No Story to Tell by K. J. Steele

him as she attempted to seat herself in the booth without actually coming into contact with it.
    “Ow. No, thank you,” she said, recoiling slightly as Pearl plunked a wilted salad down in front of her. She peered disdainfully down her pinched nose as if the bowl contained boiled rat entrails.
    “Not optiminal. It’s house salad. Everyone gits one.”
    With a pronounced, indignant sniff, the woman glared. First at Pearl, and then, finding that unproductive, at her poor entrapped husband, who responded by fiddling with the top button of his shirt.
    “Uh. Oh. Perhaps you mean, it’s on the house?” he interceded gently.
    “Mean 'nuttin of the sort,” Pearl shot back. “So, yous from jolly ole England, is ya? Me own roots comes from over there. Descended from one of the Kings, I am.”
    She paused and was promptly rewarded by an unbelieving eye-roll from the wife.
    “What? Yous don’t believe I is a direct descendant of a King?”
    “Well!” the woman huffed, shooting her husband a vicious look.
    “Uh. A King from where, may I ask?” the husband responded carefully.
    “He were an English King. Me maw’s paw’s great-great-grand-auntie were married to him.”
    “Married to a King?” the woman spurted dubiously.
    “Yep.”
    “Which King?”
    “Henry.”
    “One of your ancestors was married to King Henry?”
    “Naw. Not King Henry. Henry King. Henry George King, to be exact,” Pearl guffawed, exploding into a wild hyena laugh, snorting at intervals to catch her breath.
    Appalled, the wife drew her shiny coiffed head out of range of the errant bits of spit escaping Pearl’s mouth. Suddenly becoming aware of a trickle of laughter around them, the husband realized too late that they had been the hapless victims of a well-worn local joke. Not sure if he should be outraged or relieved, he settled on the latter when he realized Pearl still blocked the exit to his seat. His wife, thin nerves frayed, fingered her pearl necklace frantically, as if praying for protection.
    “Nice beads,” Pearl said as she started to walk away. “I’ll git ya some coffee while yous decide what yous want to eat.”
    Rose and Victoria shook their heads. It was a wonder Pearl had any customers at all. Over the years she had kicked so many people out of her place that had it not been for her tendency to forget what was inconvenient to remember she’d have run herself out of customers entirely. The tyrant of necessity, however, dictated that she let them back in.
    “So, what was it you were saying?” Rose asked, attempting to pick up the thread of their interrupted conversation. “Something about life not being as good as it seems?”
    Victoria’s mind scrambled. Was that what she’d said? She couldn’t pull the words back to her. “Is that what I said?”
    “Something like that. Look Vic, I’m not trying to be unkind, it’s just that you haven’t seemed happy for a long, long time. It bothers me to see you this way. Maybe you should just be honest with yourself, okay?”
    Victoria looked away. Picked at her sandwich. Time hung paralyzed above her, awaiting an answer.
    “Okay. All right. I guess you’re probably right. I suppose there’re some things I’d change if I could. But I can’t, Rose. You know how Bobby is. So, what’s the point of talking about it?”
    “Hmm. I know. Life can disappoint a bit, can’t it?” Rose said, her hand reaching across to give Victoria’s arm a small squeeze.
    Pearl’s return temporarily deflected Rose’s attention, and they watched in silence as two crisp salads, comprised almost exclusively of iceberg lettuce, were placed on the table accompanied by a virgin bottle of Thousand Islands.
    “Thank you, Pearl. Those look just lovely.”
    Pearl grunted, dropped the bill on the table and was gone.
    Rose picked it up, looked it over and shook her head. Sneaking a quick peek to make sure Pearl wasn’t watching, she took a pen from her purse and adjusted the total.
    “Rose!”