After Her Read Free

Are you okay?”
    I clean the final table with Lysol and acknowledge him with a forced smile I usually reserve for the customers who leave me a crappy tip.
    “Yeah, I'm good. I just…I'm a little tired, I guess.”
    “It’s no wonder why. All you ever do is study and work,” he says. “Maybe I should give you some time off.”
    “I know you mean well Frank, but time off is the last thing I need. What I need is a pay raise, but we both know that you’re not willing to compromise on that front…” I reply casually, hoping that the words will linger in his consciousness and play subliminally in the background of his thoughts.
    Frank sighs, clearly no longer in the mood to negotiate. I recognize this look of sheepish futility on his face, but Frank isn’t the villain. He’s not even a half-bad guy. He’s simply a runt in the litter of life. Give him a mile to run and he’ll get two feet away before falling on his ass.
    Two contemptuous divorces within a span of fifteen years has made him money-shy, paranoid of the government hands poking their bony fingers into his wallet, plucking dollars and cents for the mounds of alimony he owes to the wives he’d like to forget.
    I believe he has good intentions, but it’s a far cry from actually acting on them. Arguing with Frank Grant about money is as advantageous as discussing politics with a brick wall—it’s a waste of time and breath.
    “Cass, if it were in the budget, I’d pay you as much as you need, but things are tight. This is a university funded facility,” he says. “They have been dragging their goddamn feet sending a plumber to fix those rusted pipes in the men’s room for almost a year. I can’t ask them for more money to pay the employees.”
    I nod because it’s all I can do. I knew what I was getting myself into before I ever opened my mouth.
    “Yeah Frank, I get it,” I say. “Forget I ever asked.”
    Frank gathers a handful of twenties into neat stacks atop the bar counter then gives me a pressing look.
    “You look pale,” he says. “Did any of those varsity idiots give you trouble again because I thought I told those jackasses to keep their hands to themselves. I'm not afraid of banning them from the restaurant. Just say the word.”
    “No, it’s not them,” I say. “It’s actually…nothing, I think. Did you serve an older woman that came in here around six this evening? She was dressed in a cocktail dress and had brown hair. She looked and smelled like someone’s trophy wife and gave me the feeling that she was filthy rich.”
    “Oh, you mean that gorgeous Stepford wife,” he says with lecherous smirk. “Yeah, she ordered a Cobb salad and some chamomile tea. Then she handed me something that she wanted you to have.”
    “Me?”
    He nods and sets a manila envelope atop the counter. “Here it is.”
    I saunter to the bar and stuff my cleaning rag into my apron pocket before grabbing the envelope that has my name written across the front in cursive handwriting. After scrutinizing every inch of the envelope and giving Frank a reaffirming glance, he nods.
    “I thought it was strange that she wrote your name on it too,” he says. “She was very adamant about you getting this thing.”
    Staring at the envelope, I imagine it burning through my fingers. I don’t know why this rubs me the wrong way, but it does.
    “Cassandra?” Frank says. “You okay?”
    I shake my head and stagger away from the counter in a daze.
    “Yeah. Um…can I go home now?”
    “Sure,” he replies. “You don’t have to work the morning shift tomorrow. Amos volunteered since he called in sick today.”
    “Then I’ll see you on Tuesday.” I grab my jacket from behind the counter along with my backpack and purse. After stuffing the envelope into my purse, I scurry out of the restaurant even as Frank is midsentence. 
    I don’t relax until I'm in my car with the key in the ignition and the radio on full blast. Something rock n’ roll. Something