I drove over to Charlie’s Truck Stop this past week through a steady downpour. We appear to have had more than our share of rain this fall, though predictions are for it to turn fair and cold by the end of the week. I had Mutt in the car with me as he likes to ride and I did not plan to stay long. I parked to the side of the store and went inside. Jake was bagging up groceries for old Miss Beecham. She is a nice old lady, a retired school teacher who taught me in the seventh grade. She was a lot younger back then, of course, and the prettiest school teacher I ever had. I was in her class when I first began to have an interest in Charlotte Williamson. Miss Beecham smiled at me as I came in and I went over to ask how she was getting on. Her relatives had been down for Thanksgiving and she’d had a wonderful time with her sister’s grandchildren. Miss Beecham never married, but she serves as a sort of center for her family. She lives in a big old house out north of Soagie and her family gathers there most holidays because she has plenty of room.

I helped Jake carry Miss Beecham’s groceries out to her car, then went back inside. Jake had noticed Mutt in the car and asked if that dog goes everywhere with me these days. I said he just likes to ride in the car, so I take him along when I can. Back inside the store I saw Mister Johnson over in his spot by the pot belly stove. He had that old piece of pine he was carving on. Hermann Spencer was there along with Hurshel Ledbedder. I went over to see how Mister Johnson was getting on. As I walked up, Hurshel asked how the comic book business was looking. I told him it was looking pretty good for the season. The Christmas holidays usually mean a spurt in sales. I sell most of my stuff over the internet these days and every year more people get more comfortable about spending their money on line. Mister Johnson asked if I had been to any shows recently and I told him the comics shows are mostly summer events. They taper off in the winter. The last show of any size I had attended was back last August when I went to a show in North Carolina.

“I heard you had dinner with Charlotte on Saturday night when you were there,” said Hurshel. I admitted as much. It was no secret though I did not think I needed to be giving out the details of my social life to anybody who asked. Charlotte Crum, she was Charlotte Williamson before she married and moved to North Carolina. Her husband was dead and she was running a boutique these days. She had come to the show on Saturday and I had taken her out to dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in the city where the comic book show was being held. We had rehashed old times together. But Hurshel would not let the subject rest. “Bob was telling me you had an interesting salad experience,” Hurshel insisted.

I grinned. That had been funny and I did not mind telling about it. Charlotte is a right good looking woman and, soon as we came into the restaurant, one of the young men who waited tables came to show us to a nice place to sit. We were a bit early for the late dinner crowd as I had to be back to the show for a panel I was scheduled to attend. There were not that many customers in the restaurant. I asked Charlotte if the restaurant was all so good as not many patrons were there and she assured me it was first class. It really began to fill up later on. She said we were lucky to be there as early as we were. The young man found a nice table in the corner of the room and hung around talking with Charlotte for a while. I watched in some amusement. As I have said, Charlotte is a right good looking lady. The young man, so he said, was the son of the owner of the restaurant and he was working tables because his father wanted him to learn the business. He was a personable young man, but presently he went away to let us decide what we would like to have for dinner.

We made small talk and made out food decisions. After some time the young man returned to take our orders. Again it was easy to see he was right taken with Charlotte. We told him what we would like and he went away again only to come back later with our salads. He made brief conversation, then left us to our food. I remember I was moving some of the salad around to spear a slice of tomato when I heard Charlotte say, “Now isn’t this interesting?”

I looked up to see she was holding up her fork and on the end was a bright green caterpillar worm. He was alive and wiggling around. My comment was something like, “How about that. Fresh meat included at no extra charge.” I looked around for the young man. He was across the room arranging another table. I caught his eye and motioned him over. He was with us in a moment all bright eyed and helpful. He began with a “What may I do for...Oh, my Ghod!” as his eye caught the worm on Charlotte’s fork. He apologized profusely and gathered up the salads and went away. He returned momentarily with our food apologizing again. He did not understand how this could have happened, the cook was the best in the city, and so forth. The young man was thinking, of course, lawsuit. But we were not especially upset. We thought the incident amusing. We could see how a small green caterpillar worm could be overlooked in green salad leaves. In any event, we knew the salad was fresh and had not been kept in a freezer for days before being served.

The remainder of the meal was excellent and, for desert, we were served ice cream and cake sculpted in the form of an arrangement of roses. The arrangement was delicious, but so rich it quickly filled you before you were finished. Charlotte and I returned to the same restaurant on Sunday evening and I gave the young man a pencil sketch I had drawn of Charlotte with the caterpillar on her shoulder with a cartoon word balloon that said the salads at the restaurant were the freshest in town. When I talked with Charlotte by phone a couple weeks back, she told me she was in the restaurant recently and the sketch is framed on the wall by the cash register.

END