Burn scars covered his forearms. Whenever the hot grease leapt from the grill to bite him, he’d step back, wipe his arm across his dirty white apron, and stare at the sizzling burgers like a man betrayed. The first time I saw this happen I ran to the ice machine for an ice cube, came back and pressed it against the angry red splotch on his skin. He watched me, smiling. He had the darkest eyes of any white man I’ve ever known, and the biggest hands. That was my first day waiting tables at Wiley’s. After the lunch rush was over he took his break and came out to the counter for a cup of coffee. I filled his cup and he smiled at me. Sam wasn’t an especially handsome man, but when he smiled you wanted to stay with him, to lean back and bathe for a while. After a long day on your feet, Sam was like a tub of warm water. “So I hear you’re an actress.” Yes, I was a waitress, and yes, I wanted to be an actress. I would meet people at parties and tell them I was a waitress, 147 and they would always ask, “But you want to be an actress?”
