Tales From The Loon Town Cafe

by Dennis Frahmann

  “They got a warrant out for his girlfriend for murder in the first degree and for theft,” Campbell said with a raised eyebrow. He looked particularly silly on this cold day. He was sporting a policeman’s uniform several times too large, leaving room underneath for multiple layers of wool sweaters, no doubt covering bulky, long underwear. On his head, he had a heavy cap with large furry earflaps that hung loosely along the side of his head. A big silver star was pinned to the front of the hat.

  “It’s warm in here. You can take off your cap,” I pointed out. “So what was stolen at Cord’s place?”

  Campbell puffed up with the importance of knowing. “His hair.”

  “You told me before he was scalped.”

  “He was. Sort of. Actually just his ponytail was cut off. But it’s missing. That’s why there’s a theft charge as well as the murder charge. He had lots of hair. It would be worth something to wigmakers.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t you go looking like that, young man,” Bromley chastised me. “This is serious stuff. And who would want to take his hair but an Indian? For one of their weird rituals, I bet.”

  “But Campbell just said the police were looking to arrest Rueben’s girlfriend. I met her once. She isn’t a Lattigo.” I was trying to be patient and sensible.

  “She’s just a scapegoat. What would his girlfriend want with a bunch of old hair? But to some, it means something.” Bromley was getting quite excited and bouncing about on his stool.

  “You might be on to something there,” said Officer Campbell.

  “I think you both are just plain on something,” I said. “I’m heading back to the kitchen.”

  Cynthia pushed by me as I was going back through the swinging doors to the kitchen. “Stupid ice skating,” she muttered.

  I quickly saw that neither Thelma nor Danny needed my help, so I went back through the swinging doors. Cynthia was coming back at me with a tray full of dirty dishes. “Where’s that Danny?” she snapped. “He’s supposed to be bussing the tables.”

  The dining room was turning into my worst nightmare. During my quick dart into the kitchen, Pastor Paul Mall had showed up and was talking to Bromley and Officer Campbell. He caught a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye and turned to confront me.

  “I see you’re still serving alcohol in this unholy establishment,” said Pastor Mall.

  I didn’t acknowledge him.

  “There’s sin and destruction flowing around us, and yet you continue to feed it.”

  I remained silent.

  “And God is making us pay for it. The Gundersons suffocate in their own house. My own parishioner, Tony Masters, kills himself and so many more in a reckless act of destruction. And now our butcher. Can’t you see the pattern?” The pastor was standing tall and gesticulating as though he were pounding out his Sunday sermon. From the looks on some of the diners’ faces in the restaurant, it seemed they feared they were back in church.

  “Why do you feel compelled to pay me these visits?” Surely he had given up hope that I would return to the church by now. If not, perhaps I need to remind him of Job 13:13. “Hold your peace, let me alone, that I may speak, and let come on me what will.”

  “I have accepted a calling to save men’s souls, and that includes you and all those influenced by you,” the pastor continued.

  I broke in. “I don’t recall being asked to be saved. And enough is enough. Please leave.” I led the stringy old man by the arm to the door.

  “I know you don’t approve of me young man, but don’t think I can be put off so easily. God watches and knows what you’re up to. You won’t be forgiven if you don’t give up your sinning ways.” His hands were waving as though he were drowning and didn’t know how to swim.

  The pastor departed just as Chip Frozen Bear and Jacqueline Grant walked into the restaurant. He pushed Jacqueline a bit, but offered no apology. “And a lovely day to you as well,” Jacqueline said.

  I remained by the door, just in case the Pastor decided to reenter. I braved a smile to Frozen Bear and his sister. “Can I show you a table?” I asked.

  “That would be nice,” Jacqueline acknowledged. “Chip didn’t want to go out today. He said it was too cold. But I convinced him that eating here is always a treat. I love so many of the things on your menu.”

  “Well you know we have a more homespun menu on Sundays,” I said tentatively and with a wince, “But I’m sure you’ll like it.” I handed them the special one-sheet Sunday menus as I sat them at their table. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that Bromley had stood up and was walking toward us. I had to get him away.

  “Howdy folks,” he said with political bravado.

  Frozen Bear looked at him as though Bromley were one of Claire’s little men. “Cynthia will be right over to take your order,” I said. Bromley pulled over a chair from a nearby table and sat down.

  “I’m worried,” he began. “I’m hearing all these rumors, and I don’t think they’re healthy for relations between Thread and Lattigo. Rumors about your tribe buying land…taking over the woodworking plant…planning to go fishing during spawning seasons. I tell everyone that these have to be just rumors, that they can’t be true and not to worry. But you know people. They won’t listen to good advice. But I thought if I could get the story straight from you, then we’d all have to believe it. There’d be no trouble. So tell me what’s really going on?”

  Cynthia walked up looking a bit glum.

  Frozen Bear looked up and noticed her gloom. He smiled, “Why the long face, Cynthia? If someone disappointed you, I just might have to go have a talk with them and set them straight.”

  Jacqueline rearranged her napkin with some level of amusement. Cynthia perked right up. “I was just thinking,” she said distractedly. “I don’t know, about how cold it is, and what I should do, and things like that.”

  “It is cold,” Frozen Bear counseled, “but on the other hand it is truly beautiful outside. I say take advantage of every day. You never know what it might bring.”

  Bromley broke in, seeking to hurry things along. “Cynthia, just take their orders so the chief and I can discuss some issues.”

  “I’m not the tribe’s chief,” pointed out Frozen Bear.

  “I was asking about your tribe’s intentions.”

  “And I don’t think it’s any of your business,” said Jacqueline brusquely. “We’re here to eat, and believe me, we feel under no obligation to provide you with any information. And in case you have forgotten, you were the person who wouldn’t let me attend Thread High School. Don’t invite yourself to my Sunday dinner.”

  Bromley harrumphed. Cynthia stood there awkwardly, wondering whether she should leave or stay. I wished I had never left the kitchen. It was not turning out to be a good Sunday.

  “Cynthia,” said Frozen Bear warmly, “come back in a few minutes and we’ll give you our order. I have a few things to say to Mr. Bastique.”

  He waited for Cynthia to leave the room before beginning his attack.

  “Bromley, you are an asshole, always have been, and no doubt always will. But my sister is right. You are totally out of line asking questions about what my tribe is planning to do.

  “But let me tell you one thing. The treaties have been ignored too long, and we are not going to let them stay forgotten. We have the sovereign right to fish whenever we want, to hunt wherever we want, and to economic self-determination. We know how to exercise those rights. We will decide when to do so. Understand, old man?”

  More and more, I wished I were back on that cracking ice, skating into another beautiful day.

  chapter sixteen

  Kip Van Elkind’s stunt on the flowage during the ice skating jaunt did nothing to raise his worth in Cynthia’s eyes. Rather, he remained isolated. He constantly said what no one wanted heard and did what no one wanted done. And he wasn’t a little boy telling the world that the emperor had no clothes. He was more like a wicked old man telling the little boy tha
t there was no Santa Claus. In the warming cool of a late winter day, confronting Cynthia in my cafe, he once again chose the wrong path.

  “Tell me you’ll date me,” Kip demanded, “or I’m going to kill myself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Cynthia scoffed.

  “I’m not ridiculous,” as he slurred through another drug-dazed day. “I’m serious. I brought the gasoline with me because I can’t live without you. I need ya. Ya gotta go out with me, or I’m setting myself on fire.”

  “And you think I would care?” Cynthia asked with incredulity.

  “I mean it,” he said firmly, looking straight at her. Cynthia said nothing. She just stared at him until he finally looked away with the air of a young puppy that can’t win a contest of will. He turned brusquely and walked to the door. He kicked at the base of the door, causing it to fling open. He walked out and I saw him pick up a can of gasoline that he had left by the door. He stepped off the curb on to the street. He turned and took a few paces until he could see that he was centered in the windows of the cafe, a magic moment for the camera of our eyes.

  Dirty snow covered the town square. Piles of shoveled snow now misshapen from multiple rounds of melting and freezing created a barricade of sorts. He trudged over them until he stood in full sunlight, still centered in the window. He stood there silently focusing through the glass on Cynthia. This time, she didn’t even look at him. She started wiping down the counter

  “I’m glad he’s out of here and that’s over,” Thelma said. “I got to get back to the kitchen and take care of my bread.”

  “I don’t think it’s over yet,” I whispered.

  Weeks later and Kip as a menace was still far from over. I had been invited to party at Jacqueline and Chip’s home. So had the Van Elkinds and the Truehearts. I would not be able to avoid the subject of Kip, even though I intended to try.

  “So,” I asked Jacqueline Grant as I looked around her living room, “why hold a St. Patrick’s Day party if nothing is green?”

  She laughed, “Do I look Irish? Besides, the old Finns in the area also claim the day as St. Urho’s Day. Maybe their patron saint scared the snakes out of Finland. And aren’t their national colors blue and white? I don’t know. Besides who really cares? It was Chip’s idea.”

  Frozen Bear stood disconsolately in the corner of their living room, gazing out the large glass windows at the small ice-covered creek below. In more southern parts of the country, spring might be well underway, but here in Thread the weather was still as chilly as Frozen Bear’s demeanor. A strange attitude for a party you had requested.

  “Your brother doesn’t look too happy, “ I noted to Jacqueline.

  She smiled sweetly. “Well, he doesn’t really enjoy the company. Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t referring to you when he said that. Just the rest of this menagerie.” She waved her hand to encompass the rest of the odd collection already in the room. Henry Van Elkind was here, along with his snippy wife Rita. For some reason, they had dragged along Kip, who had been forced to wash his hair and wear untattered clothes, but his sneer still lingered.

  Amanda Manny was also on hand, flitting about as though it were her party. Her eyebrows had arched in disbelief at the idea of ravioli stuffed with a mixture of wild rice and venison served in a pumpkin puree. Clearly she would have preferred a dish in keeping with the day’s theme and to match her bright green silk jumper. It accentuated her perky and quite artificial breasts, although the large glow-in-the-dark “Kiss me, I’m Irish” button pinned near her cleavage was eye-catching in its own right. Rita could barely control her shudder each time she accidentally glanced in Amanda’s direction. Van Elkind, on the other hand, was entranced.

  Amanda pranced over to my side as soon as she saw Jacqueline move toward the kitchen. She half-whispered, “I do wish Jackie had the sense to ask my advice about this evening’s party. It’s practically a board meeting for American Seasons, and did you hear what she’s serving.”

  “Sounds quite delicious to me,” I replied.

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, I suppose it would, considering what you serve in your restaurant. But this is just too strange. I hear she’s putting dandelions in the salad.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Priscilla Jouer moving into our small circle. Priscilla had been engaged in an animated conversation with two elders from the Lattigo tribe. Perched on her stiletto heels, Priscilla’s large body swayed dramatically as she sought to entice them in a tale that neither man seemed interested in hearing.

  “Is Miss Mandy giving you entertainment tips?” asked Priscilla.

  “If you keep calling me that name,” glowered Amanda, “I’m going to start calling you Prissy.”

  “That would be darling. Prissy is what my first husband called me. I met him at Disneyland, where he was a glib skipper on the Jungle Book Cruise. What a tongue on that man. But he proved bisexual. I should have known when he told me his favorite ride was ‘It’s a Small World.’ But then one should never look for a husband at Disney.

  “Now, my second husband was as macho as they come. He was a foreman on a construction crew at Walt Disney World who liked Rubenesque woman. But the man was just so boring under the covers. I really should stop marrying people I meet through work. Although I must admit, I do find Mr. Frozen Bear most appealing. I think there’s strength in the way he moves. Have how you noticed how graceful his hands are.”

  “No, I haven’t,” muttered Amanda who quickly walked way.

  “How about you, Walter?” said Priscilla smiling.

  “No I can’t say that I have,” I replied.

  “Well, if you haven’t, I’m sure that she has,” Priscilla replied, as she watched Red, Barbara and Cynthia Trueheart enter the room. I was amazed that Cynthia had agreed to come knowing that Kip had also been invited.

  Red shouted out, “Where’s the green beer?” Kip looked up with a greasy grin, poised like a hyena spotting cornered prey. Frozen Bear turned from the dark glass he had been staring through. An unexpected and genuine smile lit up the room. He appeared younger and more attractive than I remembered.

  “At last, the party is complete,” Frozen Bear announced. Red flung out his hand for a hearty shake. Barbara stood at her husband’s side, and I sensed she was cataloging the Frozen Bear living room against her own infamous white salon. Cynthia hung back a few steps in a bashful glow.

  I caught a glimpse of Jacqueline standing in the doorway to the dining room. She was beaming. Suddenly it occurred to me. This party wasn’t designed so she could meet her brother’s business partners. Frozen Bear had wanted to see Cynthia on his home turf.

  “Hey Cindy Baby,” Kip lurched forward. Frozen Bear stepped into the intervening space before Kip could touch Cynthia.

  “Cynthia, can I give you a tour of the house?” Frozen Bear asked. She quickly nodded her assent. Red gave a thumbs-up to Frozen Bear, happy to have the man protect his daughter from the detestable Kip. Kip slunk back to the sofa and slouched down in the cushions, a scowl spreading from his face to his posture.

  “Isn’t it cute?” Jacqueline whispered to Priscilla and me. “Thwarted love.”

  Barbara Trueheart overheard and moved in.

  “Don’t call it love in any form. I’m just glad Cynthia has her job at your cafe, Wally. It keeps her mind off Kip. Although I do wish she would find someone she could like.”

  Rita Van Elkind, dressed in a becoming Donna Karan cocktail dress that was totally inappropriate for the casualness of the evening, walked up. “What are you all discussing? Something amusing, I hope.”

  Jacqueline answered honestly, “We’re talking about your son and how much Cynthia detests him.”

  Rita took no offense, “Barbara, I’m delighted to learn that your child has grown up with more common sense than mine. If he weren’t my son, I would detest him as well. But there is that bond between mother and child that just can’t be broken.” She whirled the ice in her glass of mineral water. A wedge of lime floate
d near the top. I thought of Rita’s mother Regina floating through the halls of that gigantic camp on the lake. What was the bond there? But at least Regina had the comfort and care of their butler Stephen. Looking at the boy now, trying to ignite a match for his cigarette and getting angrier with each match he broke, I wondered if anyone could bond with that young man.

  Our circle had grown with the insertion of both Priscilla and Amanda, who were now settled into a truce of using each other’s given names. “What tales are being told here?” Priscilla asked.

  “Is your son suffering puppy love?” Priscilla had no idea of recent events, but she aspired to be always sparkling. Van Elkind dragged Red into the corner for an animated discussion. Red’s face was quite flushed. The Lattigo guests moved into their own corner. Kip sat isolated on the sofa. Frozen Bear and Cynthia were on their tour–a surprisingly long tour for a house of this size. And I was in the circle of these women.

  “It’s not love,” dismissed Amanda. “Everyone in town knows that Cynthia can’t stand your son. Why can’t he wake up and smell the coffee? How dim is he?”

  On that day when Kip truly went too far, his canister of gasoline had glinted in the sunlight, with its bright red and rectangular shape, serving as an ornament to the dirty snow of the square. Kip tried to loosen the top of the can and in an instant had the cap unscrewed and off. He held the can high over his head, and he started to talk. But we couldn’t hear him through the plate glass. We could only see mouthing words. “I’m going out to see what he’s saying,” I said.

  Danny followed me as I walked outside. Reluctantly, Cynthia followed, but she stayed in the doorway.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “Put down that can.”

  “Cynthia,” he shouted over me to address his unrequited love. “Go out with me or I’m going to pour this gasoline over myself and set myself on fire.”