The Art of Wag Read Free Page B

the appointment book. “That’s fine. No problem.” At least she would be faced with one less uncomfortable conversation later tonight.
    Larry nodded. “Have a good evening.” He turned and quickly moved out the door, capering out to the street like an antelope fleeing from a starving tiger.
    Tracy started moving the silverware rolls into a big basket so she could start setting up tables. Larry had made it pretty obvious he’d had a crush on her for ages, but the idea of actually going on date—much less a trip—with the guy was alarming. She’d witnessed enough of his dates here at the restaurant to know exactly what it would be like. No way.

    Tracy looked at her watch. A half hour until they opened. She grabbed the silverware basket and went out into the dining area, setting up tables as quickly as she could. The door to the kitchen swung open and slammed against the wall. Jerry stomped through the doors, making at beeline for the table Tracy was setting up. He didn’t look happy. Uh-oh.
    The thin, small-boned man stopped in front of her and threw a pile of menus down on the table. He ran his hand over his slicked-back hair, making sure every ebony strand was in place. With his beady eyes and long nose, it was easy to see why Lou often referred to Jerry as “The Weasel.”
    Tracy straightened. “Hi Jerry. Is there a problem with the menus?”
    “It’s Giovanni! My name is Giovanni. You need to call me that.”
    “Okay Jerry. I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard. The guy brought out the absolute worst in her.
    A flush rose on Jerry’s sallow face. It looked like he might explode. “Are you being smart with me? Where did the lawyer go? He’s one of our best customers. And why aren’t you at the stand? I see you out here at the tables too much. You need to be at the hostess stand at all times!”
    Tracy gripped the silverware roll she was holding more tightly. “It’s physically impossible for me to simultaneously stand at the podium and set up tables. Or walk customers to their tables. Or get booster seats or high chairs for the kids. Unless I were cloned. If you need someone to stand at the podium at all times, you need to have two hostesses.” Sure. Like that was ever going to happen. As her salary and the level of employee turnover amply indicated, Jerry was the biggest cheapskate in Alpine Grove.
    He pointed his long index finger toward the kitchen. “Get Jenny to do that! She’s the waitress.”
    “Jenny and Anna are busy serving food. That’s what they do.” When they weren’t whining about tips or snacking on bread sticks.
    “Are you being a smart-ass?” Jerry waved his arms toward the seating area. “You’d better not be talking to customers like that. And I saw on your receipts that you’re spelling your name wrong again. How many times do I have to tell you? You need to end your name with an “i” and put a little heart above it. Customers like it and it’s good for business.”
    “That’s not how I spell my name. It’s T-r-a-c-y. There is no ‘i.’ Sorry.” And the hearts were stupid. What was this, sixth grade?
    “I don’t care. It helps business. And you get more tips.”
    “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Jerry, but as the hostess I don’t get tips. If you’d like to start splitting some of the tip revenue with me, I’d be happy to accept it.” What she was being paid barely covered the cost of Roxy’s dog food.
    “Stop calling me Jerry. And you didn’t answer me. Where’s the lawyer? Did you drive him away?”
    “I’m not rude to customers. Ever. Take last night, for example. Even when that kid threw 7,000 Cheerios on the floor, I just picked them up and smiled after Jenny told me to ‘get my ass’ over to table four. And then Anna took one of Jenny’s tables.”
    “See! You are supposed to be up here all the time!” Jerry was practically jumping up and down now.
    “Then who was supposed to clean up the Cheerio