I was being honest with Bernie – I really didn’t know what Bitsy and Wanda were plotting, though I was, of course, tragically curious. Those two in a booth, a few bottles of wine, in the middle of the day no less … should be a nice tip, at least.
“Cassie!” Bitsy says as she heads straight for the bar. Seems the lunch meeting is over. “While Wanda runs back to the little girls’ room, let’s settle up …”
She hands me the receipt and her credit card. Underneath the card is a bank check for $25,000.
Bitsy smiles. “You ready?”
She isn’t kidding, I realize, but I feel a little railroaded.
“Shouldn’t we meet first, lay out some ground rules? While you keep this?”
I hand the bank check back to her.
She nods. “Tomorrow morning, first thing. 8 o’clock, have the coffee on.”
She signs the check as Wanda returns.
“We’re changing the world,” Wanda says, drama dripping from her voice as a cackle escapes her throat.
Bitsy gives me a look. “Indeed, dear,” she says nervously. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
***
THE NEXT MORNING
I arrive at the Riverside an hour before opening and get the coffee brewing, per Bitsy’s request.
A good thing, too, because she walks in the door 20 minutes later.
“Good morning!” Bitsy called out, “Glad we can get a good early start before interruptions start coming through the door.”
I point to the coffee maker.
“Yes!” Bitsy says. “Miller and I had a long card game last night, I’m afraid. He walked away $300 up and I woke up with a little of a headache. Oh well, one of those nights. Shall we?”
I push a freshly-poured mug in her direction. “We shall.”
She sips deeply. “Ah, excellent. Now then, what questions do you have? What is your thinking? What all do you want to do?”
“Well,” I say, reaching behind the bar. “I have a list.”
I produce a clipboard and grab a pen from the register.
“Excellent!” she says. “Fire away.”
I’m trying to be chipper but my stomach is in knots. I cannot eat, despite the fact that Cecil has placed the most gorgeous fruit salad in front of us along with bowls and spoons. Bitsy has no such limitation and dishes heartily.
“Number 1. How often do you plan to be here, because we have a rhythm that goes on here and I don’t want throw off …”
Bitsy shakes her head wildly. “Only as a customer, dear. I have no interest in waiting tables or seating the masses. Consider me a silent partner.”
I nod. Okay, that sounds acceptable. I cross the question off my list.
“Next. This is NOT the Golden Pillar … I don’t want that to be our goal. We need to make our own plan and keep to our own metrics, and it might mean we don’t get as many haves in the door, but that’s fine with me …”
Bitsy waved her hands. “That’s fine, I get it. I don’t come here for the same thing as I get at the Golden Pillar, and I don’t care to. … Great, what’s next?”
I am surprised at how smoothly this is all going. Is it possible I’m deluding myself into thinking this will work?
“Great, I say. Next is adding some staff … I need to hire an assistant manager, someone who can meet and greet during the day. It’s a tough position to fill, especially dayside. I may have to pay a little more …”
BItsy sipped her coffee. “Well, having been here at lunchtime, I think that’s a fantastic idea. You do need another set of hands. Just don’t make it full-time. Keep it to four or five hours in the middle of the day.”
I nod and make a few notes.
“I just don’t …”
“You don’t what, dear?”
“I don’t want to give up, or give this all up.”
Bitsy smiles. “You aren’t giving anything up. You’re getting some help, and Lord knows we all need that from time to time. Now, you are, it seems, ready for more structure, so how about you take my check and get on with your day.”
I nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Bitsy smiles. “Well, prove it.”
Jenny Page