“I was wondering if I could hang this in the lobby,” she said loudly and then covered her mouth with her hand. Whispering, she continued, “The old librarian, Mrs. Kramer, was such a witch. She wouldn’t hang anything that wasn’t related to ‘the literary interests of Quincy’s Gap,’ which basically meant the personal interests of Mrs. Kramer. She wouldn’t even let the Girl Scouts hang up their signs for cookie sales. I’m glad you’re here now.” Rosalind smiled, revealing a mouthful of perfect teeth. “You already seem nicer than old Mrs. Kramer.”
“Thank you,” James returned her smile warmly. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got there, Rosalind.”
“Rosalind is what my Brazilian mother calls me, but you should call me Lindy. All of my friends do.”
At that moment, James would have hung a flyer calling for a book burning. No one had even approached James as a possible friend since he had moved home, and the word itself burned pleasantly through James’s memory of once having a social life that included parties, dinners, and conversations mixed with great doses of laughter. He took the pink flyer and immediately tacked it up on the bulletin board, reading it as he pressed pushpins through the soft flesh of cork.
Are You Feeling Out of Shape?
Not So Pleasantly Plump?
Downright Miserably Fat?
Join Our New Supper Club!
We Plan to Get Fit Together!
We Meet Every Sunday Night!
Make Friends!
Lose Weight!
Call Lindy at 555-2846
“What do you think?” Lindy asked.
James creased his brows. “I’m afraid I don’t know what a supper club is.”
“Oh, it’s when a bunch of people get together to cook a meal and talk and form friendships. Some clubs have a theme, like cooking light or cooking different exotic foods. My sister lives in Atlanta and she’s in a supper club that focuses on pairing wine and food. I came up with the idea that Quincy’s Gap should have one where people can lose some weight. Like a dieter’s club but more fun. I know I’ll never get into shape on my own.” She cast her eyes on the ground and mumbled, “And Lord knows I have to stop making excuses.”
“So you’re just starting to recruit people?” James asked quickly. He didn’t like the way in which Lindy had so suddenly become deflated.
“Oh no!” Lindy perked back up. “We have four members already. Actually, we tried to meet last week to decide what kind of food we were going to eat—you know, like what our theme would be, but two of us wanted to count calories like Weight Watchers and the other two wanted to follow a low-carb diet like Atkins or the South Beach Diet. So, we need a tiebreaker.”
“Hmm,” James responded, nodding his head sympathetically. He disliked indecisiveness as a rule, but he also didn’t relish the thought of being a tiebreaker.
“Wait!” Lindy grabbed onto his arm, her wide eyes gleaming. “Why don’t you join our club? You’re new to town and,” she picked up his left hand and pointed at his ring finger, “it looks like you’re not married. This would be a great way for you to make some friends!”
Reeling from Lindy’s enthusiasm, James hesitated. It would be nice to make a few friends, but he was also a bit offended that Lindy so clearly viewed him as someone who needed to diet. Glancing down at his protruding belly, he knew she was right, but it still made him cross to think about his weight.
Lindy dropped her hand from James’s arm and softly said, “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought you’d like to join us.”
Her tone was so gentle that James relented. “I’ll give it a try. I’ve gotten to be a decent cook over the last few years, but I don’t know much about diets.”
Lindy’s face filled with delight. “Don’t worry about that! We’ll figure something out together. Let’s see, today’s Friday. It feels weird not to be in school, but we’ve got parent-teacher conferences and no one ever wants to meet with the art teacher.” Lindy shook her head as if to shake off her annoyance and returned to the subject at hand. “The supper club is meeting Sunday at my place. We’re having a lunch meeting this time since we haven’t worked out any of the food details yet. Let me write directions down for you.”
“Thanks.” James smiled and then wondered aloud, “Who else is in the supper club?”
“There’s me, of course, and then Lucy Hanover, who works for the Sheriff’s Department, Bennett Marshall—he’s a mailman—and Gillian O’Malley. She owns the Yuppie Puppy.”
James chewed on the name. “Is she a pet groomer?”
“You got it!” Lindy handed him the sheet of directions. “You must know Lucy. You guys both grew up here. Did you go to Blue Ridge High?”
James squirmed. “I did, but I wasn’t much of a socializer. I was pretty quiet back then. I did play in the band,” he added with a mix of pride and embarrassment. “French horn. I might know her if she had been in the band, too. Otherwise, I pretty much went straight home after school . . .” He trailed off, feeling like an idiot for babbling about his lack of teenage social activities.
Lindy seemed to grow pensive for a moment. “I don’t think Lucy was in the band. But that’s okay! Even if you didn’t know each other in high school, you can get to know each other now. In fact, we’ll all be getting to know one another. That’s part of the beauty of a supper club.”
“Uh, should I bring anything?” he asked, relieved that the subject of his lack of friends from the “good old days” was over.
“No need. We’re just going to have sandwiches while we decide what kind of food we’ll be cooking for the next meeting. See you Sunday at noon. It was nice to meet you, James Henry.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Lindy.” James stole another glance at the pink flyer and then returned to his duties at the circulation desk. Without realizing it, he was humming softly under his breath. The Fitzgerald twins looked at each other over a rolling cart filled with books that needed reshelving and smiled. They had never heard their boss hum before. It was a pleasant sound.
It was a crisp, sunny weekend morning and Homecoming Saturday to boot. The counter at Dolly’s Diner was empty, but Dolly laid out silverware at every place. James could see that she expected to do a booming business before closing shop early in order to see the Blue Ridge Red-Tailed Hawks “put a whupping to those braggarts from Jefferson High,” as Dolly so aptly phrased it during lunchtime a few days ago. According to Dolly, the Jefferson Cougars had pummeled the Hawks last year, and the football fans from Quincy’s Gap were looking for a little revenge. Dolly counted herself among the most loyal of all Hawks fans.
After casting her eyes in a satisfactory manner over the countertop, Dolly put her cloud of white hair into a tight bun on the top of her head and peered into the horizontal mirror behind the gleaming rows of clean glasses. James shared the same belief as most of the townsfolk that Dolly looked like a cross between a sumo wrestler and Mrs. Claus. Nobody cared, though. Dolly was beloved by all. She was the mistress of her own domain and treasured three things most in this world: her business, her husband, and gossip.
James could feel Dolly’s eyes boring into his back as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee behind the counter. Dolly had clearly decided it was high time she learned a bit more about the town’s newcomer. She questioned him relentlessly whenever he came in for a meal, which was often because the food was delicious, but James Henry had so far skillfully avoided her most personal questions. He was friendly and polite, of course, but close-lipped when it came to answering any queries outside the realm of work or food. Dolly was not so easily put off, however, and James steeled himself for another round of bluster and evade.
Dolly ambled over to the booth where James sat, appearing to be deeply engrossed in a novel. “You want some more coffee, hon?” she asked, holding the steaming pot up in front of her ample bosom.
James looked up, blinking, like someone who has just driven out of a dark tunnel into the bright daylight. “Huh? Oh, yes please. Sorry, Dolly. I was complet
ely absorbed in this book.” His act didn’t fool the all-seeing eyes of the mistress of the diner for a second.
“So,” Dolly began, preparing to squeeze new tidbits out of the librarian before he could escape. “I thought I heard your mama tell me about you getting married a few years back.” She waited, withholding the coffee until James responded. “How come your wife isn’t here with you?”
“I was married,” James muttered, absently turning a page of his book. “We just got divorced this summer.”
Dolly clucked in sympathy and then filled his cup while giving him the once-over with her eyes. “Well, then, you ought to be socializing with folks, not sitting here reading,” she said in a teasing tone, even though she meant every word. “How you ever gonna meet someone with your nose stuck in a book?”
James shrugged, recognizing that Dolly was one of those women who liked to make a project out of matching up all the single people she knew. “It’s a good book,” he said lamely, wishing she would drop the subject.
Dolly waved off his answer and made a dismissive noise by pushing air out through her closed lips. “Pffah. There are plenty of nice women your age that would love to get to know you better. Why, I know . . .” Dolly trailed off, her attention suddenly caught by some movement out the front window. “Sakes alive! Here comes the parade! They’re all gonna want to eat here and I don’t have all the pies out yet. Clint!” she bustled off, calling for her husband, who was safely out of range in the kitchen.
“You got lucky that time,” laughed the young waitress who came over in Dolly’s wake to clear James’s empty plates. She was tall and fair with freckled skin and had thick, ash-blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail.
“That was the best stack of strawberry pancakes I have ever tasted,” James exhaled, feeling his belt groaning across his bulging waist. “I’m eating all the junk I can before starting a new diet,” he told the girl just to make conversation. He had made a terrific mess with the syrup and felt guilty watching her scrub the sticky droplets from the tabletop while he sat there reading.
“Don’t want to get your book stuck,” she said kindly. Her name tag read Whitney and was pinned on the simple white apron she wore over her jeans.
“Did you go to Blue Ridge High?” James asked.
“Yep. Go Hawks!” she said with false enthusiasm.
James put his crumpled napkins on her tray. “Homecoming parade not your thing?”
“Nah. Plus, I could use the hours. I’m attending James Madison U part-time. I’ll need all the cash I can get my hands on just to pay for two classes.”
“Good for you,” James nodded in admiration. “What’s a parade when compared to a college education? Do you know what you’re planning to major in?”
“Business.” Whitney handed James his bill. “I can’t wait to get out of this hick town, and I figure a business degree is my ticket to a better life,” she added with a surprising amount of vehemence. “If I can ever afford to complete my degree, that is.”
“Whitney!” Dolly called. “Can you help Clint slice all the meatloaf? I think we are about to be as packed as feathers on a rooster in a few minutes.”
James looked around the diner. Aside from him, there were only two other clients enjoying a late breakfast at Dolly’s. The midday sun was making its way into the restaurant, glinting off of some of the exotic souvenirs Dolly and Clint had brought home from their travels around the world. Dolly’s husband, Clint, had been in the Coast Guard for almost twenty years. He had been stationed in Guam, Honolulu, the Philippines, Alaska, and up and down both coasts of the United States. Each time Clint was given personal leave, Dolly got to choose a new country for them to visit. Now the evidence of their global wanderings was forever preserved on the walls and in the rafters of the diner.
From his booth, James could reach out and touch an enormous sequined sombrero, a porcelain Mardi Gras mask, an African walking stick with a carved snake curling up the handle, a rusty tin sign reading Banheiro (meaning “bathroom” in Portuguese), a cricket bat, a beautiful black silk kimono spread out in order to show off its embroidered green dragon with the forked tongue, and a corkboard covered with the labels from French wine bottles. James tried to sit in a different booth each time he visited in order to admire a fresh collection of treasures before he began reading.
As he scanned the room, James noticed one of Lindy’s neon pink flyers posted on the bulletin board by the front door. A young man in a rather ragged-looking letter jacket was examining it. As James watched, the man yanked the flyer off the board and held it out to Dolly, who was wiping an already gleaming countertop.
“What’s this?” he yelled across the quiet diner. “An ad for the Fat Loser Club?”
“You hush up, Brinkley Myers,” Dolly scolded without looking up from her scrubbing. “Some folks need a little help gettin’ into shape. There’s no need for you to be puttin’ them down.”
“Well, I hope you don’t join in. We all love you just the way you are,” the young man named Brinkley oozed with false charm while eyeing Dolly’s chest.
Dolly flashed him an amused grin. “Now you hang that back up on the board like a good boy,” she gently ordered and then disappeared into the kitchen.
Ignoring her, Brinkley shoved the paper into his jacket pocket and then plunked himself down into a nearby booth. James studied the young man from behind his coffee cup. He was tall and muscular, except for the first hints of a promising beer gut, and looked like he was in his mid-twenties. James was unsure why he was still wearing a high school letter jacket, but assumed that he was a former high school jock who wanted to show his support for the football team. He had a square jaw covered with blonde stubble and a full head of curly, reddish-blonde hair. The unkempt hair combined with deep-set dark eyes gave him a roguish Hollywood look.
Draining his tepid coffee, James wondered if Brinkley had kept the flyer because he was planning to join. He hoped not. The young man seemed to wear a cocksure and slightly malicious aura. Turning away from Brinkley, James took a twenty out of his wallet and laid it on the table. Neither Whitney nor Dolly was anywhere to be seen, so he decided to finish the chapter he was reading while waiting for his change.
Outside, the hum of a large group of people intensified as the front door of the diner burst open and the noise of the crowd erupted into the calm room. Dozens of people came streaming into the restaurant, laughing and cheering. All were wearing red and black hats, scarves, or sweatshirts. James recognized the two shades as the school colors of Blue Ridge High.
A group of boys wearing letter jackets crowded into the booth next to him, elbowing one another and yelling loudly at another group of boys sitting at the largest table across the aisle. They all seemed to pay homage to Brinkley before settling down in their seats. A great deal of backslapping and high-fives were exchanged between the high school boys and the lone adult wearing one of their jackets.
Dolly bustled over to the posse of boys with an enormous smile and proudly eyed the rambunctious group. “Well, gentlemen. I’ve made a special meatloaf to get y’all good and ready for tonight’s game. What’s needed today is meat and mashed potatoes and a bit of tail whuppin’. What do ya say to that?”
The boys let out a communal holler and banged their fists on the tabletops.
“Just lemme have your drink orders and then I’ll be back with your food. I think y’all should have milk—good for your bones—especially when you’ve got to stand up to some of those Jefferson linebackers, but I know some of you are addicted to ole Dr. Pepper, so I’ll let you decide.”
Dolly flipped open her pad and began scribbling down drink orders. James tried to catch her eye but she was fussing over the football players like a mother hen, so he looked around for Whitney instead. However, Whitney clearly had her hands full taking care of the group at the counter, so James grabbed the bill and his money and maneuvered around the posse of excited boys clotting the aisles between the booths.
As he str
uggled to pass the three booths where the football players milled about, a middle-aged woman with hair bleached beyond blonde into white knocked into him with her elbow.
“Sorry,” he said. The woman said nothing, but stepped aside to let him pass. At the counter, Whitney was busy serving drinks.
“I’d better pay up,” he said, handing her the money. “I think you’re going to need my booth. Looks like you’ve got some football players here.”
“Damn right!” exclaimed a man at the countertop as he butted into the conversation. “Those boys are going to play their hearts out tonight. Yes sir. There’s nothing better than a night game in October. Nothing better.” He thumped the countertop with his palm in order to emphasize his point. James thought he detected a hint of whiskey in the air.
Other patrons at the counter nodded their agreement and then began discussing which game over the course of the last several years had been the coldest. As Whitney handed James his change, Brinkley Myers suddenly appeared behind his right shoulder.
“Hey, Whit,” he casually greeted the pretty waitress as James laid down a five-dollar bill out of his pile of change.
Ignoring the speaker completely, Whitney politely thanked James for her tip and then pointedly turned away from Brinkley. She poured glasses of ice water and served them to two men at the other end of the counter without raising her eyes. Brinkley shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
At that moment, James noticed Whitney throw Brinkley a menacing look as the younger man leaned over to chat with one of the customers at the counter. Her eyes blazed with anger for just a flash before she marched off toward the kitchen, her ponytail whipping back and forth like a rapid pendulum.
“You gonna watch the rookies throw some touchdowns tonight, Brinkley?” one of the men asked the boy. “Think anyone’s gonna break your record?”
Carbs & Cadavers Page 2
