Free Mildred Pierce by James M. Cain

menu. There were fifty-five- and sixty-five-cent lunches on it, as well as appetisers, steaks, chops, desserts, and fountain drinks, most of these bearing fancy names that were unintelligible to her. In spite of her best concentration most of it was a jumble. In a minute or two the hostess was back with her uniform, a pale blue affair, with white collar, cuffs, and pockets. She slipped into it. ‘And here’s your apron. You furnish your uniform; it comes off your first check, three ninety-five; you get it at cost, and you keep it laundered. And if you don’t suit us, we charge you twenty-five cents rent on the uniform; that comes out of your check too, but you don’t have the whole uniform to pay for unless we really take you on. The pay is twenty-five cents an hour, and you keep your own tips.’
    ‘And what’s your name, Miss?’
    ‘Ida. What’s yours?’
    ‘Mildred.’
    They started for the dining-room, but going through the kitchen Ida kept talking into her ear. ‘I’m giving you a light station, see? Three, four, five, and six, all them little booths against the wall. That’s so you don’t get no fours. Singles and twos are easier. All them that’s just come in, you take them, and them that’s already started on their lunches, I’ll take care of them myself. That’s so you don’t get mixed up on them other girls’ books.’
    They reached the dining-room, and Ida pointed out the station. Three of the tables were occupied by people who had given their orders before the fight started, the fourth by a pair of women who had just come in. All were getting annoyed at thedelay in the service. But still Mildred wasn’t permitted to start. Ida led her to the cashier, a fish-faced blonde who began savagely telling Ida of the complaints she had received, and of the five people who had already walked out. Ida cut her off, had her issue Mildred a new book. ‘You’ve got to account for every check, see? In here you mark your number, you’re No. 9. Here you mark the number of the table, here the number of customers on the check. Down here, put down everything they order, and the first thing you got to learn: don’t make no mistake on a check. It’s all booked against you, and if you make a mistake, it’s deducted,
and you got to pay for it
.’
    With this ominous warning in her ears, Mildred at last approached the two women who were waiting to have their orders taken, handed them their menus, and inquired what they were going to have. They replied they weren’t sure they were going to have anything, and wanted to know what kind of place this was anyway, to let people sit around without even asking them if they minded waiting. Mildred, almost in hysteria by now with what she had been through that day, felt a hot impulse to take them down a few notches, as she had taken Mrs Forrester. However, she managed a smile, said there had been a little trouble, and that if they could just be patient a minute of two, she would see they were served at once. Then, taking a quick plunge at the only thing she remembered about the menu, she added: ‘The roast chicken is awfully good today.’
    Slightly mollified, they chose chicken on the sixty-five-cent lunch, but one of them said loudly: ‘See there’s no gravy on mine in any way, shape, or form. I hate brown gravy.’
    ‘Yes, Miss. I’ll remember.’
    Mildred started for the kitchen, barely missing a girl who appeared at the out door. Swerving in time, she dived through the in door and called to Archie: ‘Two roast chicken. One without gravy.’
    But the ubiquitous Ida was at her elbow, calling frantically to Archie: ‘Hold one gravy, hold it!’ Then she yanked Mildred aside, and half screamed at her: ‘You got to call it right! You can’t work nowhere without you’re in good with the Chef, andyou got to call it right for him. Get this: If there’s any trimmings they don’t want, you don’t call it
without
’em, you call it
hold ’em
!’
    ‘Yes,