Wonder what her deal is. Does she think I can’t act well enough to help Becca?
Well, whatever. I shrug off the weird vibes, paste on my most charming smile and sit next to Becca.
“Rod’s has the best Tex
-Mex in this entire state,” Becca says.
“It’s the special spice blend. Anna’s secret recipe,” Tasha explains. “Julio owns this place, and she’s his wife,” she adds for my benefit.
“Hey y’all. How you doing?”
I flinch, turn and see Sylvie. She’s in a white cotton blouse with two buttons undone to show off her cleavage. But she’s smiling in a professional way and holding menus. She said she waited tables, but did it have to be this table, in this particular restaurant at this particular moment in time?
“Hey, Sylvie,” Tasha says with a fake smile.
“Hi,” Becca says, in a tone I can’t decide is happy or strained.
I just gawk at the three of them acting like polite people.
Sylvie launches into an explanation about the specials as she hands us the menus. Then she says she’ll give us some time to decide and vanishes.
I look over my shoulder to make sure she’s out of hearing range, then lean over the table. “We have to leave. There’s no way we can eat here.”
Tasha and Becca look at me curiously.
“How come?” Becca says.
“Are you kidding? Sylvie’s going to spit in our food.” I don’t want to get hepatitis or herpes. Drover doesn’t even have a big hospital.
“No, she’s not,” Tasha says.
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s very professional about her job,” Becca says. “Everyone in town knows everyone else. It isn’t good form for her to spit in the food of people she doesn’t get along with.”
I whistle. “You guys are trusting. Because in L.A.? Or New York? You’d be eating tacos con saliva.”
“She won’t get tipped if she takes her personal issues out on people here,” Tasha says. “And she’ll never find another job if she gets fired because everyone knows everything about everyone in this town. Margaret might like her, but she doesn’t like her enough to give her an allowance to live on.”
“People who don’t like her won’t tip her well anyway,” I point out.
“That’s not true,” Becca says, looking like I just called her a thief or something. “We’re fair tippers. Besides, it’s sort of fun to watch her having to be nice to us.”
Becca and Tasha decide on one order of nachos to split and beef tacos. I also order beef tacos. And we all get margaritas. I end up with one because I just say, “Me too,” without paying too much attention. I’m still wondering how this whole thing isn’t going to backfire on us.
After Sylvie brings out our drinks, I look at mine closely. Is that spit I’m seeing? How can I be sure? It could be the pulp from the lime the bartender squeezed…
“You trying to divine the future by reading salt?” Becca asks.
“That only works with tea leaves,” Tasha says.
“I’m trying to detect spit. Or bleach,.”
Becca and Tasha shrug. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable,” Tasha says, and they start drinking theirs. I stare at my margarita for a while longer, then decide what the hell. If I get sick, I’m going to sue Sylvie for all she’s worth. My lawyer’s a mean bastard.
I take a careful sip. The drink is refreshing, with a good heat from some kind of strong tequila. Maybe the best margarita I’ve ever had. And it’s the same with the tacos when they come. Definitely worth risking a little hepatitis for.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” Sylvie asks with a smile.