Left-Handed Redheads

/~ y & O y V ,h bat C « C ^> Ju« 5ît Left-Handed Redheads by MIKE IVEY It wasjust past one a.m. and I was neon sign. The screen door squealed still three hours from home. I pulled as I opened it, then slammed behind in at a small, white-painted, brick me. building whose sign proclaimed in There were two truckers at the far green neon: AL-NITE DINER, end of the counter, one of them busy Halfway to the door, I was met by the with a plate of ham and eggs. Othersmell of hot grease and coffee, accom- wise, the place was empty. I sat down panied by an irritating buzz from the at the counter and had just started 60 looking (unsuccessfully) for a menu when the waitress appeared from the kitchen. Now, I don't usually take much notice of waitresses, but this one couldn't be overlooked. To begin with, she was wearing four-inch heels, with all the finesse of a giraffe on roller skates. Her skirt was short, and her blouse lowcut. And she had the brightest, most obviously dyed red hair I have ever seen. She laid a onepage , plastic-covered menu in front of me and, without pause, asked, "What'll you have, honey?" Her voice took me by surprise. In place of the brassy whine I had expected , I heard the melodious lilt of adolescence. Looking past the makeup, I saw that she couldn't be out of her teens. "What's the matter, never seen a tall, beautiful redhead before?" She pulled herself up straight and flexed her legs for emphasis. She barely suppressed a giggle. I glanced at the menu, made some tactful inquiries concerning the age and condition of the apple pie, and finally ordered pie and coffee. She laid her pad down on the counter and laboriously printed the order with her left hand, which was obviously unaccustomed to holding a pencil. "Are you naturally left-handed?" I ventured. "Hey, you noticed! I bet you read the Family Weekly, don't you?" Now completely confused, I assured her that I had no idea what she was talking about. "Aw, you know, the magazine thing in the Sunday paper. My husband—I mean, my ex-husband— we been separated some time now— he used to read the whole thing every Sunday. That's how he first found out about left-handed redheads." She set down the coffee and went to the kitchen for the pie. I was ready as soon as she came back through the swinging door. "What, exactly, did your husband find out about left-handed redheads?" I asked. She stared as if I had asked who wrote the Ten Commandments. "Law, you really don't read much, do you?" she said with astonishment, apparently having mistaken me for an educated man. "Well, you eat your pie and I'll tell you. See, the Family Weekly, it has these little quizzes to find out how much you know about people—I don't mean particular people, just people in general—and Bobby—that's my husband—I mean my ex-husband— Bobby used to read them out loud. He sure could read good. He'd done graduated from high school before we got married—he was older than me. He would've gone to the community college if I hadn't got...well, if we had'nt decided to get married. He had to go to work in his daddy's store to take care of me and the baby." When I saw her pause for breath, I broke in. "What does all this have to do with left-handed redheads?" "Hold your horses; I wasjust comin ' to that. Like I was sayin', Bobby 61 used to read them quizzes out loud. Now me, I ain't never been one for readin'—I like to watch the TV. I bet you think I watch them soap operas, don't you? Uh-huh, I knew it! Well, no sir, not me. I don't waste my time with such foolishness—I watch game shows. You know, a body can learn a lot from them shows. Why, I...