the edge off his coarse appearance, not to mention several inches off his waistline. He’s an obese black man with a swollen nose, crooked teeth, and limbs that appear disproportionately small when compared to the rest of his body.... And it appears, since the photos I’ve last seen of him, he’s taken a cue from Al Sharpton—his relaxed hair is combed straight back until the ends curl upward behind his neck.
“Hmmm... He wasn’t ‘all that’ when I saw him on TV, but he looks even rougher in person,” Wavonne says to me as we approach the trio. “Looks like he stole a wig from one of the Supremes... and not even a good one.”
“Shhh,” I say as we get closer to our guests. “Mr. Mellinger.” I extend my hand to him. “Halia Watkins. I’ve known of you for years. I’m honored to finally meet you in person.”
“Thank you.” He grips my hand with his own. “You’ve met Trudy, and this is my wife, Cynthia.” He gestures toward the striking woman of indeterminate age next to him. She has a sort of regal quality about her. Her flawless light brown skin and fit figure might lead one to believe she’s in her thirties, but there’s something about her eyes . . . a certain wisdom coming from behind them, that makes me think she’s much older.
“Lovely to meet you,” Cynthia says. She gives me a two-handed handshake, using her right hand to return my grasp while laying her left hand on top of the whole deal. This is when my eyes make contact with a diamond the size of a macadamia nut extending from her ring.
“You too. Welcome to Sweet Tea. This is my cousin, Wavonne. She’ll be our server this evening.”
Russell and Cynthia, who, if you include her heels, is about four inches taller than her husband, exchange greetings with Wavonne, and I sense a bit of “and we are mingling with the help, why?” energy coming from both of them as they shake her hand with a bit less enthusiasm than they did mine.
“Why don’t I show you to our table,” I suggest. “We’re expecting one more, right? Five of us total?”
“Yes,” Russell says, “but Trudy has some work to do. If there’s a small table nearby that might be the best option for her.”
“I’m sure I can arrange that,” I say, even though it seems a bit rude to exclude Trudy from sitting with us, but perhaps they see her as “the help,” too.
I lead the group to a six top in the back and let Trudy know she can set up at the small two-person booth to the left. While she fires up her computer and slips a Bluetooth thingamajig on her ear, the rest of us take our seats at the larger table.
“Can you get us started with some waters? We can go over the specials when everyone is here,” I say to Wavonne before turning to my guests. “Unless, of course, you’d like to start with a cocktail or a glass of iced tea right away.”
“Vodka soda,” Russell barks while looking at his phone.
“Dry martini for me, please.”
“And for you, boss?” Wavonne asks me.
“Just water for now.”
“What a lovely place.” Cynthia looks around. “Isn’t it a lovely place, Russell?” She pokes his arm with her finger.
“Um... yes... very nice.” He barely lifts his head from his phone before looking back down, pecking on the screen, and bringing it to his ear. “Russell here. What’s this I hear about a delay in the tile? The tile has to be down before we can move on with other installations.”
Although I can’t make out his exact words, I hear a male voice on the other end begin to respond, but Russell lets him speak for about a nanosecond before talking over him. “I’m not interested in the ‘whats and whys.’ You’ve been hired to handle those. I want that tile down by the end of the week.”
The man tries to reply but, once again, Russell talks over him. “I repeat: I want the tile down by the end of the week. Make it happen. I need you to meet deadlines. This is a Russell Mellinger restaurant. If you want to miss deadlines go work for Chili’s.”
I’m honestly surprised at why he would bother at this point, but I hear the man start speaking again and, to no one’s surprise, Russell interrupts him for a third time. “Are we clear?”
The man begins with his excuses yet again, and it’s almost painful to hear the vague rumbling of his voice coming from the phone when we all know Russell is just going to cut him off.
“Are we clear?” Russell repeats in the harshest tone he’s used thus far.
Finally, Russell gets the one word answer he wants and disconnects the phone without saying good-bye. “Idiots,” he says. “It’s a world full of idiots.” He turns to Trudy. “Trudy, put a tickler on my calendar to follow up with Jim about the tile tomorrow... and line up some candidates for his job if I end up firing him.”
“I’d say, ‘forgive him, he’s not usually like this,’” Cynthia says to me, “but, unfortunately, he’s always like this. Can you believe I’ve put up with him for thirty years?” She turns to Russell. “Can you take it down a notch? You’re a guest here, and we need to firm up plans for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. The show. Yes.” He sets his phone down on the table. “As soon as Tilla or Tina or whatever the hell her name is gets here, we’ll go over some of the logistics.”
“Twyla,” Cynthia corrects, and as the name hits my ears I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. How many Twylas can there be in the local restaurant business?
“Twyla Harper?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Twyla Harper?!” Wavonne says, setting a highball glass down in front of Russell and martini glass down in front of Cynthia. “Of Twyla’s Tips, Tricks, and Tidbits?”
Wavonne is referring to a regular cooking segment Twyla used to have on the local news.
“That’s the one,” Cynthia says.
“Is that so,” Wavonne replies in a wicked tone. “Things just got interestin’.”
Chapter 3
“Interesting? How so?” Cynthia asks.
“Well...” Wavonne pulls out a chair and sits down. “Twyla and Halia here have a bit of a sordid history.”
“We do not.”
“Twyla owns Dauphine in the city,” Wavonne elaborates. “Overpriced, mediocre-at-best, Cajun food. Halia worked for her many moons ago.”
“Really?” Cynthia looks in my direction.
“Yes. Those were my government job days. I was a loyal civil servant at the Census Bureau for quite some time and worked part time at a bunch of different restaurants around town over the years. Dauphine was the last place I worked at before I quit the bureau and opened Sweet Tea. It was still a happening place back then.”
“Dauphine?” Russell asks.
“Yes. It was very popular for a number of years, but I’ve heard through the grapevine
