Milkshakes and Heartbreaks at the Starlight Diner

by Helen Cox

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Angela, interpreting my sadness as remembered grief. She’d never suspect I’d wished him dead. So many times.

  ‘Once people know, they generally don’t,’ I said, trying to right myself after my outburst. ‘But you see, I can’t be with Jack. I, I’m just not ready.’

  ‘Did you tell him any of this?’ Mona eyed me as she spoke. She knew, from what I’d said before, or rather what I’d not said, there was more to this story. I shook my head at her question. ‘Don’t ya think you should?’

  ‘No. We can’t be together and every time I talk about it, it’s almost like going through it again.’ Mona and Angela lowered their heads at this comment. ‘I know it seems odd but I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell Jack about this. If you see him,’ I said.

  ‘But if we told him you wouldn’t have to and then at least he’d understand,’ suggested Mona.

  ‘Yes, but then what?’ I lolled my head to one side. ‘He’d think he could swoop in and fix me and when he couldn’t, because nobody can, he’d be resentful. We’d wind up apart anyway. I’d just rather not go through all that.’

  ‘Well. Seems like you have the future all mapped out. I should ask you for next week’s lotto numbers,’ said Mona.

  ‘I just can’t.’ I looked deep into her eyes. She put an arm around me again and squeezed me close. I rested my head on her shoulder.

  ‘You’ll be alright now,’ she said.

  I smiled but tears formed again in my eyes. I didn’t deserve her reassurance. I took it anyway.

  Angela sighed. ‘Well, I feel kinda stupid giving you this now but this is the real reason I came in.’ She handed a gift bag to me across the counter. ‘Sorry to just throw it at ya but I gotta get back to work soon.’

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Your Olympian lust idea was such a hit I’m getting a promotion.’ She looked like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

  ‘Oh, Angela, I’m so pleased for you.’ I leant across the counter and gave her a hug.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t seem important after what we’ve just been talking about,’ she said, resting her head on her hand.

  ‘Of course it’s important,’ I corrected her. ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘I’m stepping up from junior to middle-weight PR officer. It’s a big deal for me and, well, that there’s just a little something to say thank you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t really do anything.’

  ‘Well, open it,’ said Mona, impatient about the fact I was just stood there holding the bag.

  I pulled out a shoebox tied with red ribbon. It was from Bloomingdale’s which wasn’t exactly a modest place to shop. ‘Angela, what did you do?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Open it and see.’

  I yanked at the ribbon. The box sides slackened and at the centre of all the tissue paper and cardboard paraphernalia sat two ice-blue court shoes with small bows at the toes. I lifted them out of the box one at a time to admire them.

  ‘I got Mona to steal a look at your shoe size when you changed out of your sneakers one day. She mentioned you were thinking of getting a pastel dress for the hop and I thought these might go well with what you picked out. Well? Do you like them?’

  ‘I love them!’ I hugged the shoes close to my chest, thinking about all the days I’d passed Bloomingdales. Stopped. Pressed my hands against the windows and yearned for the beautiful things I couldn’t afford. ‘Thank you so much. It’s very, very kind and Bernie’s taking us for our dresses in a couple of days so I’ll be able to find something that’s a match, I’m sure.’

  ‘Mona,’ Bernie called over, ‘phone for you. It’s Alan. You wanna take it or will it eat into your busy shoe-shopping schedule?’

  ‘I’m comin’. Keep your hair on,’ said Mona, ‘or what’s left of it.’

  I put the shoes on the counter, still admiring their delicious curve, before looking up at Angela. I pouted my lips to one side and stared.

  ‘What?’ She let out a gentle laugh at my expression. I narrowed my eyes.

  ‘There isn’t really a guy at work, is there?’ I said.

  Angela sighed. ‘Not exactly. Should’ve known you’d see through that.’

  ‘You let him go. For me. Didn’t you?’ Angela nodded. I shook my head. ‘Why? Are you applying for a sainthood or something?’

  Angela laughed. ‘No, like I said, you two are a match. I feel kinda stupid, actually. And not for the first time, I make the worst choices when it comes to dating.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought it’d be glamorous, you know, dating an actor but it’s just like dating anyone else. You either work or you don’t. Besides, I want to be with somebody who really wants to be with me.’

  I nodded. ‘And you deserve nothing less. But I never would’ve, I mean while you two were together I never would’ve …’

  ‘I know.’ Angela smiled. ‘Jack wouldn’t have either. But I appreciate what you did, Esther.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I looked at her.

  ‘About Jack,’ she clarified. ‘Not a lot of women would have waited to see if I was alright with it, you know?’ She tucked a glossy lock of brown hair behind her ears.

  ‘Well. As you’ve heard there are a range of variables in play. But no, I wouldn’t have just started dating him without knowing how you felt. Regardless of what else was going on.’

  ‘Wish I’d always had that principle.’ Angela looked down at the counter. ‘I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have.’

  I reached over, put a hand on top of hers and squeezed. ‘We all have.’

  So many things, Esther. So many things you blamed her for. When it was you, all along.

  ‘Uh, ladies?’ Mona returned from her phone call with the most peculiar expression on her face, part concern, part disbelief.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, putting a hand on her arm.

  ‘That was Alan. It’s Jack.’ She looked first to me, then to Angela. ‘He’s been arrested.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The city was caught up in one of its sudden rainy tempers and we were dressed for sun. Thus, we were grateful when, at last, Alan greeted Mona, Angela and me on the steps of the Midtown Precinct on 35th Street. Mona leant in for a kiss and, once he’d administered a reassuring peck to his wife, he looked at each of us in turn.

  ‘I think he’s sobered up enough to have some sense talked into him now.’ Alan looked at me. ‘He kept askin’ for you. Probably best you see him first. See what he’s got to say for himself.’ I looked at Angela to check she wasn’t put out by that idea. She squeezed my arm.

  ‘Did he make a statement?’ I asked.

  Alan shook his head. ‘Not coherent enough when he came in. But Mr Boyle, who, to the best of my knowledge, just signed himself out of the hospital, did have enough about him to make a statement. And it don’t look good on Jack.’

  ‘The hospital?’ Angela’s brown eyes were wide. ‘How hard did Jack hit him?’

  ‘Well, he socked him a couple of times. But I suspect Boyle only checked into the hospital to enhance his chances of making a case outta it,’ said Alan.

  I started to wonder what the hell Jack had been thinking. This was a total mess.

  ‘Looks like Jack’s got somethin’ of a savage streak,’ Mona mused. Savage. Hadn’t I once described Jack as a savage? What if I’d been right?

  ‘Not sure ’bout that, jelly bean. I spent just a few minutes with Mr Boyle and it’s easy to see how the urge to punch him might prove a difficult one to control.’ Alan raised an eyebrow. We all smirked. Mona and I knew first-hand what a slime Boyle could be and Angela had heard it second-hand on the walk here.

  ‘Why don’t you ladies come to my office and, Esther, I’ll show you to his cell.’

  My head whirled at those words. I imagined Jack sitting alone. His head hung low. Hands clasped in front of him. Perhaps his senses were still dulled from the boozing he’d indulged in before paying a visit to Boyle at the Chr
onicle. But by now, he was surely remembering the repeated knock of Boyle’s jawbone against his knuckle. The blood and grit of the situation stirred an uncomfortable twinge in my chest. But not because I was judging Jack for what he’d done.

  I wanted to question whether I knew the real Jack. I wanted to say: well, how well can you expect to know someone you met two weeks ago? Did you really think you had his number? But what did time mean? I’d dated Mr Delaney for eighteen months before I married him, and still had no idea who he was until it was far too late. True, in concrete terms, I didn’t know much about Jack. I knew he was an actor from London and that he’d been married. That and little else. But at the same time, I got this odd feeling around him. I didn’t know anything so trivial as where he’d trained to be an actor or if he had a middle name but, somehow, I knew his soul.

  Alan settled Angela and Mona down in his office – which in truth wasn’t an office at all but a designated desk in an open plan set-up.

  ‘This way, Esther.’ Alan indicated with his hand, and I followed. The cells were in a long corridor that was hushed and shadowy. One or two others were locked up like animals at a zoo: a hulk of a man in a dark-blue suit peered from behind the bars as I walked by. Though dressed as a respectable businessman there was a black, shark-like quality to his eyes. In another cell, a woman was balled up in the corner. Her knees tucked under her chin. Her hair, dyed crimson, cascaded forward, obscuring her face.

  ‘Best to keep your eyes up front, I find,’ said Alan. He didn’t turn to see if I was looking into the cells but guessed I was. Maybe everyone who walked this strip did so with the same mixture of curiosity and fear. Gawking at the prisoners as would punters at a Victorian freak show.

  Jack’s cell was situated at the end of the row. He sat, in much the same way I’d imagined him, on a bench attached to the wall.

  ‘I’ll give you a minute,’ said Alan. His words roused Jack’s attention. He raised his head, staggered up to the bars. He leaned his hands on them, and looked me up and down. Now his eyes were on me I became conscious of my tangled, damp hair and, looking down, realised the rain had turned my white T-shirt see-through enough to show the outline of my bra. Maybe not the look best suited for walking down a corridor lined with known felons. Alan’s footsteps muted.

  ‘Esther,’ Jack said, his eyes propped wide open by an unspoken fear. He reached a hand through one of the bars and ran his fingers through my hair. Without a thought, I put both my hands around his and kissed the palm, holding it close to my face.

  ‘Jack. What did you do?’

  ‘I got drunk. And then I got angry. As you can see, both spectacular life choices.’

  ‘God, did you drink all the whiskey? I can still smell it,’ I said.

  At this he pushed his top lip over his bottom lip and lowered his head.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I added, ‘I can’t drink whiskey myself but I can just about stomach the smell.’

  ‘Shame you can’t stomach the taste…’ Jack didn’t smile but looked up at me again, deep into my eyes.

  ‘You cannot be serious?’ I said, staring at him. ‘You’re flirting with me? In this situation?’

  ‘Well…’ His eyes journeyed from mine down to my lips and back up again. ‘They have the death penalty over here. What if I don’t get another chance to flirt with you? That would be a shame, you know?’

  ‘The death penalty?’ I fought a grin but was losing the battle. ‘In New York State?’

  ‘It could happen.’ He shrugged. ‘You never know how many times you have left to see a person.’ At this comment, I took in a sharp breath and drew back just out of his reach.

  ‘Woah. Woah. Woah,’ Jack said. The colour drained from my face. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t close off. Please. What did I just say?’

  ‘I can’t.’ I looked into his eyes.

  ‘Esther.’ For once he wasn’t frowning. His expression was level and sober, which, considering his predicament, was a miracle. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Here?’ I glared at him. ‘You want me to talk here? Now? In this place? You get drunk – not for the first time in the few weeks I’ve known you I might add – and beat somebody up and you want me to talk to you?’

  ‘Well –’ he closed his eyes for a moment and sighed ‘– you’re right. I’m a mess right now. But this isn’t me I…’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Suppose all you see is a drunk. A violent drunk. And I guess that’s what anyone would see. It’s the easiest thing to see. But, Esther, look at me. I mean, by comparison whatever it is you’re holding back can’t be that terrible.’ My left eye twitched. I looked to the ground.

  You don’t know, Jack. And I don’t want you to.

  I realised then why I hadn’t judged him. I was guilty of so much worse.

  He held his hand out to me through the bars. ‘Esther, please. Come here.’

  I looked at him with uncertainty but stepped forward, and took his hand. ‘I wouldn’t judge you like that, as a violent drunk. Maybe I should but I don’t. But Jack, I –’ I shook my head.

  ‘Esther, I might flirt but if I thought for a second I was forcing you into… I just can’t work out what you want. Sometimes you seem to want me. And other times…’ He paused. ‘Maybe you’re better off without me, anyway.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ The words were out my mouth before I could stop them. Jack put a hand to my cheek and stroked my face. I closed my eyes, and sighed. Why did it feel so right? Why when he was, as he said, such a mess? I guess we both were.

  ‘Jack, I can’t…I can’t talk about…’

  ‘Alright. Alright. Why don’t I guess?’

  I pouted my lips to one side.

  ‘Are you… a lover on the lam?’ he asked.

  I looked away and shook my head.

  ‘Well, are you?’ he asked, pushing for an answer.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you…secretly a princess hiding her true identity?’ He reached his arms through the bars, stooped and encircled my waist as he spoke.

  ‘No.’ I wanted to smile but bit my lip instead.

  ‘Shame. Always thought I’d look good on a throne.’ He sighed. ‘Alright. I know. You’re the lovechild of Marilyn Monroe and JFK.’

  ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.’

  ‘Aha.’ Jack grinned. ‘That’s what people always say when something’s true.’

  I shook my head at him. ‘Next you’ll be asking if I’m Elvis.’

  ‘Alright –’ he raised his hands in surrender ‘– that’s all I’ve got. I think you might just have to tell me. Sorry.’

  My whole face dropped. I looked to my left, and scratched the back of my head, anything to delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, I looked back at him.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to tell anyone…’ His hands were back around my waist again. I pondered how much I was going to have to say to satisfy him. ‘The husband I told you about? We didn’t get divorced.’ Jack’s eyes widened at this and he opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. Instead he gave a firm nod to prompt whatever else I had to say.

  ‘He died, Jack. He died.’ Jack’s brow fell low and a look of understanding passed over his face. His arms clasped tighter around me.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, rubbing the top of my back in a slow, steady motion.

  ‘You see, that’s why I…’ Footsteps resonated down the corridor.

  I took a step backward and saw Alan heading in our direction. Someone followed just a few steps behind but it wasn’t until they were almost upon us that I could see who it was.

  Boyle’s blotchy, swollen face was a shock on a first viewing. One of his eyes was closed over. There were traces of blood around his nose. I covered my mouth with my hand and looked back at Jack, who, on seeing my reaction, lowered his head, casting his eyes down to the floor.

  ‘Mr Boyle,’ Alan began, ‘has had some time to think and is willing to make an agreement with Mr Faber, which
I strongly recommend he accepts.’ He looked long and hard at Jack who in turn looked at Boyle.

  ‘What agreement?’ Jack asked through gritted teeth.

  ‘Well, interesting to see you both together. The couple who apparently have nothing to do with each other,’ Boyle sneered.

  ‘Leave her out of this.’ Jack clenched his hands tighter around the bars. ‘Just say what you’ve come to say.’

  ‘Well, I should press charges –’ Boyle paused a moment to take in the sight of Jack locked up behind bars. The less-swollen part of his face jerked into a smile ‘– but I’m more interested in something else. So happens my bold reporting style has caught the eye of John Bletchley – he’s a producer over on Channel 72 – and a few weeks ago he offered me my own chat show. Given how well Jack’s film’s doing at the box office right now, I think he’d be a great subject for the first episode. So, I’ll drop the charges, and we can call those unwarranted punches you threw a freebie, if you agree to do a live television interview with me.’

  ‘That’s all?’ I asked. Somehow I was expecting something more dramatic.

  Boyle folded his arms. ‘Well, naturally, it won’t be just any old TV interview. I want free rein to ask you any question. No topics off limits.’

  ‘No deal,’ said Jack.

  ‘Jack…’ I looked at him, turning my back on Boyle. ‘What are you doing?’ I half-whispered. ‘He’s giving you a way out.’ Jack didn’t reply. ‘Just grant him the interview and it’ll be over.’

  ‘Now I am quite learned when it comes to the law from my days at the bar but I forget, Mr Montgomery, can you remind me what the maximum penalty is for unprovoked physical assault in New York State?’ Though Boyle addressed the question to Alan he kept his eyes on Jack.