by Brian Hodge
Even Fran could harsh my calm if she was having a bad day. She was a pretty good boss most of the time, but some days she just went a little nuts. Last time the health inspector came, she didn’t stop yelling the whole day. Everyone got in trouble for the stupidest little bits of rule breaking. It sucked. After the inspector left, Fran comped our meals and even let me eat three bacon cheeseburgers at lunch. It was the best lunch ever.
The best things about working in the diner (I mean, the café) were all the people I got to see. I didn’t have to talk to them, but I watched them come in, eat, and leave, all day long. Lots of good-looking women came in, and pretty young girls. There was a special girl who came in almost every day after school to split french fries with her girlfriends and drink pop. Fran called it soda, just to be clever, I think. She isn’t from here.
The girl was blonde and pretty and seemed really nice. I bet she was smart too; she was always carrying around a bunch of schoolbooks with her. The other girls, a too-skinny, brown-skinned girl and a fat one with frizzy hair, were invisible compared to my Angel. It’s probably stupid or silly to compare a girl with an angel, but she really was like an angel.
My Angel liked Coca Cola, sometimes with a shot of cherry. Girls who liked cherry were almost certainly virgins—the connection being obvious. My beautiful virgin Angel … she would be the one to love me. I could tell just by looking at her that she was nice and good and kind, just the kind of person who could grow to love a man like me. It would take a little time. If I were patient, it could totally work out. This would be real love. Forever love. Man, I could hardly wait to fuck her.
I watched my Angel every time she came in, planning the time when I would get her alone. I’d make her happier than school or her parents or friends or whatever else she had in her life.
Seemed like I’d have to learn her habits, really get to know her, if I was to have any chance of making her love me back. I’d had a lot of practice visiting women at home without them noticing me. Dami barely knew I still drove by her house every night. I stopped for a while, but every time I thought of her happy or doing it with another man—I just had to know what she was doing. I just had to. I was too sneaky to be detected. It’s a skill.
I asked Fran if I could leave early the next time my Angel came in. I’d been faking sick all day so I could look convincing, just in case. I went over to clean their table as soon as they walked in the door.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t think he’s that cute,” the brown-skinned girl said, giggling all silly how girls do.
“Jenna, that’s insane. Tell her, Ashe,” the fat one said to my Angel.
“Sorry, Jenna, you’re insane.” They all laughed uproariously at that. I joined them in their laughter, even though I didn’t quite get what they were talking about.
“Hi,” I said casually, wiping off their table.
“Can we get a large order of fries and three Cokes?” the fat one asked. “Ashley, do you want cherry in yours?”
“No,” my Angel said, in a voice that reminded me of when people sang in church. It was beautiful and echoing. I wanted to just stand there, remembering how her voice sounded so I could hear it in my head whenever I wanted to.
They all stopped talking while I was standing there trying to listen to them. I cleared my throat and went back into the kitchen, telling Fran their order as I passed. The old bag said I could go home, and to stop bothering the young customers. Every time I tried to talk to the women who came in there, Fran said I was bothering them. I don’t know what the fuck her problem was; no one ever complained. Well, just that one time.
I got in my car and drove around the block. As I passed the diner again, I saw that the girls were just getting their fries, and the fat one was reaching in first. She’d burn her pudgy little mouth if she wasn’t careful.
I pulled my car around the corner and waited for them to come out. I figured if I could follow them, I’d learn where my Angel lived, and then I could visit her whenever I wanted. And when I’d gotten to know her well enough, she could come on a date with me to the vacation house. You could scream bloody murder at that place and no one would hear you. Me and my lovely Angel; it was going to be a wonderful time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
(Fran)
The Darndest Thing
It was the darndest thing. I’d hired that Mike fellow almost six months ago. Have you ever heard of a person who can’t get the hang of being a busboy or a dishwasher in more than six whole months? All of us here at the café, why, we could hardly believe it. The numbskullery! Yesterday he actually mixed ammonia with bleach to “clean the floors better.” At least it was after we closed; we had to evacuate.
He was a nice enough boy, I’m telling you. He tried so hard that it was difficult to tell him when he’d screwed something up. But he’d broken so many dishes and cost so much money and time that eventually I had to say something. I didn’t really want to fire him, and tried hard to think of easier jobs to give him. He couldn’t cook, he couldn’t be around the customers, and he couldn’t wash dishes worth a damn.
“Hey there, Fran! How’s tricks?” Mike came in fifteen minutes late and hung his jacket on the hook by the back sink. I’ve never really cared for that phrase, how’s tricks, mainly because it reminds me of prostitutes. They’re the only ones who have tricks, aren’t they? Them and magicians. I really didn’t think Mike was comparing me to a magician when he asked me how my tricks were going. It was another one of those things that if it were someone else, I’d see the point of mentioning it. But for Mike it was just another in a long, long line of things that bothered me about him. I knew he didn’t mean to be so objectionable, but yuck!
“Hello, Mike, are you aware that you’re fifteen minutes late today?” He looked up at the clock and then to his watch, pretending the two weren’t in sync. I’d watched him set his own timepiece by the time clock only two days before. Either Mike had the worst watch in the world or Mike was being a terrible liar once again. As he stammered excuses, I almost regretted bringing it up. I couldn’t just let it go when I asked everyone else to make it here on time. He wasn’t officially simpleminded or anything; there was no reason to give him a break, except it was obvious that he always seemed a little off. He reminded me of someone; I couldn’t think who.
After a time I also guessed that Mike had serious issues with women. For one thing, women were all he ever talked about. If he had any male relatives or friends, he certainly never mentioned them to us at the café. Never shut up about how much he loved women. Last fellow I knew who talked that much about liking women was secretly homosexual.
When Mike talked about his former family, it was either how wonderful they were, or how terrible. Nothing in between. Some days this Dami woman was the greatest woman on heaven and earth. Wonderful cook, excellent mother, sexually available—a lot of the things he wanted to talk about were not really our business. Being restaurateurs, we all loved gossip even if it was a little creepy.
When Mike came to work hung over, he spoke of his ex-wife in the worst terms imaginable. I wouldn’t think of calling any woman, much less one I was married, to a “goddamn gook cunt” (which actually made no sense because Mike told us she was from Iran or India, something like that). She had one of those red dots on her head. Mike used racial slurs interchangeably, as if all minorities were equally offensive. Who knows, to him maybe they were.
I was cleaning up late one night when two uniformed policemen came into the shop. I was surprised, since it was obvious we were closed for the evening. It was no secret that we fed cops in uniform for free; most every café in town did that. After all, it never hurt to have the boys in blue sitting out where everyone could see them. Nobody would think of robbing a café popular with the police.
“Evening, ma’am,” they said in unison, one of them tipping his hat to me. So polite, these men.
“Hi,” I said back, almost adding we’re closed. But it seemed to me they weren’t here for dinner or p
ie.
I rolled my eyes when they showed me the picture of Mike. Didn’t surprise me one bit to see he’d become a lawbreaker.
“Is this man employed here?” It was an official question, I guess. I nodded and asked if they wanted to see his punch card, or proof of some kind. “No ma’am, your word is sufficient for now. We’d just like—”
“For now? What does that mean?” I had nothing to hide. I started wiping down the counters again, making sure they knew they were interrupting my work. I should have been home by now, or almost home at any rate. Mike was becoming far more trouble than he was worth.
“If you can just give us a minute of your time, we’re following up on a complaint.” So far only one cop had done all the talking, the older one. The younger, cuter one just stood there nodding and tipping his cop hat at me whenever I looked at him. He must have been at least as simple as Mike.
“A complaint from who? Who complained?” News of Mike’s shenanigans could get all over town if one of my customers complained. That’s all I needed. “What did he do?”
“That’s confidential,” the younger one piped in, as if he’d finally been asked a question he knew the answer to.
“We just need to know how to find him; we need to ask him a few questions,” the older cop said, giving his partner a shushing hand sign. “Ma’am, please just get us the address for this person. Otherwise you’ll be obstructing—”
“Okay, okay, geez. Hang on a minute. He’s in some kinda trouble, right? Is it over a woman?” That was the only thing that made sense, a woman … or maybe booze. Drunk driving or something.
“What makes you ask that?” the older officer said, as if I’d just stepped into some kind of trap. Seemed to me that if police came around asking questions, it had to be because someone was in trouble. And if it was Mike they wanted, it only held up to logic that it would be something to do with a woman. Unless maybe some cheeseburgers had gone missing …
“No reason.” I thought about when he’d left work today; it almost looked like he was going to follow those high school girls. I should have kept my eye on that. I should really have done a better job of keeping him away from the customers. He always wanted to talk to young girls; it wasn’t right.
The cops left with Mike’s address. For some reason, I was half tempted to call and warn him that the cops were coming. I didn’t, though. I knew somehow that I shouldn’t be taking sides. I didn’t have enough facts for that. Not then, anyway. Sometimes you just have to let these things play out on their own.
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Mikey)
Let’s All Go to the Lobby
Teal and Tammy Barnaby had a new movie out, one that was supposed to be full of summertime adventures. In these bleakest winter months after the holidays, I was sorely in need of some hot summer fun. They’d totally redone the food court at the big theatre in town. They had nachos and ice cream sundaes and my favorite, cheeseburgers. Maybe I could even make a new friend. Lots of people loved Teal and Tammy, and enjoyed chatting about their films in the lobby sometimes. It was a good place to meet people.
Mama had formed a new habit of dropping by my house when I least expected it. Not cool. A man needs his privacy, after all. More important was the fact that I couldn’t spend quality time with any girlfriends I might have brought home. It was almost as if she suspected me of something bad. Mama was always butting into my business.
I had some time to kill before the movie started, so I spent it following those girls from the diner all over the city. I didn’t think kids went out cruising the roads anymore, not with the high price of gas you hear everyone talking about these days. You’d think people wouldn’t be able to afford all that gasoline just to drive around doing nothing. But these girls drove by three dress shops, a shoe store, and someone’s house that made them giggle madly as they pulled in front of it.
Finally the ugly one got dropped off at home, then the fat one dropped off my Angel in front of a big apartment building on Maple and Fifth. It was one of those expensive places; I could never afford to live there. My Angel was from a wealthy family. Rich girls didn’t often go for guys like me, who bussed tables and drove shitty cars. I circled the building a few times to see what I could see. She might have been walking in front of a window, or taking a shower or anything at all. Instead of doing girly, naked things, she came outside later to walk a tiny dog. So cute. I was just getting … um … warmed up when she went back inside. Convinced I’d seen all there was, I went home and changed clothes so I could go to the movies.
My house still smelled like the filthy sin of that heathen hooker, and I started to wish I’d never brought her here. Between the lingering odors and what visitors might say, it made no sense to bring any girls here at all.
I put on some nice jeans and a blue button-down shirt. Mama said I looked dapper and sharp in this shirt. She didn’t call too many things “sharp,” since Mama considered that to be almost too hip for her. Most days I had to settle for looking dapper. I put on some cologne, being extra careful not to use too much. If TV’s taught me anything, it’s that ladies don’t like it when you wear too much cologne. I think it makes them think I haven’t had a bath and I’m just covering it up with Aqua Velva. That’s gross and I haven’t done it in years.
There was lots to see as I arrived at the big theatre and started looking around. A group of teens in the parking lot was passing a joint around in a circle, thinking they were doing a swell job of hiding it. There were three boys and two girls, too many for me to go over and say hello. Girls never wanted to talk to me when they were with their friends. Like I wasn’t cool enough or something. I did a lot better meeting girls when they were alone, and a bit younger than these. Once they’re in that smartass, think-they-know-everything stage, they’re pretty much useless. I’d say thirteen to fifteen is the best age. Beautiful.
There were lots of hot, young single-mom types dragging a kid or two with them. You certainly don’t want to be flirting with a lady who has kids. That’s just wrong. Besides, some of them have husbands who’ll pop out of nowhere and beat the ever-loving shit out of you for talking to their wives. Besides, once a woman has kids she’s pretty much ruined. Dami looked okay for a woman with kids, but not as good as she’d have looked without them.
I caught sight of my reflection in the big glass doorway, walking into the theatre. I did look pretty sharp, even if I could stand to lose a few pounds. If I weren’t so husky, chicks might relax a little more around me. Okay, if I wanted to lose a few pounds, I’d have to give up something. I looked around the place and remembered the new hamburger stand. That’s it! After I left the theatre, I was going to give up cheeseburgers until I was thin enough not to intimidate girls.
A lady walked out of the theatre, holding hands with a delightful-looking girl of about four. Far too young for me, of course, but the mom was pretty hot. She was asking if her daughter liked the movie, and if she wanted to be like Teal and Tammy when she grew up.
“Teal and Tammy went to Paris!” the girl exclaimed loudly, giggling, and running to keep step with her long-legged mother. It was actually in their last film that they went to Paris, not the new one. That made me laugh, and the woman turned her head sharply to glare at me.
“That’s very cute,” I said, as if I didn’t notice what a bitch she’d turned into all of a sudden. “Your daughter, I mean.”
“Thank you.” She said it like she was punching me in the face. She scooped up her cute little child and practically ran to her paneled minivan. Some people just couldn’t take a simple compliment. What was wrong with the world these days?
I spotted her in the theatre as I was walking in with a pair of cheeseburgers and a soda roughly large enough for a dinosaur. I was full of anticipation when I saw a young blonde girl, strikingly similar to my Angel from the diner. She looked like she’d be nice to spend time with.
“Good afternoon, miss,” I said with my most disarming smile. The girl looked from the chees
eburgers to me, and I think she might have been hungry. It could be just that easy to make new friends sometimes.
“Are you here with your daughter?” she asked.
“No, are you?” She giggled at that; it was obvious she liked me. It was always so much fun when they liked me.
“I’m here to see Teal and Tammy; I love them.”
“Me too; wanna sit together?” She hesitated for a just a second, and I put on a disappointed face.
“Oh, are you meeting your boyfriend?” I looked shyly at the ground, waiting for her to confirm there was no such boyfriend. She shook her pretty head and followed me into the dark.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
(Our Narrator)
Poker is for Men
I was always good at poker, which is a man’s game that women still insist on playing from time to time. Only men are good at poker; women just don’t have what it takes. I don’t mean that in a sexist way, but it’s true. A poker face is the ultimate exercise in bullshit, and nobody lays out the bullshit like a man. Women can’t help letting you know when something good happens, or something bad. A good hand will always warrant the tiniest of smiles on the face of a woman, while a bad hand results in furrowed brows and downturned lips, even if the effect is ever so slight. Women are programmed to be honest, and that’s why they’re no damn good at poker.
Women still play poker, though; even my wife enjoys it. I’ll never understand why. At first I thought she just wanted to join me in doing something I love, marital compromise or something. Maybe some women play to prove they can do anything a man can do. I hope that’s not it, because like I was saying, they can’t.
