“‘In the Forest’ is a good song, at least,” Glory said stoutly. She knew how hard it was to write a good song, let alone an earworm kind of song. She slipped the flyer from Glenn’s hand and carefully patted it back upon the wall in solidarity with bands everywhere.
“Well, if anyone would know a good song, you would,” Glenn said sincerely.
It was a nice little vote of confidence and it warmed her heart.
But that didn’t have much to do with the quest at hand. And her musical talent really didn’t have much of a relationship to carrying plates to tables.
Glenn smiled at her. “Kiddo, being a waitress involves a lot of being pleasant to people all day long. And a lot of being patient. And a lot of not saying what you actually think. And a lot of putting up with every manner of behavior—rude, sexist, drunk, you name it. Even when you think they’re ordering something that will make them fatter than they ought to be or will raise their blood pressure, or if they try to grab your ass.”
When he put it that way, it did sound well-nigh impossible.
She took this in, mulling. “Well, I can handle an unruly audience. And you’ve met most of my relatives over the years. Rude, sexist, and drunk are in my wheelhouse.”
He laughed.
“And I can be... I can be pleasant.” She issued that word gingerly. She wasn’t certain she’d ever been anything so banal as “pleasant.”
Glenn grinned at her. “Kiddo, you’re delightful, and I mean that sincerely. I like you. You’re talented. You are one of a kind. You are never dull. But that ain’t the same as pleasant.”
Ouch.
Perversely, she liked Glenn for saying things like that. He was stern and he loved his kids, all of whom seemed to be thriving, and he didn’t take crap from anyone. And she liked beingknown.
Which made her double determined to win him over. Because she did very much like winning, period, no matter what the game was.
She also had another agenda, but that would be the next battle in this particular war, and she had to win this one first.
“Maybe your customers would enjoy a colorful waitress. Liven up the place.”
This amused him, too. “Maybe so. Maybe so. Let’s try a little exercise. Say I’m a customer and I very plainly order rye toast. You write it down on a tag. You bring me rye toast. I tell you I didn’t order the rye toast, I ordered sourdough—you must have heard me wrong and could you please scurry off and get it right away and what the hell is wrong with yourears, you air-headed woman?”
She could feel her stomach muscles tightening as he spoke, even though this was all hypothetical.
There wasn’t a soul in the world who would get away with talking to Glory like that.
Glenn knew it.
She drew in a breath, and released it slowly. “Well, who are we talking to? Man or a woman?”
“Say it’s a woman.”
“I say, well, I’m so sorry. I brought you rye toast because I read an article that Angelina Jolie eats it for breakfast, and something about your eyes reminded me of her, and I guess I must have gotten confused.”
Glenn stroked his mustache. “Damn.” He was impressed.
Glory leaned back in her chair a little cockily and folded her arms. “Try another one on me.”
“What if it was a man?”
“I’d say, well, I read somewhere that rye helps build muscle and when I saw your forearm, I thought, this guy looks strong, the kind of guy who knows how to really use tools and lift heavy things, and so I just sort of defaulted to rye.”
Glenn snorted. “Itwouldtake a strong man to shovel his way out of that pile of bullshit.”
She laughed.
“And we’d have guys volunteering to lift you and carry you on out of here, you talk like that. Riots starting up.”
She shrugged idly with one shoulder. Guys wanting to do things for and to her was just another day. “Doesn’t mean they get to. One thing I know for certain? People like to be noticed. Whether they’re making smart choices for breakfast or reading a good book or their shirt brings out their eyes or whatever. And even if they know it’s B.S., they often just appreciate the attempt.”