Read Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 for Free Online Page A

and
schlep
my books out to
the
car.
    She knows I'll be back very soon. It's the way I stay
sane. But all the way home I find myself thinking of Greta Kronk and
what loneliness can do to people. But is Conchetta right? Is she
dangerous? Would she do more than hurt someone? Would she kill?
----
9

    Dinner at the Deli
    T he parking lot is already
packed and the line outside the Continental deli winds clear around the
perimeter of the minimall.
    We're late, of course. Half past three is a shoo-in. Four
o'clock is the right time. Four-thirty is pushing it and five is rush
hour for the early-bird dinner ($6.50 for six courses plus coffee).
It's now twenty-five minutes after five.
    "I told you . . ." howls Evvie.
    "Don't start," I caution my sister.
    "The milk is spilled already," says Sophie, "so don't
keep drinking."
    Francie, the birthday girl, glances at Sophie and shakes
her head. "I think she needs a translator."
    "I think she needs a keeper," Ida snarls. "Why can't you
say 'Don't cry over spilt milk' like everybody else?"
    "That's what I said."
    We get out of the car and head for the end of a very long
line.
    "Well, at least we can window-shop," Bella, our little
ray of sunshine, says, eyeing the minimall with eagerness.
    I keep time. Ten minutes stalled in front of Discount
Linens. Fifteen in front of Klotz's Klassy Klothing. Sophie has
disappeared into the deli to scope things out and now she returns with
her report.
    "The
kasha varnishkas
are already a dead duck. I
told Dena to hide a plate of kreplach for us, there's only two left. If
you were dreaming of the stuffed cabbage, wake up."
    A few moans accompany the food report. Followed by a
couple of I-told-you-so's.
    Now a short wait in front of the prosthetics shop (a
really cheerful window) and then the ninety-nine-cent store and finally
we are in. It's ten after six and naturally everyone is starved.
    The place is packed and we don't get our favorite
waitress, Dena. Now you really hear groans. We get Lottie, she of the
long, bushy black hair (a strand of which Ida swears gets in her soup
every time we are stuck with her) and the very bad breath. She's so
ugly and antagonistic, Francie swears she must be a relative. Who else
would hire her?
    As we sit down, she practically throws the pickle and
sauerkraut appetizer dish at us, then hurries away like Hurricane
Hannah, whirling from table to table, hurling dishes and insults with
equal fervor.
    The deli customers consist of a smattering of families,
some couples, but mostly women sixty and up. We're all of us regulars
here.
    We study the menu avidly, as if we didn't know it by
heart. Before we even get past the soups, there's Lottie, order book in
hand. "What'll ya have, gals?"
    "I don't know yet," Bella says warily, bracing herself
for trouble.
    "I don't got all day, so lemme hear something before I
die on my feet."
    Intimidated, Bella blurts out her choices, stringing them
together like Jewish worry beads:
pineapplejuice-saladwithThousandIsland-matzoballsoup-broiledchicken-rice-spinach.
    Ida, just to infuriate Lottie, goes into slow-motion
mode. Every word takes forever to pass her lips. "Let . . . me . . .
see. First . . . I might like the . . . tomato juice . . . with a piece
of lemon . . . or maybe the grapefruit. . . ."
    Francie interrupts, trying to avoid trouble. She places
her order quickly. "Tomato juice. Pot roast. Baked potato. Salad.
French dressing." Evvie and I follow suit. We always get the same
things, anyway.
    "And . . . how . . . is . . . the kreplach soup this
evening?" Ida's voice seems to get slower and sarcastically sweeter.
    "It's the way it always is. In or out on the kreplach?"
    "Well, I could say 'in.'"
    "Say it!" we all shout.
    "In. Alright already."
    "And?!" Lottie is gritting her teeth.
    "And . . . for my meat dish, I am simply torn between the
sauerbraten and the sweetbreads."
    "Don't be so torn, pick already!"
    Ida looks her dead in the eye. "I do not like to be
rushed. It is not good for my