Jaine Austen 2 - Last Writes Read Online Free PDF Page B

frizzled gray hair trapped in a hairnet. Her name tag read “Helga.” A cigarette dangled from her lips, periodically dropping ashes into Today’s Special. Clearly, Helga had not been informed that smoking was illegal in California eating establishments.
    “What’ll it be, gals?” she croaked in a raspy voice.
    The menu was straight out of Oliver Twist . Today’s Special was something optimistically called London Broil. It looked more like recycled tires to me.
    “Better stick with the sandwiches,” Kandi whispered. “They come wrapped in cellophane. Guaranteed ash-free.”
    “I guess I’ll have a sandwich,” I said.
    Helga scratched her none-too-clean hair through her hair net.
    “What kind?” she asked. “Brown or white?”
    “Brown or white?”
    “White’s cheese. Brown’s meat.”
    “What kind of meat?”
    “Beats me.”
    For once in my life, I’d lost my appetite.
    “I’ll have the cheese, I guess.”
    “How about you, toots?” she asked Kandi.
    “What the heck? I’ll go for brown.”
    “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I whispered.
    “It’s safe,” Kandi assured me. “They buy the sandwiches at a supermarket.”
    The old crone tossed us our sandwiches, and two cans of Diet Coke, and we joined the others.
    Wells stood up as we approached the table, ever the courtly Brit.
    “So nice to see you again, my dear,” he said to me, patting the empty seat next to him.
    Oh, great. I dream of hot sex in a bathtub with Quinn and wind up with the Geritol Kid. I smiled weakly and sat next to him. Kandi, lucky lady, managed to snag a seat next to Quinn.
    Dale Burton had his cell phone out on the table. We’d probably just missed a call from Tom Hanks.
    “So, how are you enjoying your first few days on the Miracle lot?” Wells asked.
    “It’s all very exciting,” I said, looking down at the greasy blobs of mayonnaise oozing out from my white sandwich.
    “And how do you like our gourmet commissary?” Quinn asked with a grin.
    He winked at me, and to my horror, I found myself blushing. What the heck was wrong with me? I was so damn flustered I could barely eat my sandwich, which wasn’t all that surprising, since the cheese had the consistency of spandex leggings.
    Oh, well. At least this was one meal where I wouldn’t be stuffing my face. And then a wonderful thought occurred to me. If I ate at the commissary every day and the food was always this awful, I’d probably wind up losing tons of weight. By the end of the season I’d be Ally McBeal thin, thin enough to be dating a hunk like Quinn Kirkland. Who knew? Maybe we’d wind up deliriously in love. (Yes, I know I’d sworn off exceedingly attractive men, but Quinn was so exceedingly exceedingly attractive, I couldn’t help myself.) I let my mind wander a tad and was just saying “I do” to Quinn in a beachside wedding ceremony, when my reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Marco, the prop guy.
    “Hey, kids. Guess what I brought.” He held up a six-pack of beer. “Dessert!”
    Everybody cheered as he handed out the beers.
    “How about you, Jaine?” Quinn asked. “You want one?”
    Absolutely not. No way. If I wanted to wind up looking like Ally McBeal, the last thing I needed was a fattening beer.
    “Sure. I’d love one,” were the words that actually came out of my mouth.
    “So how’s your wife doing?” Kandi asked Marco.
    “She’s in much better shape than I am. I’m a nervous wreck.”
    I remembered what Kandi had told me, that Marco’s wife was about to give birth any day now.
    “Let’s hear it for the papa-to-be,” Quinn said, holding his beer can aloft in a toast.
    “To the papa-to-be!” everyone said.
    The beers were definitely the highlight of the meal. Before long, we were all sitting around companionably, chewing the fat like long-lost friends.
    Quinn looked around the nearly empty commissary. “This place reminds me of a dive I used to work at when I was trying to break into the