"Well, I certainly hope so," Flo said, smacking her gum as if she were
born to her name. She stood over me, plate with pie in hand, ready to
put it down, but floating it, instead, in mid-air and mid-conversation.
"I know, I know, it made no sense." I was dejected and looking
forward to diving head first into that voluminous, if over-sweet whipped
cream. I had always preferred cream pies, less work and no surprise
pungency from strange under ripe fruits.
"What on earth were you thinking, Julie?" Somehow she was able to
balance the pie plate while simultaneously fluffing her pink bouffant
with the other.
"Put the pie down already Flo, Geezus Aitch. I'm hungry."
She looked at me with amusement, rolled her eyes and lowered her
lean body into the booth while sliding the plate and its fluffy sugar
delightfulness across the table. We both picked up forks absentmindedly
and dug in, visions of Francis presumably dancing before both our eyes.
I sighed, then turned my fork over to lick off the chocolate pudding
stuck to the tines. "I guess I just thought maybe I was going to be the
one to turn him."
We both laughed. Guffawed. Spit actually.
"Uh, Flo honey? You think you might want to finish your shift?"
Frank was harmless, much as he tried to act like the boss. He and Flo
had been having an illicit affair for so long no one even thought to
gossip about it anymore. And since her husband was incapacitated, no one
cared either.
"Give it a rest, Frankie," she laughed, and slowly pulled herself up.
"Eat your pie sugar. Might as well drown those sorrows while the pastry is fresh."
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