splat chapter twenty-one

SPLAT CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A week or two later, Suzie went down to Riverdale to see Nelson. She wanted to ask him if he wouldn't mind taking care of the air conditioning on her Doohickey as long as her car was sitting in his lot. The weather was sultry, heavy and sweaty. There were big puffy thunderheads building up everywhere. Suzie looked forward to the rain as a respite from the heat. For a few moments.

She pulled into the back parking lot and Nelson ran out to her loaner to meet her. He seemed worried about something, and acted like he was there to shoo her off and put her on the road again. 'Honey I only have a moment,' he said. 'I'm real busy. What's up?'

Suzie immediately regretted coming. She felt like he had to pay attention to her that he really needed to devote to his job, and felt guilty for bring him such a petty little problem.

Nathan pulled a Windstar van next to her and waved awkwardly. She looked away and noticed a well-dressed black woman standing around in the garage, looking bored. Suzie made a joke to lighten the tension she felt. She nodded toward the woman. 'Is she here to make sure Nathan doesn't destroy her car?'

Nelson looked confused, maybe because she was running Nathan down in front of him. She changed the subject. 'I just wondered if maybe you had time to check out the air conditioning in my car while it's sitting here. It's just I like the air conditioning in this one so much that I don't want to go back.' She sounded like she was pleading.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Honey, I plain don't have time to fix your air conditioning right now,' he said, a desperate look in his eyes. 'How is this Taurus doing for you? Good enough? Well, you keep it for awhile.' He leaned forward slightly. 'Why don't you come back tomorrow? Right now I don't know where I am, I'm so busy. I promise I'll take care of you tomorrow, first thing. Don't I always take care of you?'

Suzie felt sorry for Nelson. He worked so hard, he never had competent help, he did so much for her and she always came at him for more favors, more help, more comfort. She put the loaner into gear and pulled out of the parking lot, feeling sorry for him and sorry for herself, and then decided on the spur of the moment to go find a bad driver to shoot.

Suzie arrived at work almost an hour late, in a sweat. It had started to rain soon after she left the shop, and it was a gully washer. She was just coming thru town when the heavens opened, and immediately got off on the side streets, because when it rains in Atlanta, drivers fall apart. But the surface streets were all flooded out, and she spent forever getting thru one lake at the bottom of a hill and crossing up and over to wait in line to cross another lake at the bottom of the next hill. She abandoned her quest for justice at the first puddle, but it still took a million years to get to work. For most of those million years she sat in her car, stopped, the windows down to dispel the fog, her loaner steaming in the heat. The rain hadn't cooled anything off, only basted it. The sun was back out, and the juices were beginning to bubble and seethe.

After a hurried prep upstairs, she was still hurrying when she went downstairs to hear the menu. She noticed that everyone in the kitchen seem agitated, except for Chef. The Latinos were in a frenzy, speaking softly to themselves and clumping together in groups. The black cooks were acting innocent, and Miss Charlene's work table was a mess, with flour everywhere.

Chef announced the specials. He stood at ease, with his hands clasped behind his back, only his head moving as the words tripped from his tongue and went sprawling all over the floor. 'Tranche de Boeuf Haché Frit au Campagne,' he said. 'Poulet Grillé a Diâble. Travers de Porc au Sauce Piquant. Barbote Frit au Semoule de Maise.' The waiters all nodded their heads as if they understood completely, and thought the menu most fitting.

Suzie lapped it all up, trying to figure it out by gestalt and intuition, rather than her memory of high school French, though they never covered food in French class. She thought she could figure out the sides: Purée des Pommes de Terre, Dolique à Eil Noir. Feuilles de Rave avec Oignon et Bacon was a little challenging. Of course, the only reason she could figure all this gobbledygook out was because she knew her diners and knew the kitchen.

Suzie went upstairs and thought no more about the kitchen, because there were a million people wanting to eat dinner in Casual Dining. There was something on at the Fox Theater that night. The show started at eight. She had people at all three tables, there early so they could take the shuttle bus. But they'd started downstairs in the bar, and then brought their drinks to their tables, and then ordered food at 7:20, still expecting to make the 7:45 shuttle. They were all late, and each table acted like it was her fault that they couldn't get their food in five minutes.

There was no lull that night. Suzie collapsed in the servants' quarters for two and a half minutes right as the clock chimed eight, pried her shoes off, and sat rubbing her feet, stretching out her calves, bending the kinks out of her back. She was getting a headache.

Ed was full of team spirit in the Honeysuckle Room. He was wearing red bulldog suspenders, and a Dawg cap and a sports jacket were slung behind his chair. So much for the dress codes for gentlemen. He and Jerry were dining with Doctor Jeremiah Buford, MD, the doctor of bling, who'd gotten her into so much trouble over the whipped cream cake. Suzie sat them down, brought them bread and found out what they were drinking, put in their order, and dashed downstairs to check the pastry freezer, because she knew the doctor would ask.

She saw Chef standing in front of his office with his arms crossed. The kitchen was quiet. Chef was talking to a uniformed policeman who was standing next to him, also with his arms crossed. They were speaking out of the sides of their mouths. Joseph, Javel, and Maurice were standing in front of them in handcuffs, their heads down. Joseph looked up at her woefully. Miss Charlene and Miss Mabel were sitting in Chef's office, looking miffed.

Chef noticed Suzie right away, and came over to the bottom of the stairs to chase her away. 'No, we don't have whipped cream cake tonight,' he said suspiciously. 'You heard the menu.'

She ran back upstairs, worried about the cooks, full of questions. There were three new covers in the Jasmine Room to help take her mind off it, anxious members and their parties, shuffling their menus impatiently, already late for the gig at the Fox. She took quick orders and stuffed them full of bread. Somewhere in there she managed to tell the other waiters that something strange was going on in the kitchen.

Ed and the doctor were comfortable, acting like very old friends. Jerry was chain smoking and toying with the ice in the bottom of his glass, musing about something. She envisioned him in a black hood. Death drinks himself to death.

Ed looked up as she came in with the drinks. 'Hey, Sweet Thing, when you gonna come live in one of my condos? I'm going to set you up just right.' The doctor noticed her for the first time, didn't remember her, scrutinized her as he might a strange growth, decided he wasn't interested in her, and turned his attention back to his drink, leaving her to Ed.

'Suzie Q here is our favorite waitress,' he said to the doctor. 'Right, Jerry?' Ed was aware of Jerry's mood, and tried to keep him involved in the conversation. He started singing. Jerry joined in half heartedly for a few bars, then trailed off and raised his glass and slurped the liquor off the ice cubes.

Suzie tapped her foot impatiently, already stressed out from the other diners. 'How about some appetizers?' She translated the menu for them. Fromage de Tête, Oefs Mariné, Ailes Épicés. Then they ordered the same old main dishes, as expected. Steak and chicken. The doctor spent a lot of time trying to convince the other two to switch their eating habits and telling her how he wanted his fish done.

As she collected the menus, the doctor brought Ed and Jerry up to date on his plans for putting day spas in his cancer centers. State of the art treatment options, no expense spared. She'd heard most of it before. 'Our advertising campaign begins next week,' he beamed. 'Watch for our commercials.'

'When you gonna put a bar in those places?' Jerry wanted to know. 'I was getting chemo, I'd want a drink.' He lifted his glass and drained it. Suzie ordered him a new one as she went out to check on the Jasmine Room.

What was Jerry so down about? He was changing the world. He and his former law firm were making vast legislative changes, developing broad-based support for a bold new redefinition of the indenture laws, based on a twist in the Thirteenth Amendment, which outlawed slavery except as punishment for a crime.

He was rolling in money. His new temp agency was doing very well. They had more orders than they could fill at the moment, and were anxiously waiting for the new measures to increase the supply of workers. Jerry was the most popular guy on the block. People all over the country were calling him, and he was making franchise deals left and right. The New York Times was doing a cover story on him, and next week, shares in his temp agency were going public. There were whispers about running him for Governor.

Of the two, Suzie considered Jerry the more dangerous, even though she detested Ed. It was the Ed and Jerry show, and Jerry was the straight man. But Ed always looked at Jerry when he decided to say something or to hold it in, and Jerry seemed to know a lot more about his development plans than he did.

Ed just made deals. Jerry made the deals happen. And it wasn't just that Ed was just a good ol' boy and Jerry had all the smarts. It was a question of motivation. The developer was motivated by greed. Jerry was moved by ideology. Jerry had beliefs and expectations that made him very rigid and heavy handed. Where Ed would wiggle around a problem, Jerry would line up his forces and blast away at it until it was in splinters.

Before he met Jerry, Ed was building cheap houses on recently deceased farms out in Douglas County. Jerry introduced him to some people downtown, and now he got preferential bidding and waived fees. He started as a house builder, now he was building a whole downtown corridor, and had visions of being the next John Portman, Architect of AtlantaTM.

Only instead of putting his mark on the city with striking and whimsical skyscrapers, Ed was going to slap whole sections of it with gated communities and condos and strip malls dressed up to look like turn of the Twentieth houses and shops. McStripmalls and McCondos.

Jerry couldn't stand the man's taste, but he grudgingly admired his ability to win people over; his used car salesman attitude toward problems, an easiness Jerry did not have.

Having the developer on his team, Jerry was finding whole areas of his plan much easier to implement. As if Ed rubbed off lucky on him. Professionally he was at the very top of his game. It couldn't get much better than it was that summer. He was feared, adored, and obeyed by family, flunkies, and employees. But he was feeling the strain.

His personal life was falling to pieces. His wife had cancer. Even though they didn't love each other anymore, and hadn't had sex for years, they'd been together since college, and that counted for a lot. His long-term mistress was getting bitchy and he was beginning to wish her gone; his son was in and out of trouble all the time, and only stayed out of jail because of a bunch of personal favors various judges owed him.

For all his accomplishments in public, his private life brought him no happiness at all, and now it threatened to take even more of his peace of mind. He hated change, hated being bothered, and dreaded his wife dying because it would disrupt his routines. Who would take care of everything at home, automatically be the other when two were required somewhere, or listen to him bitch with good natured indifference?

He was in bits, but practically nobody noticed. His cadaverous nature didn't stretch to the active appearance of worry. He mulled. He stewed. He brooded. The most agitation he showed was to rub one hand over the other repeatedly, slowly. He grimaced more, and this set everybody on edge. And he continued to smoke and drink.

Suzie was back. She passed out the head cheese, pickled eggs and hot wings, and brought Jerry his refill. They all needed more drinks by this time, so she left to check on the Jasmine Room and wait for the next round to come up.

The doctor tapped Jerry's wrist. 'Your suggestion about a liquor license. It's a real possibility. We've done focus groups. All sorts of consumer comforts rate very highly among those facing death. Our consultants think people'll really go for the luxury.'

Ed sat back and scratched himself, thinking. 'You know,' he said, lifting his drink and looking at the doctor over the rim, 'I've got a few acres I'm developing over in Reynoldstown. We're calling it the Emerald City. You'd fit right in there. There's a nice middle class population round there, families and middle aged. Inman Park, Candler Park, Grant Park.'

The doctor hmmmed. 'Disease clusters,' he nodded wisely, stroking the wattles under his chin with a ring encrusted hand. He'd had his people study the demographics all over town looking for income and lifestyle markers. 'As a matter of fact,' he looked the developer in the eye, 'I was thinking about seeing if we couldn't get together and find a place to put one of my clinics inside the Perimeter,' he proposed. 'Why does it have to be Buckhead? After all, you're changing the face of Atlanta, and I'm changing the face of medicine.'

'I think there's synergy in that,' Ed agreed.

'What's good for Atlanta is good for America,' they toasted themselves. Jerry just drank.

Suzie came back in to see them raising their glasses, and made note of another drink order while clearing the plates.

'Yep, Little Girl,' Ed observed, 'you're going to be living around the corner from one of the doctor's new clinics.'

'I'm staying exactly where I am, thanks,' she replied, and ducked back out, 'I'll be back in a few minutes with your dinner.'

The doctor leaned in, looking closely at Jerry and Ed. 'I'm about to tell you a big secret that could make you very rich if you act quickly. It's brand new. A real medical breakthrough. We're calling it HeatHealing Technology.'

Jerry looked at his glass. 'It's a cancer treatment, eh?'

He nodded proudly. 'And there's more. In fact, it's the secret weapon in our clinical arsenal. But not only that. It works on everything. The applications just go on and on, all the way down to acne and ear infections.'

Ed piped up, 'Cures colds, moles, sore assholes, farts, freckles, and leaves a glowing luster in your hair.'

'It's FDA approved, and patented?' Jerry asked.

'We're just getting approval now, and we already hold six patents. I say we because I'm one of the founders of the company,' he said humbly. 'We hold exclusive rights. We've just opened a factory over in China where they're putting out devices as fast as they can.'

Jerry was curious. 'How does it work?'

'It's like surgery without a knife, but we can't say that because the gamma ray people trademarked it. Gamma rays are a dead end,' He frowned. 'Ionizing radiation. It takes a whole bunch more permits and licenses and certifications, and it's much more expensive to operate.'

He sat back in his seat and waved his hand grandly, his rings sparkling hypnotically. 'Our new technology is light years ahead. It's non-ionizing radiation. It's as safe as your microwave oven or your cellphone. And it's cheap to build.' He smiled broadly, patting his stomach. 'The profit margins are close to ninety percent. And it does everything.'

Dinner was up. Country-fried chopped steak. Fried chicken with mustard sauce. Fried catfish in cornmeal. With mashed potatoes, black eyed peas, and turnip greens. Suzie had her pick in the pantry, than delivered their dinners. There was a flurry of activity, fetching various sauces and more drinks, and then she left them to it and went to finish up with the diners in the Jasmine Room.

The men were excited. 'It's going to revolutionize medicine,' the doctor said through a mouthful of fish. 'This dish is absolutely magnificent, by the way, gentlemen,' he tried again. 'Do let me encourage you to order it the next time you dine here. They do fish better than anything else.'

Ed and Jerry grunted in reply and continued shoveling it in. Satisfied with their response, he continued. 'We're making different devices for different applications. We'll be marketing at three levels - institutional, clinic point of sale, and consumer.' Jerry looked impressed, and put his fork down for a moment to take a drink and listen.

The doctor nodded significantly. 'Big hospitals will use them for tumors and vascular malformations and cardiac irregularities and such. The smaller machines are for clinic use - neuralgia and migraines, pain treatments, dentistry, local skin cancers, and the like. But by far, the most encouraging area is home consumer use. We're working on the prototype for a handheld device that treats acne, muscle swelling, cramps. Even weight loss.'

'Wow,' Ed said. 'My teenage daughter wants one right now.'

Jerry stared at his fork.

Ed leaned back and rubbed his belly. 'Weight loss?'

The doctor stretched out his own capacious concavity to illustrate. 'Like liposuction you do at home,' he said, using an imaginary chrome and aqua electric shaver-looking thing over his belly, sucking it in to demonstrate the results. His face turned red.

'Does it work like liposuction?' Jerry asked.

'No,' the doctor answered, trying to avoid technical terms. 'It zaps the fat, and then it just melts away in about a week. Results may vary, of course.'

Ed nodded understandingly. Jerry looked a little disturbed at the description, but Ed said, 'Jerry, look into this, willya? It sounds like it can't lose.' He took a mouthful of steak and turned to the doctor. 'It cures headaches, too, huh?'

'I don't know about hangovers,' he said modestly, 'but it works great for migraines. And we're investigating it for Parkinsons and Alzheimers.' He used his napkin to dust his mouth free of cornmeal and oil. 'We're getting very good clinical results using it for obsessive-compulsive disorder and ADHD.' He forked up a huge pile of mashed potatoes. 'It's the behavioral uses I find so interesting. Attention Deficit is only the beginning. Depression, Bi-polar, antisocial tendencies, discipline problems.'

He stuffed the pile into his mouth, then picked up his glass and washed it down with his martini. 'We've got a pilot program going in the prisons,' he said. 'The infirmary has our devices, as well as the corrections unit. We're field testing all the applications, from wound healing to behavior modification to execution. Believe me, we've been quite diligent in exploring the applications.'

'Why haven't we heard of this before, if it does so many things?' Jerry asked a little skeptically.

The doctor took out a card from his jacket and scrawled a name and number. 'You just get hold of this bright boy and he'll explain it all to you.' Jerry pocketed the card.

'See, the technology has been in development since the '30s, but we just didn't have fine enough controls.' He looked around, apologizing for having to get technical on them. 'It works by raising the local temperature and disrupting the pathology.' The others nodded as if this was clear. 'It's been real hard to get control of the burn, the application area. But new micro devices just came on the market and now we can pinpoint a three millimeter tumor three inches inside your body and just press a button.' He closed his jeweled hand into a fist and then flung his sparkling fingers apart. 'Poof, it's gone.'

Susie only heard about a quarter of the doctor's pitch for the ground floor opportunity of the century. Her attention was elsewhere. She was reminded of the situation downstairs, and the moment she had them settled with everything they needed, crept back downstairs to see what was going on in the kitchen.

It was very quiet. Chef was gone, the cooks were gone, only the Latinos were around cleaning and washing dishes. The spilled flour had been swept up. She walked through the kitchen, aware of the cameras watching her progress. She found Manuel in the trash room, a chilled walk-in where dozens of black plastic garbage bags sat piled up in the corner every night until it was time to haul them to the dumpster around the side of the parking deck.

Manny was pulling trash. Doing Javel's job. 'Manny, what happened?'

Manny slung a bag onto the top of the pile and straightened up. 'Hey, girl, how you doing?' She nodded. 'Chef called the cops. He accused Javel and Joseph and Maurice of stealing food. He got them on tape. The cops arrested them and took them away.' Manny shrugged and looked worried.

'What kind of food?'

'Lobsters. Salmon. Ribs.'

'What did they say?'

He shrugged again, annoyed with the whole business. 'They say the food is going off, and they're taking it home to feed their families.'

'Better to feed people than to let meat spoil,' Suzie agreed.

There was more. 'Then Miss Charlene and Miss Mabel complained to Chef, and he fired them. Made them sign some statement, admit to something. Failure to follow instructions, something,' he shrugged, 'The cops took them away, too.'

Suzie went past Chef's office on her way out and looked through grimy venetian blinds into the dark room, the computer glowing malevolently on his desk. It illuminated the cover of an industry magazine - a picture of a dollar bill being run through a shredder. The caption said, Where's The Shrink? Employee Theft Increases. She also noticed, next to it, a catalog of home spying devices. But she didn't see the memo to the Board outlining Chef's plan of action.

Suzie went back upstairs in a snit. What was happening around there? What was Chef up to, and why arrest the cooks when he could have just fired them or warned them? Who was going to feed their families if they went to jail? And what was he thinking firing Miss Charlene and Miss Mabel? The kitchen would fall apart without them. Chef couldn't possibly keep things in order by himself. He was breaking up a good team. Suzie hoped he knew what he was doing.

In fact, Chef Henri knew exactly what he was doing. He came into the kitchen of the White Magnolia Club and immediately saw how it was: a traditional Southern kitchen. More like a family. Or a coven. Like the three hags of Hamlet back there boiling up trouble. But he didn't want a matriarchy. He wanted a military model, the way they did it at his $100K cooking school.

This Chef wanted to control everyone. He wanted efficiency. He wanted precision. And he wanted loyalty. He wanted to be the Napoleon of cooks. He wanted to maintain the glint of pure control over every tile, every recipe, every presentation, every olive in the bottle and every spice jar on the rack, every cook in his place, gloriously in lockstep and proud to wear the uniform.

He knew he would have to get rid of the two old black ladies who ran the place before he could control the kitchen, and he knew that he needed to do something to provoke them. They were both way too smart to cross him openly, and he needed a confrontation so he could show the entire kitchen who was boss.

So he kept his eyes open, noticed where people were cutting corners or taking advantage of the kitchen's bounty, or outright stealing from the Club. He installed cameras, he got inventory and ordering software, he kept an eye on his troops, all the things the General Of The Cooks was supposed to do. Just that the previous chefs were kept so busy trying to make the cooks do it their way that they didn't have time to check up on everything.

It's not that the cooks were deliberately hoodwinking Management. It's just that they had their own ways of doing things, and all they had to do to continue doing things their way was to keep the chefs from insisting otherwise. You find a weak point, and you push.

It's only fair that the kitchen be run for the benefit of the workers. The customers are really only there to entertain the restaurant staff. The way to Socialism is through a man's stomach. In a worker's paradise, where everyone gets fed, clothed and housed, those that make and serve the food eat first and best.

Chef knew about these kitchens. He'd attended a workshop: Effectively Managing Employee Honesty. They read The Art Of War at this workshop. They learned about cutting off the head, ruling by fear, the use of spoils. The best way to win is the way without a battle.

Chef Henri was planning to replace every person working there with somebody else who would do it his way from their first day on the job. So he spied and documented, and wrote up the old black ladies every time they went back to doing it their way when his back was turned. He wrote them up three times a day. By the time he orchestrated firing them, he had a sheaf of broken rules and instances of insubordination - plenty of ammunition if they decided to sue for wrongful dismissal.

The latest memo, the one Suzie couldn't see in the glare, was his recommendation that the Club adopt a formal loss control program, with a written shrink prosecution policy and more closed circuit cameras; conduct pre-employment honesty, drug tests, and immigration checks; and switch to automated ordering and delivery. Let the staff know they were being watched, scare them into being honest, or outsource them.

Suzie spent a few moments in the bathroom when she got back upstairs, fuming and puzzling. Then she went and found Yolanda and a few others and spread the news. The waiters were dizzy with curiosity, but they all had work to do, and soon forgot about it.

Suzie's tables in the Jasmine room needed a few final touches, and then she was in to collect the dishes from the Ed and Jerry show and order more drinks.

Jerry was telling the doctor about his new temp agency. He was slurring his words just a little, and when he caught Suzie's eye he lifted his glass for more.

'There are work programs for everything from shoe manufacturing to call center applications,' he continued. Doctor Jeremiah looked fascinated. 'Virtually every industry has workforce needs we can satisfy, no matter how tough. Everything from road building to mining and oil fields. In fact, the worse the job, the more in demand we become.'

'Give me your poor, your hungry, your downtrodden,' she said under her breath, quoting Jesus, or was it the Statue of Liberty?

Jerry heard her. 'And I'll trod on them some more, and make a profit,' he sneered.

'It's not like they're worth a fuck,' Ed added, then turned to her. 'What do you think, Honey? Wouldn't it be easier to let temps do all the shit work and you just sit back and keep us company?

She scowled at him. Like she'd want to sit around shooting the shit with these rednecks.

He pressed her. 'Wouldn't you like to have some help?'

She stood and thought, her arms full of dirty dishes. 'Are you saying that we servants should have slaves?'

He laughed. 'Hell, my wife has told me for years that every woman needs a wife.'

Jerry continued as she left for the pantry. 'We rent them out cheap. Pennies on the dollar compared to ordinary contractors. No benefits or Workman's Comp, either. It's a great deal. We've got a development program, a mission statement thing. Five year plan.'

He paused and drained his glass. 'I foresee a gardener, cook, maid, and nanny, though there are security issues with that, in every household.' He painted a glorious picture. 'Everyone living a life freed from labor, able to devote themselves to the greater glory of God.'

Suzie was back with the dessert menus. 'No, they can't complain,' Jerry was assuring the doctor. 'These are cushy jobs, and they know it. It's just honest work. Nothing heals your soul better than work for work's sake.' He sat back slightly, ran his finger around his collar, and thought about how his spiel sounded. He was rehearsing it for a conference he was having the next morning.

'They're all losers anyway,' Ed observed. 'They'll never make anything of themselves. Proven losers. They're stupid, lazy, uneducated, they've got no moral values, and they're dangerous as hell when you let them run wild. Like my kids,' he joked.

Jerry continued. 'These types are really useful when harnessed, like any great energy. We've got a workforce here at home capable of building the dams and the pyramids and our interstate highway system twice over.'

The doctor, who was old, mused, 'Like the WPA back in the 30s'.

'Kinda.' He moved on, not wanting to get into definitions. 'It's a great deal for the employer, too. We take care of everything, uniforms, maintenance, food and housing. Payroll. Insurance. Medical. All of it.'

He paused to assess the doctor's reaction. Dr. Bling liked what he was hearing. Jerry could tell he was searching for a way to use his services.

'Certified skilled workers, guaranteed,' Jerry continued. 'Site manager included.' Mention full supervision and they'll eat out of your hand.

He wound up for the knockout blow. 'It's an absolutely self contained, turnkey system. We go from concept to operations, and coordinate a complex mix of technical, financial, political and social solutions. All you do is sit back and count your savings.'

Suzie was in and out during this speech, clearing away the dinner things. She was uncomfortable hearing Jerry talk about his employees as if they were subhuman. She remembered the contents of the folder, the way the newspapers had talked about blacks as if they were only barely able to breathe on their own. She said nothing, and waited for their dessert orders. She was glad to tell the doctor that there was no whipped cream cake.

'Ah, well then, I suppose I'll have to have bread pudding. You've got that, haven't you?' he asked accusingly. It was right there on the menu. She pointed to it with a finger and smiled a big fake smile.

He nodded irritably and turned his attention back to Jerry. 'What about this bunch of laws you're fixing to get passed?'

'It's not just a major redefinition of a basic constitutional right, but an expansion of the power to rid society of miscreants.' Suzie bristled to hear that word. It was one of the ones she mumbled whenever she was chasing a bad driver.

'We're planning to expand the new laws to include the more marginal members of society the poor, those too ill to work, retired people who refuse to contribute, troublesome kids, the psychiatric cases your methods can't help.' He nodded at the doctor, who nodded back condescendingly.

Suzie listened with horror. The people Jerry's law would affect sounded suspiciously like people she knew. 'Blacks? Latinos? Women, too?'' Suzie broke in. 'Why?'

The doctor looked angry. 'Why? Our way of life is under siege, and we've got to protect it. Disorder and anarchy is attacking our whole civilization, trying to extinguish our light and replace it with cultural darkness. The targets of our laws aren't civilized. They're not even human. And it's only a beginning.'

Suzie stood in front of him, her hands clenched at her side. 'What makes you and your kind right? Why do we have to follow your ways? Why can't we all get along? Isn't this country supposed to be a melting pot?'

The doctor looked at her like she was an ant, and growled, 'We'd rather be separated. Our history, our culture, our laws, all of western civilization comes from us, we're the natural leaders.'

'White people, you're talking about, right?' she sneered.

'Of course white people. This was an English country. We were here first. White people colonized the land and made the laws and invented American society. We set everything up just the way we wanted. And now everything we believe in is under attack. The Indians want to drive us out, the blacks want to murder us in our beds, the Asians want to sell our daughters into white slavery. Hell, the Mexicans want to change our national language, for Christ's sake.'

The doctor was red in the face, his jowels squeezed into a grimace. It was obvious to Suzie that he held on to these ideas fiercely. 'I'm an old fashioned man,' he said, and the others nodded. 'I believe in the common values, where every race knows its place, and nobody gives any trouble about crossing the lines separating us.'

Suzie protested feebly. 'But all people were created equal.'

'Aw, what's the problem, Girl?' Ed broke in. 'Everybody knows they're not people like us. Blacks were sired by Satan mating with dogs. Asians came from Satan mating with cats.'

Suzie stared at him. The doctor added, 'God gave us - white people - dominion over the earth, not them. He didn't make them equal. This is a white Christian country, and we have a right to run it the way we want to. We're starting a crusade against nonbelievers and non-whites, including Blacks, Hispanics, troublesome Jews, and uppity girls like you.'

Suzie stood there with her mouth open.

Jerry saw her expression. 'You think we're racists. Well, here's what a racist is. A racist honors his race and reveres his ancestry. A racist prefers the company of his own kind, like everybody else does, and thinks that his genetic inheritance is worth preserving. By that definition, we're all proud to be racists.' The others agreed heartily.

Suzie backed out of the room, shaking her head, and ran to the servants' quarters for a minute of peace. Their attitude disturbed her more than anything she'd read in the folder. She had thought the articles she'd read were from some dim past, thankfully forgotten by all but a few people with hate in their hearts. But these men were important members of society, and they should know better. She couldn't figure them out.

A few minutes later, much calmer, Suzie came out of the pantry, shaking water off her hands, and ran right into Ed as she turned the corner. Before she knew it, he had waltzed her across the floor and backed her through the door of an empty dining room.

'Oh, Baby, Baby' he muttered into her neck, searching for a vein so he could suck the life out of her.

She pushed him away, growling. 'Back off,' she said, backing off and standing in the middle of the room. He came toward her again. They did a circle around an empty table. She felt panicky and hot; he felt explosive and full of determination. It was like Snidely Whiplash chasing Nell, only there was no Dudley Doright. Just Nell, reaching under her skirts for her knife.

Finally he grabbed her, and bent her backwards onto the table. 'It's meant to be, Darling,' he insisted with alcoholic breath that would gall a dog. 'I want you so bad,' he murmured, pressing up against her, rubbing up and down on top of her. 'We'll be so happy together.'

Suzie stopped struggling for a moment, in shock. Those were the very words she'd practiced hearing from Nelson. Ed started nibbling at her neck. The sensation was intensely annoying, like a bug crawling on her. She rolled him off.

She got up, and moved in between him and the door. She put her hands on her hips and stomped her feet. 'When are you going to get it that I'm not going to be your girlfriend?'

He thought she looked adorably sexy, and started advancing on her again, a big grin on his face. She fled. He followed, arranging himself, whistling a happy tune.

Dessert was a rather stiff half hour, with Suzie acting like she didn't know them, Ed trying to wink at her, and Jerry ordering more drinks and playing with his ice cream. It was nothing unusual, actually, because by this time of night they were all potted and probably wouldn't have much recall once they woke up the next morning.

The doctor thought he still had a point to make. He was haranguing Ed and Jerry now, who nodded in drunken agreement with everything he said. Several times they tried to get a word in edgewise, but he waved a ringed finger and continued. He was on a roll.

'We'd much rather turn back the clock rather than adapt to the way things are. Things are going to hell and we want to return to normal.'

Suzie couldn't keep her mouth shut. He made her so angry that she had to speak up in the defense of the rest of the world. 'What's wrong with change? Why are your ways automatically right? Who made you the arbiter of the truth?'

Jerry snarled at her. 'You're talking like a child.'

Ed said, more kindly, 'Wait till you're older and you'll see we're right.'

Suzie snapped back, 'I really hate being told I'm a child with immature perceptions and trivial objections. I think you've lost touch with how things really are. You're the ones living in a dreamworld, trying to get privileges for some at the price of slavery for others. Especially now, with all these new prison laborers. We need more diversity. More sharing. More getting along. Your racist attitudes belong down the disposall of history.'

The men looked at her with open mouths. She was shocking them now. Ed had thought, simply because Suzie was white, she shared his prejudices and beliefs. It was becoming clear that she did not. If they only knew how she really felt, they would have had her arrested on the spot for treachery to the white race.

'You white supremacists are ridiculous.' She stomped out of the room and went to hide in the pantry until they were gone, and only returned to the room to clear the table when she heard them leave.

Ed walked out of the bathroom with his cock out, and waddled back into the Honeysuckle Room to give Suzie her tip. She turned with a load of dishes in her hands, and he was there, fumbling at her waistband, breathing on her. She ducked away from him and turned back to see his little dick scrunched up on top of tiny little balls, peeking out of his pants. He grinned hopefully. She turned away in disgust and left the room.

She saw them standing at the top of the stairs waiting for Ed who trailed out after her zipping his pants. 'If you're the glory of the white race,' she said, 'then nobody has to kill you in your beds. You'll choke on your fat, slobbery tongues in your sleep, and the world will be rid of you.' Jerry looked daggers at her; Ed whimpered with desire, seeing her so mad. The doctor fumbled with his jewelry, shocked. They stumbled downstairs, and Suzie broke into tears.

When she got downstairs to clock out and leave, she noticed them across the parking deck getting into their cars after a nightcap. She took note. The doctor drove a white Cadillac, Ed drove a Mercedes SUV, and Jerry drove a BMW. They all Republican bumper stickers. She made a note to replace them with War Is Peace stickers the next time they had dinner.

It was still the full moon. It was high in the sky as she drove down Boulevard going home. Suzie was exhausted, moreso than usual. The guys getting arrested downstairs; and fighting with those assholes; she was very tired, and she was sorry that she'd gotten involved at all. It wouldn't do any good, and it might get her fired. Maybe she didn't mind getting fired. Anything beat serving people like that and having to listen to them hate everybody who wasn't like themselves. Horrible, nasty, fat, rich, ugly white men.

An SUV pulled in front of her halfway down Boulevard. She had to slam on the loaner's brakes and swerve to the right. She ran up on the curb and hit a trashcan, narrowly avoiding a light pole. The trashcan left a dent in the right front fender. Oops. Maybe Nelson wouldn't notice.

* * *

next, news at eleven