Dory leaned in close and whispered, “It’s sleight of hand.”
“That’s what it says on my sign,” Dewey said through clenched teeth.
She kept one ballet flatted foot on the ground and opened her leg like a pair of scissors – her ponytail sliding off her shoulder and pointing down to the ground.
“What are you doing?” He didn’t seem to care about the show, instead worried about all the people passing by who weren’t coming in to eat.
“Trying to get a better view of Nicky’s show. He’s really good.”
“Tell me something I don’t know?”
“Okay,” she said, turning her head and tucking her chin to her chest to make eye contact with Dewey. “How high is my shoe off the floor?”
“I dunno.” He pursed his lips in an exasperated way then shook his head. “Maybe a foot.”
“No pun intended, right?”
“What are you getting at?” He stole a glance at a passerby, moving to open the door in case he wanted to come in.
“So, it’s just slightly off the floor.”
“Yeah? So?” Dewey watched the guy walk by.
“Well, ‘sleight’ of hand and ‘slightly’ off the floor are two completely different words.”
She stood at ease, feet shoulder width apart, hands open and clasped behind her back. She swung her head back and forth a little to even out her ponytail.
She swung her hair slightly, she narrated in her head and smiled.
“Advertising to your customers that you have a waiter who will entertain them with his ‘slight hands’ is no way to increase your business.” She pointed to the big banner that hung over the front doors. “So you might want to change your sign.”
A pair of old ladies, wearing big, hand made cardigans came in out of the spring sun, but not before removing their big, dark glasses to get a closer read of the sign.
“Aw, shit,” Dewey muttered under his breath before running for a ladder while Dory showed them to a booth.