Courtship at the Pizza Giant

Fiction by Paul Lewellan

Milton Briggs studied the young woman in the sauce-stained black apron. She lifted a fresh ball of dough and dusted it with flour before setting it on the prep counter downside up. Milt motioned a middle-aged couple to move ahead of him in line.

Auden McMasters pressed her fingers together about an inch from the edge and worked it. She flattened her hands, stretching the skin out to nine inches, raised around the circumference, a slight mound in the center, pulling the elastic dough left and right, rotating it as she pulled. She had a broad nose, dark brown eyes, and close-cropped strawberry-tinted hair. Yesterday her hair had been electric blue, last week sunset orange.

She looked up at Milt towering over her. “You’re a culinary artist,” he stammered.

“Poetry in motion,” she cooed. Auden shaped the dough into a thirteen-inch raw crust. “The key to a perfect toss is proper rotation.” She anchored the dough with her left hand and slid her flattened right hand under and lifted, bringing it across her face and extending. He caught a glimpse of her sleeve tattoos.

As the dough spun, Milt stood transfixed. “Amazing.” Every night for the last three weeks, he’d watched her work.

“Done right, one toss is all you need.” She slapped the crust on the table. She reached for the ladle of sauce. “Dining in?” Of course he was.

“Can you bring it to my table?” His face flushed. “It’s my last night.”

“Mine, too.”

Sheila Gruneisen greeted him at the counter. She worked the register Monday through Thursday. “The Usual, Milt?” Every night he ordered a medium Pizza Giant half pepperoni/half mushroom. He ate in the corner booth by the window. Sometimes he added a Caesar salad, sometimes a beer. Never both. The staff joked about it. He pretended not to hear them.

“Extra cheese, extra sauce, and anchovies. A Caesar salad and a pitcher of Fat Tire.”

Sheila blinked.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Wrapping up a project.” His face remained emotionless. “I’d like Auden to make my pie.”

“I could do it.”

Milt noted her spotless apron. “Let’s go with Auden.” He swiped his Am Ex, stuffed five dollars into the Tip Jar, and slipped a second five to Sheila. “Thanks for the offer.”

Milt watched Auden grating the parmesan cheese as he picked at his salad. She looked up and winked. She never winked. Or smiled. But then, neither did he.

At the office, he wore Dockers khaki cargo pants, Keen hiking boots, and pale blue oxford shirts. His fellow techies dressed like hobos. After Bob Richland announced Milt’s promotion today, the VP for Operations counseled him, “Build your professional wardrobe. Work on your social skills.”

“In coming!” Auden set the pizza on the pedestal tray. “One medium half pepperoni/half mushroom, extra sauce, extra cheese.” She’d created a starburst and signed her name with the anchovies.

He blurted out, “I want to buy you a coffee after work.”

“Nope. I smell like yeast after a shift and the caffeine keeps me awake.”

“Then talk to me now.” His voice caught. “It’s important.”

Her eye twitched. “Give me a sec.”

Auden returned to the kitchen and tossed her apron on her station. “On break!”

She slid into the booth and grabbed a mushroom wedge, picking off the anchovies and eating them first. “Talk to me.” She bit into the hot slice, allowing the molten cheese to burn her mouth. “What’s the occasion?”

“Two months ago, I prevented a catastrophic security breach on a client’s website. Everyone else missed it.” He leaned in. “Suddenly I was the lead on the firm’s next project, wrapping up tomorrow, promoted over a dozen more experienced people.”

“That will cost you friends.” Auden doubted Milt had many to begin with. “What is it exactly that you do?” She took another bite.

He handed her his business card. Milton Briggs, Internet Specialist, Canal Street Security Services. “I’m a tech guy.”

“Who would have guessed?”

“Actually I….” He noted her expression. “Oh, I see. That’s sarcasm.” He began again, cautiously. “I’m a little stiff….” Auden snickered. “My therapist suggested that with the right tutor, I could appear less awkward….”

“More normal?”

“…even if I never learn to like people.”

“People get under my skin, too.” She picked up a second slice. “I’m not sure I’d be your best teacher.”

“I’ve watched you work the counter….”

 “I’ve been told I’m not ‘management material.’” Auden took a breath. “I never graduated from high school. I don’t do math. I have ‘moods’. Sometimes I scare people.”

“You have other talents.”

“I’m handy with a gun.” She waited. “That was a joke.”

He didn’t laugh. “I googled you.”

Auden refilled his empty beer glass and glanced around the room. She took a drink. “Anything interesting?”

Milt pulled up the notes on his phone. “When you were thirteen you broke your stepfather’s arm with a softball bat and started living in an apartment above your grandmother’s garage. By the time you turned sixteen, you’d been arrested for breaking and entering, vandalism, simple assault, graffiti, truancy, drug possession, petty larceny, underage drinking, joy riding, and shoplifting.”

“I keep busy.”

Milt returned to his phone. “Your crime spree ended when you started working at Little Caesar’s who fired you three days later, as did Pizza Hut, Papa Murphy’s, Papa John’s, Domino’s, and California Pizza Oven. Last November you were hired by Pizza Giant. In February you were named Employee of the Month and again April.”

“I’m the Pizza Queen.”

Milt looked up. “You need to change that username.”

She froze, the beer glass poised at her lips. “How do you know my username?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Milt kept reading. “You passed the GED exam, and in two semesters at Delgado Community College you’ve gotten A’s in all your culinary arts classes, a D in College Composition, and an F in American History.”

“If they make me take more Gen Ed classes,” Auden said defiantly, “I’ll flunk out.”

 Milt lifted another slice. “Enroll in culinary school.”

“Too late….”

“Not necessarily….”

Auden waved him to go on. “Finish what you started.”

He wiped his fingers on a napkin, picked up the phone, and read. “Comcast and CenturyLink blocked you from using Facebook and Tinder. You switched to Starlink when the other internet providers banned you for life.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “On the plus side, your numerous online dating profiles are impressive, though entirely fictional, and have resulted in dozens of first dates, hookups, one-night stands, and three restraining orders.” He set the phone down. “You make small bombs.”

Auden twitched again.

“Law enforcement agencies think you’re a terrorist. That’s why the new username.”

 She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “You are terrible at small talk.”

“I told you, I need help socializing.”

Auden put down her half-eaten pizza slice. “Let your girlfriend do that, Milton.”

“I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“After you found out all that stuff…?” She glared. “And don’t give me more crap about googling my name. My juvie records were sealed.”

“Nothing’s sealed if a person knows where to look.”

“You’re that good…?”

“It’s why people hire me.”

“Not your social skills…?” He blinked. “That was another joke.”

Milt saw Harry Dillard the assistant manager speaking to Sheila. Sheila pointed to Auden sitting at Milt’s table. The conversation got animated.

“Join me for lunch tomorrow, 11:30 at Antonelli’s Downtown Deli.”

“Can’t do it. I’m meeting some folks.”

“I know. Your new friends want to see you shoot.” She didn’t deny it. “But you can’t go the range tomorrow.”

“Try to stop me.” Auden rose.

“Wait.” Milt turned his laptop screen to her. “Recognize the page?”

She stared at the computer. “The Shooters chat room. How’d you find that?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He chose his words carefully. “You need to post that you won’t be at the range tomorrow.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you’re there, you’ll be arrested with the others, charged with terrorism, and locked up for thirty years.”

Auden sat back down. “I’m not a terrorist.”

“If the authorities find you there tomorrow, AR-15 in hand, you will be.”

“Target practice is not a crime.”

“Plotting a school shooting is. The others have blueprints of Franklin High, class schedules, lists of target students and teachers, false IDs….” Milt remembered her earlier comment. “Small bombs.” She flinched. “Picking up a gun at the range proves intent. It will be enough to convict you.”

Auden’s face twisted in anger. “The cops can’t find the chatroom. It’s buried deep in the dark web.”

“They breached it three weeks ago.”

“How could they…?” Milt avoided eye contact. “You found it!” Auden spit out the words. “Your promotion! You discovered a ‘terrorist plot’.”

He reached for her arm, but she pulled away.

“I can fix it,” he whispered. “We can fix it.” Auden shook her head. “If we act now. The arrest tomorrow is a photo op. Imagine how the drone footage of weapons blazing will play for a jury.”

“I’ll warn the others.”

“If you do, I can’t help you.” His posture stiffened; his face drained of emotion.

Auden studied him. “Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let the Shooters meet without you. Their arrests will give us time.”

“Time to do what?”

“Clean up your mess before they execute the search warrants.”

Harry Dillard the assistant manager was not an imposing man, and he looked uncomfortable coming to the table. Sheila and several other staff members urged him on. “Auden,” he said, “your break’s up.”

Milt intervened. “I am helping her out of a situation.”

“Well she….”

“Auden told me you’re having computer problems. Some kind of virus? Your website’s crashed?” Milt handed Harry his business card. “I’d be happy to take a look after Auden and I finish. No charge.”

Harry looked at the card. “Internet Security Analyst?” He looked at Milt. “No charge?” He looked back at the staff watching him, then back to Milt. “That would be great. Take your time.” He walked away.

“I didn’t know we were having computer problems.”

“Happened right after I arrived. You left a mess on the computers here, too. I’ll clean it up.”  

Auden stared at his laptop screen and the Shooters chat room. “What will it cost me?”

“Teach me how to talk to people so I can advance in my new position.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s especially self-aware.”

“Colleagues might have mentioned….”

“I bet.” Auden set the remaining pizza aside. “I’m not the person to teach socialization. Remember the restraining orders?”

“They came early in your online dating, which suggests you either stopped stalking people, or you got better at it.” She huffed. “You learned how to keep a job and how to control your urges.”

“Urges?”

“You want someone to pay for your pain.”

“Doesn’t sound like girlfriend material.”

“You haven’t killed anyone yet.”

“Fair enough. Do you want to have sex?”

“Is that an offer?”

“If I’m going to be your girlfriend….” She waited. He nodded. “Anything else?”

“We could go bowling…. First we need to fix this.”

“Sure.” She looked again at the message board. “What do I tell them?”

“Say you thought they were role-playing. Say you’re afraid they’re serious.”

 “Well, that’s stupid. I can’t just….”

“You have to…. Tell the ATF, FBI, State Attorney General, and local police that you’re not a threat. Say you could never hurt anyone.” She stared at the laptop screen. “Write it down, then let me add something when you’re done.”

Auden reluctantly wrote what he’d told her and returned the laptop. He added a sad Hello Kitty emoji and posted the message.

“Hello Kitty? Really?”

“The emoji triggers a script. Tomorrow morning a worm will infect the chatroom and delete all logs.”

 “Won’t the police have all the other stuff I’ve written.”

“They will be surprised by how little they can produce.” Milt closed his laptop. “Have you talked to your grandmother?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your grandmother. Have you talked to her?”

“No. Why?”

“She won a contest.”

“What did she win?”

“Top-to-bottom house cleaning.”

“That’s terrific. She’s a hoarder.”

“The cleaning service called her this afternoon. They’re coming tomorrow.”

“That was fast.”

“After work tonight, you’ll need to get ready for them.”

“What do you mean?” Auden scanned the restaurant. Paranoid. “They’re not cleaning my apartment.”

“Actually, the whole point is to clean your apartment. To scrub it down. To eliminate chemical residue. To shred incriminating books, papers, and photos. Two crews will come to your grandmother’s house. One will appear to be working on the garage, but they will really be sanitizing your upstairs living space.”

“Before the search warrant….”

“The crew won’t arrive until you leave for the day. Leave early, even if it’s just to go out for your morning coffee. The police are watching you, not the house. They’ll follow you to Starbucks. By the time the authorities realize what’s happening….”

“I see….”

“Pack up your bomb making materials–even if it something as innocent as a soldering iron, wire, or a timer–and put it in a box you mark Trash. The Cleaners know what to do. Wash everything you’ve worn that might have chemical residue on it. If you have any weapons–an unregistered handgun, a hunting knife, a softball bat–put them in a trash bag. Label the bag ‘Goodwill.’ They’ll dispose of it.”

Auden took notes by writing on her palm. Milt slipped her one of the blank notecards he kept in pocket. “There’s more?”

“Gather up anything on paper: notes, sketches, books on improvised weapons, posters, The Anarchist Cookbook, anything advocating violence. Mark that bag ‘please shred.’ You can’t be seen carrying things out of the house. Let the Cleaners take care of everything.”

“Where did you find them?”

“In the same place I found the Shooters website.”

A wave of recognition spread across her face. “These are the guys that dispose of bodies for the mob?”

“Turns out they’ll take anyone’s money.”

“What about my laptop?”

“The first thing you need to do when you get home is to check your email from Pizza Giant, first on your phone, then on your laptop.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So you can open the attachment…. The virus inside will destroy everything.” Auden started to protest. “Let the worm take care of your 4chan posts and browser history, your Amazon account, cloud storage, X, DropBox, all the selfies with the shooters, the lists of targets, and the ugly rants in your diary.”

“Won’t the police suspect you?”

“Harry asked me to check the Pizza Giant computers. By the time I do, systems will already be crashing. I’ll warn everyone not to open emails….”

“But people will. So, it won’t happen to just my computer? Nice move.”

Milt shrugged. “The bug I used is going around. It’s suspicious, but it won’t come back to me.”

Auden tidied the table. She stacked his plate on the almost empty pizza tray. She stared at the beer. “You’ve read my diary? You know about my stepfather?” He nodded. “You’ve read about my interest in you.”

“It’s why I’m here tonight.” Milt pulled a backpack from his backpack. “Use this backpack tomorrow. Have the Cleaners destroy your old one. When you meet me for lunch bring your laptop.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I’ll turn it over to the police. I’ll tell them you asked me to take a look at it because you got a virus. I’ll break the news to them that there’s nothing on it they can use.”

“Tell me again why you’re doing this….”

“I read what you wrote. You don’t think I’m weird. You said I was handsome. That’s how I got the courage….” He hesitated. “I like to watch you make pizzas. I couldn’t let you go down before I told you that.”

“All right then.” Auden stood. “Antonelli’s Deli for lunch at 11:30.”

“I order an egg salad on whole wheat with a Green River, but I’ll buy you whatever you like.”

“A Green River?”

“Or chocolate soda sometimes. Always good on a first date.”

Auden laughed. “You go on a lot of those?”

“Precious few….”

She leaned down and kissed him. “One’s enough, if it’s with the right woman.” She grabbed the backpack. “Now go fix our computers.”

When Milt arrived at Antonelli’s the next day, he found Auden at a table for two in the back corner, sipping on a chocolate soda. “The old fart at the counter said this was your table.”

 “That’s Vince, the owner’s son.”

“Last night before I opened my email and trashed my computer, I googled ‘Internet Security Specialist.’ Interesting reading.”

“What did you hope to find?”

“What you see in me….”

“And…?”

“I have no clue.”

Vince Antonelli appeared with a tray of food. “Provolone, Genoa salami, double capocolli, pepperoni, deli dressing, red onions, sweet pepper rings, spinach, and black olives on a baguette.” He set the sandwich in front of Auden. “Excellent choice.” He placed the other sandwich in front of Milt. “The Usual.”

Vince dispensed the final item, a large salad bowl with two forks. “Traditional Italian antipasto: cured meats, olives, pepperoncini, roasted red peppers, mushrooms, artichoke hearts, Italian cheeses, and vegetables in olive oil and red wine vinegar. On the house.” He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t screw this one up, Milt.” He hurried back to the counter.

“What did you tell him about me?” Auden asked.

“I said you promised to help with my wardrobe.”

“Only if you keep me out of prison.” Auden bit into her sandwich and chewed. “I gathered up everything like you said. Labeled it. Left home early. Went to Starbucks.”

Milt picked up his egg salad sandwich. “So, you trust me?”

Auden wiped the Boetjes stone-ground mustard from her chin and forked a bite of pasta salad. “You scared the crap out of me last night.”

“Good.”

Auden carefully wiped her hands on a napkin. “You up for dessert?”

“What do you want?”

“Ask Vince what you should order if you want a second date. He’ll know.”

When Milt returned, he placed a full bowl in front of Auden. “What’s this?”

“Tartufo: two flavors of ice cream with raspberries inside, coated with a dark chocolate shell.” He sat down. Auden picked up the spoon. “Give me your laptop. I want to check it before I turn it in.”

She slid the computer across the table. “You’re taking a big risk.”

“I delivered a terrorist cell to the police today. They prevented a school shooting. The news will feature them taking in guys with guns, maps of Franklin High, and hit lists. They’ll cut me slack if a lesser player slips away.”

 Auden sucked up the last of her chocolate soda. “Then what happens?”

“You teach me how to manage people.”

“You’re sure I’m the woman for the job?”

“You’ve been fired and rehired by Pizza Giant twice.” Milt spoke deliberately. “Then they named you Employee of the Month twice.  Explain how you did that. Show me how to persuade people who don’t like you, or don’t understand you, to continue to reward and employ you.”

“Oh, that shit? That’s easy, but you have to lie a lot.”

“I’m getting better at it.” He lowered his voice. “But I have issues….”

She leaned across the table. “Issues are my specialty.”

As soon as she got to work, Auden checked in with her grandmother. “My laptop and phone are both dead. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Her grandmother said that the cleaning crew had been so polite and so efficient. “What nice young women.” They were gone in two hours and left everything spotless. She gave them a big tip and was going to write a thank you note. “Police came by after lunch. They had a warrant, but they didn’t stay long. Are you in some kind of trouble again?”

Auden reassured her grandmother that she wasn’t. “People I know did something stupid.”

Auden lifted a ball of dough and covered both sides in flour. She pressed her fingers together and worked the dough, rotating as she pushed. She flattened her hands, stretching the skin out, raised around the circumference, a slight mound in the center.

On the big screen TV above the bar, Channel 6 WDSU was broadcasting from the scene of a major arrest. “A cell of domestic terrorists has been captured along with their weapons and blueprints of a local high school. Dozens of lives have been saved thanks to a law enforcement task force working with a local cyber security firm.” The video showed the FBI leading the Shooters away in handcuffs. There were frightening clips of the young men firing assault rifles on the shooting range.

Milt had left a message with Harry. He’d be by at closing with a fix for the computers and a new iPhone for Auden. He ordered The Usual “To Go,” along with two Caesar salads. She added cheesy bread.

“You two are an item now?” Harry asked. “Isn’t he a little wooden?”

“He might loosen up. You did.”

“Very funny. Ha. Ha.”

“Milt wants wardrobe advice. I suggested we talk over pizza at my place after my shift. My apartment just got cleaned.” Auden anchored the dough and slid her flattened right hand under and lifted, bringing it across her face and extending.

Harry hesitated. “The police were in after lunch. They asked about you.” Auden tossed the dough, forming a perfect spiral, then lowering the skin to the prep counter. “They asked about Milt, too. How well he knew you…. I told them you hadn’t said two words to each other until last night. Said you made him a pie. Said he offered to fix your computer. They thought there might be more to it, but I told them there wasn’t.”

“You got that exactly right, Harry.” Auden patted his arm, leaving a palm print of flour. “Who knows, something might come of this.”

BIO: Paul Lewellan lives, writes, and gardens on the banks of the Mississippi River. He shares his retirement cottage with his wife Pamela (who is also his accountant), a rescue kitten called Caitlin Cat. and an ancient Maltese named Buddy. Find his work at paullewellan.com or follow him on Substack.