Джеймс Кейн - Mildred Pierce

Around four, Wally came in, to inspect the alterations, and report. His main activity, since she had seen him, had been to send out the announcements, and for this he had drafted his secretary. She had utilized all the old Pierce Home lists, so that every person who had bought a home, or had even thought of buying a home, had been covered. Mildred listened, pleased that all this had been so well attended to, but he kept hanging around, and she wished he would go, so she could work. Then she noticed him looking at the showcase. This was the most expensive piece of furniture she had, and the only one that had been made to order. The base and back were of maple, but the sides, top, and shelves were of glass. It was to display the pies she hoped to sell to the “take-out” trade, and presently, looking rather self-conscious, Wally asked: “Well, how did you like that little surprise I fixed up for you?”

“—? What surprise?”

“Didn’t you see it?”

“I haven’t seen anything.”

“Hey — you go back to the kitchen, then, and wait, and believe me pretty soon you’re going to see something.”

Mystified, she went to the kitchen, and still more mystified, saw Wally appear there in a moment or two, find her pies, and carry two into the restaurant, then two more, then two more. Then she could see him arranging the pies in the showcase. Then she could see him fumbling with something against the wall. Then suddenly the showcase lighted up, and she gave a little cry, and went running out. Wally beamed. “Well, how do you like it?”

“Why Wally, it’s beautiful!”

“Something I did for you while — well, the last few days. I slipped in here at night and worked on it.” He proudly pointed out the tiny reflectors that screwed into the maple, almost invisibly, to shoot the light downward, on the pies; the bulbs, no bigger than her finger; the wiring, cunningly tacked to the back in such manner as to leave the panels free to slide. “You know how much that little job cost?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

“Well, let’s see now, the reflectors, they were seven cents apiece, six of them, that’s forty-two cents. The lights, a nickel apiece — say, they’re Christmas tree bulbs, can you beat that? Thirty cents for them, that’s seventy-two cents. The wire, ten cents. The sockets, screws, and plug, maybe a dollar. Say altogether, a couple of bucks. How’s that?”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“Took me maybe an hour. But it ought to sell pies.”

“And get a free dinner.”

“Oh, never mind that.”

“A free dinner, and second helpings.”

But the clock was ticking inexorably on, and she hurried back to work as soon as he left, though in a pleasant glow now, feeling that everybody was trying to help her. The vegetables, started before Wally came, were now ready, and they took them up. She put them in their pots and turned the hot water into the steam table. She made waffle batter, laid beside it the dipper that held exactly one waffle. She made pie crust, for biscuits. Her ice cream arrived: chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. She had Pancho set all three freezers on a bench, where they could be easily reached, and showed Arline how to dip it up, reminding her she would be responsible for desserts as well as starters. She made salad, started the coffee.

At five thirty she went to the ladies’ room to change for the evening. She had given considerable thought to what she would wear. She had decided on white, but not the sleazy white of the nurse uniforms then becoming so common. She went to Bullocks, and bought sharkskin dresses, of a shade just off white, white with a tint of cream in it, and had little Dutch caps made to go with them. Always vain of her legs, she had the dresses shortened a little. Now, she hurriedly got into one, put on her Tip-Top shoes, stuck on the little cap. As she hurried out carrying the apron she would wear in the kitchen, and slip off when she came out to greet the customers, she looked like the cook in a musical comedy.

However, she didn’t go into a number. She assembled Pancho, Letty, and Arline for final instructions, paying most attention to Arline. “I’m not expecting many people, because it’s my first night and I haven’t had a chance yet to build up my trade. But if you should be rushed, remember: Get their orders. I’ve got to know whether they’re having vegetables or waffle before I can start, so don’t keep me waiting.”

“Call them both?”

“Call the waffle only.”

“Call biscuits?”

“I’ll keep biscuits out all the time, and you pick them up yourself. Pick up your own bread and your own biscuits, but put them in separate baskets and don’t forget that biscuits call for a napkin, to keep them hot. Three biscuits to a person, more if they want them, but don’t be stingy with them and don’t take time to count. Pick them up quick, and pick up enough.”

Arline surveyed the place with a practiced eye, counting tables. There were eight tables for two, around the wall, and two tables for four, in the middle. Mildred saw the look, and went on: “You’ll be able to take care of them, if you get their orders. There’s plenty of room here, you’re using a tray, and that’ll help. Any time you need her, I’ll send Letty out to bus up your tables for you, and—”

“Can’t she do that right from the start? So we get used to working together, and don’t commence bumping and stepping all over each other’s feet?”

“Then all right.”

Letty nodded, with a self-conscious grin. She was already in the brick-red uniform, which was quite becoming to her, and obviously wanted to be part of the show. Mildred went back to the kitchen, lit the oven, and started the waffle irons to heat. She was using a gas waffle, instead of the usual electric waffle, “because that’s the old-fashioned kind of round waffle that people really like.” She went to the switch box, put on the lights. The last switch worked the outside sign, and when it was on, she went out to look. There it was, as beautiful as ever, casting a bluish light over the trees. She drew a deep breath and came inside. At last she was open, at last she had her own business.

There ensued a long wait. She sat nervously at one of the tables for two, while Arline, Letty, and Pancho stood in a corner whispering. Then they started to giggle, and a horrible pain shot through Mildred. It was the first time it had occurred to her that she could open a restaurant, and then have nobody show up. She lurched suddenly to her feet and went to the kitchen. She kept touching the waffle irons, to see if they were hot. Outside a car door slammed. She looked up. A car was there, and four people were entering the restaurant.

She had a moment of complacency as she reached for the chicken: now she would reap her reward for all her observing, thinking, and planning. She had had the free parking located in the rear, so she could see exactly how many customers she had, even before they came in; she had simplified her menu, so she could start the chicken without waiting for the waitress to report; she had placed her icebox, range, materials, and utensils so she could work with the minimum of effort. Feeling as though she were starting a well-tuned machine, she took out four each of breasts, second joints, drumsticks, and wings, rolled them in the flour box beside the range, gave them a squirt from the olive oil bottle that stood beside the flour. She shoved them in the oven, for the brief baking that preceded frying in butter. Not yet closing the oven door, she shoved a pan of biscuits in, beside them. Arline appeared. “Four at No. 9, soup right and left, two and two, one waf.”

She reminded Arline she was not to call soup, but dip it up herself, then went out to greet her first guests. They were strangers to her, a man, woman, and two children, but she made them a pretty little speech, saying they were her first guests, and she hoped they liked her place and would keep on being her guests. Arline came in with the starters, the soup, crackers, butter, napkins, water, and salad. Salad, for some reason, is served first in California. Mildred’s eye checked the tray, finding it in order. Two more people came in. She vaguely remembered them as Pierce Homes buyers of six or seven years ago, but her waitress training came at once to her aid. Their names were on her tongue before she fairly saw their faces: “Why how do you do, Mrs. Sawyer, and Mr. Sawyer! I’m so glad you were able to come!”