“And for you?”

“Ropa vieja, same as my friend, but with beans and yucca instead. And put the beans in a bowl, please. And just water to drink, with lemon. And, not to be a bother, but I like a lot of ice. Thanks.” She puts the menu down and fiddles with her wheelchair controls to move closer to the table. I hold my pen ready. It’s always one final thing with this type.

““Oh, and can you put the lemon on the side, rather than in the glass?”

I tuck the order pad in the back pocket of my jeans and scoop up their menus. From the table behind the women, I hear a quiet “excuse me, waitress?” I stop and clear the elderly couple’s salad bowls while reassuring them about the progress of their order.

“Shit, not the list. I’ve told you, I can pick out my future ex-girlfriend all by myself.”

One of the women at the ropa vieja table is shouting at her friend. She lowers her voice, but I can still hear her.

“There is no one to date in this town. And if you bring up that Selene woman again, I’ll smack you. At the last art collective meeting we looked like twins with our scoop-necked shirts and beaded necklaces. I’m not going to be one of those couples.

“But I’ve added new names. How about...” I leave the floor to put in their orders, but when I return with water the bossy friend is throwing out names.

“Judy.”

“Smokes.”

“Luz.”

“Six cats.”

“Chris.”

“Drinks.”

“Sweetie, just because someone has a few beers...”

“She threw up at my front wheels on New Year’s.” I set the glasses of water down and place a small plate with lemon wedges to one side.

“Thanks so much.” The woman tilts her head to smile at me. It’s a killer smile – one that spreads over an entire face and then splashes onto anyone standing nearby. And I recognize her. On my bedroom wall, I have a picture of the sexy, intricate insides of a lotus blossom. She’s the photographer. It makes sense she’s fussy. I start to say something complimentary, but the guy at the next table wags a finger at me.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” I walk over to the guy and pay a minimum of attention to his requests for extra mayonnaise, extra napkins, a new fork, and more rolls while I listen in on the two women. I shift sideways for a better view.

“Alex and Lorraine broke up, and you’ve always had a little thing for Alex. You should move in, quick.” Lemon woman’s friend snaps her fingers.

“Too late. Yesterday I saw Loraine at the supermarket and asked her about the break-up in a fake sympathetic way – you know, just to make sure the coast was clear. Loraine smirked and said they were still – wait for it – trying to work it out.”

“She’s probably lying.”

“Whatever, I’m not getting in the middle of anything.” The lemon woman is using two fingertips to squeeze a wedge of her namesake over a water glass. She delicately places the rind back on the plate. At the table by the bar a group is impatiently fiddling with their closed menus. I have to move out of earshot. On my next pass by the kitchen counter, there’s an order of tostones waiting. Lemon woman looks like the tostones type. I snatch the plate.

“How about that mysterious woman at Beverly’s gallery opening last week?

“These were extra and I thought the two of you might like them.” I place the appetizer in front of lemon woman.

“Wow. Thanks. That’s so kind.”

“Finger-wagging man is at it again. Hopefully he wants his bill and will leave. “Enjoy. Your meal should be out soon.” As I walk to the next table, I hear Bossy speak in a hushed voice.

“Did you see that?”

“What? Why are you whispering?”

“The server. She brought you free food.”

“Us. She brought us food.”

“Look at where she put the plate.”

“Don’t stare.”

Now they both are whispering. I tally the guy’s bill.

“...cute.”

“...just bringing treats to the crippled girl. Remember the espresso cheesecake at Mario’s?"

“Shush, here she comes.”

“And the rice pudding at Hongs? You score desserts off my wheelchair all the time.”

“Your meals should be ready.” I pat the women’s table as I go by. “I’ll go check.” I’m able to linger within hearing range by becoming overly attentive to the coffee needs of the table behind them.

“Okay, gallery woman. Yeah, I noticed her. But did you see us in the buffet line together, how she kept trying to help put food on my plate? She’s that type. We’d date, she’d want to do all this stuff for me, then she’d want a key to my house and I’d be desperate to keep her at bay, and then she’d sob and say we had to go to couple’s counseling.”

“Oh my god! You don’t even know the woman’s name and you’ve already got a whole bad scenario going.”

“Yeah, it’s my gift.”

At the counter, the cook is arguing with another waiter about missing tostones. I avert my eyes and reach for the two ropa viejas. I rearrange some things on one of the plates and then return to their table.

Bossy woman has her hand in the air, ticking off items finger by finger.

“What do you mean you don’t have anything to offer? You’re talented, fairly sane, much less uptight than you used to be and...” Bossy grabs her index finger and shakes it. “...you have great cleavage.”

“Well, there is that.” All three of us look at her breasts.

“Here you go ladies. I put the yucca’s mojo sauce on the side. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, it all looks great. Thanks again. The tostones were delicious.”

“Well, just yell if you want me.”

The whispers start as I leave.

“...on the side.”

“...just a nice person.”