“Toona.” Hank nodded his head at the drag queen and turned back to Marcus with a frown. “And you know my name is Hank.”
“Whatever, darling. Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Marcus. And I’m not here with… I mean I came with Skeet.”
The drag queen dropped his manicured hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “I wondered what type of magic you had to finally catch Cowboy in a web.”
“Toona, don’t you have a show to do?”
“Oh, shit. I do. You boys have fun! And don’t be such a stranger, Cowboy.”
“It’s Hank!”
“Okay, darling.” The drag queen waved his fingers over his shoulder as he flounced away toward the other tables.
“Why do they call you that? Cowboy? You’re a mechanic and work-shirts and blue Dickies aren’t exactly western wear.”
“Sarge started it. Let’s just say that I’ve a bit of a reputation around here.” Hank waved away the question. “It’s stupid, really. I’d rather you just call me Hank.”
“Aw. Come on. Tell me.”
“Fine.” Hank took a deep breath before explaining, “Sarge calls me Cowboy because he says I’m really good at keeping my calves together.”
Marcus threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, my god! That is hysterical.”
“Maybe to you. Look, I just don’t feel the need to hook up with random people. I prefer to have my sex life mean something.”
“Well, I guess that is one approach.”
“Hey, forgive me for not seeing my being discriminate as a character flaw.”
“No. I get it. I’ve never really been one for sleeping around either. The good southern boy in me just can’t do it.”
“What, because of Jesus or something?”
“No. I mean, who has the time to write that many thank-you notes?”
Hank stared thoughtfully at Marcus before busting out laughing. His laugh was deep, loud, and seemed to rise from his toes. As his laugh ebbed, he cocked his head and said, “You’re pretty funny.”
Marcus blushed. “Thanks.”
“And cute too.”
Though he didn’t think he could do it, Marcus blushed harder. “Okay…”
“So, are you any good behind that grill at the diner?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Okay, I’m coming in there for lunch on Monday to see for myself.”
“Wait. I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come in after we close on Monday? I’m sure Miss Francine won’t mind if I use the diner after she closes. I’ll make a special meal just for you. It’ll be my way of saying thanks for your help with this car mess. And to say I’m sorry for sneaking out that first day I came in.”
“You got yourself a deal.” Hank stuck out his hand for Marcus to shake. “Monday at the Tammy. It’s a date.”
“Let’s call it a thank-you.”
“Okay. A thank-you.”
The country dance song that had been playing abruptly changed to a thumping disco beat. Marcus pushed his empty plate away from himself. “So, Hank, you want to dance?”
Hank shook his head. “Oh, no. I don’t dance. I’m good with my hands, not my feet.”
“Good with your hands?” Marcus raised his eyebrows and smirked at Hank.
“Oh, my god, Marcus!” Skeet came rushing to the table and latched on to Marcus’s shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got to dance to this song!”
“I’m coming!” Marcus stood and pushed his chair back under the table. “I was just convincing Hank to come join us.”
“Actually, you weren’t,” Hank said and laughed. “But you boys go have fun. I’ll be here when you’re finished. I’ll get you another beer.”
“Suit yourself,” Skeet said as he tugged Marcus toward the dance floor. “We might be a while. Now let’s dance!”
Marcus worked his way through the crowd on the dance floor and found a clear spot. He closed his eyes and swayed his hips to the music. The thumping bassline vibrated in his ribcage and chased out any lingering feelings of exhaustion from his long day. As he found the rhythm of the song, he shuffled his feet and began shaking his shoulders. The tempo increased. Marcus danced faster and harder; sweat began to form on his brow. The music built in speed and volume until it rose in a thunderous crescendo of drumbeats and whistles. Marcus surrendered to the absolute joy of the music and his dancing, threw his hands in the air, and let out a whoop. As he spun around, he opened his eyes. Through a gap in the crowd, he could see Hank grinning as he watched him dance. Marcus smiled back and waved. He began to laugh as he recalled the way Inez had once described the mechanic.
Damn. That is a sexy young man.
Chapter Nine
“What you making there, sugar?” Francine walked behind Marcus and bumped her hip into his backside. She placed her hands on his hips as she peeked over his shoulder at the eggs sizzling on the griddle and let out a low whistle. “Scrambled eggs? Nothing but the fancy stuff to impress a certain fella, huh?”
Marcus picked up the spatula and scooped the eggs off the grill and onto a toasted slice of wheat bread sitting on a plate. He looked over at Francine and stuck out his tongue. “It’s not just scrambled eggs, it’s a full-on sandwich.”
“You going to put some cheese on that?”
“It’s already cooked into the eggs. That’s my secret weapon.”
“Secret weapon or not, it’s still just an egg sandwich.” Francine turned up her nose and sniffed.
“It’s what he said he wanted and, again, I’m not trying to impress anyone. This is simply a way to say thank you for all the help he is giving me with my car.”
“I see,” Francine replied and then smirked. “Just a thank-you.” She looked up and nodded toward the counter. “There is absolutely nothing about that very good-looking man sitting at the counter that interests you in any way whatsoever.”
Marcus looked from the bacon sizzling on the griddle to stare at Hank sitting at the counter. Hank’s head was lowered as he played with several packs of sugar he had spread out in front of him in a seemingly random pattern. Occasionally, he nodded his head politely as Paulette chattered away at him across the counter, though he never looked up from his hands. He said something to her out of the corner of his mouth, and Paulette threw her head back and laughed.
“What is she doing?” Marcus asked as Paulette leaned closer to the counter top, exposing more of her cleavage through the neckline of her pink uniform top.
Francine stood on her tiptoes to look out into the diner at her daughter. “Oh, don’t worry about her. She can’t help herself.” Francine laughed and swatted Marcus with the dishrag she held. “And look at him. Who could blame her? It’s harmless.”
“And a waste of her time,” Marcus said and grunted.
“Hmm. A little jealous for someone who is just saying thank you, don’t you think?”
Marcus made a sour face at Francine before turning to look out at Hank. He could see the corners of Hank’s brown eyes wrinkle as he smiled at something Paulette was saying to him. “Okay. Yes. He is good-looking, but I already told y’all that I’m not looking for anything right now. We just had a really good time talking at the bar the other night. Skeet finally had to tell me to shut up and drag me out of there.”
Hank shrugged and shook his head at Paulette, keeping his attention on the packets he shuffled around on the counter. Marcus could tell that Hank was bored with the conversation and was merely being polite. Hank glanced up and made eye contact with him through the opening. Hank’s face brightened as he smiled at Marcus and gave a quick wink. Marcus dropped his head to the grill and tried to focus on the food he was preparing, but was unable to stop the grin that crept across his face.
“Uh huh,” Francine drawled as she walked to the sink and dropped some dirty plates into the soapy water. “Whatever you say. But between you, me, and the fencepo
st,” she said as she pointed at the grill, “that man makes my bacon sizzle, too.”
Marcus slid the spatula under the bacon slices and flipped them onto the eggs on the sandwich. He placed the other slice of toast on top and cut the sandwich in half with the edge of his spatula. Unhappy with the placement of the food, he nudged the sandwich a little closer to the pile of hash browns on the plate. He grabbed two pickle slices from the prep table and dropped them beside the sandwich. He twisted the plate around once, surveying the food from each side as he spun and wiping away a stray crumb. After giving the sandwich another slight nudge, he nodded his head. He slid the plate onto the counter of the pass-through and slapped the bell to call Paulette over. “Order up!”
When Paulette stepped to the opening to take the plate, a hand slipped past him and caught the woman’s wrist. “Paulette, honey,” Francine said to her, “why don’t you come into the kitchen and help me clean up. I think we can let Marcus deliver his creation. Don’t you agree?”
Paulette pursed her lips and stared at her mother before rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She glanced back over her shoulder toward Hank. “He’s shit at conversation, and his fingernails are filthy, anyway.”
“Go get him, tiger,” Francine said as she smacked Marcus on his backside and turned back to her dishes.
“Francine, cut it out,” Marcus said, then chuckled. He screwed up his mouth and then threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I know when I’m beat.”
He untied his apron and tossed it onto the metal table in the middle of the kitchen. He moved toward the swinging door, barely stepping out of the way as it swung in when Paulette stormed into the kitchen. She glared at him, then broke out into a giggle.
“I’m just messing with you,” she said as she slipped past him. “Go get him, Romeo. But you might want to take that hairnet off first.”
Marcus spun to look at himself in the mirror that hung next to the kitchen door. The hairnet he wore had smashed his red hair into an awkward-looking lump, and he had a streak of sauce across his cheek. “Oh, crap. I forgot I had this on. He saw me like this, didn’t he?” Marcus yanked the net off his head and tried to neaten his hair.
Francine wiped his cheek with the dish rag. She patted his cheek and smiled lovingly. “You look fine, sweetie. And no man can resist someone who feeds him well.” She winked and pushed him toward the door.
“Thanks for letting him come in after we closed. I didn’t want a bunch of people in here when we—”
“Oh, Marcus,” Paulette called out from behind him, “you won’t be alone out there.”
“What?”
“Those busybodies are still in the corner. Couldn’t get them to leave. Never seen four old women make a club sandwich last so long in my life.”
“Great. An audience.” Marcus pushed the door open and stepped out behind the counter. As he sauntered past the pass-through, he snagged Hank’s plate and twisted it onto his palm to carry it over his shoulder. He yanked the coffee pot from under the machine with his other hand and walked to the counter.
“Here you go,” Marcus said as he lowered his arm and slid the plate onto the counter in front of Hank. “Adam and Eve on a raft. Wrecked, pickled, and high and dry. Hash browns scattered and topped. Can I freshen up that joe for you?” Marcus raised the coffee pot, gestured toward Hank’s mug with his elbow and pretended to smack chewing gum.
“Ooh, I love it when you talk diner.” Hank grinned at Marcus and wiggled his eyebrows. “It sounds dirty. Hit me,” he said and nodded at the mug. He took a deep breath over the plate. He raised his head and opened his eyes wide at Marcus. “Oh, my god, that smells delicious.”
“You know,” Marcus said as he poured coffee into the mug then turned around to fling the pot back into the brewer, “you could’ve ordered anything you wanted. Steak. Chicken. Even if it wasn’t something on the menu. I told you it was on me. I was hoping you’d at least give me something more challenging than a scrambled egg sandwich.”
“Are you kidding? Getting scrambled eggs right is one of the most challenging things in the kitchen. Not too dry. Not too wet. Not overcooked. Everyone thinks they can do it but, yeah, not so much.” Hank picked the sandwich up and took a large bite. He chewed a bit with his eyes closed before he swallowed and broke into a broad smile. “That, dude, is a good damned sandwich.”
“Thanks.” Marcus beamed. “Eggs are kind of my thing, so I guess it’s good you picked that.”
“I’m a man of simple tastes, Fiat.” He took another large bite of the sandwich and made an audible “mmm” while he chewed. He picked up his fork and pushed the hash browns around a bit. “These look perfect, too.”
Marcus raised his arm, blew on his nails, and then buffed them on his shirt. “Well, I don’t like to brag.”
“So, where’d you learn to do this?” Hank asked as he scooped a forkful of the potatoes into his mouth. “Oh, god, that’s good.”
“Oh,” Marcus said with a shrug, “I grew up in it. I guess it was a family legacy. My mama worked in diners for years and I just picked things up.” Marcus looked over Hank’s shoulder to see the Do-Nothings sitting in their usual booth and watching his every move. He squinted his eyes at the women. He backed away from the counter and began to turn toward the kitchen. “You know what? I better get back in the kitchen and help with the—”
Hank touched Marcus’s forearm to stop him from leaving. “Hold on there. Paulette already told me she was taking over for you. Stay here and talk to me like you did after you danced with Skeet the other night. I hate to eat alone.”
Marcus’s immediate reaction was to yank his arm away but as he looked at Hank’s hand wrapped around his forearm, at the calloused fingers and slightly dirty fingernails that seemed so rough compared to Marcus’s pale and freckled complexion, his skin tingled at the warmth of the man’s hand, and the hairs on his arms stood. He looked from Hank’s hand to his face and saw the other man’s eyes imploring him to stay.
“Well, I guess I can stay for a minute,” Marcus said. Hank took his hand away and Marcus’s arm followed it, as if seeking the warmth. Marcus tried to hide the movement by dropping his elbows on the counter and leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands. “I’m in no hurry to get home anyway.”
“Good. So…”
“You want me to play something on the jukebox?” Marcus started to walk to the jukebox.
“No. Let’s just talk.”
Marcus stopped and rested against on the counter. “About what?”
“Fiat,” Hank said and sighed with his fork paused in mid-air, “it doesn’t matter. Just ask me anything.”
Marcus thought before asking, “Okay. I forgot to ask you at the bar the other night. You from around here?”
“Clichéd question, but okay.” Hank put the fork on the counter and took a swallow of coffee before answering. “No. I grew up about an hour south of here. Valdosta. It’s near the Florida line.”
“I know of it. It’s a lot bigger than here, isn’t it? Why the hell would you move to this podunk town?”
“Hey now. Don’t be insulting Marathon. It may be tiny, but it’s my home now. It’s a nice place to live.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that. But I’d never heard of this place before the lawyer contacted me. How on earth did you end up here?”
“There’s a vocational school a couple of towns over. I went there to learn about cars, and there was a sign on a billboard at school about a mechanic here looking for some help. I figured what the hell and came over. I worked for Mr. Murphy for a couple of years and then I bought the place from him.”
“So that was your dream? To be a small-town mechanic?”
Hank looked from the plate to Marcus and knitted his brows. “Something wrong with being a mechanic?”
“Oh, god, no. I didn’t mean… I just… I’m sorry. Hell, I’m a fry cook, so
who would I be to judge? Not like I’m curing cancer back there.” Marcus jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen.
Hank’s face softened, and he shrugged as he pushed his empty plate away. “You may not be curing cancer but, dear god, that might have healed my soul. Damn, that was good.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it onto the empty plate. “And you’re right. Being a mechanic wasn’t really my plan.”
“Oh? What was?”
“Mainly I just wanted to get out of my mother’s house. My mama’s a bit of a flake.”
“So you ran away with the circus?” Marcus said with a smile.
“No. Long story.” He paused and shook his head. “Actually, it’s not. She kicked me out over the whole gay thing.”
“Ouch.”
“It is what it is.” Hank took a large swallow of coffee. “Anyway, college was too expensive for me, and I always liked messing around with mechanical things so I just got a part-time job and went the vo-tech school route. I guess life showed me a path and I took it. It’s worked for me so far.”
“No, I get that. I grew up that way, just waiting on a path to show itself. But sometimes you can get a little lost doing that.”
“Wait, did you say you’d never been here before the attorney got ahold of you?” Hank asked as he continued to eat.
“No.”
“But I thought you were here because your grandmother died.”
“Yeah, but I never met her. We didn’t come around here when I was growing up. It’s complicated. My mama was a flake, too.” Marcus looked at the sugar packs Hank had arranged in a pattern on the edge of the counter, trying to figure out a way to move the conversation in a different direction. “We moved around a lot when I was a kid. And we got lost a lot. But Mama was good at avoiding this place. As a matter of fact, I’d never been here before the day Miss Richards slammed into me.”
“Oh, shoot. I almost forgot,” Hank slapped his hands on the counter, making Marcus jump in surprise. “Miss Richards. Her sister called me this morning about her car. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this sooner.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 12
