The Waitress Was New

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The waitress was new here. She came out of the underpass and hurried down the sidewalk, very businesslike, keeping to herself, as tall as me even in flat-heeled shoes. Maybe forty years old? That’s not the kind of thing you can ask a lady. She had a sort of flesh-pink makeup on her eyelids, she must have spent a long time getting ready. I didn’t look too closely at her shoes, the way I usually do to size someone up, because I had a feeling she’d seen some rough times, and there was no point overdoing it. And I’ve seen some rough times too, I tell myself now and then, but I’m not even sure it’s true. The sky was all cloudy. Sometimes, on gray days like this, you can see why you’re here, in a café like Le Cercle. People come in to get out of the weather, they have a drink, and then they go on their way. The boss was smoking his morning cigarillo when she showed up. He and I got along nicely, I think you could put it like that. I’m already about to retire, whereas he’s in his prime, theoretically, but he has problems with his cholesterol, and other health worries besides. He keeps his pills in a corner of the bar next to the Casio. I used to have to take the same kind myself, and I’m still here, but I think that sort of got to him, he seemed a little on edge. Sabrina hadn’t been in for three days now, she’d sent a note from the doctor, she had a bad flu. The new girl must have been wondering if this was the place, I wasn’t sure if she was going to come in or keep walking. The boss was dreading another lunch shift alone with his wife and me, and without Sabrina, and of course it’s not easy finding someone who knows the job to fill in just like that.

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