“Um…” Marcus shot Skeet a confused look.
“Relax. I’m kidding.”
“Marcus, darling!” Inez’s loud voice shot over the din of the room and brought Marcus’s attention to the turquoise banquette in the corner. Helen, Inez, and Priscilla sat in the booth with steaming cups of coffee and a few half-empty plates scattered on the table in front of them. “We were beginning to think you’d been abducted by aliens or something! What in God’s name are you wearing?”
“Skeet, honey, thank you for delivering him in one piece.” Helen smiled at her grandson. “Now go find somewhere to sit and let the grown-ups talk.”
“I’m eighteen, Nonnie. I’m a grown-up.”
“Fine. But you skedaddle. The Do-Nothings and I need to have a little chat with Mr. Sumter here.” She fanned the boy away from the table. “Go on.”
“Fine,” Skeet groused and stuck his bottom lip out. He turned and flounced toward the cash register. “Rather talk to Frankie anyway.”
“Marcus, sweetie,” Helen said, “you look a little pale. Are you feeling all right?”
“I just got a little lightheaded at the garage. Maybe it was the fumes?”
“You ate some of that godawful casserole that Helen brought over, didn’t you?” Inez shook her head in dismay. She pulled her burgundy fanny pack from around her waist and dropped it on the table. “I think I’ve got some antacid in here somewhere.”
“Inez, will you lay off my cooking?” Helen swatted Inez on the shoulder as the women all laughed.
“No, ma’am. I was so tired, I went straight to bed. I actually didn’t eat anything.”
“Well,” Priscilla said, “that’s probably what’s wrong. We need to get some food into you. Inez, scoot over and let the man have a seat.”
As Inez shuffled over, she waved toward the waitress. “Georgette! Georgette! Could you bring Marcus a menu?”
“Just a second,” Georgette sang as she scampered past the table with several plates of food on her arms.
“Is it always this busy?” Marcus asked as he glanced around. From the booth, he could see behind the counter where a cutout in the wall showed a slice of the kitchen that lay beyond. An older woman, her salt-and-pepper hair bound in a hair net, flung a plate onto the pass-through and rang a bell that sat there. The dark-haired waitress burst through the swinging door that led into the kitchen, bumped Frankie in the back, and hustled to the shelf to snatch the plate of food. Frankie shouted something at her sister before she turned back to hand money to a short, skinny man in a policeman’s uniform. The cop hiked up his pants by his gun belt with one hand as he took the cash with the other.
“Only for the breakfast crowd,” Helen said as she stretched over the back of the booth and snagged a menu from the dirty table behind her. She handed it to Marcus and continued, “Lunch is a little calmer, and then she closes at three. Closed on Sundays too. Francine always says someone else can take care of dinner and God can take care of Sunday. Plus, she doesn’t want to miss Wheel of Fortune at night. Normally, Francine would sit with us, but like Inez said last night, one of her cooks up and quit on her yesterday, and now she’s in a bit of a bind.”
“Why did that boy run off like that?” Priscilla asked, putting down her coffee cup, its rim marked with several dark streaks of lipstick. “I swear that’s the fifth cook she has lost this year.”
“He probably got tired of Francine hitting on him.” Inez rolled her eyes.
“Inez, that’s a terrible thing to say,” Priscilla chastised her.
“Oh, please. You know Francine hires men she thinks can handle a sausage, if you get my drift.”
“Inez Coffee, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk dirty.” Priscilla wadded her napkin and tossed it across the table at Inez. “You might offend Marcus.”
“Oh, Priss, relax. I’m just joking. See, he’s laughing. Not all of us have our girdles pulled as tight as you.”
Paulette approached the table, set a plate in front of Helen, and handed a menu to Marcus. “Here you go, Miss Helen. I hope I got it right this time.”
“Paulette, is that a ham and cheese omelet?”
“Um…” the dark-haired girl stammered as she looked at the plate. “I think so?”
“Sweetheart, you know I don’t eat dairy. Get that mess away from me. It is supposed to be a vegetarian omelet with no cheese.”
“Oh, shoot. I think this is for table six. I’m so sorry.” The girl scooped up the plate and hurried off to another table.
“She is playing fast and loose with her tip,” Helen muttered and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Excuse me,” the redheaded waitress interrupted as she set a menu on the table in front of Marcus. “Here is that menu you asked…oh. I see you already got one. Can I get you something to drink while you look?”
“Sweet tea, please,” Marcus answered as he looked over the selection of breakfast foods on the menu.
“Hello there, Georgette,” Helen said as she smiled at the waitress. “I noticed Sheriff Stewart at the counter earlier watching every move you made. You convince him to make an honest woman of you yet?”
“Miss Helen, you know he asks me to marry him every Saturday night, like clockwork. But I can’t get married to such a tough old thing as a policeman. I need a man who is a little more cultured and in touch with his feminine side.” The ding of the bell on the counter made Georgette turn her head. “I better go see if that’s for me. I’ll be back to get your order, mister.” The woman walked away from the table.
“Tough old thing, my foot,” Inez said to Marcus. “Sheriff Stewart is one of the scrawniest, wimpiest men I have ever met. Hell, he is half her height. She could throw him across this room if she wanted. But he is crazy about her. I don’t know why she won’t just give in and marry him. She’s almost thirty. Not like she’s got a lot of options.”
“Not like her sister Paulette,” Priscilla added. “That girl has half the men in town after her. And she runs just slow enough to let most of them catch her. Though I never thought she was that pretty. Frankie’s the pretty one.”
“Pretty, yes,” Helen nodded her head, “but, bless her heart, her head doesn’t cast a shadow.”
The women paused in the chatter as Paulette walked back to the table with another plate balanced on her arm. She slid the plate in front of Helen and turned to hurry away. Marcus glanced at the plate to see two sunny-side up eggs, a bowl of lumpy grits, and three slices of bacon.
“Paulette, dadgummit!” Inez hollered across the diner as she looked at the plate. “This is still not right!”
“I’ll take that one,” Marcus said as he used his fingertips to slide the plate across the table. He glanced around for some utensils. “But it appears I will have to eat it with my fingers.”
“Here’s your tea,” Georgette said as she approached the table and set the glass of iced tea in front of Marcus. “Did you know what you want to…oh…you already got food. Did Paulette take your order? She knows this is my table. If she is trying to take my tips I swear I will snatch her bald.”
“Can you just find me some silverware?”
“Hold on,” Georgette said and blew a quick puff of air to move her strawberry bangs off her forehead. She turned and hurried back toward the counter.
“So, Marcus,” Helen said as she turned to face him, “you went to the garage and met Mr. Hudson, I assume.”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And he’s nice, I guess.” Marcus turned away from the women to look around the diner, hoping to hide the embarrassment that he could feel creeping across his face.
“No, darling, the car.”
“Oh.” Marcus dropped his chin and stared at his eggs. “Can we not talk about that?”
“Honey, what’s the matter?” Inez asked.
“Well
, to be honest, I think the car is really what made me feel so bad. When he took me out back to see it, I couldn’t believe how smashed up it was. And even more, I couldn’t believe that I was able to walk away from it.”
“Was it really that bad?” Priscilla asked, her eyes widening behind her glasses.
“The front bumper is practically the back bumper now. Seeing it all crushed like that, I just realized that I could’ve died in that thing and I freaked out.” Marcus nabbed a piece of bacon, shoved it into his mouth, and bit off the end. “I guess you’d call it a panic attack.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Priscilla titled her head.
“And I made a complete idiot of myself in front of Hank.” Marcus tossed the bacon back onto the plate. “Y’all, I nearly fainted!”
“No,” Helen said with a small gasp.
“As if I was some southern belle in a bad romance novel. God! I feel like an idiot. He actually had to catch me to keep me from falling out right there.”
“I’m sure he understands,” Inez said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I mean it was such a shock seeing your car all smashed up. Did you explain it to him?”
“Well, no. He went to get me some water, and I slipped out. I was too embarrassed to talk to him and I needed some air. That’s when Skeet found me and brought me here. Hank probably thinks I’m a moron.”
“Oh, who cares what he thinks?” Inez brushed his comments away with a wave of her hand.
“No. I guess not. But the worst thing is now I don’t know what I am going to do about a car. Until the money from the will or the house comes through, I can’t afford to have that one fixed or buy a new one.” Marcus could feel his heart rate picking up and sweat forming on his brow. “And I really want to get back on the road soon.”
“Sweetie, you’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing. It’ll all work out in the end.” Helen placed her hand on his.
“Your grandmother used to get all in a dither when she was hungry, too. Drink some of your tea and calm down.” Inez craned her neck to look out into the restaurant and yelled, “Paulette, where is that damned silverware?”
“Marcus, God will provide,” Priscilla added as she reached across the back of the booth and snagged a set of silverware from the table behind her. She unrolled the napkin and handed the fork to Marcus. “And clearly Jesus has a plan for you. He and his angels were in that car and protected you from dying, after all. I bet there is something really special just over the horizon that you can’t see yet. Maybe some girl out there you’re meant for.”
“Priscilla, I told you Marcus is gay.” Inez tossed the wadded napkin back at Priscilla. “Why would you go and say such a thing?”
“I was trying to comfort him, Inez. And you know I’m not really comfortable with that whole gay thing.”
“This isn’t about your comfort. This is his life. You can’t sit over there and—”
“Girls! You are upsetting Marcus,” Helen interrupted the squabbling women. “He’s had a bad enough few days without you two fighting like cats.”
The group sat in uncomfortable silence until Paulette approached the table and slid a plate in front of Helen.
“Here you go, Miss Helen, I think I finally got it right.”
The four figures at the table leaned over to look at the plate.
“Paulette, you nitwit. This is French toast.”
“That’s it,” Marcus spat out as he slid to the edge of the booth and stood. “I’m putting an end to this nonsense.”
“Marcus, honey, where are you going?”
“To get Miss Helen her damned vegetarian omelet.” Marcus stormed away from the table and around behind the counter.
“Excuse me, sir,” Frankie called as he rushed past. “You can’t go back there. Um, mister?”
Marcus stalked over to the kitchen door and shoved it open.
“Can I help you?” Francine Jones demanded as she looked up from the grill.
“No, ma’am, I think it’s the other way around.” Marcus grabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it around his waist. “Now where do you keep the damned eggs?”
Marcus untied the apron, slipped it over his head, and flung it over his shoulder. His feet ached from standing behind the grill for a few hours, but he had to admit the hustle and bustle of the kitchen had invigorated him. He had finally eaten something while he worked, and the orders coming fast and furious through the pass-through had kept his mind off his foolish behavior in the garage. His mind clear and his heart light, he jogged out of the kitchen to the table where the Do-Nothings sat chatting. He pulled a chair from the nearest table to the edge of the booth, turned it backward, and sat on it with arms draped across the back. He lifted his feet when Georgette came by with a mop and swished it under his chair.
Francine flipped over the sign hanging on the front door so that the word Closed was facing outside and waddled over to the table. Though Marcus suspected she was old enough to be his grandmother, Francine’s slim figure and girlish face made her appear nearly as young as her three daughters. She wore the same pink uniform top and skirt her daughters wore and white tennis shoes and ankle socks over a pair of support hose. She let out a long whistle as she dropped into the booth beside Helen. “Marcus, you saved this old lady’s backside today.”
“Yes, Marcus,” Helen said, “you never told me you were a chef! Your cooking was simply marvelous!”
“I’m a cook. Not a chef. No fancy white hats on this head. Just a paper hat or a hairnet.”
“No, you were good,” Francine said as she slid her shoes from her feet. “Paulette told me that Old Man Rumson said the hash browns hadn’t been that good in years.”
Marcus ducked his chin and blushed. “I grew up behind a grill.”
“You ain’t looking for a job, are you?”
“No, ma’am. I mean, thank you, but I’m not really planning on staying in town long enough to need a job.”
“No! This is perfect!” Helen began to wave her hands. “You’ve got to stay here for a while to settle your grandmother’s affairs. Why not work here at the diner while you do? You can put the money toward fixing your car. Then when it is all settled you can move on to wherever it is you’re headed.”
“Oh, yes,” Francine pleaded. “That would be a lifesaver. Please say you will. I only need you three or four days a week. You’d have plenty of time to do other things.”
“I don’t know. As I said, I really want to get on the road as soon as I figure out the car—”
“Girls!” Helen interrupted Marcus. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea!”
Everyone at the table turned to listen to her.
“Can you cook anything besides breakfast?” she asked.
“Some,” Marcus said and shrugged.
“Why don’t we get Marcus to make the food for the dance?”
“Oh!” Priscilla exclaimed. “That is a wonderful idea!”
“Yes! Then I could finally enjoy one of the dances.” Francine looked at her grease-spattered uniform and added, “I could wear a pretty dress without fear of ruining it with food!”
“Ladies, I’m a short-order guy. I can do omelets and chili and that kind of thing, but canapes and crudités aren’t really my thing.”
Helen sniffed and pushed her shoulders back. “Well, then it is a wonderful stroke of luck that I just decided the theme for this year’s dance will be “Hoedown for Health!” You can make chili and other cowboy foods!”
“Oh, Helen. That is a wonderful idea!” Priscilla piped in. “Plus, it will give me an excuse to pull out my old square-dancing skirt!”
“No.” Helen shifted her eyes to the side at Priscilla and grimaced. “We can still dress like civilized people. Honestly, Priss.”
“We can decorate with hay bales and gingham tablecloths and ooh! Mason jars! Lots of ma
son jars!” Inez suggested. Her glasses slid down her nose with the animated bob of her head.
“Then it is settled.” Helen pounded her hand on the table as a makeshift gavel. “Marcus, you are hereby hired to be the chef for our hoedown and you will work at the diner until then.”
“But, Miss Helen, I don’t—”
“Shush,” Inez said and waved her hand at Marcus. “No sense in arguing with Helen Warner once she has her mind set on something. Just do yourself a favor. Nod your head yes and smile. Trust me. It will save you a hell of a lot of headaches and heartaches.”
“You know, Helen.” Priscilla leaned closer to Helen, “I have all of that blue speckled enamelware left over from when little Shel was in Boy Scouts. That looks very cowboy, don’t you think?”
Inez pulled the order pad and pen out of Francine’s chest pocket and began making a to-do list. “And I can talk to Golly Dorney about some western-looking flowers and Larry out at the feed supply about getting the hay bales.”
“I doubt they will let us drag all that into the armory building,” Priss said.
“Why don’t we close off the town square and have it out there?” Francine asked. “Oh, think of it! White lights strung up everywhere. And people can dance right there in the middle of the street. We can let Martin Prescott play DJ in the gazebo!”
Marcus tuned the women out as they prattled on with their plans. He sank farther into the padding of the chair and let the stress of the day seep from his bones. Glancing over at the counter, he noticed Skeet and Frankie sitting on stools and hunched over something laid out between them. Their legs kicked freely under their stools, and occasionally Skeet would toss his head back and laugh. Paulette and Georgette whisked around the room cleaning tables and mopping the floors. Marcus walked to the jukebox in the corner and scanned the listings of songs. A hand tapping on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.
“If you push B-17 and B-19 at the same time, it will give you five free songs,” Paulette said with a wink as she leaned against the glass of the machine. “Don’t tell anybody that. It’s just a little secret I tell to the cuter customers.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 7
