Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 29

 

Denny's Denies Discrimination
Dillon, SC—Reuters

 
In an impromptu press conference Wednesday, Janice Richardson, manager of Denny's in Robeson County, North Carolina, hotly denied claims that her restaurant discriminated against the Unchained.

A group of devils aired the charges Tuesday, claiming that they were denied service at the restaurant during an outing Sunday evening. "We sat there for two hours without seeing our waitress," claimed the group's spokesman, who identified himself as Slimespudge. Richardson did not dispute the group's claim, but denied that any discrimination was involved. She argued that the design and staffing of the restaurant made such occurrences inevitable. Under insistent questioning from the press, she became more and more agitated, finally saying, "Look—everybody gets lousy service at Denny's. It's a fact. The pictures on the menu look a lot better than the real food too." She quickly retracted the statement, but continued to deny any discrimination.

The chain's district management would say only that, "Discrimination is completely against Denny's corporate policy, and we will be reviewing Ms. Richardson's franchise very carefully."

The area in which the incident allegedly took place lies at the southernmost stretch of Interstate 95 in North Carolina. It is a popular destination for sightseeing Unchained who stand at the state line and look across into the sprawling South of the Border roadside complex in Dillon, SC. "It's like the promised land," one demon said in a recent interview.

 

Rhea pulled the Triumph into the driveway behind Jack's Camry and got out. She looked around appreciatively. It was dark, but that didn't bother her much, and the yard was a riot of flowers. She breathed deeply and caught the fragrance of spring. She walked over to Jack. "Nice place," she said.

"Thanks," he said. "I can't take much credit for it, though. The people who lived here before planted all the flowers. All I do is try to keep the yard up. Better than the house, anyway." Jack didn't take praise well, she thought. She would have to do something about that.

He took the white paper buckets from the back seat, and the fragrance wafting from them was even better than the flowers. Jack's stomach growled and Rhea stifled a laugh. He definitely hadn't had supper, and may not have had breakfast or lunch. She'd had an excellent supper, but her metabolism was malleable within certain limits, and the Szechuan smelled awfully good to her, too. "Shall we go in?"

Jack closed the car door and straightened up. "Okay," he said, "but remember, I warned you about the mess."

Rhea headed for the front door, but Jack grabbed her arm as she started up the steps. "NO! Not that way!"

"Who that?" A shrill sleepy voice came down from the roof.

"It's just me," Jack called back.

Rhea watched, fascinated, as the gargoyle stuck her head out over the gutter and looked down at them. She was a good specimen, Rhea thought, though a little thin. Suddenly she noticed Rhea.

"Not just you," the gargoyle said. "You got girl! No like. I girl, you no need she."

"Just great," Jack mumbled. "I didn't figure Hell would have any problem with polygamy."

Rhea smiled at him. "Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you?" She could feel the heat of his blush.

Jack looked up at the gargoyle. "She's a friend from work," he told her.

"No like!" the gargoyle repeated.

Jack shrugged. "Well, it's not my job to keep her happy, anyway," he said. "This way," he told Rhea, and they started for the carport. The gargoyle moved with them.

"I don't think she wants me in there," Rhea said.

"We'll just have to use our superior brain power, then." Jack glanced over at her. "Um . . . I left mine at the office. How about you?"

"Me too." Rhea looked up again. The gargoyle glared down. "But how about if we offered her something to eat. She looks pretty hungry." She knew she could master the gargoyle easily enough, but even so small an expenditure of Hellawatts might get her noticed. Maybe the expenditure of some of their Szechuan would suffice.

"Okay." Jack looked over the bag full of boxes. "It's not like we don't have enough." He handed Rhea the bulk of their meal, keeping one bucket. "Hold these and I'll see what I can do."

Rhea stepped back.

"Hey," he said, holding up the bucket. "You hungry?"

The gargoyle's eyes tracked the bucket intently.

"Hungry, yes," she agreed. "Bad hungry."

"Well, then," Jack hefted the bucket. "Tell you what. I'm going to throw this bucket up on the roof down there at the end. You go down there and eat it, and you can have the whole thing. If you don't, I'll pull it down and hide it and you won't get anything. Okay?" He walked back to his car and got some string from the trunk, tying a long piece to the bucket handle. "Okay?" he repeated.

The gargoyle stared from him to the bucket in his hand, then to Rhea, then back to the bucket. "Okay," she said after a long pause. "I eat."

Jack took the bucket, walked to the end of the house and threw it up on the roof. He took care not to stand directly beneath the eaves, and he held onto the string.

The gargoyle sidled across the roof towards the food, moving very quickly at the end. She grabbed the bucket. "Deal?" Jack asked, still holding the string.

"Deal," the gargoyle replied.

Jack let go of the string and walked back to join Rhea. "After you, miss," he said, ushering her onto the carport. "There's no way you could have pulled that bucket back after she grabbed it," Rhea said.

"No," Jack agreed, looking for his keys, "but maybe she didn't know that. Or maybe she's not such a bad gargoyle underneath it all." He found the key he was looking for, and inserted it in the lock, turning it slightly. Rhea heard a faint click. Then he replaced the first key with another, and turned again. There was a louder click, and Jack turned the knob, lifting slightly. The back door came open.

"What was all that?" Rhea asked. "Security lock?"

"No," Jack admitted, "my keys just don't work very well. I've been meaning to get that fixed. The door's a little warped too."

Rhea followed Jack into the kitchen. It was a cozy room with pine cabinets and red-checkered curtains. "Nice place," she commented.

Jack set the food down on the round table off to the outside edge of the room. "Thanks," he said. "I keep it clean, if not neat, but that's about it. And it has its quirks." He opened a drawer by the sink and started fishing for silverware.

Rhea looked at the printout unrolled from the edge of the kitchen, through the dining room and all the way down the hall. "What's this?" she asked.

"Umm, carpet protector," Jack answered after a short pause.

Rhea looked closer at the code on the printout. It seemed to be from a minor project they had abandoned last year. "Well," she said, "you might want to think about that. It's got to be a fire hazard."

"I will," Jack said. He laid out the silverware, and unwound some paper towels for place mats and napkins. "Would you like some coffee or tea? I might have some Coke in the fridge. Coke doesn't spoil, does it?"

Rhea sat down at the table and slipped off her shoes.

She moved the silverware to put the two place settings adjacent to each other. "I'll have hot tea," she said. "Green if you have it."

"Just Lipton."

"Okay."

Jack filled a glass kettle with fresh water from the sink. He took it over to the stove, put it on a back burner, and lit the oven. Then he lit the burner diagonally across from the kettle's. Finally he lit the burner under the kettle and turned off the oven and the other burner.

Rhea had been watching the display in fascination. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Jack admitted, "but I know if I don't do it that way, I'll have a flame-out every time. I've been meaning to look at that." He set a plate down in front of her. "Here you go."

Rhea spooned rice and vegetables onto her plate. They were still warm. Good. She could use the chopsticks, but she wasn't going to if Jack wasn't. Jack sat down beside her and started heaping his plate.

"So, Jack," Rhea said, "tell me a little about yourself. The things that aren't on your résumé." She saw his fork freeze in midair and rushed to reassure him. "Hey, this isn't a test. I just want to know you better." She put her hand on his knee. It wasn't subtle, but it seemed effective.

"Well," Jack said, "not much to tell. I was born in Myrtle Beach, great parents, two sisters and a brother. I had a happy childhood, no hidden traumas. I went to MB High, worked summers at Painters Ice Cream, graduated, went to Clemson and got my double-E Masters. Worked for a few loser companies, then found Celestial."

"That certainly is a thumbnail sketch, I know there's more than that," Rhea said.

"Maybe," Jack said, "but it's not any more interesting in detail. It's like Columbia: It's a great place to live, but you wouldn't want to visit there." They ate for a few minutes in silence. Rhea didn't move her hand, and Jack didn't ask her to.

The teapot began to whistle, and Jack got up. "How do you like it?" he asked.

Rhea batted her eyelashes at him theatrically. "Strong and hot," she said. Jack nearly spilled the water.

They took their tea into the living room. There were two couches, several bookcases, a small TV and a large rack of CDs and audio ROMs, mostly jazz and old R&B. Jack hesitantly put his arm around her shoulder as she studied them. She leaned into the embrace, and selected an Oscar Peterson disk from the rack.

"How about this?" she asked.

"Perfect," he said, though she was pretty sure he would have answered the same way if she had selected Great Artillery Battles of World War II. She put the disk in the player and hit play. Nothing happened.

"Tap it on the right side, about two thirds of the way towards the back," Jack instructed. Rhea did, and the warm tones of Peterson's piano filled the room.

They retired to the couch, and Rhea put her arm around Jack, too. His manner was warm and relaxed, but she could feel his pulse racing. They sat for a while, sipping tea and listening to the smoky beat, then Rhea put her cup down and turned to Jack. "Kiss me, you fool," she whispered.

"Not a problem," he replied slowly. He put his arms around her and drew her to him, gently, but with an urgency she hadn't expected. He surprised her again, kissing the hollow of her throat before settling on her lips. She relaxed and lured his tongue in, giving as good as she got, then following its retreat back into his mouth. He was a spectacular kisser. This is going to be great, she thought.

There was a rap on the window. They ignored it, but it came again. Jack pulled away. "Jesus, what is it now?" he muttered. There was an arm dangling across the top of the front window—an ugly arm. Jack opened the front door and yelled out, "Well!?"

"Sauce soy, please?" The high tones floated down from overhead. "Just little bit?"

Jack strode into the kitchen and picked out several packets, opened the screen door and hurled them onto the roof. "Okay?" he demanded.

"Okay."

He slammed the door and looked at Rhea, breathing hard. She looked back steadily for a moment—then her control broke and she dissolved in laughter. Jack looked hurt for a second, then sheepish. Then he broke down too.

 

Back | Next
Framed