Alligator Park Read Online Free

uncertain terms that it was all my
doing. He even named a dessert after me, “Indigo Pie” he called it, because it
reminded him of my blue hair. It was a concoction of Blueberries, Greek Yogurt,
and Kiwi slices over a thin, lightly toasted crust. I threw it together using
ingredients left over from previous recipes. The blueberries gave the pie a
blue tint helped along by a dash of food coloring. At first, Sid would give a complimentary
slice only to the regulars he knew well. But when more and more customers demanded
a piece of the “Blue Pie” he decided he had no choice but to put it on the
menu. 
    But I think my most memorable
night was the time Sid gets this call telling him his restaurant just won the
coveted “Best of Philly” award. He was so overjoyed he gives me a one-thousand
dollar bonus right on the spot. I kept that job for five and a half years, until
I entered Grad School and was offered a Grad Assistant position. It paid the
same as the restaurant job, but also offered reduced tuition which I really needed.
Old Sid was sorry to see me go, but he understood. He often took me aside and reminded
me that my future was the most important thing and I should never look back. I
wouldn’t trade those years for anything; it really taught me a lot about life.
    I find a couple of burritos in
the fridge, left over from the previous night. I’m about to pop them in the
micro when my cellphone rings. It’s Logan. I quickly answer it.
    “Hello.”
    “Can you meet me at Ricky Stinks?”
he asks.
    “Sure, what did you find
out?”
    “It’s complicated,” he
responds. “I’d rather explain it in person.” Logan has never said that to me.
He has always been open, like a friend. Something was wrong.
    “What is it?”
    “I have to go. Ricky Stinks
at eight, okay?”
    “Okay,” I respond, not really
having any choice.
    I slip into a pair of jeans
even though I prefer the look of a skirt. But the temperature is plunging, and it’s
a good thirty minute walk to Ricky’s. I’m not looking forward to having the
frigid night air whip against my bare legs. Outside, another six inches of snow
had been added to the foot already on the ground. And there’s no indication it’s
letting up; in fact, it appears the pace has quickened. I can see the owners of
the small stores and boutiques along the path valiantly trying to keep their
sidewalks clear, but as soon as they are done, another inch has already been
laid. Some of them are giving up the battle, shutting off lights and locking
the front door figuring that no one would be shopping on a wretched night like
this anyway. Why not spend the evening with a loved one? That’s exactly what I
was about to do.
    Up ahead I see the bright neon
sign for Ricky’s Stinks. It dominates the area, coloring the huge piles of snow
various hues of red, green, and blue. The street has largely emptied out from
the usual bumper-to-bumper traffic. Most of the suits are already home, or with
their mistresses, telling their spouses they have to work late. A snow emergency
works well in their favor; it’s a plausible excuse for not returning home that
night.
    When I was a freshman, living
in the dorm, the older girls would talk about the suits late at night, after daring
each other with shots of Tequila. They would tell us stories about how the
suits would befriend some young unassuming coed impressing her with his wealth
and power. At first it would be innocent. But as the friendship matured, he
would complain, in a helpless puppy-dog manner, how his wife was always too busy
for him, traveling around the world pursuing her photography hobby. Of course
it was all BS, but the inexperienced coeds would suck it up thinking they could
save the world. Next thing they know they are in over their head. These things
would usually run their course over the period of a year or two, then end abruptly,
when the coed came to believe there was actually something between them and
demanded more time.