on the right.” She walked up to the table. “You all figured out your order?”

  “Not yet, I’m afraid,” Dale said.

  “Take your time.” She set down another glass of Welch’s merlot in front of Martha-Liz-Melody and walked away.

  “Thank you, darling. You can expect a big tip,” Martha-Liz-Melody said as she almost spilled her drink on Dale. Fortunately, Dale grabbed it before her white silk blouse became a purple silk blouse.

  “Have you ever noticed that you always order the same thing as me?” Dale said to Jenna.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, you do. So here’s another example of what not to do on a date. Do not order the same thing as your date. It looks like you’re not interested enough in dinner or your date to bother deciding what you’re going to eat,” Dale said.

  Jenna was a little miffed that Dale was using her as a poster child for what not to do on a date. “I’m still getting the same thing as you except for the sweet potato fries. Those are just wrong,” Jenna said.

  “Well, see there,” Martha-Liz-Melody slurred. “You’re not ordering the same thing. I think I’m going to skip dinner and move on to dessert. I think that makes me look like I like to live hard and fast and don’t give a rat’s ass about nutrition or counting calories.”

  “Can I do that too?” Cindy asked. “I promise not to have the same dessert as her.”

  “Since this is a practice dinner, yes, that’s fine,” Jenna said. She already considered the dinner a wash. At least they’d gotten a baseline to work from. Dinner dates needed practice and lots of it. Maybe they should’ve started smaller—like having a coffee date.

  “I’m in the mood for something sweet,” Martha-Liz-Melody said. “And it ain’t George. He’s not dessert, he’s melba toast.”

  “Did someone say they were in the mood for something sweet?” Naomi said as she approached the table swaying her hips ba-da-boom style.

  Jenna’s mouth dropped open. Naomi was back in the red sequin dress with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side. However, she was still wearing the red high heels from before.

  “You look…” Cindy stuttered and her cheeks turned fire engine red, “magnificent.”

  “Why, thank you,” Naomi said. She slipped into the booth next to Cindy. She flipped open a menu, closed her eyes, waved her index finger in the air, then pointed at a random item in the menu. She opened her eyes and said, “Looks like I’m having the Magical Mushroom Omelet with everything.” She snapped the menu shut.

  “I like her style,” Martha-Liz-Melody said, sloshing her drink on the white linen tablecloth as she pointed it at Naomi. “Whoopsie.”

  “That tip of yours is getting bigger every minute,” Jenna said. She tried to blot up the grape juice spill with her napkin. Unfortunately, she just ended up with a ruined tablecloth and a ruined napkin. “Crap.”

  “Just leave it,” Dale said, “before you make it any worse.”

  Jenna tossed the ruined napkin aside and put her head in her hands. She was getting a big headache.

  “I wish I had your panache,” Cindy said to Naomi.

  “If you’d stop your juggling when you got nervous you’d be very datable material,” Naomi said. She slipped her hand between Cindy’s legs.

  Cindy gasped and leapt up. She tossed her silverware in the air and began juggling.

  “I suspected that might happen,” Naomi said with a chuckle.

  “Then why’d you do it?” Jenna asked.

  “It was a test. She failed,” Naomi said. She reached over and took a sip of Martha-Liz-Melody’s drink. “Nice year for grape juice.”

  “I know. The waitress suggested it,” Martha-Liz-Melody said drunkenly.

  “Cindy, please put the cutlery down,” Dale suggested in a calm voice.

  Jenna pressed both palms against her temples and squeezed. She was going to lose it any second now.

  “Yeah, stop that. People are staring,” Martha-Liz-Melody said. Before anyone could stop her, she reached across the table and tried to snag the spoon as it went around in a gentle arc. Bad move. The spoon, then the knife, then the fork, all flew off course and toward the surrounding tables. For a second it was raining silverware. Naomi stuck out a hand and caught the spoon as easy as a centerfielder catching a pop fly.

  Jenna spotted the steak knife flying on course to a nearby booth where an elderly couple were eating. She dove for the knife, knocking over a table, splashing pickles and mushrooms sky-high, and landing in the booth. The elderly couple quickly moved to the far side.

  Jenna’s reflexes weren’t as good as Naomi’s. She didn’t catch the knife—with her hand. However, she did catch the knife—with her forehead.

  Jenna sat up with the steak knife sticking out of the middle of her forehead. The older woman reached across the table and plucked the knife out. She handed Jenna a napkin, saying, “Apply pressure. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” She looked around at all the horrified faces staring at them. “I’m a retired nurse.”

  Dale was the first to break the frozen tableau. She moved to Jenna and helped her to her feet. She pressed her napkin to Jenna’s forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” Jenna said. She moved Dale’s hand and pressed the napkin to her head. She looked at the couple. “I am really sorry. We have this... group. And this is our first dinner together and as you can see it’s not going well,” she blathered.

  “I can see that, dear,” the retired nurse said. “Maybe you should get a fast-food burger and call it a night.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Jenna agreed.

  “We’ll pay for your meal,” Dale added. “It’s the least we can do.”

  By this time Naomi was patting Jenna’s blouse and trousers with more linen napkins and she was patting rather suggestively. Jenna batted at her. “Stop that,” she hissed.

  Patsy came over and stood arms akimbo, scowling. “I think it best if you all vacate the premises before our insurance premiums go up.”

  “We’re going,” Dale said.

  Cindy looked forlorn. Jenna hooked an arm over her shoulder after she unstuck the pickles from it. “If Naomi hadn’t groped you, it would’ve all worked out,” Jenna said.

  Naomi smiled seductively at Cindy. “I’d do it again. You have very firm inner thighs.”

  “I wish George would say something like that to me,” Martha-Liz-Melody muttered.

  “I wish Liz-Melody had never been in that movie,” Jenna said.

  Cindy hung her head like a penitent puppy. “How am I ever going to stop nervous juggling?”

  “Next time Mickey shows up, we’ll have her break your finger,” Jenna said.

  Cindy’s eyes grew wide.

  “Just kidding,” Jenna said. She handed Patsy her credit card with the hand that wasn’t pressing the napkin to her flesh wound.

  “Are you going to keep that napkin?” Patsy asked.

  “Yes. Put it on the bill.”

  “I don’t think you were kidding about breaking Cindy’s finger,” Dale whispered as Patsy tallied up the bill.

  No, Jenna though
t, I probably wasn’t kidding.

  Patsy handed over the bill and a pen. Jenna did a double take on the total. Holy cow! “I’ll never eat mushrooms again,” she said as she signed her name.

  Chapter Six

  Jenna stood in front of her apartment’s mailboxes. She held the postcard in her shaking hands. On the front was a photo of the leaning tower of Pisa. On the back was written: I miss you and think of you often. You’d love it here. Lee. There was no return address.

  Why the hell would Lee send her this? What did it mean? Jenna couldn’t decide if she should leap for joy or burst into angry tears. Why the hell would Lee send her a postcard? To torment her? Was she really that cruel? Jenna considered this thought—yes, she was that cruel. After all, this was the woman who had sex with her all night, knowing good and well that she was leaving in the morning.

  Shell-shocked, Jenna went back upstairs to her apartment. Taylor was sprawled on her back on the floor, her head under the kitchen sink. She was banging on the pipes and cursing. Dale was typing away on her laptop at the kitchen bar. “I’m googling possible dating activities,” Dale said, not pausing in her typing. “Did you know there are three fetish clubs just in Merrell alone?”

  “No,” Jenna said dully. “I didn’t know that.”

  Taylor crawled out from under the sink, stood up, and rubbed her hands on her Levis. “Bad news. You need a new P-trap. It’s rusty and leaking like a sieve. Needs to be replaced.”

  “Like that’s going to happen,” Jenna said. “Lewinsky will never get it fixed. He wants me to move out so he can break my rent control and charge the next tenant twice as much.”

  “Could you have it fixed and take it out of your rent?” Dale asked.

  Jenna shook her head. “My lease says I can’t do that. The slimy bastard thought of everything.”

  “Then you’ll be needing to find yourself a girlfriend and move out to the boondocks. We’ve got an extra five acres just waiting on you,” Taylor said.

  “How about you just fix the P-trap thingy for me instead and I buy you beer and pizza?” Jenna asked.

  “Sound like an offer I can’t refuse.”