Cause For Alarm

Julianna nodded and brought that table their condiment, another their bill, still another their sandwiches. That done, she ducked into the bathroom, something she had to do often these days.

She relieved herself, flushed the toilet, let herself out of the stall and stopped dead. A woman stood at the mirror, applying lipstick. She had hair the color of cinnamon; it fell in soft waves almost to her shoulders.

Julianna closed her eyes, her mind hurtling back fourteen years….

Her mother sat at her vanity, dressed only in her bra, panties and garter belt. Julianna stood in the doorway, watching as she leaned closer to the mirror and applied her lipstick. She drew the color evenly over her mouth, then pressed her lips together to smooth it.

Admiration and awe filled Julianna. “You’re so pretty, Mama,” she whispered, forgetting herself.

Her mother turned. And smiled. “Thank you, honey. Remember, though, when it comes to your mama, we say ‘beautiful.’ You’re pretty. Mama’s beautiful.”

Julianna bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, sweetie, just remember next time.”

Julianna nodded and inched into the bedroom, unsure if she was welcome or not. When her mother didn’t protest, she sat gingerly on the edge of the big, satin-covered bed, careful not to crumple her dress.

She straightened her white pinafore and inspected her black patent shoes, looking for scuffs and finding none. Her mother had many rules she expected Julianna to follow, so many it was sometimes hard for five-year-old Julianna to remember them.

But Julianna never forgot that wrinkled, mussed clothing would be met with great displeasure and swift punishment. Especially when company was coming.

“Who’s visiting tonight, Mama?” she asked, resisting the urge to rub her toes together, though she liked the squeaky sound the shiny leather made when she did. “Uncle Paxton?”

“No.” Her mother took a stocking from the box on the vanity top. “Someone special.” She eased the shimmery, silky fabric up her leg, then clipped a garter to it. “Someone very special.”

“What’s his name?”

“John Powers,” her mother murmured, her expression growing faraway and soft looking. “I met him at that party at the Capital last week. The one I told you about.”

“Where they had sandwiches shaped like swans.”

“Canapés. That’s right.”

Julianna tilted her head, studying her mother. He must be special, she decided. She had never seen her mama look quite this way when talking about one of her visitors.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“If you’re a really good girl, I might buy you that doll you’ve been wanting. The one with the long brown curls, just like yours.”

Julianna knew what her mother meant by being really good. It meant she was to be quiet. And cooperative. And what her mother called charming. Being really good would be rewarded. Not only by her mother, but by her gentleman friends, too. They brought her candy and small toys, they fussed over her, called her adorable, cute, pretty.

And then her mother sent her to her room.

Julianna figured that one of these days, if she was good enough, charming enough, she wouldn’t be sent to her room. One of these days, when she was older, she would have very special visitors of her own.

“I will, Mama. I promise.”

“Run along now and let me finish dressing, John will be here any moment.”

“Miss? You okay?”

Julianna blinked, startled out of her reverie. “What?”

“You okay?” The woman at the mirror dropped her lipstick back into her purse. “You were starin’ funny at me, like you seen a ghost or somethin’.”

Julianna blinked again, really seeing the woman before her for the first time. She had rough, pebbly skin and her cinnamon hair was obviously hers courtesy of a bottle. And a cheap one at that.

How had she ever thought this woman looked anythinglike her mother?

“I’m fine,” Julianna whispered, crossing to the sink to wash her hands. “I just…I don’t know what happened.”

The woman smiled and patted her arm. “Had six kids of my own. Nothin’ plays havoc with the mind like them hormones. It’ll get better. Then it’ll be them kids playin’ havoc with your mind.”

The woman cackled, patted her arm again and left the bathroom.

Julianna stared after her, unsettled by what had just happened. The memory had been so vivid; it had come upon her with such force and left her feeling so vulnerable. So alone.

She missed her mother, she thought, tears pricking her eyes. She missed Washington and her comfortable apartment. She missed feeling pretty and special. And safe.

The bathroom door swung open and Lorena stuck her head in, her expression annoyed. “You going to stay in here all day, or what? Your tables are lookin’ for you.”

Though the other woman was already gone, Julianna nodded in response and hurried back out to the dining room.

The remainder of Julianna’s day passed minute by agonizing minute, hour by excruciating hour. As the lunch crowd thinned, then became nonexistent, Julianna became aware of how much her feet and back hurt, of how tired she was.

She worked alongside the other waitresses, refilling the condiments, wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs, preparing for the next day. Buster’s stopped serving at three. Opening for dinner would be a waste of time and money—this part of the central business district became a graveyard at 5:00 p.m. when the law offices and other businesses let out for the day.

Julianna didn’t listen to or participate in the other women’s chatter. Every so often, she would become aware of one of them looking speculatively at her or making an ugly face in her direction. She ignored them and kept her attention fixed on her tasks so she could finish up and go home.

Finally, all the preparations for the next morning had been made, and she’d punched out. As Julianna reached for the door, Lorena stepped in front of it, blocking Julianna’s way. The other three waitresses came up beside Lorena, flanking her, their expressions tight and angry. “Not so fast, Miss Priss. We’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Julianna stopped, glancing nervously from one to the other of the women. “Is something wrong?”

Lorena, obviously having been voted the leader of the pack, took a step toward her. “You could say that. We’re sick and tired of your attitude. Of you thinking you’re better than the rest of us. And we’re sick and tired of having to cover for your lazy butt.”

At the animosity in the older woman’s tone and expression, Julianna inched backward, glancing over her shoulder, looking for Buster. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Where do you get off, thinkin’ you’re so much better than us?” Lorena took another step; the others followed. “Just ’cause you went and got yourself knocked up, you think you don’t have to work? You think a bun in the oven makes you special or somethin’?”

Another one of the girls, Suzi, pointed a long, bloodred fingernail at her. “When you show up late, we’ve gotta cover your tables. That means we’re working our tails off and getting crappy tips all around.”

“And we’re sick of it,” Jane said.

“I overslept,” Julianna said stiffly. “I didn’t do it on purpose, for Pete’s sake.”

That, obviously, wasn’t the response they wanted, because angry color flooded Lorena’s round face. She looked like a bleached blond balloon about to pop. “I’ve got a question for you, princess. One we’ve all wondered about. If you’re so frickin’ high and mighty, why’re you working in a dive like this? And if yours is so special it don’t stink, where’s your old man? Why’d he go and dump you the moment you got knocked up?”