The Cocktail Waitress Read Online Free PDF Page B

booze.”
    “Just let me sit here a minute.”
    “Sit all night if you want.”
    She kissed me when I got out, then waited while I unlocked the front door before driving off. I went in and lit a candle, as of course my lights were cut off, and started to count my money. But then I collapsed into tears, as a crying spell hit me, not from feeling bad, but from feeling so happy all over. That may make no sense, but it did, in a way, because from feeling so utterly sunk, so unable to think what to do, except to get some work mowing lawns, here I was with a job, with friends that warmed to me, and money, cash money, bulging my velveteen pocket, in these silly trunks I had to wear. By candlelight I knelt, by the side of my bed all alone, and counted the money I’d brought home. With the $19.15 I’d got from Mr. White, my $5 share of the last tip I had got, from the man who knocked over the glasses, and the other tips, I had $61—an amount I couldn’t believe. And I had the prospect of making more the next day, the day after that, the day after that, and as many days as I wanted. It seemed too good to be true. I tried to remember Ron, how I had felt for him once, when I’d first met him and he was at his most charming, and I suppose I did manage to summon some memories suitable to the day of a man’s funeral—but my tears of joy kept coming. At last I put the money under my pillow, took off my trunks and blouse, crept into bed with no clothes on, and slept.

6
    Next morning I got up, made coffee for myself over the flame of a chafing dish, a skill I’d learned ever since the gas had been discontinued, and put on pants and a blouse. Then I sat down at the dressing table and wrote three checks, one to the gas company, one to the electric, and one to the phone. Two of them I put in a drawer, as I wouldn’t have money to cover; but one of them, to the phone company, I put in my bag and I went out. I walked down to the bank, reserved $10, and deposited the rest, more than $50 in all. Then I walked up the hill to the phone company, which had offices near the bank. They sent me up to Mr. Wilson, on the second floor. I handed him my check, tucked into the last bill we’d received, marked “Third Notice,” and asked him: “Mr. Wilson, how soon can the phone be turned on?”
    “… Just a second. I’ll see.”
    He left the room, but then in a short time was back. He sat down and pushed me his phone. “Will you dial your number?” he asked.
    “Mr. Wilson, my phone is cut off. Perhaps I should have mentioned, it happened some time ago, when I didn’t pay my bill, and—”
    “Well, try it anyway.”
    I dialed my number. “Oh!” I yelped. “It’s ringing.”
    “I thought it would.”
    He laughed, and I hung up so I could clap my hands, though I loved hearing the ring. He gave me a little pat on the arm, and once more I felt happy and friendly. Then I walked down the hill, crossed the street, and a half block up went into a luncheonette in the middleof a big parking lot, where I ordered breakfast—a big, real breakfast, of orange juice, fried eggs sunny side up with a slice of ham, buttered toast, and coffee. For the figure, it’s not recommended, but for the soul, when you haven’t eaten like that, at least at breakfast time, for so long you can’t remember the last time you did, it’s wonderful. I took my time, and chewed every bite. When she brought me my check, the girl asked me: “Didn’t I see you last night at the Garden? Didn’t you serve us our drinks? Me and my friend?”
    “That’s right, I remember. You were in the blue dress.”
    “First night out in a while.”
    “Did you find the service O.K.?”
    “Little too good, I’m sorry to say—especially how well the friend liked it. He’s not my boyfriend, exactly, but since he was taking me out, I could have done with a little less looking. Not that it was your fault.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice.”
    “Well, he sure did. That boy liked