Pops' Diner, an Anthology [A Pops' Girls Anthology]
Page 1
* * *
Moonlit Romance
www.moonlitromance.com
Copyright ©
* * *
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
* * *
Pops’ Diner
Anthology
a collection of novellas
by
Laura Hamby,
Shara Jones,
and
Meg Allison
Moonlit Romance
Rich, Arkansas
Pops’ Diner an Anthology
Time After Time 2006 Laura Hamby
The Long Way Home 2006 Shara Jones
Accidentally in Love 2006 Meg Allison
The stories contained in this anthology are purely fictitious. Any similarity between actual people or events is coincidental.
Moonlit Romance
P.O. Box 893
Brinkley, Arkansas 72021
Time After Time
by
Laura Hamby
March 25, 1944: Dearest Sissy Irene, the countryside is lovely. We aren't allowed to go to ... but I suppose if I wish, I could travel ... after the war is over. The latest bloodbath at ... met a nice young man, who will be here recovering from his injuries for about a month. His name is Marv Peters, and he's a Major in the Army ... All my love, Sissy R...
CHAPTER ONE
Irene Albright folded the letter along the original creases. The fact that a good portion of the letter had been blacked out did nothing to ease her mind about her sister, Rose. The entire town of Glen Meadow, Iowa, was understandably proud of Sissy Rose for her dedication to the war effort, putting her nursing degree to good use as an Army nurse. It would be nice to know just where in England she was, or if she actually was in England, as everyone in town suspected.
Gee, it would be lovely to throw caution to the wind, like Sissy Rose had. But Irene realized her parents couldn't take the strain of another rebellious daughter, so she bided her time. It would be her turn to spread her wings soon enough. She could live vicariously through her sister—with a touch of envy and awe.
"Say hello to Sissy Rose for us in your next letter, would you?"
Irene placed the letter carefully into the air mail envelope before she gave Pops her undivided attention. She smiled primly at the youngster who peered around the man.
Seven-year-old Raymond Brewster was Pops’ grandson. Irene felt sorry for the boy, who'd been dumped with his grandparents by his neglectful mother. Little Raymond's father had been killed in France last year. The boy's mother had scooted off with a smarmy traveling salesman before the memorial service.
"I will, Pops.” Irene still felt a tad bit silly addressing Mr. Brewster as “Pops,” even though it had been some fifteen years since he'd inherited the diner from his father, the original “Pops.” One day, he'd simply been “Mr. Brewster,” the next, “Pops.” The name of the establishment was as inheritable as the restaurant itself. “Sissy mentioned that she misses your coffee. She said that Army coffee tastes like it was brewed in a stinky old boot. Hello, Raymond."
The child grinned a gap-toothed smile at her. Despite his situation, the boy remained happy and cheerful. “Hello, Sissy Irene.” He wandered over to the window. Irene noticed his head followed the progress of that snooty Mrs. Miller and her five-year-old daughter, Joanie.
"Are you planning to audition for the Bob Hobart Orchestra?” Pops refilled her coffee cup.
"Perhaps.” A strange mixture of hope and dread filled Irene with the notion that an opportunity to fulfill a long-time dream loomed just around the bend. Rotten timing, however. Still, Irene couldn't stop thinking about auditioning, even if she'd never do it. “Have you heard from little Ray's mother?"
The old man shook his head. “Not a word."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Pops’ melancholy smile didn't reach his eyes. “We manage. It's been a blessing for Mother and I to have Little Ray with us. He's a brilliant sunbeam, that boy. His grandmother dotes on him."
Irene stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her still steaming coffee. “He is a joy."
"You think about auditioning, Sissy Irene,” Pops urged as he moved to wipe a nearby table.
Irene finished her coffee, and left exact change for her coffee, along with twenty-cent tip. She secured the ends of her scarf inside her coat. Outside, the temperature was warm enough for the snow and ice to begin melting, but not warm enough to be incautious about proper winter wear. She suppressed a giggle. Wouldn't the entire community of Glen Meadow be shocked to know just what sort of underthings Irene's sensible outer wear covered? Her quiet little rebellion against the unbending strictures of her upbringing.
Only a few cars were out this morning, even though it was getting on to noon. Irene decided the weather encouraged people to keep their cars at home for she encountered several people afoot as she set a brisk pace for Flannagan's, the new market in town. Rumor had it that Mr. Seamus Flannagan intended to build a larger store behind the existing one.
Irene wasn't sure she approved of the Irishman or his plans to construct a larger store when what he used adequately filled his needs. She also disapproved that Mr. Flannagan's wife worked the store. Mrs. Flannagan had just given birth to her first child, a boy they'd named Mickey. What sort of name was “Mickey"? Certainly not a proper name, but to each his own. She'd checked the new baby's ears, on the sly, to make sure he didn't resemble a certain cartoon mouse.
Several parked cars in front of the churches just across the town square caught Irene's attention as she rounded the corner. Unusual for a Tuesday. She slowed her steps as she neared the church.
"Good morning, Miss."
Irene nodded at the stranger as she passed him, unwilling to talk to a man she didn't know. But she did do something uncustomary for her. She turned to look at the man who stood bundled against the cold on the sidewalk behind her. Two young men approached the stranger, musical instrument cases in hand.
So, the stranger was with the Bob Hobart Orchestra.
Irene's heart went thud-dud, and not entirely because she wanted more than anything to sing with an orchestra. No. The stranger had taken a few steps in her direction, his step firm with purpose. Irene wanted to run away, but her feet refused to obey the command to flee.
"I'm Bob Hobart,” the stranger said when he reached her. “The boys told me you're Irene Albright. My scout was here a few weeks ago. Heard you sing in church. Our regular singer decided she'd rather be a wife, so she's left the orchestra."
"I.... ummm...” Irene was at an uncharacteristic loss for words, and for a moment, she looked anywhere other than at Mr. Hobart. Finally, good manners won out, and she made eye contact with him. His hazel eyes twinkled with good humor. Irene wondered if perhaps Mr. Hobart understood her reticence.
"I sing in church, yes.” That sounded like a safe thing to say. Well-bred young ladies such as herself didn't sing with orchestras. Her parents wouldn't allow it to happen. It was all well and fine for her to sing hymns on Sunday with the church choir, and certainly a privilege to be allowed the occasional solo as long as the honor didn't go to her head. But to sing with an orchestra? To travel with strange men and women? Unthinkable. Out of the question.
But Sissy Rose went off to war! Singing with an orchestra isn't
that much different, if you look at it purely as something unconventional to go off and do. Irene dismissed the mutinous voice in her head. Twaddle, plain and simple.
And she wanted to do it so much, twaddle or not.
"Would you mind giving us an informal audition? We're rather stuck without our singer. She was a significant portion of the performance.” Mr. Hobart thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his tan great coat.
What could it hurt? Her heart pounded so hard, Irene believed it was only a matter of time before it came up her throat.
"We're just a small orchestra, Miss Albright. We play in churches and community centers for the most part,” Mr. Hobart explained. “We try to visit small towns, as the Big Bands tend to head for the larger towns and cities."
Irene nodded. She remembered two years ago, when Glen Miller had played in Des Moines. A mere two-hour drive, yet her parents refused to allow her to go. She'd been heartbroken. She had to be a grown-up sooner or later. The longer Irene let her parents treat her like a child, rather than a twenty-three year old woman, the likelihood of ever breaking the apron strings grew more remote.
"Very well, but I don't have a lot of time right now."
Mr. Hobart's smile of relief lit up his narrow face. Irene fancied that he looked rather like Gary Cooper. To her mother's unending disapproval, Irene had gone to see For Whom The Bell Tolls every night it had played in the tiny Glen Meadow theater last year. She'd fallen in love with Gary Cooper's portrayal of Hemingway's hero, Robert Jordan.
"You'll do it? Marvelous."
Once inside the church, Mr. Hobart took off his coat and laid it over the back of a pew. Irene unraveled her scarf, stuffed her gloves into her pockets, and draped her coat over the long bench-like seat. No part of her coat touched the floor—nice and tidy.
"We arrived late last night. Most of the guys are still getting settled. This is Frank Lacey, our conductor. Frank, this is Miss Albright."
Mr. Lacey peered over his round spectacles at her, his lips pursed thin. “She doesn't have the proper facial structure to be a singer."
"How do you do?” Irene replied. She ignored Mr. Lacey's rudeness. He glared at her and shoved several sheets of music into her hand.
"Pick two. Bob will play the piano to accompany you.” Mr. Lacey took Mr. Hobart by the arm and dragged him away.
Irene bent her head over the choices she'd been given, and she endeavored not to listen to the whispered conversation. She couldn't help hearing some of the furious words the men exchanged, and her cheeks burned hot when Mr. Lacey hissed that “they were not so desperate for a singer they'd take the first doll off the street."
"Excuse me, I've picked my pieces. If you don't mind, I still have several errands to accomplish within the hour.” There. She hoped she sounded very prim about her busy-ness.
Mr. Lacey shot her a look that may as well have been a shout that he doubted very much she was as busy as she claimed.
Her chin went up a notch. She could be just as haughty as this colorless little man if it necessary. Irene shook the musical scores at the men, just enough to make the paper rattle softly.
Mr. Hobart took them from her. Another wide smile brightened his face. She'd chosen Chattanooga Choo Choo and Time After Time. The different tempos of these songs would give her the opportunity to prove to Mr. Lacey whether or not she had the proper facial structure, she could still sing these songs with little effort. She took a steadying breath as she waited for her cue while the introduction was played. At the appropriate moment, she opened her mouth, and sang with everything in her heart and soul.
Irene held the final note longer than Mr. Hobart maintained the last chord of Chattanooga. She opened her eyes when she heard applause. Mr. Hobart was nothing if not enthusiastic in his approval. Mr. Lacey, on the other hand, looked like he'd just sucked the juice of the sourest lemon ever plucked from a tree.
"We have a Friday evening performance, with two matinees on Saturday, followed by another evening show. That's four in all. We'd be most happy to have you join us. We'll pay you to sing at all our performances."
"Bob,” Mr. Lacey said.
"Frank, it's my orchestra,” Mr. Hobart cautioned.
Irene hurried down the aisle to where she'd left her coat. Time to go. Obviously, the men needed to have a discussion. She didn't wish to make Mr. Lacey dislike her any more than he already did by bearing witness to what looked to be the boss scolding a wayward employee.
"Friday, Miss Albright? Doors open at seven-thirty, show starts at eight. First rehearsal here tomorrow afternoon, at one o'clock."
Irene tucked the ends of her scarf into her coat. “I'll be there.” She pushed the door open and let it close as the men's voices rose again in their argument over her. Imagine, two men arguing about her. She indulged in a fanciful romantic day dream for a few moments before reality set in with a cold harshness.
What had she done? Uncertainty over her decision now manifested itself, and Irene wondered how to break the news to her parents. At times like these, she really did miss Sissy Rose. Older by a little over two years, Sissy Rose was the bravest person Irene knew. She adored her Sissy unashamedly, and often wished she could be just like her.
"Good morning, Sissy Irene. Nice that the snow's melting after our unexpected April blizzard."
"Good morning to you, too, Mr. Stutts. It's a relief. Mother and Father won't venture out of the house if the conditions aren't right.” The elder Albrights were very cautious in nature, and much of their caution had been transferred to Irene. It skipped Rose altogether, for Rose was a go-getter. Again, Irene wished she could be more like her sister. She was certain Sissy would encourage her to sing with the orchestra. That made her feel a bit better about her decision.
Flannagan's Market was busier than Irene had ever seen. Perhaps everyone else had run out of the necessities during the blizzard as well. Irene's heart sank when she saw the empty bread shelf. Her parents liked only one kind of pre-made bread, and it was gone.
"Sissy Irene, I saved a loaf for you."
Irene turned when Mrs. Flannagan addressed her, surprised at what the woman had done. “You did?"
"I saw you walking around the town square, and tucked the last loaf under the front counter for you.” Mrs. Flannagan's blue eyes twinkled with merriment. “I thought perhaps when I saw you go into the church that you were auditioning to sing with the orchestra?"
A fine example of small town living, Irene thought. Everyone knew every one else's beeswax. But then Irene focused on Mrs. Flannagan's tone. Did she detect pride there?
"You have such a lovely voice, it would be a true shame if you didn't share your talent. It's a God-given gift you have, lass."
"Thank you.” Irene felt humbled as nearby shoppers crowded around her to congratulate her on taking the step of auditioning, and when someone asked when she'd find out if she'd be singing, Irene answered, “I'll be singing at all the performances."
"I wonder when tickets will go on sale?"
"Wilbur won't be able to refuse to put his Sunday best on for this now!"
"This is exciting! More so than when Buffalo Bill came through with his Wild West show.” An elderly voice joined the excited shouts.
"That was almost sixty years ago,” someone else protested.
Miss Millbain smiled serenely as everyone stopped effusing over Irene to gape at her. She inclined her well-coiffed, silver head as all the wrinkles on her face smiled. At ninety-five years, she was the last surviving daughter of the much beloved founder of Glen Meadow, Edwin C. Millbain.
"It was fifty-eight years ago, and was quite the treat. I went with my brother and his children. Pa went too, as I recall. Sissy Irene Albright, take it from one who knows. Store up all the special events of your life, and don't just sit around expecting wonderful things to happen to you—you must seize the bull by the horns and make your destiny. You'll have so many treasures in your golden years to look back upon if you remember to live in the here and now."
>
With that, the crowd parted as Miss Millbain made her way to the counter to purchase the few items she held cradled in her arms.
Buoyed by Miss Millbain's advice, Irene felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. She could do this. Her parents could approve or not, but she was the one who would have to live with the disappointment the rest of her life if she let them talk her out of this opportunity. She paid for her groceries and headed for home. Irene knew exactly how to handle her parents now, and her excitement grew with each and every bouncing step she took on the way home.
Dear Sissy Rose, It sounds very frightening. Couldn't read most of your letter for all the black lines. Mother and Father send their regards. I did it. I auditioned to fill in for the singer for an orchestra. Oh, Sissy, I'm so sick to my stomach, I can barely eat. I'm excited and scared to death, all at the same time. The parents aren't happy with me, and that's making me think twice about this decision. What do you think? Be safe. I love you, Sissy I.
CHAPTER TWO
Irene hovered in the vestibule. She heard the sounds of men's voices coming from the sanctuary. Cigarette smoke, visible on the air, made her wrinkle her nose. Father smoked a pipe, but it smelled much better than cigarette smoke. She took a deep breath and regretted doing so immediately.
"I'll check out front to see if she's coming."
Irene coughed into her hand just as Mr. Hobart strolled into the vestibule.
"You are here! Good."
She coughed again. Mr. Hobart's relieved expression became one of alarmed concern. “You aren't getting sick, are you?"
"It's the cigarette smoke. If I could just get a glass of water, I'll be fine.” Irene hoped she hadn't turned as green as she felt. Imagine, walking around with a broccoli colored face!
"We'll get you some water straight away. I'll have Frank get the orchestra warmed up while you clear your throat.” Mr. Hobart gestured for her to precede him into the sanctuary. Irene almost came to a complete halt when she saw the transformation.