The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes Page 2

  Inside, the aroma of bacon and burned toast enveloped her, and she found her fellow waitress and roommate, Ronnie, arranging plates of pancakes on a tray.

  “You do have other tables to wait on, you know,” Ronnie teased.

  CeeCee clipped Tim’s order to the carousel where the cook would see it, then twirled around happily to face her friend. “I’m useless when he’s here,” she said.

  Ronnie hoisted her loaded tray to her shoulder. “He does look particularly hot today, I have to admit.” She backed up against the swinging door to push it open. “You should say you had a date last night or something,” she said as she left the room.

  Ronnie, who was far more experienced in dating than CeeCee, was full of bad advice when it came to Tim. “Pretend you have a boyfriend,” she’d say. Or “Act indifferent sometimes.” Or “Let me wait on him so he misses you.”

  Not on your life, CeeCee’d thought in response to her last suggestion. Ronnie was gorgeous. She looked like Olivia Newton-John. When they walked down the street together, CeeCee felt invisible. She was five-three to Ronnie’s five-seven, and although she wasn’t heavy, she had a stockier build than her roommate. Except for her hair, her features were forgettable.

  She was smarter than Ronnie, though. More ambitious, more responsible, and far, far neater. But when a girl looked like Olivia Newton-John, guys didn’t care if she could solve a quadratic equation or diagram a compound sentence. Tim would care, though. She didn’t know that for a fact, of course, but the Tim she fantasized about would definitely care.

  She checked her other tables, getting extra napkins for a bunch of frat boys who’d made a mess with their cinnamon rolls. The fraternity types were a turnoff. They reeked of stale beer in the mornings, they never tipped, and they treated her like a slave. Then she got tea for the elderly black couple seated in the booth next to Tim’s. The husband had very short-cropped gray hair and wore thick glasses. He had some sort of palsy; his hands and head shook uncontrollably. The woman, her own hands gnarled with arthritis, fed him his breakfast with a patience CeeCee admired.

  Setting the teapot in front of the woman, she glanced at Tim. His head was lowered over a book and he was taking notes as he read. Maybe she was kidding herself about his interest. Maybe he was just a friendly guy. They probably had zero in common, anyway. She was barely sixteen and he was twenty-two. She’d graduated from high school only four months ago, while he was in his first year of graduate school. And his major was social work, while her only contact with social workers had been as the recipient of their services. This was like having a crush on a rock star.

  But when she finally delivered his plate of bacon, eggs and grits, he set down his pen, folded his arms in front of him, and said, “I think it’s time we went out. What d’you think?”

  “Sure,” she said, as though his invitation was no big deal. Inside, she was bursting.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Ronnie.

  “Miss?” The black woman in the next booth waved her over.

  “Excuse me,” CeeCee said to Tim as she took a couple of steps to her left. “Are you ready for your check?” She pulled out her pad.

  “I know we’re supposed to pay at the register, miss—” the woman looked at her name tag “—Miss CeeCee. But I was hoping we could pay you. It’s so much easier on us that way.”

  “Oh, sure.” CeeCee added the figures in her head, jotting down the total. “It’s five seventy-five,” she said.

  The woman dug through her patent-leather purse with twisted fingers. A gold wedding band, worn smooth, graced the ring finger of her left hand, locked in place forever by a knobby, swollen knuckle.

  “Sorry, miss,” she said, as she handed CeeCee a ten-dollar bill. “Everything takes me so long these days.”

  “That’s okay,” CeeCee said. “I’ll be right back with your change.”

  The couple was standing next to their table by the time she returned. The woman thanked her, then slowly guided her husband down the aisle toward the door.

  She watched them for a moment, then looked at Tim. He was cradled by the corner of the booth, coffee cup in his hand and his eyes on her. She started clearing the couple’s table, stacking the plates on top of one another.

  “So, where were we?” she asked him.

  “How about a movie?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said, but her eyes were drawn to the seat where the old woman had been sitting. Two crumpled ten-dollar bills rested on the blue vinyl.

  “Oh!” She grabbed the money, then looked out the window to try to find the couple, but the sea of students on the sidewalk blocked her view. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She ran out of the coffee shop and, after searching for a few minutes, found the couple sitting on a bench at the bus stop.

  She sat down next to the woman. “You dropped this in your booth,” she said, pressing the money into her hand.

  “Oh, my word!” The woman drew in her breath. “Bless you, child.” She took the bills, then caught CeeCee’s hand. “You don’t move, Miss CeeCee,” she said, reaching for her purse. “Let me give you something for your honesty.”

  “Oh, no,” CeeCee said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The woman hesitated, then reached out and tugged lightly on her long hair. “God surely knew what he was doing when he gave you hair fit for an angel,” she said.

  CeeCee was breathless by the time she returned to the coffee shop and began loading a tray with the couple’s dishes.

  “What was that all about?” Tim asked.

  “Two tens must have fallen out of her purse when she was getting money to pay me,” CeeCee said.

  Tim tapped his pen against his chin. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You need money and twenty dollars just landed in your lap and you gave it back.”

  “How could I possibly keep it? Who knows how much they need it? Maybe a lot more than I do.” She eyed him with suspicion. “Would you have kept it?”

  Tim grinned at her. “You’d be a great social worker,” he said. “You care about the underdog.” This wasn’t the first time he had suggested she’d make a good social worker, even though he knew she wanted to be a teacher. The world would be a better place if everyone became a social worker, he’d said.

  He looked at the clock above the kitchen door. “Gotta get to class.” He slid across the seat. “How about we meet at the Varsity Theater at six-thirty?”

  “Okay.” She tried to sound casual. “Later.”

  He piled his books and papers into a sloppy stack, picked them up and headed for the door. She looked down at his table. For the first time, he’d forgotten to leave her a tip. It wasn’t until she lifted his empty plate that she discovered he’d left her one after all: two ten-dollar bills.

  Chapter Three

  You’re probably thinking about college now, CeeCee. You’ll need a scholarship, so I hope you’ve been a good student. I’m sorry I couldn’t provide better for you. College is so important. Fight to get there, okay? I always planned to go even if it meant I wouldn’t graduate ’til I was fifty and now I’ll never have the chance. If you’re anything like me at your age, though, you’ll be more interested in boys than school. That’s okay. You don’t need to go right away. Just remember that college men are FAR more interesting than any boys you knew in high school.

  If it turns out that you don’t go to college, remember you can still get an education from the people you meet. Every single person who comes into your life, from a doctor to a trash collector, can teach you something if you let them.

  “It’s raining.” Tim raised his palm in the air as they left the movie theater.

  CeeCee felt a cool, fine mist on her face. “I like it,” she said, as she piled her hair on top of her head and covered it with her floppy black felt hat. She liked the rain; her hair did not.

  “Now you look like Annie Hall.” Tim grinned at her as they started walking through the throng of students toward the diner two blocks away. They’d just
seen Annie Hall, a perfect first-date movie. “You’re not goofy like she is, though.”

  “She’s goofy in a cute way.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “and you’re serious in a cute way.”

  “Ugh.” The thought was deflating. “I don’t want to be serious. I want to be fun and…” What was the word she wanted? She raised her arms to the sky and twirled in a circle. “Madcap.”

  “Madcap?” He laughed, grabbing her arm to prevent her from bumping into a group of students. “I actually like that you’re serious,” he said, letting go of her all too quickly. “You don’t take life for granted.”

  He was right, but how did he know that about her? “You don’t really know me yet.”

  “I’m observant,” he said. “Insightful.”

  “And modest.”

  “That, too.” He stopped briefly to light a cigarette. “So, how come you sound like a Yankee?” he asked as they continued walking.

  “Do I? I thought I sounded pretty Southern by now. I was raised in New Jersey until I was eleven.”

  “What brought you down here?”

  She wasn’t ready to answer that question. He already thought she was serious enough.

  “Family stuff,” she said with a shrug.

  He didn’t press her, but the sudden silence that followed her answer felt awkward. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed older than he did in the mornings, a true grown-up. She wondered if he felt the age gap between them tonight, especially with her spinning on the sidewalk like a ten-year-old. Maybe he wondered what the heck he’d been thinking when he asked her out. He even looked different than he did in the coffee shop. Better, if that was possible. She’d never noticed how tall he was. Sitting next to him in the theater, she’d been painfully aware of his long, lean, denim-covered thigh brushing against hers every time he shifted in his seat. Hold my hand, she’d thought over and over again. Put your arm around me. He did neither, much to her frustration.

  “It’s unusual for a guy to be a social work major, isn’t it?” she asked to break the silence.

  “You’d be surprised,” he said, letting out a puff of smoke. “There are quite a few in my program. I’m actually more interested in the policy aspect of social work than in working directly with people. I want to be able to influence policy.”

  “Like what kind of policies?” She saw their reflection in a storefront window as they walked past. She looked like a little munchkin in a big floppy hat.

  “Policies that empower people at risk,” he said. “Like that couple you waited on today. They’re old. One of them is obviously disabled. And they’re black. Three strikes against them right there. So, who advocates for people like that? Who makes sure they’re taken care of?”

  Oh, God. He was so smart and so well educated and he was stuck with a ten-year-old munchkin for the evening.

  “That’s what you want to do?” she asked. “Advocate for people?”

  A group of preppies passed by, and Tim acknowledged one of the guys with a nod. “Yes,” he said, “but the policies I care about most involve prison reform.”

  “Why?”

  “I think we need better prisons,” he said. “I don’t mean prisoners should be living lives of luxury. That’s not what I’m talking about. I think we should rehabilitate prisoners, not just incarcerate them. And I think the death penalty is wrong and should be unconstitutional.”

  “I thought it was unconstitutional.”

  “For a brief period of time, it was. Just this past June, though, it became legal again in North Carolina.”

  She didn’t think that was so terrible. “Well, if someone kills a little kid, for example, I think he—or she—should have to pay the same price.”

  He stared ahead of him as they walked. She could tell he didn’t like her response, but she wasn’t going to sell out her own principles just to please him. He turned toward her, a look on his face she hadn’t seen before. Was it anger? Disappointment?

  “An eye for an eye, huh?” he asked.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, where do I start?” Tim dropped his cigarette butt to the sidewalk and stepped on it, then dug his hands deep into the pockets of his blue windbreaker. “I believe that some of the people getting executed are actually innocent. Maybe they didn’t have a good enough defense because they were too poor to get a decent lawyer. And even if they are guilty, I think it’s wrong to take a life. Even the life of someone who murdered someone else. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “So, I guess you think abortion is wrong, too?” Ronnie’d had an abortion two months ago in August. CeeCee went with her to the clinic, and she cried while her friend underwent the procedure, not because she thought it was wrong but because she thought it was sad. Ronnie didn’t understand her tears.

  “It was only ten weeks old, CeeCee,” she said. “Besides. It was going to be an Aquarius. You know I don’t get along with Aquarians.”

  “Sometimes abortion’s a necessary evil.” Tim looked at her. “Why? Have you had one?”

  “Me? I haven’t even had sex yet.” She cringed. Why had she told him that? What an idiot. But Tim laughed and reached for her hand, holding it at his side as they walked.

  “You’re the coolest girl,” he said. “You just tell it like it is.”

  The diner was packed with students and the whole building seemed to vibrate with their chatter. She and Tim pushed through the crowd toward a booth in the back, Tim stopping to greet people he knew. He had an acquaintance at nearly every table. It didn’t matter whether the students were jocks or stoners or preps or the heavy-lidded artsy types. He knew them all. The one thing all his friends had in common was that they were significantly older than she was. He introduced her to a few of them. The guys barely seemed to notice her. The girls smiled at her, but she sensed there was something underlying their cordiality. She hoped it was envy and not disdain.

  “I love this atmosphere,” she said, once they were seated. This was the world she wanted to be part of. “All the students. It’s like I can—” she breathed in the scent of smoke and French fries “—like I can smell textbooks in the air.”

  He laughed. “I take it back,” he said. “You are goofy after all.”

  She took off her hat and watched him smile when her hair spilled over her shoulders.

  “You deserve to be one of these students,” he said.

  “Someday, I will be.”

  “Is it just the money?” he asked. “I mean, were your grades good enough? Your SAT scores okay?”

  She nodded. “I was this close to getting a scholarship.” She held her thumb and forefinger a quarter of an inch apart.

  “I’m sorry.” He wore a small frown. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It’s okay. Really.” She looked down at the menu, uncomfortable with his sympathy.

  “When do you think you’ll have enough money to go to school?” he asked.

  “Another year, if Ronnie will continue to live with me and split our expenses. We just share a room, and I know she really wants us to get an apartment, but she doesn’t care about saving money. I’ll have to get a better job. In a few months, I should have enough experience to work at a good restaurant and then I’ll get better tips.”

  “I like your ambition,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “So, where do you live? You must live near the coffee shop, since you’re there every morning.”

  “Just a few blocks off Franklin,” he said. “I share a house with my brother, Marty. My father owns it, but he lives in California, so he lets us use it.”

  “Just your father? Are your parents divorced?” She hoped that wasn’t too personal a question.

  The waitress, a blonde with stick-straight, shoulder-length hair, pouty pink lips and blood-red fingernails set glasses of water in front of them.

  “Hi, Tim,” she said, but her eyes were on CeeCee. “How’re y’all doin’ tonight?”

  “Good,” Tim said.
“Bets, this is CeeCee. CeeCee, Bets.”

  “You watch out for him, CeeCee,” Bets said with a wink. “He’s a dangerous man.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” CeeCee laughed.

  “Y’all ready?” Bets pulled two straws from her apron pocket and laid them on the table.

  Tim raised his eyebrows at CeeCee. “Do you know what you’d like?”

  She wasn’t ready to eat in front of him; she was bound to spill or get something caught in her teeth. “Key lime pie,” she said. That seemed safe. Tim ordered a barbecue sandwich.

  “What did she mean about you being a dangerous man?” CeeCee asked, once Bets had left their table.

  “She’s just yanking your chain,” Tim said. He took a drink from his water glass. “To get back to your question about my parents, they weren’t divorced. My mother died not too long ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, but it was a half-truth. They now had something in common: they were both motherless. She wondered if his mother had also died of cancer, but didn’t ask. She didn’t like it when people asked personal questions about her own mother. “Is your brother in school, too?” she asked.

  “No, no. Marty’s not school material.” Tim drummed his fingers on the table as if he could hear music she could not. “He was in Vietnam,” he said. “He went there a nice kid of eighteen and came back a bitter old man.”

  “So, he doesn’t work?” She unwrapped her straw and dropped it into her water glass.

  “Yeah, he does. He’s in construction. Someone was crazy enough to put a hammer and a nail gun in his hands.” He laughed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head as if clearing it of the topic, then leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “So back to you, my mysterious CeeCee. You said you’re only sixteen. Did you start school early or what?”

  “I started early and then skipped fifth grade,” she said. “I moved to a new school. Went from a good school to a crummy one and I was way ahead of what the kids were doing, so they skipped me.”