Denny’s is where you go to hire a house painter at three o’clock in the morning. Apparently.
At least that’s what the nervous woman who approached me thought.
“E-excuse me, sir,” she said. She looked fragile. Slight frame in mom jeans and a cardigan buttoned over a white blouse. “Do-do you paint houses?”
This last she whispered while looking around to see if anyone watched. An odd question to ask a stranger tucking into his Grand Slam at 3am to be sure. When I learned just exactly what she wanted, well I looked back at my eighth grade science and social studies teachers a little differently. They’d told the class once they painted houses to make a little extra money over summer breaks.
For the moment though, I was clueless. And broke.
“Yes?” I replied with a big question mark and a definite upturn in my voice.
“Oh good, I’m in the right place,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this, and I pray to God it’s the last, but I just can’t stand living there anymore.”
“Okay,” I said thinking it a bit dramatic of her.
“I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, that place is ruining my life,” she said a bit unhinged, lighting up a cigarette. She certainly seemed like she hadn’t slept in a while. Jittery was an understatement and she carried the sleepless nights under her eyes. How many did it take to cause those suitcases?
“And so you want me to paint your house?” I was uncertain that a fresh coat of paint would do much good for her psychological well being, but she seemed to think it would and I needed the money.
“You’re the house painter, aren’t you,” she snapped, furrowing her brow. Her eyes widened, seemingly in shock. She took a long drag on her cigarette as it shook in her hand. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure we were understanding each other.”
“Right, of course,” she said looking for somewhere to put her dragged out cigarette. I offered her my coffee cup. It was cold anyway.
“You know you shouldn’t be smoking in here,” I said gently. Hoping not to provoke her, but also not wanting to get kicked out. I rather liked the place. Usually, it was quiet in the middle of the night. But not tonight.
She pursed her lips and bit back some snark, I thought. Instead she opened her bag and took out an envelope. Sliding it across the table.
I took the envelope and looked inside. I tried to play it cool but I probably swallowed a little hard. Inside was a photo of a man in front of a house, an address, and ten grand. I swallowed again. I looked up at her and she seemed nervous at my reaction.
“Is it enough?” She had shut her bag and was holding on tightly, her knuckles white from her grip. “I can get more, but it’ll take some time.”
“No, this’ll cover it,” I said and smiled brightly. “One coat or two?”
–j.e. pittman