“How much?!” Carmen exclaims in a hurried whisper as she glances over her shoulder toward the bathroom where Westley’s showering.
“We add an up-charge for brunch on Saturdays and Sundays,” the delivery driver tells her in a booming Southern accent. “Did Mamie not mention that to ya? The lady who took your order,” he adds, noticing Carmen’s confusion. “Because she should’ve explained all this to ya over the phone. It’s our new policy, ya see. The kitchen was gettin’ overwhelmed on the weekends, and at Bob’s Pancake House we take pride in makin’ quality food fast. That’s our slogan, anyway, and Lizzy thought addin’ a fee for deliveries would help ease up the demand on poor ol’ Bob. But dagnabbit, I dunno if I can charge ya if Mamie didn’t tell ya about it. Bless her heart, she really oughta take an earlier retirement. I swear, that woman’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”
“Oh it doesn’t matter!” Carmen glares at him irritably, glad to finally get a word in edgewise. “I’ll just pay it. Do you have change for a twenty?”
“Why yes ma’am, I sure do,” he beams at her proudly. “Just let me run down to my car right quick, and I’ll be back faster than a one-legged man in a butt kickin’ competition wearin’ nothin’ but a-”
“Carmen? Who are you talking to?” Westley’s deep, rich voice reverberates down the hall.
“Oh, um, no one babe! I just have the, uh, the television on!”
“Are you almost done with breakfast?” he asks her in a cheerful tone.
“Just about,” she replies, and yanking the front door closed behind her she turns back toward the delivery boy. “Here,” Carmen whispers as she shoves a wad of cash at him and grabs the bag out of his hands. “Keep the change.”