“’She don’t love you. She’s screwing every rich Chicago businessman that comes into town, hoping to get one so wrapped up in her cunt that he’ll drag her away from this shit hole. And you’re too fucking stupid to realize it.
“’’Oh, my beautiful wife.’ You can say it again and again. But it’s just a fucking joke. And those kids. That boy’s so pretty; he has to be a fag. And your little Francie. She ain’t so little anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. If she ain’t pregnant, I ain’t a Finn.
“’And you come in here, night after night, wanting us to say how wonderful your life is. It’s wonderful, Jack, just wonderful. Sure wish it was mine. Like hell, I do.
“’Give me another beer, Sam. I ain’t drunk enough.’
“Jack was horror-stricken. He just stood there, his eyes moving from face to face, trying to get someone, anyone, to look him into the eye and say, ‘It ain’t so.’
“In his heart, he must have known it was all true, long before Emil ever uttered a word. But everyone in that bar that night knew Jack would never have faced it. That baby could have been born at the kitchen table and he would have thought it a miracle. A miracle given especially to him by God.
“He stood there for a moment. The only sound in the bar was the jukebox. His eyes began to well, his face getting red, then pale white, the tears beginning to stream.
“Emil never knows when to stop, so he kept on talking. ‘Your pipes certainly are flowing. But you need a plumber to clean out the pipe to your brain. It’s clogged with fuckin’ stupidity.’
“Emil didn’t get to say anything more. Jack turned and walked out of the bar. What happened next no one really knows for sure. He went back to the house on the lake, that much we know for sure. An hour or so later the town siren is blaring. Sam at the bar rushes out because he was one of the volunteer ambulance drivers.
“The call came from the Manny place. Amanda made the call. Sam walked into the kitchen. There was a lye-vomit-like odor everywhere. Jack was on the floor, curled up like a baby, jerking here and there, moaning piteously, kicking an empty can of Drano now and then by him in his throes of agony. The caustic chemicals were eating through his esophagus and stomach.
“Amanda, Francie and Johnny hovered like three angels looking down on Jack. Each was in pale silken pajamas Sam said, as though angels awakened to take Jack on his way. They just watched, huddled together, but with the light of the kitchen on their white silk and golden hair, they seemed of another world.
“The ambulance crew rushed Jack to the airport in Ashland and flew him straight to a hospital in Milwaukee. Jack never did do anything right. Not even suicide. They saved him, if you call it saving. The pain made him go crazy, and his insides were all eaten up. No way could he ever eat again or lead a normal life. He’s still there in a hospital bed in Milwaukee, fed through tubes, watched over by nurses day and night. And maybe he’s happy, never alone, never unattended.” Mr. Packer stared into his coffee, letting the steam rise up into his nostrils.
Cynthia was sitting at the counter, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not like that man. I just wanted to work here because I like you. I’m not like any of those people.”
I walked over to her. I didn’t care whether she was right for the job or not, whether her father Red would protest, whether I could even afford another worker. I felt sorry for this girl, and I made a decision. “You have a job. You can start right now. The Loon Town Café needs you.” I glared at my dining trio to see if any one of them would dare to suggest otherwise. Only Mr. Packer even seemed to have noticed I had just hired a new waitress.
Danny came on board a few days later, and I think I would have suffered another of the town’s stories. But somehow Danny’s mere presence kept it from being told. To this day, I don’t know whether it was to protect Danny, to avoid their own embarrassment, or simply the ease with which they could be distracted.
It was about time for my lunch crowd to appear, god willing, even though the breakfast crowd wasn’t completely gone. Claire was still drinking her tea. Cynthia, already into her waitress mode, was pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Bromley. Thelma and her second cousin Gerta were in the back.
Van Elkind had decided to grace my cafe again for lunch, but this time he was walking through the door with a teenager in tow. The kid was almost as tall as his father but skinnier and sneerier. Apparently, all the Van Elkind money wasn’t enough to give the kid a good haircut or a clear complexion.
“Wally, come over here,” said Van Elkind, “and meet my son Kipbert.”
“Kip, Dad,” the boy said with a sullen air.
“Kip. Kipbert, it’s all the same”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll call you Hank.”
“Children, so annoying,” Van Elkind said. “Mr. Walter Pearson, allow me to introduce you to my son, Kip Van Elkind. Happy now, Kipbert?”
Kip ignored his father. He had spied Cynthia. He signaled to her to bring two coffees. I expected Cynthia to smile in return, as she did with everyone. Instead, she pretended not to notice.
“Wally, I brought my boy along today. He needs to get to know the town. His mother and I want him out of Chicago and away from some shitty influences. So he’s staying with his grandmother at our compound. Maybe if it works out, we’ll have him stay longer and keep his grandmother company at the camp, because she’s decided she won’t come back to live with us in Chicago.”
Kip jumped in. “Hank, there’s no way I’m staying in this shit hole. You hate it yourself. So don’t go bullshitting me into thinking it would be great thing. Just because you and Mom convinced that judge . . .”
“Yes, well, Wally is not interested in all of that. But, Wally, you may be interested in a small business proposition.” I had guided them to an empty table, and Van Elkind motioned me to sit. With Cynthia now on staff, I thought, “why not?” I noticed Kip was back to ogling my new waitress. She was continuing to ignore us.
“What do have in mind? Buy the town together?” I joked.
He seemed quite startled. “Don’t be ridiculous. My wife Rita is flying up on Friday to spend a few weeks with the old warhorse, you know her mother, Regina. Rita thinks we should throw a party for her Chicago friends she’s bringing along, as well as the few people we like in Thread.”
Dinner at the Van Elkind camp. Now that could be fun, a bit like my old entertaining days in Manhattan. I heard that Regina Rabinowicz had the real money, not Hank or Rita.
“Rita is very fussy about such things, with the very best of taste. Of course, she’d love to make everything for this party herself, but she simply will not have the time. As I am sure you can imagine. So I told her about your restaurant and how it is the one decent place in town. To make a long story short, we want you to cater our party. So much more sensible than flying in caterers from Chicago, and so much more authentic too, don’t you think?”
Kip muttered, “Cheaper, too.”
My entrance to the jet set of Thread had been so quickly trashed by Kip. ”Henry, didn’t you tell me once that Thread was a rat hole? Why would you care if the dinner was authentic?” I already knew he was the kind of person who would care if it were cheaper.
Van Elkind didn’t answer. He was intently watching somebody across the street. His son noticed his father’s intense concentration and strained to see who was being watched. Chip Frozen Bear was walking into the hardware store on the opposite side of the Square. At his side was a beautiful woman with the same striking features as Chip. Long luxurious black hair flowed down her back. It must have been Frozen Bear’s sister.
“That damn Lattigo,” muttered Van Elkind.
Kip smiled at his father, “Yeah, but can you introduce me to the woman?”
“Stay away from that girl. And stay way from her brother. They’re trouble for us. Don’t get within one hundred feet of them. Do you hear me?” Van Elkind snarled to his son.
He turned back to me with a practiced smile, “So, you interested in the job? It’s a small
dinner party, twenty-four people. We are happy to throw ourselves into your capable hands. Serve anything you want, as long as it is not beef. Rita can not abide beef.”
“Sure, I’ll do it. Say, thirty dollars a head.” That seemed an outrageous price that would be well worth it, if he accepted, which I hoped he wouldn’t.
Van Elkind turned to Kip. “See, son, cheaper than Chicago. And it will drive your mother crazy.”
Back to me. “A deal. Call me when you work out the menu, just to make sure we agree.”
I walked by the bar and whispered under my breath, “Why do I dislike that man so much?” Mr. Packer with his keen hearing overheard. “You don’t want to know. You surely don’t.”
That same day, and only minutes later, Danny walked in. I was about to add another employee. I remember that at that moment Claire was once again repeating her never-ending, daylong quest. “I’ll have wild strawberry jam with that toast.”
“I’m sorry, Claire,” I replied, “but we have no wild strawberry jam today, like every other day.”
“But I need it. My little men tell me to get closer to nature. It is very important to them. It’s why they make me eat at this cafe, because they know you feel the same way.” She nodded her head sagely. “Just bring more hot water. I've nearly drunk this pot of tea. I don’t know why I’m so thirsty every morning. I’m like a duck out of water with no nest.”
“Perhaps it’s because you were down at the lake with Reverend Willy last night,” said Mr. Packer. Claire’s flush spread from her fleshy neck up into her worn and wrinkled face. Thelma who was working with me on the day’s menu gave a hoot.
“Such an idea, Mr. Packer. If you weren’t so old, I would . . .” She stopped in mid sentence and looked at the door. She closed her mouth and took on her prim demeanor, normally reserved only for out-of-town and elderly tourists. I turned to see who was so honored. It was a young man, no more than sixteen or seventeen, with the faintest of blonde fuzz on his cheeks and upper lip. Tall, at least six feet two, but uneasy at standing above the rest. He scanned the room tentatively, as though he wasn’t certain what he was looking for, and even if he did, he wanted no one to know he was looking. Of course, it was Danny Lahti.
“Now, Mr. Packer,” whispered Claire intensely, “No more talk of the Reverend Willy while Danny’s here.”
“Are you Mr. Pearson?” Only I seemed to sense his unhappiness. In fact, it was as though the others perked up.
“Danny, what’s that handsome father of yours up to these days?” asked my cook Thelma. She turned to me, with her usual infectious laugh, “His father Toivo is quite a looker. A widower you know. A bit rough on the edges, but I like my men that way. A good man, your father, ain’t he, Danny?”
“I guess so,” he replied too politely. “Mr. Pearson, I wondered if maybe you had a job of some kind. I kinda am looking for something to do this summer. To make some money you know for when I go to college next year. I mean after my senior year. When I graduate. I’ve worked in restaurants before. Well anyway, I was just wondering,” he wandered to a quiet stop.
Cynthia came bounding out of the kitchen, heading toward the table where Henry Van Elkind was eating. “Here’s that fresh cup of coffee, Mr. Van Elkind,” she said. Then she noticed Danny and she finally smiled, even allowing it to fall over Kip. “It’s great coffee, Mr. Van Elkind. I just made a fresh pot, and it’s that special blend that Mr. Pearson’s bought. Really rich. You’ll like it.” All the while she talked, she never took her eyes off of Danny. And he never noticed that she was watching.
Everyone else noticed. I glanced about and saw that Mr. Packer, Van Elkind, Claire, Thelma and even Hank were watching Cynthia gaze at Danny. Unlike his unhappiness, in Cynthia there seemed a totally unfettered innocence and joy. Then she blushed. No explanation. The silence was awkward.
“So Claire,” began Henry, “what were you saying about the Reverend Willy?”
Cynthia gasped. Danny looked stricken. Mr. Packer hemmed. Kip snickered. Claire pulled herself up straight. “There’s nothing for me to say about the Reverend Willy. He’s not my type of man.”
“Who’s this Reverend Willy?” I asked.
“So you have any work?” Danny broke in rapidly.
“Oh, he needs a busboy . . . and a dishwasher,” jumped in Cynthia. “You do, Mr. Pearson. You know that you do. Gerta’s too flakey. Hire Danny.”
“I want to know who this Reverend Willy is,” I said. The town may be too in love with its stories, but they weren’t about to leave me in the dark.
“No you don’t,” Claire pronounced. “If you don’t already know, you don’t need to know. Enough said about that.”
Cynthia rushed to take over. “Danny, come with me into the kitchen and I’ll show you the dishwasher. It would be real easy for you to work it. And once you see it, I know that you’ll be able to convince Mr. Pearson to give you a job, because he really does need another person here. Even if it isn’t that busy right now.” Cynthia walked to the kitchen with an imploring look cast back towards Danny, seeking his acceptance of her offer. He followed, with a glowering look back aimed at Thelma but encompassing us all.
“So who is this Reverend Willy?” I whispered.
“Well, we don’t need to talk about that,” Thelma said. “With that Van Elkind job you just took, we could use another person in the cafe. Why don’t you hire the boy?”
“Shhh!” hissed Claire. Her wrinkled face floated up and down in waves of frantic control. “They’re coming back out.”
“Mr. Pearson, Cynthia showed me the equipment in the kitchen. It’s just like the dishwasher I used at the resort last summer. I really want a job in town. To do something. Something to get me out of the house. What do you say?”
“Okay,” I gave in. Cynthia let out a whoop. “Start tonight. And Cynthia, I don’t want you mooning all over this boy when he’s here.”
“Mr. Pearson,” she drew herself up into a straight line that pierced the air. “Danny and I are just friends. You have nothing to worry about.”
Danny didn’t even hear Cynthia. A big smile transfixed his face, causing his tension and unhappiness to simply vanish. “I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Pearson. You won’t regret it.”
I waved him off. “See you then.”
Another expense added to my accounts. Van Elkind looked over, with a condescending smile on his face. Claire had become engrossed in the careful placement of her domestic strawberry jam to ensure its exact boundaries and knifed-out thickness on her muffin. Thelma muttered something about needing to begin work on the specials for tonight’s menu, because it took a long time for the stock to cook and that was the secret of the sauce. Cynthia was sunnily strolling with her coffee pot back to Van Elkind’s table. Kip gave her a leering smile, and she quickly retreated.
“Thanks, Mr. Pearson,” said Cynthia as she sidled up to sit beside me and pulled me out of my reverie. “Danny really needs that job. You won’t be sorry.”
“Things are tough for him, huh?”
“It’s not like that. It’s his father who never really has any time for him. We all like Danny at school, but he never seems to notice us. Always seems lost in himself. I don’t mean he’s stuck up or anything like that. I don’t know what I mean. I just like him and I feel sorry for him.” She pulled out a cloth from her dress pocket and began to rub the bar counter down with ferocity. “I better go pick up the order for table four,” she said and rushed back into the kitchen.
Thelma came out of the kitchen. “What did you say to that girl? She’s in there with tears streaming down her face.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Danny,” I said. My new waitress did seem to have quickly changeable moods.
“Poor thing.” I didn’t know if Thelma meant Danny or Cynthia at first. “That girl’s got a heart of gold, but ain’t got no common sense. Such a crush on that boy and he don’t pay her no never mind. Danny’s not a romantic like his father. Not at all.”
“Oh, his fat
her’s a lovely man,” piped in Claire.
“I used to think so, but not since Lempi’s died. Toivo Lahti’s a different man now that they moved into town from that little farm they had over to Deep Lake. He just mopes.”
“Who is Lempi?” I asked.
“His wife,” Thelma said. “They’re both first-generation Finns you know. Carry that dour streak all the Finns have. Never did know how to show emotion. Won’t hug you or kiss for love of money. It’s no wonder that half of them turn into drunks during the winter.
“But Danny’s father Toivo never was that way. His emotions are out there for all to see. Was a romantic even as a boy. I’ll always remember how he used to come over to our house when my ma was making doughnuts. I probably was in middle school then. He was about to go into first grade. My ma made the best doughnuts. I think I learned everything I know about cooking from her. I wish I was half the baker she was.”
Claire looked at me and wagged a finger. “And Thelma’s mother could make the best wild strawberry jam. It was delicious. And her white bread had the finest crust I’ve ever had. It’s the crust that makes the difference in homemade bread. Thelma’s pretty good as a baker, but I’m afraid her white bread just doesn’t have the crust. That’s why I always get an English muffin. Maybe if you had wild strawberry jam, I’d feel a little bit different about the bread. Oh, Thelma, I do miss your mother.”
A brisk wind was picking up from the mid-morning sun and causing little dust eddies in the Square. I thought about going back into the kitchen to begin work on a new recipe I was going to put on the menu tonight, a German dish, roladen. But to make it distinctive, I was thinking of rolling the thin layers of beef around a mixture of ground liver and fried onions instead of the customary bacon. The pickle in the center I would leave out, maybe substituting slivers of oven-roasted vegetables.
“Toivo didn’t care that much for the bread,” Thelma continued her reflections, “but he did love Ma’s raised doughnuts. The smell of them would waft through the air, especially in the summer when the windows would all be open. Things were simpler then. No one worried about locking doors. No one ever feared that any of the summer folk would steal from us.
Tales From The Loon Town Cafe Page 6