Marcus pushed the two buttons, and the digital number flipped from zero to five. “Well, look at that!” Marcus began punching in the combinations for several songs.
“Oh, look at you, picking Loretta Lynn songs. Why don’t you play something slow and give a girl a little dance.”
“Paulette! Back away from the new meat!” Skeet’s voice came ringing from across the room. “Marcus you better play ‘You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man.’”
“Oh, Skeet, he ain’t your man.”
“No, but trust me, he won’t be yours either. He doesn’t play for your team.”
Paulette looked at Marcus with an anxious grin. “So, I’m barking up the wrong tree?”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong forest,” Marcus said with a laugh and a wink back at her.
“Marcus, honey!” Helen called to him from the booth. “Why don’t you get Skeet to run you back home? I’m sure you must be worn out after running around that kitchen all afternoon. The girls and I have a lot of details to work out about this hoedown. No need for you to sit here waiting on me.”
“And you’re going to need your rest tonight so you can be back here in the morning,” Francine added. “We open at seven, so you should probably be here at six to help me get everything prepped.”
“Miss Francine,” Marcus said as he walked back to the booth. “I don’t remember saying I would accept the job.”
“I don’t rightly remember asking you.”
“Well, how am I supposed to get here with no—”
“I’ll pick you up,” Paulette said from the jukebox. “I’ll probably be over there anyway, because I got a date with Jerry Dobbins tonight. He lives over that way and, well, you know—”
“Paulette, we don’t need to know all the details,” Francine said and frowned. “I suwanee, young lady, in my day, a little discretion was the least you could offer the world.”
“I just don’t know if I want to—”
“Marcus,” Helen interrupted him, “I saw you in that kitchen, and honestly it is the first real smile I have seen from you since you got here. Now hush and admit defeat.”
Marcus looked back and forth between the women as he thought about the job. He had to admit it had been invigorating to be back in the hustle and bustle of a diner kitchen, almost like returning home. For the first time in months, he had actually been productive, and the ache in his feet made him feel rooted to the ground. If nothing else, he would at least have some money to tide him over until he was able to settle the estate and sell his grandmother’s house.
“All right. All right. I surrender.” Marcus threw up his hands. “But I’m not wearing one of those pink uniforms.”
“Aw, come on, Shoe Button,” Francine drawled. “You’d look adorable in a little pink skirt.”
“Paulette, I will see you in the morning.” Marcus turned to face the counter. “Skeet? Think you can run me home now?”
“Sure. I was supposed to go back to the car wash, but I guess it’s a little late for that now.” The boy pushed off the counter to spin his stool and drop dramatically to the floor. “But don’t you want to listen to the rest of your songs?”
“Nah. I’ll be sick of them in a few days, I’m sure.”
“Bye, Franks.” Skeet kissed Frankie’s cheek. “Come over tonight and we can finish casting our dream revival of Mame.”
“Bye, Skeet. And you think about what I said about Patti Lupone. She’d make a great Auntie Mame.”
“Whatever. You know it’s Streisand or no one.” Skeet shook his head and rolled his eyes at Marcus. “Come on. I’m parked over by the courthouse.”
As he and Skeet strolled toward the door, Marcus heard a sudden uproar of laughter from the women in the corner. He glanced back to see their four heads hunched together conspiratorially over the table.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Helen. Eloise would be so happy if we could do that.”
“Now you each know your jobs, right?”
“I really don’t think I can take part in this with the church and all. I’ll have to beg off on this one, girls.”
“Oh, Priss, you’re such a pain in my ass.”
“Inez! Language!”
Chapter Six
Over the course of the next month, Marcus fell easily into the rhythm of his new life in the diner. The black ring around his eye faded, and thoughts of Robert and his mangled car began to fade as well. Francine and he perfected their frenzied dance around each other behind the grill when the diner was filled to capacity. As he worked, the familiar tools of spatula, whisk, and knife once again became extensions of his hand, and the smells of bacon frying and eggs cooking made his appetite for food and life return. The silly names the sisters invented for customers made Marcus belly-laugh, the sensation of it bubbling up in his chest an almost-forgotten pleasure. With each passing day, it grew easier to rise early in the morning and catch a ride to the diner with Francine or one of the girls.
The only part of the day he dreaded was life outside the diner and returning to a too-quiet house filled with photographs of people who shared his face and name, but who were complete strangers. The house was in theory his home, but it still seemed as if he was intruding on someone else’s space. He hadn’t bothered to unpack the few clothes left in his duffel bag or put away the clean clothes from the laundry basket on the bedroom floor. In the silence of his grandmother’s house, he would hear the ringing of Robert’s plaintive texts, the nagging thoughts about what to do with his wrecked car, and the haunting words of his mother, “Baby, it’s time to move on.”
More and more, he lingered well past the end of his shift at the diner to avoid going to the house. Usually he would end his day by wandering over to the Do-Nothings’ corner booth to check on the latest town gossip or to see how preparations for the hoedown were going. Marcus would shuffle his way into the booth and tuck himself between Helen and Inez so that the women could explain to him who each person they gossiped about was. Most of the names meant nothing to him until he began to connect them with their usual orders, just as he had at the Waffle Barn. The more stories the Do-Nothings told about the customers who hurried in and out of the diner daily, the more the citizens of Marathon seemed like friends. He would sit happily silent and let the women’s laughter and rapid-fire words sooth his work-weary muscles as he sank into the padding of the booth.
But not today.
He had finished cleaning the cooking area, flung his apron onto its hook, and headed into the dining room. He was tired but, for the first time since Robert had pressured him to quit working at the Waffle Barn in Atlanta, he’d felt useful again. As he reached the kitchen door, he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Despite the hard work and grueling heat of the kitchen, he’d seen that he wore a pleased smile, a smile he wasn’t sure he had worn since the days after his mother and before Robert. He’d straightened his back and nodded at himself in the mirror. Hello, stranger. Where’ve you been? With the smile lingering on his lips, he had glanced through the porthole window in the swinging door and seen Hank Hudson standing at the counter.
The sudden reminder of his foolish behavior the day he met Hank and of the heap of metal that sat at Hank’s garage had knocked the smile from Marcus’s face. His heart had begun to race as he’d ducked down below the window. He had successfully avoided dealing with Hank or the car and had no intention of changing that. He’d placed his hands over his ears and tried to calm his breathing. He’d hidden in the kitchen until the blinds were drawn, the door was locked, and the Do-Nothings and Hank were long gone.
Once the coast was clear, Marcus crept out of the kitchen and sat at the diner counter to wait for Skeet to show up and drive him home. He silently helped Georgette and Paulette refill the sugar dispensers and ketchup bottles while he listened to their mindless prattle about their love lives. He was so distracted by the
ups and downs of Paulette’s busy dating schedule or the ridiculous displays of affection that Sheriff Stewart poured out toward Georgette, he had almost pushed thoughts of the crushed Fiat out of his mind.
“I told Jerry, ‘I’m sorry, sugar.’ He knows Tuesday nights are reserved for Andy. He will just have to wait for Thursday.” Paulette punctuated her story by banging a sugar dispenser on the counter. “I told him it’s just like the menu says. No substitutions.”
Marcus laughed with her until a loud rapping on the diner door made his neck muscles tense. He looked at the door, dreading that Hank had returned. Outside, Skeet stood with his face pressed against the glass, his features mashed out of proportion, and his eyes crossed. “Look at that idiot,” Marcus said and chuckled.
Marcus looked forward to his little chatterbox taxi arriving each afternoon. Seeing the naive joy of the boy as he flounced into the diner made him giggle. Skeet’s optimism and hope were as nourishing for him as anything he cooked on the grill. Just the sound of the boy drawling “Hey, y’all,” as he swung through the diner door made Marcus happy. He knew the ride home from the diner would be filled with some amusing chatter, off-key singing, and Skeet’s meaningless flirtation. He hopped off the counter stool and rushed outside.
“You and Frankie are really good friends, huh?” Marcus asked as he and Skeet shuffled down the sidewalk toward the car. “You’re lucky to have that.”
“Oh, my god! I shudder to think of my life without her. For the longest time, I think everyone just assumed we would grow up and get married one day. I think she might have thought it too. Well, until she caught me making out under the bleachers with that exchange student from Austria we had junior year. His name was Franz. Turns out he had been under there just the day before with Frankie. One of them bisexuals, you know. Well, that just about put an end to our friendship.”
“Because she found out you’re gay?”
“Oh, hell, Marcus, everyone always knew I was gay. I ain’t exactly like all the other boys in town. My mama always said when I told her that I liked boys, she wanted to say ‘and water is wet.’ No, Frankie was just pissed because she thought Franz was her ticket out of here. She started out mad at me because she thought I stole him. Which is stupid. Not like she had branded her name on his ass.”
“Yeah, but I can still see where that could make some troubles.”
“Well, it turned out the laugh was on both of us. Just a few days later we caught him making out in the school parking lot with Evie Dupont, the captain of the cheerleaders. I knocked on the window and told him he should’ve gone to France since he was clearly more interested in learning about French kissing than he was about English talking.”
Marcus laughed. “You didn’t.”
“I did. And what really burns my butt is he wasn’t even that cute. It was just that durn accent. God, it just made my knees get all wobbly. He could really kiss, too. But I can tell you one thing, I’m done with Europeans.”
“Well, I can’t imagine he represents the whole continent.”
“I guess not, but still. So what about you? You got a boyfriend? Any funny-talking fellas in your past?”
“Not anymore.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Skeet, I’d rather not go into…shoot, there goes my phone.” Relieved at the interruption, Marcus fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the number on the screen. “I have no idea who that is. I don’t even know that area code.”
Skeet peeked over his shoulder at the screen. “Oh, that’s Nonnie’s number. You better answer that.”
“Hello?”
“Marcus?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, good. It’s Helen. Helen Warner. Look, I just wanted to call and ask you to please come back to the diner tonight around seven. We want to meet with you to go over some specifics for the hoedown. We’ve got some of the other gentlemen who are helping out coming over and thought it might be easier if we could just plan everything all at once.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
“Oh, good. I will see you at seven. And Marcus?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Wear something nice. Bye!”
The phone went silent, then beeped as she hung up.
“What was that all about?” Skeet asked.
“Miss Helen wants me to come to a Do-Nothing meeting.”
“That’s weird. They never let men come to those meetings.”
“Well, your Nonnie has decided I’m an honorary Do-Nothing.”
“Look at you, Mister Trendsetter. The first male Do-Nothing. Breaking boundaries and you’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“Hardly. Plus, she said some other men who are helping with the dance would be there.”
“That’s strange.”
“And she told me to wear something nice.”
Skeet stopped walking and folded his arms across his chest. “What are those old busybodies up to now?”
“It’s just a meeting.”
“Marcus, I think I better come to that meeting with you.”
“Oh, Skeet, it’s just going to be a bunch of women talking about flower arrangements.”
“Trust me. When a bunch of old southern women are together talking, flowers aren’t the only thing they’re arranging. I’m coming with you.”
“Suit yourself. You want to hang out at my place until time for the meeting?”
“That’s cool. Mama asked me to put that in your yard anyway.” Skeet pointed at a rectangular metal sign in the back seat.
For Sale was printed across the top of the sign in bold black lettering. Underneath was a picture of a woman who looked like Skeet but with overdone makeup, overdone hair, and an overdone smile. Below that, written in an almost indecipherable font, were the words “If you lived here, you’d be home!” followed by Katie Nell Warner and a phone number. The borders of the sign were wrapped in gaudy, gold Christmas tree garland.
“Huh,” Marcus said. “I was wondering when she would get around to doing that. I talked to your mother about selling the house weeks ago in the diner. I thought maybe she forgot about me. What’s with the gold stuff on the edges?”
“Mama calls it pizazz.” Skeet shrugged and opened his car door. “Hey, do you care if I call Frankie and get her to come over, too? We can hang out and play cards or something. Ooh, I know! We will show you our routine we worked up for the senior recital. It brought the house down. Do you know if your grandmother had any hats? It really works better if we have hats.”
Marcus stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of his grandmother’s bedroom and looked himself up and down one last time. He had left most of his clothing at Robert’s house, trying to take nothing with him that he didn’t own when he had first moved in. He had done so partly out of a sense of not wanting to leave Robert any claim over him, but also because he had learned early on from his mother how much easier it is to leave in a hurry if you don’t have much to take with you. He had dug his old duffel bag out of the back of a closet, shoved some clothes in it, and hit the road. He would’ve left the car as well since Robert had bought it for him, but that was the one area where he didn’t have much choice. “Well, Miss Richards took care of that last lingering detail,” he said to his reflection and shrugged. He smoothed the front of the white Oxford shirt and then pushed the shirttail a little farther into the waistband of his darkest pair of jeans.
“Marcus?” he heard Skeet call from the other room. “Are you almost done? My grandmother will be so pissed if you’re late.”
Marcus turned from the mirror and stepped out of the bedroom into the living room. “So, do you think this is good enough?” He pivoted in front of the two young people. “I didn’t expect to need anything dressy, so I didn’t bring a whole lot with me.”
“It’s a little wrinkly,” Frankie said as she
glanced from the couch. She sat playing solitaire on the coffee table with the cards they had used to play a game the pair had taught him earlier. It was a complicated game with strange wild cards and two hands for each player that Marcus still wasn’t quite sure he understood how to play, though he had apparently won one round. He hadn’t actually cared that it made no sense, because he had to admit it had been fun to spend an afternoon laughing, talking, and goofing off with people closer to his own age. “Surely Miss Eloise had an iron.”
“Well, it was shoved in my duffel so it didn’t really travel well.” Marcus tried to smooth the front of the shirt with the side of his hand. “Does it look too bad?”
“It’s fine,” Skeet said as he walked to Marcus and picked a loose thread from the shirt. He patted Marcus on the shoulder then scanned down his body. “And those jeans do you all kinds of favors.”
“Skeet…”
Skeet laughed and shook his head. “Trust me. Those women have already decided what they think of you, and no shirt is going to make a difference.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“It is what it is.” Skeet grinned and crossed to the sofa. He flopped beside Frankie and dropped his head onto her shoulder. “So Franks, think our little boy looks good for his first date with the Do-Nothing club?”
“Little boy? He’s older than us.”
“Never mind, sweetie.” Skeet patted her hand and pecked her cheek. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”
Marcus chuckled as Frankie swatted Skeet away. “I appreciate you guys entertaining me this afternoon. It was fun to hang out like this.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s nowhere near as fun as all the stuff there is to do in Atlanta,” Frankie said as she scooped the cards into a pile. “I mean museums, plays, and the aquarium. Fancy restaurants. Opera and ballet. You must’ve been out on the town all the time.”
“I didn’t have a lot of friends in Atlanta. Me and Rob…um…I kept to myself. Plus I worked all the time. And a lot of that fancy stuff is really overrated. Just a bunch of uppity old people trying to impress each other with how much money they have or the eye candy on their arm.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 8
