Chapter 3

3: 3

3

Three months can change a lot of things.

Like the fact that my cart now had regulars who kept coming back.

On the busiest nights the line stretched all the way to the mouth of the alley.

That day.

I was bent over one of the fried chicken cutlets, brushing on the sauce.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a figure I knew.

Sarah had on a black trench coat, her makeup flawless, her hair pinned up without a strand out of place.

Standing there in the crowd, she looked out of place.

She pushed through the line and stopped in front of me.

My hands didn't stop moving.

I glanced up, let my eyes rest on her face for less than a second, then looked back down.

"If you want a cutlet, get in line."

Sarah frowned, distaste all over her face.

"I'm not here to eat."

"Earl, we need to talk."

Same tone she always used, looking down on everyone.

"No time. Can't you see how many customers are still waiting?"

"Next."

I looked right past her, at the person behind her.

Sarah, humiliated and furious, suddenly lunged forward and snatched the sauce brush out of my hand.

"Stop brushing!"

I grabbed the brush back, my tone unchanged.

"Ma'am, if you're here to buy a fried chicken cutlet, get in line at the back. If you're not, step aside."

The people still waiting saw her cut ahead and weren't having it.

"Hey, what's your problem? Can't you see we're all in line?!"

"Yeah, no manners at all."

"Money doesn't make you special."

Every eye turned on Sarah, hard and accusing.

She stood frozen, her face flushing and paling by turns.

A student behind her, tired of her just standing there, pushed her along.

"Lady, can you move? If you're not buying, other people are!"

Sarah looked at me, head down and busy, then glanced back at the row of people glaring at her.

She clenched her teeth and stepped off to the side of the line.

I acted like I hadn't seen a thing.

It was nearly ten at night by the time I closed up.

I saw the last customer off and started packing the cart.

Folding table, little stools, seasoning jars, one by one onto the three-wheeler.

I was almost done when Sarah, who'd been standing off to the side the whole time, suddenly stepped up and slapped a fat envelope down in front of me.

"A hundred thousand. Sell me your sauce recipe."

She said it with her chin tilted up, like she had every right to.

"The recipe?"

I glanced down at the envelope, then looked back up at her.

"That's right. The recipe."

She let out a cold laugh.

"Don't think I don't know. All those days you shut yourself in the kitchen, you were working out the barbecue sauce."

"By rights, you developed that recipe in Saul's shop, so you should've left it there when you walked out."

"Saul's got a good heart. For old times' sake, he'll give you a hundred thousand. Call it compensation."

I laughed.

"A hundred thousand and you think you can buy my recipe? Dream on."

"Go tell Saul Gilbert, forget a hundred thousand. Even for a million, I'm not selling."

Sarah, choking on her anger, jabbed a finger at my nose and snapped.

"Earl, take the win and quit while you're ahead. Don't push your luck!"

"While I'm still being nice, you've got a hundred thousand to walk away with. Keep getting greedy and forget a hundred thousand, you won't see ten bucks."

I lifted the pot and flung the dirty dishwater in Sarah's direction.

"Where'd this stray dog come from, barking nonstop! Get lost!"

The wash water splashed all over her.

Sarah shrieked and stumbled back, jabbing her finger at me, her voice vicious.

"Earl, you just wait!"