PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED
Marvin didn’t wait. He walked to the last empty booth, sat down. He wasn’t hungry.
A huge waitress floated up in a pink outfit. She had a very round head and her lips were painted a bright raspberry. She handed him a shiny menu.
“How are you today?” she asked.
“Fine. And you?”
She didn’t answer. Then she spoke.
“Coffee, sir?”
“No.”
“Are you ready to order?”
“No. For the moment, bring me a glass of wine.”
“What kind?”
“The house wine will do. Do you have port?”
The waitress left and he watched as her oversized buttocks worked away.
Maybe I can go back to the bridge tonight when there is nobody around, Marvin thought.
Two men had a table behind Marvin. He could hear them talking.
“The Dodgers are sure looking good, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. And the Angels are right up there too. Just think of it. Maybe we can have a Freeway Series.”
“That would be a hell of a hoot, wouldn’t it?”
Then the waitress was back with Marvin’s wine. She sat it down hard and some of the drink leaped out and splashed on the table.
“Sorry, sir.”
“It’s all right.”
“Are you ready to order yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“We have a sirloin steak special tonight.”
“No, thank you.”
Then she cranked up her buttocks and moved off. Marvin had a sip of the wine. It tasted dusty, somehow made him think of spiders. Then he heard the piped-in music. “I don’t have to say I love you,” a male voice sang.
Then he heard the men behind him.
“I’m going to say something right now that you’re not going to believe.”
“Like what?”
“Ronald Reagan was the greatest president this nation ever had.”
“Come on now, we’ve had a lot of them. That’s a big statement.”
“Without Reagan those fucking Russians would be all over the world, they’d be climbing over the fence and into our backyard. He stopped them where they should be stopped. They knew he meant business!”
“Well, yeah, he was a good man.”
“I’ll tell you something else. There’s going to be a war in SPACE! Between the Russians and us! We’re going to be fighting over the moon, over Mars, over all the planets!”
“We already got our flag on the moon.”
Marvin finished his wine and got the attention of the waitress. She trundled over.
“Ready to order now, sir?”
“Another wine, please.”
“We’ve got a sirloin steak special…”
“Just the wine, please.”
Marvin heard the piped-in music again. Another man was singing, he sang, “If you don’t answer the telephone soon, I’m gonna come to your room.”
Then the waitress was back with his wine. She set it down.
“You see, I didn’t spill it this time!”
She let loose an utterly false cackle of laughter.
“I’m getting better, you see?”
“You’re all right…”
“Diana’s the name.”
“You’re all right, Diana.”
Then she struggled off to her other duties. Evening had rapidly dissolved into night. Marvin sipped his wine.
When he hit that water it would be like hitting cement. Except he would slide into that blue cold—one leg like this, another like that—and the hair on his head floating out. Dumb shoes on dumb feet. Out of it. Zero minus zero. As ultimate as you could get, from here to nowhere. Fine enough. You couldn’t have it all.
Suddenly there was a crash, the breaking of glass. The front door was kicked open and two men entered wearing stocking masks. A woman screamed.
“Shut the fuck up or you’re dead!” the shorter man screamed. “I mean it! No bullshit! Shape up or you’re all dead!”
Each man carried a canvas sack. The taller man moved to the cash register, hit a key, the drawer sprang open. He began scooping bills and change into his sack.
Each man had what appeared to be a .357 Magnum.
“Don’t anybody move!” yelled the shorter man.
He waved the Magnum over his head in a wild circle, then brought it down and pointed it around the cafe.
“O.K., all wallets and purses on the tables! Rings too! Watches! Everything! Anybody try any shit, it’s your ass, got it?”
Then he began to move among the tables scooping everything into his sack.
The taller man was finished at the register. He saw the fat waitress cowering a few yards off. He ran up to her, said, “Where’s the money box?”
“What?”
“The fucking money box! Where they keep the big bills!”
The fat waitress just stood there. The short man spun her around, jammed the Magnum against her neck.
“I’ll blow your fucking head off! Where’s the cash box?”
The fat waitress was sobbing, gulping for air. She said, “It’s in the kitchen! Under the sink!”
“Don’t anybody move!”
The tall man ran into the kitchen.
The short man pushed the frightened waitress to one side. He resumed clearing valuables off the tables, scooping them into his sack.
The tall man came running out of the kitchen.
“I got the fucking money! Let’s go!”
The short man was busy.
“You watch the door! Nail anybody who comes in! Watch the door!”
“Come on, let’s go, we got enough!”
“No, I’m going to get it all!”
He moved along until he got to Marvin’s booth.
“Hey, fucker, where’s your wallet?”
Marvin looked up at the stocking face. He rather liked it. The less you could see of the human face the more pleasant it was.
“I’ve decided to keep my wallet.”
“You ain’t deciding shit!”
“Of course I am.”
“O.K., baby, you want it, you get it!”
Marvin felt the Magnum against his temple.
“Now, get out the wallet, O.K.?”
“Not O.K. I am keeping my wallet.”
“Hey,” yelled the tall man, “let’s get out of here!”
The short man jammed the Magnum hard against Marvin’s temple.
“You want this to be your last moment?”
“Go ahead and shoot,” said Marvin.
Marvin waited. The safety catch went back on. Marvin saw the man switch his grip to the barrel of the Magnum. He saw the gun rise, sat there waiting. It smashed down on the top of his skull. There was an explosion of yellow, blue and red light but Marvin felt no pain. For a moment he couldn’t move. Then he felt as if he could move. He tried it. He kicked out savagely and caught the man in the stomach with his right foot.
“Oooh…”
The hold-up man dropped the sack, grabbed his groin, almost sank to one knee.
“Oh, God-damn it…”
Marvin heard the safety catch go off again. The man aimed the Magnum, squeezed the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Marvin’s left ear and broke an overhanging light fixture apart further down the room.
“Let’s get out of here!” yelled the tall man.
The short man straightened up and walking half bent, and carrying his Magnum and his sack, he followed the tall man out the door. Then they were gone.
With that, the customers all started walking around and talking at once.
The cafe manager who had been hiding in the kitchen was on the telephone.
Marvin Denning finished his glass of wine and motioned to the fat waitress who was standing just a few feet away, trembling. Marvin got up, walked over to her. “Diana, another glass of wine, please…”
“Oh,” she said, “oh…yes…of course…”
Marvin waited, then Diana was back with his wine.
“Thank you, Diana.”
He took a sip.
“That was a brave thing you did, sir. By doing that you saved the belongings of many of the customers.”
“Oh…yeah…”
“You’re bleeding poor man!”
“It’s all right.”
Diana ran off as well as she could. Denning heard the sound of the police siren. He took a napkin and held it up to the top of his head. Then he pulled it away and looked at it. Blood. The stupid simplicity of blood.
Then Diana was back.
“Here. All I could find was this dish towel but it’s clean.”
“Thanks.”
He folded the towel and to please her he held it to the top of his head.
“You better get that sewed up.”
“It’s all right. Main thing: get me that steak you were talking about and maybe some french fries!”
Diana went back to the kitchen and Denning sipped his wine.
In another minute the police entered. They came running through the door, hands on holsters.
“Everybody stay where you are!”
One of the officers was the one with the thin white face, the same one who had stopped Denning on the bridge. Their eyes met. Thin white face stared at him.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Waiting for a steak. You followed me over here, remember?”
Two more cops entered.
“Waiting for a steak?”
“Yes, any law against that?”
“Officer,” said a patron who was standing nearby, “this is the man who almost captured one of the bandits. He kicked him to the floor.”
Diana walked up with Denning’s steak and fries, set it down.
“Officer, this is a very brave man,” she said.
One of the patrons began to applaud. The others joined in.
Denning raised his wine glass to them, drained it.
Thin white face asked, “Did you know the hold-up men?”
“Can’t say that I did.”
Then Denning heard another siren. The patrons were pressing around his table.
The cop, irritated, said, “Stand back!”
A stocky, dumb-looking fellow in need of a shave came through the door followed by another cop. The stocky man pushed up to Denning’s table.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve been held up, this place has been held up!” said the manager.
“Who are you?”
“Richard Fouts, manager of The Blue Steer.”
The stocky man pulled out his badge. “Marsh Hutchinson, Hillside Division,” he said.
Then he looked at Denning. Marsh took out his pen and pad.
“Who are you?”
“Marvin Denning, customer.”
“He knocked one of those robbers right to the floor,” said Diana.
“That right?” the stocky man asked Denning.
“Yeah, I kicked him in the balls.”
“Why?”
“Is there a better place?”
“What’d he look like?”
“He looked like a man wearing a stocking mask.”
“Height?”
“About 5-7.”
“Weight?”
“Say, 145.”
“Anything to distinguish him?”
“What do you mean?”
“What was the most outstanding feature you noticed?”
“He was carrying a .357 Magnum.”
The stocky man inhaled, exhaled. “Denning, there’s something I don’t like about you.”
“Hutchinson, we’re even. There’s something I don’t like about you.”
“O.K. You stay where you are.”
He began questioning the manager of The Blue Steer.
Diana looked at Denning.
“Mind if I sit down? This whole thing has been too much for me.”
“Sit down, sure.”
Denning felt the whole booth give way as Diana put her buttocks down.
“You’re brave,” she said, “you’re a brave man. I saw what you did.”
“O.K.” said Denning.
“I know this may shock you, and I know it will sound weird and crazy but…I’d like to do something nice for you. Are you shocked?”
“No.”
“Will you let me do something nice?”
“Sure.”
“After all this is over we’ll go to my place. Leave the steak. I’ll cook you something better. Do you think I’m bold?”
“No.”
“You know,” Diana laughed, “when he put that gun to my head, I thought, I might die and I’ve…I’ve never had a man. Isn’t that terrible?”
“I guess it happens sometimes.”
“I know I’m fat…I’m embarrassed.”
“It’s all right.”
“I should get you another wine.”
“Why don’t you?”
Diana struggled up and worked her way toward the kitchen.
Later, in the dark at Diana’s place, he worked away. Denning hadn’t worked so strenuously since he had been on a construction gang after high school and before college. Diana was groaning and moaning.
“Hold still, for Christ’s sake!” he implored her.
Denning worked on, a good four minutes more, substituting fantasy after fantasy in his mind. Finally, he rolled off. He was in a sweat, inhaling and exhaling heavily. His head wound had broken open and he could feel a trickle of blood running down the back of his neck.
“Marvin,” she said, “I love you.”
“Thank you, Diana.”
He got up and walked to the bathroom. He wetted a towel, cleaned off, then took the dry part of the towel and worked at the blood on his neck and head.
Well, many a man went to his death without having had a virgin. He wouldn’t be one.
He threw the towel on the floor, walked out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water at the sink and drank it down.
He looked around. Diana had a nice place. Maybe she got a lot of tips out of sympathy.
He found a can of beer in the refrigerator, cracked it, and sat at the breakfastnook table, sipping and smoking a cigarette he had found in a pack on the table. He finished the beer and the cigarette, walked back to the bedroom. Diana was in the bathroom. He began getting dressed. He heard her singing in the bathroom. Then the door opened and she walked out dressed in her nightwear. She saw him dressing and the happiness on her face vanished.
“Oh, you’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Will I see you again?”
“No.”
“Oh, my God…” She walked slowly over to the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him. She just sat there, looking very large. The lights were out in the bedroom and just the light from the half-open bathroom door shone in.
Denning sat on a chair lacing his shoes.
The vision of the bridge now sat in the center of his brain, it beckoned, how it beckoned him once more. The water pulled at him as if it were a magnet.
Denning finished lacing his shoes, stood up.
“Goodbye, Diana.”
She didn’t answer. She just sat there. Denning could see little shivers running through her body. She was sobbing very quietly, trying to hold it back. It was almost obscene. Diana’s head was bent forward. As Denning looked it seemed almost as if he were staring at the back of a large headless body.
“Listen,” he asked after a long pause, “you got anything to eat around here?”
“What?”
“I asked if you had anything to eat around here.”
She raised her head, turned.
“Oh. Oh yes, Marvin, I have a bottle of wine and a couple of steaks and some vegetables.”
&nb
sp; “Shall we have dinner?” Denning asked.
Diana rose from the bed as if she were weightless. It was very strange. Then she went off to the kitchen.
Denning took off his coat, sat back down in the chair, took off his shoes, stockings, his pants and when she came back he was still in his shirt and shorts.
Diana walked through the doorway carrying a wine bottle, two glasses, the wine opener. She was having a little struggle carrying all that and she was laughing, not a loud laugh, but a continuous little joyous crazy laugh.
The light from the half-open bathroom framed her body, her face, the two glasses, the wine bottle, the wine opener.
Never before in the 46 years of his life had Marvin Denning seen a more beautiful woman.
confession of a genius
during world war two
some of the worst
writing of our time
appeared in books
and magazines,
it was truly
regrettable.
I lived
alone and
insane in tiny
rooms
being neither a
soldier nor a
writer.
it is possible to
be truly mad
and to still
exist
upon scraps
of
life.
I knew my
name,
was able to
dress myself,
was able to
speak the
language
but I was
entirely
inept,
without design,
I was a
meaningless
conglomeration
of
ideas.
I was an
idiot.
the army didn’t
want me,
women didn’t
want me
and I didn’t want
myself.
I was a
husk.
yet twice
I found myself
with a typewriter.
I wrote a short
story which was
accepted by
a leading
magazine.
and I wrote
another which
appeared in an
intercontinental
journal
along with
Betting on the Muse Page 18
