The Curious Waitress: Madrid

By Janet Marloe

My name is Leslie Ann Brennemann, I am a waitress at the Hyannis Hotel and Restaurant in Hyannis Nebraska, although that status may be in flux. It's hard for me to fathom the changes that I have gone through this last year, but I wear it like the skin of a grizzly bear I killed with a sharpened number two pencil. Being influential and traveling the world, having people adore me that I have never even met, and making decisions that drive the economy is pretty amazing, I'm not gonna lie.
Everything changes when you turn twenty one. I used to be scared to leave the ranch, now I never want to go back. This book is for all the little people out there who are not rich. I ride around in limos all day and I have every comic book ever created. As I write this my heart races with adrenalin and I cannot express fully how alive I feel. I am going to become a world traveler, I am going to eat food from other countries, other races and religions, and I am not talking about the potato salad with raisins in it from the Presbyterian Church down the street.
I will be in Italy, I will eat macaroni. In Spain I will eat tacos. I plan to buy a house on a cliff somewhere where people live on cliffs, and I plan on swimming in a pool that hangs out over the edge and has a glass bottom. I plan on eating everything out on the terrace. This is going to be the greatest year of my life. It doesn't get much better than this...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janet Marloe
• Release date: Sep 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005426477

Janet Marloe

The Curious Waitress series comes from works by author Janet Marloe. She has been writing since 1987 and has previous works not published here.

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The Curious Waitress:

Madrid

A Novel by the Curious Waitress

Copyright 2020 Janet Marloe

Book V

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#

Prolog

My name is Leslie Anne Brennemann, I am a waitress at the Hyannis Hotel and Restaurant in Hyannis Nebraska, although that status may be in flux. I don't know why I thought I wanted to be a waitress anyhow. From the lowly position I lived in, the waitress was the highest honor I had ever seen off the ranch, now I realize there are other career choices out there. Like being rich.

Being crazy rich, and by that I don't mean insanely wealthy, I mean crazy - with money, had never even been an option for me before. As I write this, I am thinking of my mother Loretta Lynn, she would be disappointed. I left the ranch and family to become an internationally known rich girl. I don't even have to say hello to people anymore, I rarely have to even speak. My mother Dory is probably envious. I created a company that does something with credit cards and I am a millionaire.

I haven't even thought about church in ages, and I haven't caught fire or been visited by the devil yet. Father Gilbert told me once that I should not get cocky, but cocky feels pretty good right now, and I completely recommend it.

It's hard for me to fathom the changes that I have gone through this last year, but I wear it like the skin of a grizzly bear I killed with a sharpened number two pencil. Being influential and traveling the world, having people adore me that I have never even met, and making decisions that drive the economy is pretty amazing, I'm not gonna lie.

Suddenly I can breathe, and for me there is no going back. I'm not that weird looking tall kid on the ranch in Nebraska, I'm not even weird looking anymore. I'm a debutante who travels the world over just doing what she wants. Today I ride in a limousine, just admiring the lights of Chicago, they are all coming on as the sky darkens and I get close to the water. All my life I heard about the big city, how my imaginary dad lived here among the wealthy scientists and doctors. I am headed to an apartment downtown, and from there I shall be traveling to TS4, a space station in orbit, in space.

As I write this my heart races with adrenalin and I cannot express fully how alive I feel. I am going to become a world traveler, I am going to eat food from other countries, other races and religions, and I am not talking about the potato salad with raisins in it from the Presbyterian Church down the street.

I will be in Italy; I will eat macaroni. In Spain I will eat tacos. I plan to buy a house on a cliff somewhere where people live on cliffs, and I plan on swimming in a pool that hangs out over the edge and has a glass bottom. I plan on eating everything out on the terrace. This is going to be the greatest year of my life. It doesn't get much better than this...

#

One Year Ago - Sandstone

Monday evening, Harsadbhai Gurguri, stood in front of a long table, surrounded by well-dressed employees of the investment firm Sandstone. Next to him, stood a woman, whose bashful smile infected the other employees, and everyone easily smiled with her.

One of the two of them, would get promoted in a traditional ceremony that included cake. Everyone watched with anticipation. The owner, a well-dressed little man, with a thin black mustache, and thick glasses, cut into a large well decorated and elaborate dessert. As in the tradition, he would hand it to the person who would get the promotion, to the one who exemplified the company spirit. Harsad and the woman next to him worked tirelessly to create an environment where their employees could thrive and grow successful.

Nedezhada Petri studied Harsad, just as she had for the last few days, months even. He looked different today, unkempt, sweaty and generally out of it. Unusual for him, especially today, when he had worked so hard for this recognition.

Nedezhada looked weary herself, just an old woman by the window, her hands in her lap. She admired the young and dashing Harsad, who worked the southwest region of the United States and Northern Mexico, the woman next to him worked the rest of the west coast. They both looked like up-and-coming young business people, so full of energy and charisma, that they held the entire company in their hands. They both occupied the same building, in Brisbane, near South San Francisco, just across the Bay from Oakland California. They also lived in a group of buildings owned by the company, at the water's edge, of a small youthful community.

In a stunning move, that ignited the room into applause, Nedezhada watched the little old man hand both of them a piece of cake. Everyone stood. In translation, both groups won the prize, both groups would get a bonus, on top of the salary, on top of the end of year bonus, bringing Nedezhada to tears.

Her position with Sandstone, had not been a step up any career ladder, in fact, at best, it could be considered a lateral move, but the pay was not as good. She trained to be an engineer, but over time, she had settled for data entry. The bonuses however, made up for all the salary she thought she had missed out on, and her job proved way less stressful.

But the elation of the moment would not last.

Harsad looked at his spoon, and at that moment, the noise of the room suddenly became clear, as if he had been wearing earmuffs, he woke up. Alcoholics recognize the symptom, the moment you suddenly realize you have been doing something for God knows how long, but you didn't know it. Harsad however, didn't drink.

At that moment, his mind began to run faster than time, like a retracting measuring tape trying to catch up. In the reflection of the spoon, ghost images appeared of two bodies in his apartment, and a jagged sliver of the night before cut into reality, like a blade punching through flesh. He saw concerned faces, blurry people, trying to stop him and ask questions, but he left the room, sweating profusely. He ran through the office breathing heavily, through the building, through the parking lot, and outside into the fresh evening air.

From a window several stories above him, Nedezhada and a few others watched him running in the street. At the corner, where the street curved in front of his apartment building, Harsad stopped running at the sight of police lights. Standing there by the curb, as traffic and pedestrians began their evening, he opened his wallet and looked inside.

Nedezhada touched her lips with her fingers.

She had seen him do that exact move, almost in that exact spot, once before. She saw him and his friends, doing shots at that bar last Friday night, the beginning of a sad decline. At that party, almost the entire company went, owning the whole establishment for the evening it seemed. One man stood out that night, a grey bearded man in a blue suit. He was feeding everyone drinks, and that was where things began to take a turn.

Come Saturday morning, they were still drinking. She could see the bottles on the patio of Harsad's apartment, right across the street from her balcony. She could hear them yelling and singing all night long, and when she got up, it was still going on.

Drinking had never been a character flaw of his, but inexplicably, it turned into one right before her eyes. That Saturday night, watching the fog roll in, from behind the buildings and down the mountainside, it crossed the water like smoke, like an oil painting on canvas, and Nedezhada grew concerned as she spied on him from the shadows. That grey bearded man returned, and soon they danced and sang on their patio, and then on the white grand piano in the living room, until it crashed down, dumping them onto the floor.

She witnessed Harsad's roommates, Afzal Bibi and Bhagat Rahi, best friends since high school, and she had even met them on several occasions, but even their behavior appeared odd. They complained about the noise at first, tried to stop the insanity, to prevent Harsad from ruining his life, but he immediately ridiculed and cast them out. Then Harsad and the grey bearded man forced them into doing shots with them. Nedezhada watched from between her plants, Afzal dropped to the floor by the smashed piano almost as soon as he drank it. Bhagatti took a few steps and collapsed face first into the carpet. She can remember the laughter that followed. She just assumed they could not handle their liquor, but she would be proven exceptionally wrong.

Monday evening, while she and her co-workers watched from the window of the office conference room, people gathered, down at the corner in a Kaleidoscope of flashing lights. Police, ambulances, and even fire trucks, created a great commotion, and the entire block came outside to watch. Harsad just stood there, in the same spot in the street, right in front of the bar that everyone hung out at, like a manikin bolted to the pavement.

Several police officers spotted him and walked his way, one hand on their weapons, one hand out to hold him still as they approached. He did not resist. He just stood there.

Everyone left the office after that. Nedezhada went straight back to her apartment where she had the perfect view. She could see everything from her balcony across the street, right into the living room of Harsad's place. It remained torn asunder; two bodies covered in sheets right where they fell.

Still missing however, two roommates of Harsad, the sweet little couple Irawati Dumont and Zack Tenant. Although she only knew them in passing, they would recognize her and smile when she saw them. They remained just a cute young couple in love. Nedezhada could not say where they went or when they left that Saturday, but they left with that same grey bearded man that suddenly appeared Friday night.

Sitting in the interrogation room, with a police officer, Tuesday morning, Nedezhada learned what happened to Irawati. Her body, found by duck hunters in the bay, lay at the bottom of a cliff. Her car, used in a robbery on Saturday, sat parked in the brush, above her on the side of the road. Her lover, dead of gunshot wounds to the back and chest, remained slumped over in the passenger seat. The wounds consistent with the accounts of the officers, who fired on them at the scene of the robbery.

The police determined that she and her boyfriend robbed a bank at gun point, Saturday afternoon. Most of the money from the heist, somehow ended up in Harsad's room, in the same bag used in the robbery, and the case had a beginning and an end.

But Nedezhada knew better.

The investigation found Irawati and Zack, clearly visible, in video from cameras all over the bank, escaped in her car, after arriving there, with a man in a blue suit. Other witnesses at the bar Friday night, testified that everyone acted a little nuts, from employees of Sandstone, to other patrons, even the employees of the bar. Everyone agreed, they drank a lot of tequila.

Two separate teams of investigators, failed to recognize the significance of the images at the bank and the images at the bar, with a grey amorphous blob wearing a blue suit. He stood outside the bank, and also wondered throughout the bar that Friday night. Private residence surveillance video, showed the blue suited man at the car, after Irawati ran away, taking the money from the heist, and walking up the street.

Nedezhada gave her account of events to the police, she gave her description of the grey bearded man in a blue suit, but just like everything else, her accounts did not appear immediately relevant, and she willingly slipped back into the shadows. Nedezhada, had watched everything unfold, protected by potted plants and shrubberies, from the balcony of her patio, hidden in the shadows of her apartment building directly across the street from Harsad's place. Those that could remember, recalled a grey bearded man in a blue suit, the owner of a tequila company, but his identity remained a mystery. Nedezhada knew however, that he stuck with Harsad and his friends throughout the night, and he also disappeared with Zack and Irawati that Saturday afternoon.

Police just put it down as a drunken, drug induced rage.

She remained at Sandstone, but the chaos, the confusion and horror of what happened that night in February would haunt the company forever. Everyone would remember that day, that weekend, since almost all of them participated. Nedezhada failed to recognize that Harsad, the prominent son of Shawnin Bahary Gurguri, remained a single thread that wove through the fabric of her life. Shawnin had killed himself under suspicious circumstances, just after the Elissa disaster, when misgivings of his possible involvement, began to surface. His position at a prominent bank, grew suspect, when a considerable amount of money just disappeared. It happened during the exact moment several governments began investigating the funneling of money, funds tied directly to the Elissa disaster.

Nedezhada, worked for the Interrum Corporation, owners of the luxury ship, and her department, developed the systems, that were later determined to have been compromised in the disaster. She had no idea how fate played her hand. She would sit on her patio for months after the incident and stare at the new tenants in the apartment where Harsad used to live. She dreamed of the days, when the young brutally handsome and dashing young boy, would tease her, flirt with her, and laugh at the videos of her cat David.

#

Fencing Shack

Kyle Kruger climbs down from his horse and surveys the area with an eye for snakes. In the breast pocket of his orange plaid flannel shirt, the red case that holds Leslie's engagement ring, bulges against the fabric. He can feel it there right next to his heart. He should move it.

He takes off his gloves and extracts the case, then jams it into a satchel pocket, on the front of his horse, together there with small hand tools. Leaning against the saddle with both arms, he wipes his face on his sleeve and turns to the shed.

The old building before him sits in the middle of nowhere. At one time there existed a property boundary somewhere nearby, but that happened way before this little building collapsed and got rebuilt. Closer examination shows the rot around the bottom but the roof still looks intact. Inside, the snakes probably fill every dark corner and shadow.

When they were little, the significance of this place, grew into a legend, with snakes and possums. Leslie used to kick the shed walls, and snakes would fall out, sending everyone running. She was probably the reason that the building collapsed in the first place, but that laugh and that scream, and that undaunted innate toughness, compelled his heart. There would never be another.

He cranks open the door and pulls it wide, stuttering on the dried ground. His face remains determined yet expressionless as he stares into the darkness. There appears to be no movements in the shadows, no sudden burst of color changes by the walls where the light shines through. Off in the distance, the rumbling and the hum of a tractor begins to fill the air.

He turns, puts his work gloves back on and watches Cynthia approach, bouncing across the terrain. The wind blows cold and he looks up at the sky. The sun still bright, appears on the verge of being gone forever. The horizon to the west looks like a wall of dark clouds, like a curtain of churning mud, and this one could be another epic one. His mind wonders back to when Leslie called from the side of the road. A smile crosses his lips, as the image of her, sitting like a lump of coal, in the pouring rain, on that four-wheeler, appears clear as day. He would have laughed out loud if his anger didn't take over.

The smile on his face dissipates like an ember in a fire going out. He turns and grabs the first spool of chicken wire and drags it out of the small building with much difficulty, it gets stuck on everything it touches and it turns into a fight to the death. After removing two spools of bailing wire next, he can see the metal fence poles. As he stares his eyebrows crush together. He should not see the fence poles. The light inside the building grows detectable, and walking around the building to the other side, he finds a hole in the bottom, just the perfect size for a raccoon or skunk.

The tractor pulls up, Cynthia dismounts and walks up next to him. They stare down at the hole and the dilapidated state of the building in general. The first impression from a distance, it appeared sturdy, but closer examination revealed all the weaknesses and the wood rot.

You find any babies? Cynthia asks.

Kyle shakes his head, Got a flashlight?

Cynthia shakes her head.

Back at the knapweed infestation, a campsite forms, still in the early stages. The chuck wagon sits on one side like a small town, with a tarpaulin awning extending over the back of the wagon, large enough to cover the entire cooking area, another tarp covers the tables, and the hands all sit around waiting for the fencing.

Some sit in chairs, some in the dirt, some sit on the back of the trucks. Chief sits on a big lawn chair like a clump of prairie grass, mumbling at people who no longer hear him.

The wind tests the tarps.

#

Calogera and Papa

A wall of white snow climbs halfway up the front window of a cabin home off Loveland Pass Road, near Arapahoe Basin Ski Area, just outside of Denver Colorado. Inside, the living room remains mostly quiet, except for the crackle of a fire burning in the fireplace and frozen fruit being chopped up at an island in the kitchen. On the couch, Calogera Elisabetta Agrigento, sits with a notebook computer in her lap, her feet stuffed under the cushions of the seat next to her. She remains in her pajamas while everyone else has gotten dressed.

This woman remained a legend to the Agrigento family in Italy. Her very existence, manifested out of something more than mythology, more than the fire of battle, supported the elders and the organization and glued the family together, not out of her desire for power, or a predilection for violence, but out of necessity and loyalty. Twenty years ago, just a gorgeous young woman with thick black hair and long slender legs, she got thrust into the kiln by forces beyond her control.

A great uncle once told her that at times of great test, we do what we do, when our true nature gets exposed. She didn’t even understand it when it happened to her.

She was a marble statue in a maelstrom of bullets and blood, clenching a beer in one hand and a briefcase in the other. She survived the unimaginable, and when she turned over her shoulder, she witnessed the mayhem. Her brother and cousins, painted with blood, remained motionless on the concrete. The sounds of the dead, like nothing she has ever heard before, surrounded her. The last breath, and the gurgling of blood settling inside the corpses, left an indelible mark, a stain etched into her identity. Like a flowing river changes course over a stone, her destiny took a turn that night.

A man's voice echoes through the house from the loft above her, The old man is here.

Everyone stops to look up at Toli Agrigento, a big handsome young man looking down at them. He looks at her and points to the front yard. Calogera, much wiser now, stares back at him, the light from her screen reflecting off her face. She takes a moment to react, Where?

Here. They're stuck in traffic, out there somewhere... He shows her his phone.

The traffic to get to the ski lodges and resorts would get backed up for hours in this storm, and no other way in or out existed.

Her eyes get big, Say what?

She gets up off the couch and immediately runs up the stairs. She had not showered for the day yet, so she begins the process.

Toli moves downstairs to the kitchenette where Dottie Stracca makes smoothies. Piles of frozen fruit, separated onto different paper plates fill the counter. She puts down the knife and asks, From Italy?

He shrugs, Looks like they brought the entourage.

How do you know?

He points to the window, Dude look. It's a bus. They look out into the snowstorm as an extra-long van slides into view.

Like bees swarming a queen, the cousins bring in the old man, Marcello Agrigento and their mamma. The family greets them at the door, everyone hugs and kisses with pleasantries and love for the family from Italy.

He tugs on Toli's arm, Elisabetta here?

Si Papa. Toli answers and explains that she rushed into the bathroom to get dressed. Then he helps the old man to a seat in the living room by the fire.

Toli. The old man motions for him to sit next to him. He speaks in Italian, Toli, something happens with Elisabetta. The old man looks into the fire, It sounds like a big operation. Somebody is coming after the family militant. Elisabetta may be unsafe.

When did this happen?

He turns and examines the young man. He has grown into a formidable force, Elisabetta must stay here. She can't go back. Not until we know what happens.

Who did they get?

Nobody just yet. They have people coming for Alex and Kalisa. We can't protect them.

In America?

No, no... Italy and Spain.

What happened?

The old man cuts him off with the wave of his hand, then he touches his arm, Keep Alex out of the compound. Tell everyone he's no longer asset. Just step out. Tell Nico and momma I'm coming home. We need to separate from them.

You just got here.

Si. Take the grandbabies for the week. I should never have left. The trip is too long. I have to pee every two hours. The flight was so long. I can't get in and out of those chairs no more. The airplane has these bathrooms, when you sit on the toilet you feel the air outside. I feel like I'm gonna fall through.

You should at least stay overnight Papa.

The old man looks at him and nods.

Toli continues, I don't think we have anything going on with them that I know about. We've never used Alex or Kalisa here.

I know. I worry about Elisabetta. She sees them alot.

A drink arrives at the table next to them by the fireplace, and they watch Toli's cousin from Italy walk away. She's a young girl maybe fourteen, and she has long black hair.

Thank you, Gabby. A million thanks. The old man brings it to his lap and takes a sip.

Ahh. He looks in the cup.

What's the matter?

It's cocoa. Papa sounds disappointed.

Toli eyes the cup, I'll take it.

I like cocoa. He takes another sip.

Calogera finally comes out of her room fully dressed and stands on the landing. The living room, filled with family, her relatives from America and her father and associates from Italy. Papa used to come see his sister regularly, but those trips had grown fewer and fewer in between. Toli stands up when everyone turns to greet her. In the corner of her eye, she sees Aunt Alana slip out of the living room and head to the kitchen. In Calogera's eyes, you could see the feeling remained mutual.

Elisabetta... The old man calls her.

Calogera finds her father in a chair by the fire. Toli motions for her to come closer and then steps away. She rushes down the stairs. Papa? He reaches out for her and she touches his hand, What are you doing here? She recognizes the nature of the moment when the associates slide out of the room and take everyone with them, without a hug or hello.

He reaches up and squeezes her, then Papa answers in Italian, We come to see Denver while the powder's still good. I need to talk to you, help me up.

She helps him stand and he leads her into a back bedroom. The door closes and everyone goes back to what they did, trying Dotty's smoothies.

Calogera's Aunt Alana Stracca, the owner of the cabin and the matriarch of the family on US soil, sits at the end of the counter, dressed like royalty in her light pink sweater, and her big curly hairdo. A small shriveled old woman whose hands look bent and shaky, lifts the plastic cup to her lips. It's too thick, I can't drink it.

Dotty turns, It's supposed to be like ice cream.

Toli uses a spoon, You can't drink ice cream.

Who drinks ice cream? Another cousin asks in Italian.

Dotty's frustrations begin to show, People do. It's like a milkshake.

Another cousin chimes in from the couch, staring into his cup, You need more apple juice.

Or cream. Put cream in it if you want it to be like a gelato.

Dottie barks, Just shut up and drink your smoothie.

Everyone answers simultaneously, We can't.

Calogera sits down next to her father, who seems weak and weary, on the edge of the bed. His clothes no longer fit well, and his eyes don't appear as bright. Elisabetta... He begins.

The pause makes her look away.

He speaks to her in Italian, in his soft voice, rarely raised in anger. Normally it soothes her soul, but today feels different, You can't come home.

Calogera acknowledges with a nod. The news does not surprise her. It may have been a mistake to leave, but she feels that sentence in her chest. She never has grown accustom to America, and now she’s stuck.

Stay here, stay in Denver. You can go anywhere, just don't try and cross a border.

For how long?

I don't know. He takes her hand. Elisabetta, I don't want to start this all over again. We have been doing so well. Now Vittoria's children, Ettore's family, the Spatolas... It's all falling apart. He squeezes her hand and looks at the TV, which is not on, This was not the time for revenge. He looks away and shakes his head.

I thought this was what you wanted. You said you hated Vittoria for starting this and we would end it.

Elisabetta. He looks into her eyes, That was 30 years ago. Vittoria was my baby too. That family... He speaks of his second wife and the estranged relationship that died so long ago, Is still family...

Did I screw up? She drops her head and hides her face by looking away.

It's under control. Don't stir anything up. Stay here. He raises his arm, Help me.

She helps him stand.

Just stay here. This goes no further.

I destroyed the bonds, Calogera still seeks his approval.

He stops just before he opens the door and turns, Elisabetta, hear me. This was never about the bonds baby. He shakes his head. We make things now. Spatolas have restaurants. We help each other... We'll fix this... He speaks in English, Just stay put.

The door opens and immediately Calogera hears, Grandpa, try my smoothie.

She listens to the conversations, the family in the other room. They speak in Italian and broken English, This is gelato?

No, it's a smoothie.

You gave me a spoon.

The room erupts into an argument while Calogera sits on the bed in the dark room. She used to come to America to visit the family here quite often. She would take her cousins and nieces and nephews on trips like skiing and Disneyland, and buy them expensive gifts. It always made the American family angry though, they wanted no part of her dirty money. Although the words never got spoken, they knew her part in the organization, her position in the family, and she knew theirs.

It was the same on the East coast. When she reached Boston for the first-time years ago, the family there did not accept her with open arms. She could get what she asked for, and they treated her nicely, but not because they liked her or were glad to see her. The subtleties grew obvious, as the word spread, and the news of what happened in Italy began to filter in. Word traveled fast, and