Chapter 11: Odette's Lunch

On Friday, Odette Hargrove took me to lunch at a diner on Larimer Street that has been there since 1961.

She did not ask.

She appeared in the door of 4B at noon in her canvas work jacket, said "Come," and left.

I followed her, because that is what the fourth floor does.

The diner had red vinyl booths, a pie case, and a waitress who called Odette "Boss."

Odette ordered coffee and two slices of lemon meringue without looking at the menu.

"Eat," she said.

"I'm not hungry."

"You look like a woman who's been sleeping badly and well at the same time."

I put down my fork.

She watched me through the steam from her cup, with her glasses pushed up into her silver hair and her eyes small and sharp.

"I don't say much," she said. "I'm sixty-one."

"I started this company with a sewing machine and a loan from my sister. Everything I say, I mean."

"I know."

"I want to ask you how many contests you have won against Drake Hollister."

My stomach turned over.

"Fourteen."

"Fourteen," said Odette.

"I keep a list."

"I know. So do I."

She put a spoonful of meringue in her mouth and swallowed.

"Eight Trail Reviews," she said. "A trade-show award. Three vendor pitches. Two retailer bids. You won every one."

"Is that a problem?"

"No."

"Then why are we here?"

"Because I've watched you win fourteen times," said Odette, "and I have never once seen you look pleased."

I opened my mouth to argue and found I had nothing to say.

She leaned back in the booth.

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