Breezy Spoon Diner Box Set Collection

by Tracey Quinn

  “Never,” I replied as I started the third message. It was from Mom. “Hi, sweetheart. Just calling to let you know that your Dad lasted about five hours in Death Valley before he called it quits. It was about 118 degrees and getting hotter so he decided to take my advice which was 'What are you nuts? Let's get the hell out of here!' Anyhow, I didn't want you to worry about the Death Valley thing. Got to go now; Dad doesn't want me to run the phone battery down. Oh wait, I forgot to tell you; we met this nice young fellow who was working on his motorcycle at a rest stop, and he told us of a great vacation spot where he goes every year, so we're going to check it out. It's a quiet little town in South Dakota called Sturgis. Talk to you later, darling. Love you.”

  “Is your mother joking?” Mark asked me.

  “I'm afraid not,” I replied. “It sounds like the hunt for a good vacation property is going to continue for a while.”

  “Your parents are interesting folks, Dani.”

  “I'll start the movie,” I said. I took the DVD out the package. “Oh, for gosh sakes, Mark, what were you thinking? I don't want to watch Showboat. It's really long.”

  “I don't want you to watch the whole thing,” he said. “In my opinion you've watched it too much already. I just want to show you a one minute scene. Give me the remote and I'll find it.”

  I sat down on the sofa beside him as he began fast forwarding through the movie. He paused it at a certain part where Howard Keel is looking lovingly into the eyes of Kathryn Grayson.

  “See?” Mark said. “That's 'the look'.”

  “'The look'?'

  “Yes,” he said. “What do you think old Howard is saying to her when he looks at her that way?'

  I looked back at the screen. “Well, I don't know,” I said. “I guess it's something like 'You matter so much to me, you're the only person in the world that could ever matter to me this much.' You know, that kind of thing.” I turned to look at Mark. “Sort of, uh,” I paused, “sort of like the way that you're looking at me right now.”

  “Exactly. And she's looking back at him like she's saying 'Ditto for me, old boy, I feel the same way about you'. Sort of like the way you're looking at me right now. See, it's 'the look' that you fell in love with, not Howard Keel.”

  I thought for a long moment. “I think you're right,” I said, “I didn't see it before, but you know, I really believe that's true.”

  “Good,” said Mark, leaning back on the sofa with his hands behind his head. “That takes care of that.”

  I was thinking out loud as I continued watching the screen.

  “This I amazing,” I said. “All these years I was looking for someone who looked like Howard Keel. It makes sense now, because I was just a teenager when I first saw the movie and fell in love with him. But it wasn't the actual person that I was I in love with, it was the way he made me feel when he looked at Kathryn Grayson and she looked back at him the same way. I see it now, and of course, I feel like a fool for not realizing it myself, but you and I...”

  I heard something and I stopped talking. I looked over at Mark. He was snoring. Snoring! I mean, I knew he was exhausted. He'd been through a lot and hadn't had any sleep in 24 hours but didn't he care that he and I, well, you know?

  Then I looked at him more carefully. There he was, snoring with his mouth open, drooling on his dirty sweat-stained tee shirt, pants ripped up to the knee so they could put a cast on his ankle, arms cut and scraped, soot in his hair, scorched face and, yes, his eyebrows were gone again.

  I leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. He couldn't hear me, of course, but I whispered softly, “I love you too, Mark.”

  The End (for now)

  Brutally Kaled

  Chapter 1

  I was standing at the counter of the Breezy Spoon Diner filling salt shakers when Jolene Parks from the beauty salon stalked in with a poster under her arm and a scowl on her face.

  “The witch wants to know if you'll put up her Spa Grand Opening poster in your window,” she said. “And she wants your special house dressing on her kale salad, not the balsamic-vinaigrette this time, extra tomatoes and a dose of poison if you have it.”

  The weekly meeting of the Needlework Club was taking place in a corner of the diner and most of them laughed, but Jenny Morris, the librarian, cautioned, “Oh, Jolene, you'd better watch what you say about Olivia! She's still your boss, and if she finds out you could lose your job.” She gestured towards me. “And Dani's brother is the Deputy Sheriff, you know.”

  “At least load it up with croutons so her gluten allergy will kick up,” Jolene told me. “Olivia has gone too far with me this time!”

  “What's she done that's got you so upset?” I asked. “I know she's a bitch to work for, but you've put up with it for the last five years.”

  “Oh, I can't go into the details now. Her royal highness wants her kale salad before the water in her hot tub cools down!”

  “She eats her lunch in her hot tub?” I asked.

  “Every day she puts on her bikini and lounges in the hot tub while she eats her kale salad. I always have to go fetch it for her and carry it up all those stairs to her apartment over the salon! Never mind that I have paying customers waiting! I'd like to see if she could eat her lunch while I hold her head under water!”

  Brendan, the retired fire-house cook who works the morning shift with me, brought the covered bowl of salad to the counter. “Let me know if that works,” he said. “I'd like to try it on my wife's ex-husband.”

  “And can I tell her majesty that you'll put up the poster?” Jolene grumbled.

  “Sure, no problem, Jolene,” I replied. “And hang in there, kiddo. Things will work out.”

  “Thanks, Dani. They'd just better,” she muttered as she left.

  As Jolene went out the door, Millie Farnsworth came in and threw down a copy of the East Spoon Creek Gazette on the counter. “The truth about your past is here for all the world to see! Let's just see how you can explain all those fake war stories now!”

  She turned to the Needlework Club. “You should be aware that you're all ruining your chances for selling your needlework at the City Fair by meeting in this disgusting dive. My friends and I would have been happy to purchase your lovely items, but we all agreed that they just reeked with the odor of squash. Try the church basement.” With that she turned and exited the Breezy Spoon with her nose in the air.

  “Well, I didn't know that squash had a smell but if it does it must be pretty good,” Said Audrey, owner of the local mill. “At the needlework show in the town hall last year, we sold out the everything in whole booth in the first hour. Just think what would have happened if we had knitted close to Brendan when he was frying bacon!”

  Millie Farnsworth writes a column for her uncle's newspaper and she's never forgiven me for getting engaged before she did when we were both seniors in high school. I ended up breaking off the engagement to Johnny Winston and giving him back his $12 cubic zirconium ring because I had just seen the movie Showboat and fallen in love with Howard Keel, and then Millie ended up marrying Johnny Winston, so I don't see why she can't get over it. Even though it only lasted for two weeks before they got an annulment, she was still the first girl in our class to get married, so it seems like she should consider that a win. Unfortunately she doesn't.

  “Let's see,” I said, opening the paper to Millie's column: Town Notes By Amelia. “There is breaking news concerning one Danielle Gwendolyn O'Shea, an older woman who can often be seen pan-handling in front of a local diner and who obviously is in need of breast-reduction surgery. Apparently while on a vacation trip to the Middle East, the unmarried O'Shea hi-jacked a military helicopter during the height of the war. Our confidential source said that the aforementioned O'Shea forced military personnel to fly her to all the popular tourist spots in Afghanistan at taxpayer expense. Over an extended period of time she could be observed displaying her corpulent personage in unsuitably flimsy and tasteless apparel, cavorting with the rich and famous
and causing general outrage in the region. Sources close to this reporter have confided that this depraved behavior is no doubt the reason that the military action has continued for so long, perhaps even the reason it started. You can be sure that this information is being forward to the Department of Defense even as you are reading these words. Swift action will be taken.”

  “Wow!” cried Jimmy, my busboy. “You knew a guy named General Outrage? He sounds bad-ass!”

  “Watch the language, Jimmy,” I said.

  My name is Dani O'Shea and I own the Breezy Spoon Diner here in East Spoon Creek City. It's a small town of about 1200 people, and the town motto is “You Have To Live Somewhere.” It's a typical quirky little town with friendly, but a little eccentric, people. My father used to be the principal of the high school and my mother taught math there before they retired and decided to spend their golden years trekking around the country in an RV. My older brother Bob still lives in East Spoon Creek City, working as a deputy in the sheriff's office.

  Now I won't officially own the diner till I finish making about 20 more years of mortgage payments, but I'm on my way. Back in my high school days the Breezy Spoon was Jesse's Joint, and I worked as a waitress here. After being away for 14 years in the military I moved back to the old home town and when I heard that Jesse was retiring and selling the diner, I jumped at the chance to buy it.

  I have blue eyes, and long black hair which I usually put in a pony tail because it's easy. That's the same reason I wear sneakers instead of the cute but foot-eating sandals I wore as a waitress. Comfort over fashion; that's my motto. I do wear my favorite pink baseball cap instead of a hair net while I work, but that's my only concession to style. I'm about 5'6” and could probably stand to lose a few pounds but I doubt if that's going to happen. I own a diner full of food and I have no will power. Bad combination.

  Next Valentine's Day will be my 35th birthday. I'm not married, partly because I fell in love with Howard Keel when I was a teenager, as I explained earlier. I tried in vain to fix my hair the way Kathryn Grayson had hers styled in Showboat just in case Howard might chance by East Spoon Creek City and notice me. In case you're wondering, it never happened. I actually got engaged twice more, both when I was in the military flying helicopters in the Middle East. I'm not a “runaway bride” though; I grant you that I was to blame for the Johnny Winston situation, but the other two broken engagements weren't my fault. Whereas both of them did resemble Howard Keel, one cheated on me with a cute blonde private and the other just wanted a green card, so take no responsibility for those engagements falling apart.

  Currently, a certain Mark Adams has erased all memories of Howard Keel from my mind. Mark is a fireman who bought and old house in town that had been turned into two apartments, and I rent the lower one from him. Mark is 38, about 6' 2”, has a blond buzz cut, hazel eyes and looks like he works out a lot, which he does. I think the word handsome was invented just for him. I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him and I think he's in love with me, but I don't really know. We're good friends, hang out a lot, are comfortable with each other, but where do we go from here? I mean there have been a few hugs and kisses between us, but so far that's it. Who knows if it means anything for the future. Are either of us anxious to get married? I'm not sure. So what exactly is our relationship? Well, all I know for sure at this point is that he's a thoughtful landlord who pays $1000 a month mortgage and only charges me $500 when he could charge a lot more for a nice four room apartment. That will have to do for now, I guess.

  “What's the poster say?” asked Audrey. “Are we all invited to watch the great Madame Quinlan boil her employees in oil or what?” Audrey is in her fifties, about the same age as Olivia Quinlan, and she's not an admirer. Audrey took over a failing grain mill business after her late husband went to meet his maker while tilting back that last glass at Sammy's Lounge and Gentlemen's Club. She managed to turn the business into one of the most profitable organic grain distributors in the country. She works hard alongside her employees and she doesn't care for the way Olivia takes advantage of hers: long hours, low pay, no benefits, no appreciation.

  “Let's see,” I replied, looking at the poster. “It says here 'There will be a Grand Opening of the Olivia's Rejuvenating Beauty Salon, Day Spa and Natural Hair Wig Facility on Friday at 6 pm till 9 pm. Spa will include massage, facials, waxing, and relaxing in our new hot tubs. Besides touring the expanded new facility, guests will be provided champagne and hors d'oeuvres while being treated to the music of the Andre Monchard String Ensemble. Demonstrations of some of our new services may be seen as well.' Are you all going to go check it out? I guess as business owners we should go and support.”

  “Don't even think about it, Dani,” Audrey retorted. “Olivia is a hair vampire. She sells all those human hair wigs and you know she'd probably snatch you bald before you could get out the back door.”

  I laughed. “She does offer to buy my hair every time I run into her.”

  Tom, who is a pharmacist and so far the only male member of the Needlework Club, said, “Last week a lady was at the pharmacy waiting for me to fill her prescription when Olivia came up to her and tried to get her to sell her hair. She was a tourist, though God only knows why anyone would want to come to East Spoon Creek City for a vacation. Of course, she didn't know the lovely Olivia, and Olivia was so persistent that the lady threatened to call the police. I asked Olivia to leave and she told me in no uncertain terms that I'm banned from her establishment. And here I was looking forward to getting a new perm from Harry Morrison- I mean, Monsieur Rene.”

  Monsieur Rene was Olivia's much-ballyhooed expert french beauty stylist, who was about as french as the loaves of french bread in my kitchen. It didn't help that he used his real name, Harry Morrison, when he wasn't at the salon.

  “Don't worry, Tom,” Audrey said, “I'll sneak you out some refreshments. Hors d'oeuvres made of squeeze cheese on soda crackers and some industrial strength wine, no doubt.”

  “And I can give you a perm,” said Brendan. “I'll just grab a box of permanent wave stuff at the drug store. I've never done it before but I'm sure it comes with directions. You might want to let your buzz cut grow out a little first.”

  “Gosh, what did I ever do to deserve such friends like you guys?” Tom chuckled.

  “Probably did a lot of sinning in your early life, I guess,” laughed Jenny.

  Just then Molly Payton walked in to the Breezy Spoon followed by a young woman. Molly, who just turned 65 last month, is the owner of Molly's Shoppe, Yarns That Will Have You In Stitches. Her companion was in her 20's and had long purple hair on one side of her head, shaved on the other side, tattoos on arms and legs, five ear studs on each ear and a nose ring. Molly's polar opposite.

  “Hi, everyone,” Molly called as she approached the needlework group. “I want to introduce you to my niece, Suzanne Peters. As some of you know, I'll be gone for the next two months on a cruise to Alaska to visit my little sister Bertha. Suzanne is Bertha's daughter, and she's going to be running the store while I'm gone, so she'll be happy to help you with any of your needs, won't you, Suzanne?”

  “You bet!” Suzanne replied, “and you can call me Suze. Remember, your yarn needs are my yarn needs!” Just then Mark walked into the diner and Suzanne's eyes grew wide. She broke away from the group and made straight for him, calling over her shoulder, “Excuse me, ladies, major babe on the horizon!”

  As she approached Mark, she put out her hand. “Hi, I'm Suze Peters. I'm new in town and I'm a little nervous about eating alone. Would you care if I join you for lunch?”

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” Mark replied. “I just work here.”

  “You're the cook?”

  “I wish. No, I'm just the dishwasher.”

  “Yeah, and you'd better get started,” Brendan called through the kitchen window. “The dinner crowd will be here before long and they may want to eat on clean plates.”

  “Too bad,” said Suze. “Later days.”

&
nbsp; Everyone was snickering and Molly looked acutely embarrassed. “Well, we'd better be going. Suzanne needs to go to the mall in Pumpkin City to get some cooler clothes. They don't need a lot of warm weather wear in Alaska, as you know.”

  As they were leaving I heard Suze say, “I'm going to need to borrow a credit card, Aunt Molly. I left all mine at home.”

  After they left, Genevieve, a legal secretary, asked, “Hey, Dani, if Mark runs off with Suze do you want me to file papers suing him for breach of promise?”

  “Well, he did promise to take me to the beach at Pumpkin City Lake after I get off work this afternoon,” I replied, “so yes, I think I should sue him if he doesn't come through.”

  “Got a new bikini this year?” Genevieve asked.

  “No,” I answered. “I bought a new tankini. You know, tank top and swim shorts. It's light blue and has white stripes. It's cute. And comfortable. Makes me look thinner.”

  “Better not let Mark know till you get there,” said Audrey. “He may not be looking for 'thin'.”

  “His problem,” I said. “Speaking of which, I'd better let him know he can come out of hiding.”

  I went into my office at the back of the diner and found Mark was at my desk with a platter of Southern-fried catfish, mac and cheese with bacon, popcorn broccoli with garlic and Parmesan, jalapeno cornbread, and chocolate volcano cake in front of him.

  “Brendan brought me something to keep my strength up until you could get rid of the predator,” he said between bites. I was pretty sure that might be enough to keep his strength up for quite a while. Mark isn't too fond of salads and veggies, but he likes the way Brendan makes broccoli. Most of our customers do. Brendan uses just the broccoli florets, tosses them in olive oil, garlic powder, salt and pepper, bakes them at 400 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes and sprinkles them with Parmesan cheese when he takes them out of the oven. What's not to like? He also makes kale chips that are crunchy and salty, and they're very popular, too.