May had finished her pepperoni pizza first, and anyone seeing the way she eyed the last piece on Dot's plate might have had reason to warn Dot that she should never entirely trust her old friend. "I guess I liked mine a little better than you're likin' yours," May said.
"I'm likin' mine just fine," Dot answered with her mouth full, her thumb and index finger quickly gripping the crust of that precious last slice.
May looked away. "That writer is finally eatin' somethin', and it looks pretty appetizin'," she observed. Dot just grunted, finishing her pizza.
"Would you say it's almost as good as Cookie's?" May asked.
"Nope," Dot said, wiping her mouth. "Nobody's pizza is as good as Cookie's."
"I said almost, Dot."
"Close, maybe," Dot told her.
"I hope you ladies left room for dessert," Celeste said. "It looks like those pizzas hit the spot."
"What's the secret ingredient?" May asked the waitress.
"You'll never guess," Celeste said.
"I'll bet it's honey," Dot said; both she and May cackled, but they stopped cackling when they saw how the waitress was staring at them. (It didn't happen often that Celeste was speechless.)
"Wait a minute," May said. "It is honey, isn't it?"
"That's what the cook said--he puts honey in his dough," Celeste told them.
"Yeah, and the next thing you're gonna tell us is that the cook limps," Dot said. That really cracked up the two old broads; Dot and May couldn't stop cackling over that one, not that they missed the message in Celeste's amazed expression. (The waitress might as well have told them outright. Yes, indeed, the cook limped. He limped up a storm!)
But Danny had overheard snippets of their conversation before the ladies' cackling got out of control. He'd heard Celeste say something about his dad putting honey in the pizza dough, and one of the old broads had joked about the cook's limp. Danny was sensitive about his father's limp; he'd heard enough jokes on that subject to last a lifetime, most of them from those West Dummer dolts at that piss-poor Paris Manufacturing Company School. And why did Celeste look so stricken suddenly? the writer was wondering.
"Weren't you ladies interested in the pie and the cobbler?" the waitress asked them.
"Wait a minute," May said again. "Are you sayin' your cook's got a limp?"
"He limps a little," Celeste hesitated to say, but in effect she'd already said it.
"Are you shittin' us?" Dot asked the waitress.
Celeste seemed offended, but she also looked afraid; she knew something was wrong, but she didn't know why or what it was. Neither did Danny, but to anyone seeing him, the writer appeared to be frightened, too.
"Look, our cook's got a limp, and he puts honey in his pizza dough--it's no big deal," Celeste said to them.
"Maybe it's a big deal to us," May told the waitress.
"Is he a little fella?" Dot asked.
"Yeah ... and what's his name?" May asked.
"I would say our cook is ... slightly built," Celeste answered carefully. "His name's Tony."
"Oh," Dot said, disappointed.
"Tony," May repeated, shaking her head.
"You can bring us one apple pie and one blueberry cobbler," Dot told the waitress.
"We'll share 'em," May said.
It might have ended there, if Danny hadn't spoken; it was his voice that made Dot and May look at him more closely. When they'd first seen him, they must have missed the writer's physical resemblance to his father as a young man, but it was how well-spoken Danny was that reminded both Dot and May of the cook. In a town like Twisted River, the cook's enunciation--and his perfect diction--had stood out.