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Dennis looked back and stood. “Any time. I’d like you to meet Jennifer Hanley. Jennifer, this is Bill Covington and his lovely wife, Lauren. She’s the brains of the pair.”
The name rang a bell, but I didn’t immediately place it.
Bill scowled in response to Dennis’s ribbing, but only briefly. He extended his hand, which I stood and shook with my mouth still full of food.
Lauren’s broad smile showed how much she appreciated Dennis’s compliment, even at her husband’s expense.
She offered her hand as well. “Be careful with this one. He’s a silver-tongued devil.”
“Nice to meet you both, and thank you for the warning.”
They were gone with a quick wave.
Only then did I place the name. “I visited UCLA, and there were Covington buildings there. Are they related to—”
Dennis nodded. “His grandfather.”
I’d pictured bazillionaires lunching on exotic dishes with unpronounceable French names over white linen tablecloths, washing it all down with bottles of wine that cost a month’s rent while discussing their Mediterranean yachting plans for the summer. Instead I sat across from one—on a wobbly folding chair with no padding—eating the same food we’d just served the homeless on a worn wooden table. Then there were the Covingtons, husband and wife both taking the time to volunteer here.
The producers ofLifestyles of the Rich and Famousweren’t about to be filming this scene.
I took a sip of my water. “Do you help out here often?”
He had to finish chewing before answering. “Roughly every two weeks, but Wednesday Bill called to say they expected to be short staffed.” He motioned to the retreating Covingtons. “It’s one of the ways we give back to the community that has given us so much.”
“And he, they, come down here often?”
“About the same frequency, and his restaurant brings leftover food every morning as well. But today that got gobbled up before you arrived. It always does. It’s an incentive to be early.”
The Covingtons brought food every day? That was a shocker.
A man’s voice boomed from behind me. “Thank you for the chickens. They were a great help.”
Dennis waved. “My pleasure, Father Dan.”
I looked over as Father Dan sat with a couple behind us.
I turned back to my lunch partner. “Do you always bring food with you?”
Dennis shook his head. “No. The Carmelos’ truck broke down. They were scheduled to bring turkey. I was just helping out.” He shrugged as if it was normal to wipe out Costco’s chicken supply to feed a few hundred people on a moment’s notice.
He stabbed another bite of meat. “You look surprised.”
I closed my mouth, realizing it had fallen open. “It’s just…”
He waved his fork at me. “You’re prejudiced. I get it.”
“About what?”
“You don’t like rich people. It’s typical, but I’m proud of my family, and I’m not going to apologize for being born a Benson.”
“How can I not like them when I don’t know any?”
He pointed at one of the other men who’d been serving with us. “If it’s okay for Stan to volunteer here, why can’t I?”
I looked at Stan without an answer for him.
He looked like a retired…well, anybody, in faded jeans and polo with a slight rip on the sleeve.
