Page 19 of The Way We Touch
“We’re not skimping on the fries. Anybody in the restaurant business will tell you, ‘Don’t mess with what works.’” I glance at the clock, and it’s after seven. “You’ll put us out of business.”
“Nobody’s going to stop coming to the Coot-n-Shoot,” he argues, and Thomas makes a noise like I don’t know…
“Back to normal rations, Thomas.” The old man nods in agreement, and I reach into the refrigerator, taking out a giant silver bowl of salsa. “Time for the Dare Dish of the Week!”
Salina returns with her empty tray. “Buddy Outlaw said it’s about time you stopped skimping on the fries.” She cuts her eyes at Craig. “He asked if you’re trying to put him on a diet or something.”
Craig puts a hand on his chest. “Who told him it was me?”
“I’m not losing tip money over your harebrained schemes.”
“It’s all fixed. Now let’s do this.” We head out to the bar where I placed the small plastic baskets earlier. “Fill these with the tortilla chips, and I’ll scoop the salsa. Hit the red light, Allie.”
“It’s time!” Allie does a happy jump, running to cue the lights and music.
The first strains of “Hot Stuff” beat through the bar, and people start to clap and yell. The side door leading out to the pool tables opens, and the players step through the doorway to watch as Allie, Salina, Craig and a few of the other waitresses hop onto the bar to shake their hips to the old Donna Summer disco hit.
Craig gets the biggest cheers when he pulls on a shoulder-length, blond wig with flowing curls. He also pulls the bottom of his T-shirt up and loops it through the neck, turning it into a crop top. Then he starts to move like Mick Jagger.
Two old ladies run up and tuck dollar bills into the waistband of his jeans.
I shake my head, standing in front of the giant bowl of salsa and holding a ladle. We have an empty pickle jar for people to drop tips for the weekly dare dishes. Some put in a dollar, but some put as much as twenty.
My ex Davis always said it was an ignorant way to run a business, but we’ve always covered the cost of the weekly, off-menu items. Sometimes we even clear a small profit.
“What do we have tonight?” Buddy Outlaw walks up, dropping a tenner in the jar.
Buddy’s the assistant coach with Jack at the high school.
“Hey, Bud!” I ladle the special salsa over his chips. “Ghost pepper salsa with onions, cilantro, and fresh lime.” I turn the vat of sour cream. “Add a heaping helping of sour cream to cool your tongue.”
“That’s more like it.” He cuts his eyes at Craig, who’s joining me as the song ends. “None of this cutting corners.”
Craig holds up both hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buddy Outlaw. We’re all about customer service here at the Coot-n-Shoot.”
I continue ladling and passing out the baskets of chips and salsa to the line of eager guests.
Allie is on the mic reciting the warning about the heat level of ghost peppers and what to do if anyone has too much. I look up to see a man standing at the back of the room scowling, and my stomach drops. He’s in a pink Vineyard Vines golf shirt and khakis with a dark green visor on his head. As always, his arms are crossed.
“Take over,” I say to Craig, who looks up and lets out a little groan.
“I told you he was coming back.”
“I’ll take care of him.” Slipping off my gloves, I walk down the length of the dining hall to where my ex stands waiting.
“Shew, Dylan!” one of our regulars calls to me as I pass. “Hot stuff is right!”
“The sour cream will put out the burn, but if it’s not enough, one of the waiters can bring you some ice cream. We have little cups in the freezer. Don’t use beer!”
The man laughs, waving at me, and I stop when I’m standing in front of Davis. “Table for one?”
“Don’t patronize me, Dylan. You know why I’m here.” His entitled voice is like a hand rubbing a cat’s fur the wrong way.
“Actually, I don’t, unless it’s to have dinner.”
“I see you’re still doing this sideshow.”
“Customers love the weekly Dare dish.”