Page 16 of Statler

“Thanks. You’re a life saver.”

Blue looked relieved, and hurried off.

“Anybody else want coffee?” Eliza questioned, getting back to beverages.

One by one, each person in the group politely spoke up, either giving their coffee order or declining before introducing themselves.

Eliza was pretty good with names, and these were a bunch she would certainly never forget.

Dizzy? Sherbert? Tonka? Pipes? As well as Blue and Hazard?

It was quite a group.

“Does your boss have a nickname?” Eliza asked, before she could school her impulses.

Dammit. She barely managed to refrain from slapping a palm over her mouth.

Dizzy, not sensing anything below the surface of the question, laughed. “You mean, besides the expletives we throw at him every day?”

Eliza’s eyes widened.

“I’m only kidding. Sort of,” he snickered. “But, nah. Other than ‘boss’, we call him Stat. Going from Statler to that shortened version of his name was a no-brainer, considering the guy always wants things done in the quickest, most efficient manner.”

Stat, Eliza repeated in her brain.

Yup. It suited the man.

“That makes sense,” Eliza rejoindered, hoping she hadn’t seemed awkward. “Now please, make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back with coffee.”

Only three were interested in the life-giving beverage, but two wanted water.

She’d make that three; getting one for Blue, too, just in case.

Eliza hurried out the door and down a flight of metal stairs, then around to the left to the employee break room.

Yup. Break room.

By no means would she call the small space a lounge.

Not even close.

Her father’s reasoning for the outdated and harsh environment was that he didn’t want anyone getting too comfortable there on their fifteen-minute breaks. Hence, he’d made sure every chair was hard, the lighting poor, and the amenities sparse.

But they did have good coffee—a damned fine blend that Eliza always purchased herself—because her father was an addict, and wouldn’t stand for anything subpar going into his mouth.

It was only a matter of time, however, before he got wind of the inflated coffee budget, and had a coffee maker of his own installed, behind his closed doors.

The sparse room also boasted a single, snack-vending machine. The reason for that? Her father often sent her down to have her procure what he called his “afternoon pick-me-ups”.

But of course he didn’t want to pay, which meant Eliza had the key, and presently, she didn’t hesitate to use it for their guests.

All the drinks went onto a large tray she’d carry up, but she added several packages of peanut butter crackers, and a few, commercially made, preservative-laden coffee-cakes.

She didn’t eat that crap, but she knew a lot of people who did.

Her father included.

Heading back up the stairs, Eliza was just about to juggle the tray to one arm so she could open the door, when Blue appeared at her elbow. The woman had clearly—after using the facilities—been standing at the railing looking down over the factory floor.