Midnight in Brussels (4 page)

She looked at her watch and then took what appeared to be the last dinner order of the night. It had been a busy week and a busy Saturday night, she was looking forward to the following two days off, two whole days of doing nothing - although it was hard to do nothing around Drake and Paula. They were party animals.

Every Sunday if they weren’t having a barbecue and pool party for all their friends, it was someone else giving one. And of course, they insisted that Amanda party with them. Just one weekend she’d like to have all to herself. Just one. As sad and dreary as she had felt those long six months alone in the Nevada desert, she found herself longing for the peace and quiet once again. She wanted to move into her own place in the worst way. If only the rest of the money would come from Johnny.

“I’ll have a New York steak, rare. Baked potato with sour cream and chives, green salad with ranch dressing, please.”

“Would y’all like some cheese bread to go with it?” Amanda said as she sneaked a look at the man who was still studying the menu.

His hair was graying at the temples, but blond everywhere else. He was tan and was wearing a light blue long-sleeved chambray shirt and faded blue jeans. He’d hung his jacket on the coat rack by the front door, she’d noticed, when he came in. A handsome man, she observed through her long lashes and then quickly averted his glance by looking back down at the order pad.

“Yes, I believe I would. Thank you.” He handed her the menu, cocked his head and grinned up at her. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“No, I’ve been working here going on six months now,” she took the menu and began to walk away without another glance at him.

He called out to her, “A double Scotch, please!”

With her back to him, she raised her hand in acknowledgement of his request, placed the drink order, and then took the dinner order to the kitchen – all in one graceful, fluid motion.

The piano bar crowd was filling the dance and bar area in the upper half of the room. The dining area was a stair-step down, but it all melded into one big cozy, dark, romantic atmosphere, conducive to special romantic occasions and secret liaisons. More than once Amanda had become tearful while lovers demonstrated their feelings on the dance floor or at a table toasting each other, or kissing.

At times she longed for a man’s touch, even though she didn’t like sex, she did like a display of affection. She and Arlie had been married for seven years; he’d been her only boyfriend as they grew up together in Arkansas. She’d never been kissed by anybody else. He’d been the only man in her life, so it was painful to watch couples hug and kiss at KC’s Steakhouse.

The atmosphere at KC’s was conducive to canoodling: lighting was dim, gold-flecked mirrors extended up to the low ceiling from the paneled wainscoting around the perimeter of the restaurant; green foliage was hanging in pots, and planters were placed throughout the space. Tubes of mini-lights gave the area a romantic atmosphere year-round. There was a lower bar and an upper bar: the lower bordered one side of the dining room and was chair-height; the upper bordered the dance floor and was bar stool-height, the bartenders at one level serviced both.

Amanda returned from the kitchen and picked up the double Scotch from the lower bar, placed it on the tray with a salad and delivered it to her good-looking customer.

“Here you go. Your Scotch and your salad.” She smiled at him.

 
“Thank you.” He grinned up at her. “Uh, tell me, pretty lady, are Saturday nights on your regular schedule?” he asked as he took a sip of his drink.

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. I don’t get to Bakersfield often, and I usually eat here or at the Woolgrowers, mostly the Woolgrowers, so I just wondered what nights you work.”

“I work Tuesday through Saturday. Every night ‘cept Sunday and Monday.”

“Then I’ll make sure I’m here on one of your nights when I come to town next time. I almost didn’t make it down this trip because of the Tule fog. You hear about the pileup on 99?”

“I sure did. Everybody’s talking about it around here.” She thought she should at least be cordial in order to get a fat tip. “So where are you from?”

“Cupertino.”

“Is that up north? I don’t know much about California.”

“Yes, up north, close to San Jose. Where do you hail from, honey?”

“Arkansas. But I lived in Nevada for a few years before comin’ out here. So what’s your name?”

“My name’s Richard, Amanda. Richard Miller.”

She wore a name tag so he had the advantage of knowing her name before she knew his.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.”

“Call me Richard.”

“Okay, I will. Well, I got to go now. Got to set up them tables over there for tomorrow’s lunch. Your dinner should be ready in a minute.” She walked away feeling she’d done her friendly part, but she was uneasy because she felt him watching her while she worked.

Frenchie followed her into the kitchen. “Richard’s a wealthy cattle rancher from up north, Amanda, a really nice guy. I think he likes you, sweetie. Be good to him.”

“I am being good to him, Frenchie. But I hope he’s not coming on to me, because if he is, I’ll have to tell him to mind his own dang business. I ain’t into hooking up with some ol’ man. No man, as a matter of fact. I’m still married.”

Frenchie chuckled. She was always amused at Amanda’s manner of speech. Both she and her sister Paula had a unique way of putting things - a far cry from her own French manner. “But, you must have an open mind, ma chère.”

“My mind’s open alright, it’s just that I don’t particularly want another man in it taking up all the space.” Amanda turned to add garnish to the plate as she gave a moment’s thought about the eligible rancher sitting at one of her tables with a shit-eatin’ grin that made her nervous.

As handsome as he was and as much as she was wondering if his pecker looked like Arlie’s, she shut him out of her mind as she picked up the steak plate and grabbed the bread and left the kitchen.

Chapter 5

On Monday Amanda walked down the long driveway to the mailbox as usual. Paula and Drake Livingston had built on ten acres along the Kern River outside of town. But then Bakersfield is more of a city than a town with its population of 340,000. A city that is surrounded by oil fields, ranches and farms, a city made up of blue and white collar workers, medical professionals, college faculties and students, a growing corporate element, migrant farm workers, and sad to say … the homeless and unemployed.

The Livingstons were proud of their 7,000 square-foot home with barns, garages and sheds to accommodate Drake’s trucking business - a fabulous spread. It was a far cry from the log cabins of their youth in Arkansas.

But for Amanda there was far too much activity there. She had become accustomed to being a recluse while living in the Nevada desert, and then again, maybe she’d been one all along, maybe even in Arkansas while growing up.

She had spent many hours alone at her grandmother’s cabin in the woods outside Mountain Home where she was born and raised. Her sister Paula was older and had her own friends and habits, so she wasn’t there most of the time. Maybe Amanda subconsciously preferred to be alone. She remembered reading somewhere, “You are where or what you’re supposed to be, otherwise you’d be somewhere or somebody else.” Maybe she was supposed to have lived her first twenty-three years as a hermit.

Arlie and Amanda had gone to school together in the small Arkansas town and had been girlfriend and boyfriend by the time they were both thirteen, and they quit school and got married when they were sixteen. Amanda had never worked because Arlie didn’t want her to work. She’d learned how to make her own clothes from her mother who had been a seamstress, so that helped pass the time. She’d buy used clothing from Goodwill or the Salvation Army, and there were always the castoffs from the people in the trailer park in the bins by the convenience store. She used some of the recycled clothing to recreate and design garments for herself – sundresses, aprons, skirts and blouses, and sometimes shirts for Arlie.

She had always thought she could take in sewing or do ironing if she had to, but going for a job outside the home wasn’t a choice for her. Arlie said he’d always take care of her and he did ‘til he fell off the face of the earth in spite of his promise. In that first six months after he’d disappeared, daily she swayed back and forth from feeling totally distraught and depressed to feeling spitfire angry at him for leaving her in such a predicament. But now things were different, that was all behind her.

She opened the oversized mailbox that her brother-in-law Drake had set in a square river-rock column that he had built. The box was full and she lifted out the stack of mail, clumps at a time to sift through, hoping the check from Johnny would be there.

“It came! It’s here!”
She screamed with glee, and ran towards the house with her arms full, dropping mail, stooping to pick it up, dropping more mail, stooping again, and then running.

 
Now she would find an apartment of her own in town near KC’s. That’s what she wanted more than anything. She’d thought of nothing else in the past few weeks. It was time for her to be on her own, to be alone again. Only this time she was looking forward to it, she needed it.

Maybe she could buy a car now, too, if she could find a cheap one. She’d been putting money into a savings account, but didn’t want to touch that. Her sister told her if she started withdrawing from a savings account it would become too easy and she’d most likely end up drawing it all out before she knew it. So she was very strict with herself. That was money for Europe, and now she had more to add to it because there would be a lot left over even after finding an apartment and buying a car, she figured.

The cashier’s check was for $9,000. She’d never seen that much money in her entire life. It was in her pocket and it was all hers! She wondered where Johnny had gotten that much. Then her thoughts went to Arlie and the rumors of his gambling. She didn’t want to think about it, but maybe Arlie had been a gambler after all, and maybe Johnny gambled. They were close friends, so they probably did it together. She shook the thoughts of Arlie and Johnny from her mind. All she cared about was the money and what she was going to do with it. Arlie was hardly a wisp of a thought now.

“Paula, Paula! It’s here! The money’s here!” The screen door slammed behind her as she ran into the family room where Paula was watching Oprah. “All of it! Nine thousand dollars! Let’s go find me a place to live, okay?”

Chapter 6

A week later Amanda spent the first night in her own place and it felt like heaven - a one-bedroom apartment in a courtyard surrounded by eight other units, the shingled exteriors resembling English cottages set around a lawn and flower garden. She fell in love with it the moment she saw the
For Rent
sign, and it was within walking distance of KC’s. Perfect.

The foundation of her particular unit was a bit off-kilter, though. It leaned a tad to the left. She dropped a spool of thread and it rolled down to the northwest corner of the living room, which she found amusing, and it was barely noticeable.

She furnished the cottage with pieces she had found at thrift stores and used furniture stores and had put up lace curtains she bought at Kmart to cover the paper roller-shades that came with the place. She was as happy as she could be. Finally a home of her own to decorate as she wished and no one to tell her she couldn’t.

Paula had wanted to buy new furniture for her, but Amanda wouldn’t have it. Paula did insist on buying her a new queen-sized bed, though. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, told her it was an early birthday present, and had it delivered the first day she moved in.

One evening on her day off from work, Amanda sat on one of the two matching bar stools at her high, white, wrought-iron café table that doubled as a cutting-board island in her kitchen. She’d found a new round cutting board that exactly fit the top of the table. As she sat in her cozy kitchen, she gazed into her charming living room. She sipped on a glass of wine and felt as if she was in another world, her very own cozy cocoon - all safe and happy.

She loved her beautiful furnishings - the overstuffed yellow-floral-blue-striped love seat, the bamboo cocktail table in front of it, the rattan chair with a lavender seat cushion, oriental framed prints on the wall next to the gold-framed mirror over the fireplace. Although they weren’t exactly new and were slightly worn, they were new to her.