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Part 6-14: Trouble
I know the lady is going to be trouble the minute she enters my shop. The main clue is the monster of a lizard curled up around her shoulders.
She pushes through the door, undeterred by the ‘NO PETS’ signage, clattering and jangling beads dangling from one side of her belt. She’s five foot nothing and built like a beanpole, her faded green t-shirt way too big, her black ruffled vintage skirt way too long, and her giant lizard way too there.
Unlike most customers, who halt just shy of the counter and gaze up over my head at the menu, she takes about three steps into the place and looks around at the tables.
Gary, the old toothless man who’s my only regular, glances up from his crossword book and nods at the strange little woman. She wiggles her fingers at him and turns in a slow circle, angling back towards the door.
Part of me wants to let her wander right on out again, but the cash register has gotten precious little exercise lately, so I speak up.
“Hey, welcome to Bisque by Bisk, are you hungry?” I say.
She twists, seeming to notice me for the first time.
“Bisque by who?” she says, in a lilting, musical voice.
“By Bisk. That’s me. Alena Bisk, owner and proprietor of Bisque by Bisk. What can I get you today?” I float a palm up to the menu.
I have a range of soups and things that go with soups, but the crown jewel is my lobster bisque. It is permanently on sale, at least until the word has spread and I can establish some demand.
Instead of ordering a damn lobster bisque, the woman keeps her eyes locked on me and takes a step forward.
“I’m Deluxe. Pleased to meet you Miss Alena. And this is Lobster.” She bobs her head at the lizard. It blinks.
I blink too. “Lobster?”
“I like your restaurant.” She starts to look around again.
“Thanks,” I say, still trying to work out if I had heard her properly. “We’ve been here for about three months now.”
She nods, her gaze drifting.
“So! Did you want to try the special? It’s our best seller.”
“The lobster bisque?” she says.
The lizard catches my eye and I feel a ridiculous tinge of guilt.
“Yeah…” I say, under its accusing glare.
“Can I just get some bread? Lobster is hungry.”
“I don’t think lobs– lizards eat bread.”
“Me neither, but I’m curious.”
I sigh. “I have to charge you two bucks for bread if you don’t get any soup.”
“Okay!” She reaches into a pocket somewhere in her skirt and produces a ten dollar bill. I fetch her ‘order’ and change, but she only takes the food, stuffing the rolls in the same pocket.
“Your change?” I say.
“It’s a tip! Thanks!” Then she bounces out of the store without looking back.
“Deluxe and Lobster,” I say, gesturing in their wake.
Gary makes a noise of general agreement as I scoop the money into the tip jar.
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