me.
She nodded at me, still saying nothing: her green eyes hostile.
Jenson stood awkwardly, rubbing his jaw, grinning fatuously at us.
"I guess he could use some food. I know I could," he said finally. "How about it, Lola?"
Her face was expressionless as she said, "I'll get you something."
She turned and walked back into the kitchen.
I could see the outline of her heavy hips under the overall. They rolled sensually as she walked.
I picked up a paper napkin and wiped my face. Sweat was running off me.
"Pretty hot, huh?" Jenson said, his grin widening.
"If s hot all right," I said.
My face felt stiff as I tried to match his grin.
II
It was while Jenson and I were unloading the scrap off the truck that he began to talk about his wife.
I had eaten one of the best meals in my life. She had come out of the kitchen carrying two plates loaded with spaghetti and big veal steaks, and had planked them down on the counter and then had gone back into the kitchen without a word.
While we were eating and to ease Jenson's obvious embarrassment I asked him what he wanted me to do now I was going to work for him.
He said he would like me to take care of the garage and the gas pumps so that he and Lola could concentrate on the lunch room. He would like me to do three night shifts every other week and two the alternate week. Any breakdown jobs that came in he expected me to handle, and it would be my job to keep the outside clean and tidy.
"You'll be busy, Jack," he said, "but in this heat and with nothing else to do, it's a good thing to be busy."
I said that was okay with me. I couldn't be busy enough. I meant that. I knew if I started sitting around doing nothing in this place, my mind wouldn't be anywhere else except in the kitchen where she was. She would have that effect on any man.
After we had finished the meal we went outside and he showed me how the gas pumps worked, explained what I had to do when a customer arrived and showed me the tariff of charges for oil and gas.
He then asked me to give him a hand unloading the scrap.
By now the sun was sinking behind the hills and it was cooler. I was glad of the chance to exercise my muscles after being cooped up for so long in the freight truck.
As we worked, he talked.
"You don't have to worry about Lola," he said. "She hates to be crossed. I told you: she's always been against anyone working here. I don't know why. It's just one of those fool ideas women get into their heads." He looked at me anxiously. "You don't want to take it to heart. Maybe for a couple of days she will sulk, but she'll get over it."
I didn't say anything: there didn't seem anything to say.
We hauled a rusty rotary cultivator off the truck. I was impressed by Jenson's strength. He handled the machine as if it were a toy.
As we dragged the machine into the shed, he said, "Don't you think she's a fine looking woman?"
"Yes."
He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. As we lit up, he went on, "Funny thing how we met. Two years ago she got off the Greyhound bus and walked into the lunch room. I was feeling pretty low at the time. My wife had died a couple of weeks back, and I was trying to run this place single handed. I was even trying to do the cooking, and let me tell you, the food was terrible. She asked for a hamburger. Funny how one remembers a thing like that, isn't it? I remember too she was wearing a green dress. The bus stopped for twenty minutes to collect the mail and parcels and give the passengers a chance to get something to eat. They all crowded in: all yelling for sandwiches, pies, hamburgers and so on, and I was swamped. I didn't know whether I was on my head or my heels, then suddenly there she was behind the counter instead of in front of it, serving. I saw she knew the business, and I let her handle the rush. I just showed her where everything was. Before the bus left, everyone was fed. I couldn't have done it myself, but she had done it. I had the same feeling
She nodded at me, still saying nothing: her green eyes hostile.
Jenson stood awkwardly, rubbing his jaw, grinning fatuously at us.
"I guess he could use some food. I know I could," he said finally. "How about it, Lola?"
Her face was expressionless as she said, "I'll get you something."
She turned and walked back into the kitchen.
I could see the outline of her heavy hips under the overall. They rolled sensually as she walked.
I picked up a paper napkin and wiped my face. Sweat was running off me.
"Pretty hot, huh?" Jenson said, his grin widening.
"If s hot all right," I said.
My face felt stiff as I tried to match his grin.
II
It was while Jenson and I were unloading the scrap off the truck that he began to talk about his wife.
I had eaten one of the best meals in my life. She had come out of the kitchen carrying two plates loaded with spaghetti and big veal steaks, and had planked them down on the counter and then had gone back into the kitchen without a word.
While we were eating and to ease Jenson's obvious embarrassment I asked him what he wanted me to do now I was going to work for him.
He said he would like me to take care of the garage and the gas pumps so that he and Lola could concentrate on the lunch room. He would like me to do three night shifts every other week and two the alternate week. Any breakdown jobs that came in he expected me to handle, and it would be my job to keep the outside clean and tidy.
"You'll be busy, Jack," he said, "but in this heat and with nothing else to do, it's a good thing to be busy."
I said that was okay with me. I couldn't be busy enough. I meant that. I knew if I started sitting around doing nothing in this place, my mind wouldn't be anywhere else except in the kitchen where she was. She would have that effect on any man.
After we had finished the meal we went outside and he showed me how the gas pumps worked, explained what I had to do when a customer arrived and showed me the tariff of charges for oil and gas.
He then asked me to give him a hand unloading the scrap.
By now the sun was sinking behind the hills and it was cooler. I was glad of the chance to exercise my muscles after being cooped up for so long in the freight truck.
As we worked, he talked.
"You don't have to worry about Lola," he said. "She hates to be crossed. I told you: she's always been against anyone working here. I don't know why. It's just one of those fool ideas women get into their heads." He looked at me anxiously. "You don't want to take it to heart. Maybe for a couple of days she will sulk, but she'll get over it."
I didn't say anything: there didn't seem anything to say.
We hauled a rusty rotary cultivator off the truck. I was impressed by Jenson's strength. He handled the machine as if it were a toy.
As we dragged the machine into the shed, he said, "Don't you think she's a fine looking woman?"
"Yes."
He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. As we lit up, he went on, "Funny thing how we met. Two years ago she got off the Greyhound bus and walked into the lunch room. I was feeling pretty low at the time. My wife had died a couple of weeks back, and I was trying to run this place single handed. I was even trying to do the cooking, and let me tell you, the food was terrible. She asked for a hamburger. Funny how one remembers a thing like that, isn't it? I remember too she was wearing a green dress. The bus stopped for twenty minutes to collect the mail and parcels and give the passengers a chance to get something to eat. They all crowded in: all yelling for sandwiches, pies, hamburgers and so on, and I was swamped. I didn't know whether I was on my head or my heels, then suddenly there she was behind the counter instead of in front of it, serving. I saw she knew the business, and I let her handle the rush. I just showed her where everything was. Before the bus left, everyone was fed. I couldn't have done it myself, but she had done it. I had the same feeling
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