Read Online Alligators in the Trees by Cynthia Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cynthia Hamilton
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Tobias watched this exchange and became inspired by what he witnessed. He flipped over his placemat and continued to watch Priscilla as she flitted around, dishing out abuse to Frank, and his mediocre cooking to her customers. She dealt with everyone quickly, despite her somewhat tardy start with the party of five, and it was hard to imagine someone who lacked Priscilla’s detachment doing her job as well.
Splash of coffee
Clank of change
Keep your fork
It’s not Le Grange
Arms full of plates
Pocket full of tickets
Corn beef hash and
Gravy for your biscuits…
He paused and watched her as she made her way from the cash register to a recently vacated table and back to the pick-up window to collect more hot plates.
Counting quarters, marking time
Scooping tips, stacking dimes
Lousy tips
Should be a crime
Here’s some advice
Don’t be a schmuck
If the check says five
Better leave a buck…
Girls like these
Aren’t hard to please
Skip the small talk
And forget the tease
Save the smiles
And the mild flirtation
They’re not working for
Adoration…
Just leave a big tip, baby
Just give till it hurts
Just empty your wallet, honey
I’ll be your favorite flirt
But show some appreciation
And I don’t mean with words…
Reach deep down in your pocket
Fifteen percent is absurd…
Counting quarters, stacking dimes
Counting quarters, stacking dimes
Lots of taking
Lots of giving
Oh, what the hell
It’s a living…
Tobias smiled to himself, the whole song now alive in his head. He heard the backup singers, the key, the intro, the repeating rhythm, the orchestration, the whole works. It was the first song he had summoned up in its entirety in probably a decade. Sure, it had an openly light-hearted tone, but it still had a core of cynicism.
More importantly, when they were finished with it, it would have the unmistakable sound of a top ten hit—not that that sort of thing had ever mattered to him before, but he supposed that’s what a comeback was all about. It was always the songs he personally liked the least that turned into their big money makers.
He was sure this one would make Brody happy. It was just the kind of ditty he liked to sink his teeth into: lyrics and a basic melody of benign fluff that he could spin with sophisticated guitar licks and fancy arrangements, transforming it from mindless verse to a piece of classic rock.
He glanced down at his watch: quarter to eleven. He never got around to booking some studio time with Brody, despite his promising breakthrough the previous day. No worries, though. Brody was sure to jump at the chance to work on fresh material.
Tobias fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and, as discretely as possible, called Brody’s mobile number.
“Brody,” his erstwhile partner announced after the third ring.
“It’s Tobias.”
“Yeah…?”
The freeze-out, Tobias thought. His punishment for being a bad boy. “I’ve got a bona fide, honest-to-God, guaranteed Billboard climber. Thought you might like to hear it. Your studio or mine?” A rather lengthy pause ensued, in which Tobias wondered if Brody had hung up on him out of spite.
“I’m two minutes from mine,” Brody said at last.
“I’ll meet you there in five.”
He turned the phone back off, just in case his wife or girlfriend tried to track him down. He carefully folded his new lyrics and stowed them in the other pocket. He then located the wad of bills in his pants pocket and peeled off a ten for the check and another ten for a tip. Extravagant, yes, but he owed his waitress a lot more than that. He took one last look at Priscilla as she haggled with Frank over an order, then slipped out the front door.
By the time Priscilla turned around, both Philip and Tobias had vanished like a pair of ghosts. All that was left of either one of them were oversize gratuities. She lingered over Tobias Jordan’s table longer than was necessary to wipe it down
Tobias watched this exchange and became inspired by what he witnessed. He flipped over his placemat and continued to watch Priscilla as she flitted around, dishing out abuse to Frank, and his mediocre cooking to her customers. She dealt with everyone quickly, despite her somewhat tardy start with the party of five, and it was hard to imagine someone who lacked Priscilla’s detachment doing her job as well.
Splash of coffee
Clank of change
Keep your fork
It’s not Le Grange
Arms full of plates
Pocket full of tickets
Corn beef hash and
Gravy for your biscuits…
He paused and watched her as she made her way from the cash register to a recently vacated table and back to the pick-up window to collect more hot plates.
Counting quarters, marking time
Scooping tips, stacking dimes
Lousy tips
Should be a crime
Here’s some advice
Don’t be a schmuck
If the check says five
Better leave a buck…
Girls like these
Aren’t hard to please
Skip the small talk
And forget the tease
Save the smiles
And the mild flirtation
They’re not working for
Adoration…
Just leave a big tip, baby
Just give till it hurts
Just empty your wallet, honey
I’ll be your favorite flirt
But show some appreciation
And I don’t mean with words…
Reach deep down in your pocket
Fifteen percent is absurd…
Counting quarters, stacking dimes
Counting quarters, stacking dimes
Lots of taking
Lots of giving
Oh, what the hell
It’s a living…
Tobias smiled to himself, the whole song now alive in his head. He heard the backup singers, the key, the intro, the repeating rhythm, the orchestration, the whole works. It was the first song he had summoned up in its entirety in probably a decade. Sure, it had an openly light-hearted tone, but it still had a core of cynicism.
More importantly, when they were finished with it, it would have the unmistakable sound of a top ten hit—not that that sort of thing had ever mattered to him before, but he supposed that’s what a comeback was all about. It was always the songs he personally liked the least that turned into their big money makers.
He was sure this one would make Brody happy. It was just the kind of ditty he liked to sink his teeth into: lyrics and a basic melody of benign fluff that he could spin with sophisticated guitar licks and fancy arrangements, transforming it from mindless verse to a piece of classic rock.
He glanced down at his watch: quarter to eleven. He never got around to booking some studio time with Brody, despite his promising breakthrough the previous day. No worries, though. Brody was sure to jump at the chance to work on fresh material.
Tobias fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and, as discretely as possible, called Brody’s mobile number.
“Brody,” his erstwhile partner announced after the third ring.
“It’s Tobias.”
“Yeah…?”
The freeze-out, Tobias thought. His punishment for being a bad boy. “I’ve got a bona fide, honest-to-God, guaranteed Billboard climber. Thought you might like to hear it. Your studio or mine?” A rather lengthy pause ensued, in which Tobias wondered if Brody had hung up on him out of spite.
“I’m two minutes from mine,” Brody said at last.
“I’ll meet you there in five.”
He turned the phone back off, just in case his wife or girlfriend tried to track him down. He carefully folded his new lyrics and stowed them in the other pocket. He then located the wad of bills in his pants pocket and peeled off a ten for the check and another ten for a tip. Extravagant, yes, but he owed his waitress a lot more than that. He took one last look at Priscilla as she haggled with Frank over an order, then slipped out the front door.
By the time Priscilla turned around, both Philip and Tobias had vanished like a pair of ghosts. All that was left of either one of them were oversize gratuities. She lingered over Tobias Jordan’s table longer than was necessary to wipe it down
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