She slammed the door behind her before Big Bob really got into it. She was used to it by now, of course. She was used to hearing Big Bob talk about Olga like she was some gift sent from God, some deity that could not be less than perfect. She was also quite sick of hearing how well Olga was doing for herself, how she wasn't still living at homeunlike some people and how much she had developed on account of her going to college unlike some people. His comments still managed to piss her off, upset her and send her into a rage, even after 20 years of putting up with them. It was backhanded remarks like that that really stung Helga. She couldn't ever tell him how his comments actually made her feel, of course. He was Big Bob Patacki and she was Helga Patacki. They didn't talk feeling, as far as either one of them was concerned. The only kind of functional relationship they held was maintained by speaking to each other at a minimum and trying to ignore each others presence when in the same room.
All thoughts of her family vanished as she tugged on her shirt, cursing herself for forgetting a sweater in what looked to be a cold September night in Brooklyn. She decided to put up with the bitter wind however, as going back into the brownstone would not only make her late, but also makes her even more moody than she already was. And that wasn't good for business.
She decided to walk faster than her usual trot, almost run to her workplace, as she figured the exercise would warm her up a bit, at least, and help her burn off those 4 cheesecake slices she'd eaten for dinner. The neighborhood she'd grown up in had changed in recent years, and it wasn't exactly safe for her to be walking around at night, as she used to do when a child. She ignored the usual whistles from the drunks at the bar located two blocks from her workplace, as she's seen them whistle as Mrs. Rookney, a plump 79-year old lady who lived just opposite the restaurant she was headed, and knew they would whistle at a dog, should it happen to cross their path.
Finally, she entered Mr. Teos, the Italian restaurant she'd been working at approximately two years, and smiled at her coworkers. Rosy cheeked and a bit out of breath, she waved at them as she disappeared to the back of the restaurant, where her waitressing outfit lay. She dressed quickly, as the lock on the dressing room had recently accidentally broken (Helga was sure Mr. Teo had something to do with the lock, but never commented on the issue) and gave herself a look-over in the mirror. She deemed herself presentable, adjusted her nametag one last time before checking in her card and starting her shift.
The night had been busy. Fridays usually where, which meant more people and more tips, as far as Helga was concerned. Her shift was over in one hour, and although her feet were extremely happy for it, she didn't quite feel like going home just yet. Everyone would probably be asleep, as Miriam usually zonked out after dinner and Bog Bob fell asleep after the sports summary of the day, which was convenient for Helga as she didn't have to put up with any small talk, but the stillness of the house was a bit scary. She was used to getting home and just staring at her white walls for sometimes hours, willing sleep to pay her a visit, but rarely being able to immediatlyafter getting home.
She was thinking about getting some of those CD's Phoebe had recommended, with peaceful ocean and nature-like sounds, as she approached the new customers who had just seated themselves at one of her tables. Trying to decide whether crickets chirping or birds singing were more annoying, her head whipped up immediately as she heard the smooth baritone voice which still haunted her after all these year.
"Hello Helga" he said, and smiled.
Dumbstuck, she could only stare.
Arnold was back.