by Alicia Ryan
“Tuesday.”
“Tuesday? Like the day of the week?” She paused for a moment. “Were your parents historians or something?”
Tuesday snorted. “Hardly. Why do you ask?”
“Tuesday is named for Mars, the Roman god of war.”
He laughed. “Then perhaps I’ll fight for you.”
“I’ll get you some refills and be back with your check.”
“Not going to offer us dessert?”
“No,” she called out over her shoulder.
***
For the next week, Tuesday was as good as his word, showing up just as the diner opened, ordering scrambled eggs, the grits he was still shocked to see on the menu, and black coffee.
The first day he was a perfect gentleman – just another customer. The second day, the same story.
“What’s up with you?” Mary finally asked. “I think you’re coming here to see me, but you don’t sound anything like you did when you were here with your friend. Was all that just showing off?”
“Absolutely not. I just wanted to give you a little time to think about me,” he said, “and decide I’m not some creepy stalker.”
She laughed and gave him a quick once-over. “Definitely not creepy.”
“I think that’s the first joke I’ve heard out of you. I feel so proud.”
“Why proud?”
“Because it’s nice to see you smile.” He studied her anxious face. “If you really do have a boyfriend, you certainly don’t look the way a woman with a lover should look.”
“And how’s that?” she asked slowly.
“Satisfied, happy.” He remembered Ariel’s face. “Smiling.”
“I think all that fades after a while, don’t you?”
“Not unless one of you lets it – or makes it.”
“Can I take your check?” she asked, holding out her hand for the ticket and his credit card.
He handed it to her, but held onto it for a moment, freezing her in place. “I could make you smile, Mary. I already have. You should go out with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Because your boyfriend keeps close tabs on you? You don’t really think that would stand in my way, do you?”
“I don’t want to go out with you.”
“Yes you do.” He let go of the check. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next morning, having called in sick to Office Supply HQ, Tuesday walked into the diner and straight back into the kitchen. A surprisingly thin man stood behind the counter scraping black gunk off a flat grill. He had gray shaggy hair, slightly too long and pulled back into a short ponytail, and wore a white t-shirt, white apron, and black and white camouflage pants.
“Is this your place?” Tuesday asked.
The man turned, revealing a round face, strange gold eyes and sections of rich brown hair just above his ears. “Siamese cat” were the words that sprang to Tuesday’s mind, and he shook his head to try to clear the image.
“Yeah, that’s right, but I don’t take complaints. You got anything to say, talk to Mary.”
“Nice. But that’s not why I’m here. I want you to take today off, close the diner.”
“Now why the fuck would I do that? And who are you?”
“I’m a regular customer, at least for the past week or so. And I want to take Mary on a date, which I can’t do as long as she’s either working here or caught under Red Bull’s watchful eye. So how much do you make in a day? I’ll pay it, and you close the diner.”
The man eyed him narrowly, and Tuesday got the cat impression again. “All right,” he said. “But only as a favor to Mary. And cause if she loses Red Bull, it will be better for business. Bastard picks too many fights with my customers.”
“How much?” Tuesday asked, his eyes widening as the man quoted him an exorbitant sum. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Deal,” he said, “but I want free breakfast for a week.”
“Deal.” The man stuck out a greasy hand. Tuesday shook it, and then pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket.
“Cash okay?”
“I wasn’t planning to take a check.” The man turned off the grill and the oven and went past Tuesday to announce to the dining room that he was closing for the rest of the day. Customers could finish their food, but the kitchen was out of order, and wouldn’t be repaired until the morning.
Mary followed the owner through the red swinging doors and into the kitchen. “Sam, what’s going on?”
She looked at Tuesday. “Did you arrange this?”
“Of course. Now you can spend the day with me.”
“No, I can’t,” she declared.
“Sure you can,” Sam cut in, “and you will if you want to keep your job.”
“What?” Her eyes went wide. “You’re joking.”
“No joke. Like I told your new friend here, Red Bull is bad for business, and you’d be better off without him, too.” His face softened. “At least go have some fun for one day in your life. I can take care of the last three stragglers out there.”
Mary looked open mouthed at Tuesday.
“Duress wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said, “but I guess I’ll take it.”
“It’s not duress,” Mary replied, grabbing her sweater from a peg near the back kitchen door. “I’m only going with you because you have nice eyes.” She smiled gently. “They remind me of a boy I used to know. A nice boy – and I expect you to treat me nice and have me back here before three o’clock.”
For a moment Tuesday couldn’t speak. She remembered him. After all this time, she remembered Herman Morrie’s nice eyes. “That’s a promise,” he replied.
Tuesday held the car door open, and Mary slid into the passenger side of the black leather bench seat.
“First, I thought I’d take you to get some breakfast,” he said, noticing, not for the first time, how thin she was.
She just nodded, and they rode in relative silence to the next nearest town, not taking Route 8, but turning left on what Tuesday was surprised to realize was Route 666. Maybe Price was right about that diner after all, he thought.
They rolled past the small sign that said ‘Welcome to Lost Hills’. Except for a quaint little downtown and two sets of condos rising in the distance, the town appeared to live up to its name, nestled in a valley, with rolling hills on all sides except the way they’d come in.
Tuesday pulled the long car into an angled parking space in front of Mabel’s Café. It had yellow and white checked curtains, and the sign on the sidewalk advertised a blueberry pancake special.
Before they got out, Mary turned to him. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Um…I want a decent breakfast for once?”
She frowned. “You know what I mean.”
He thought for a moment and decided on a version of the truth. “Strangely enough because you remind me of a girl I once loved very much.”
“But you dumped her in the end, right?”
He shot her a puzzled look. “Why would you say that? She left me.”
Mary stared at him and smiled. “Sorry. I just can’t imagine anyone leaving you. You’ve got to be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Certainly the best looking one I’ve ever met in person.”
“Then do me the favor of having breakfast with me? I’m tired of eating alone.”
“Okay,” she agreed, “but if there’s a male waiter, we’re sitting in his section.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
She laughed. “Because maybe you just have a thing for breakfast waitresses, and you’ll throw me over for Mabel.”
Tuesday got out of the car shaking his head. When he opened her door, he leaned in. “Well, there are the blueberry pancakes to consider.”
Mary got out of the car, giving him a playful smack on the arm. “Mine for the day, remember? No Mabel-flirting. I don’t care how good her pancakes are.”
Mabel turned out to be a cherubic older lady in a pink shirt and slacks and a flowered smock
. She took all the orders in the crowded little place and passed them back to the kitchen on one of those old fashioned spinning wheels with clips for the paper tickets.
“I think Mabel may actually be flirting with you,” Mary said, after the sprightly old woman came by their table for the third time to ask if everything was okay. Each time, Tuesday had a mouthful of pancakes, and it was Mary who replied.
“But you’ll have to agree,” he swallowed and pointed out, “that I’m just the victim here. Besides, maybe she just cares about customer service.”
“Right…” Mary drawled. “And Sam’s diner is haute cuisine.”
After their escape from Mabel’s well-meaning clutches, Tuesday drove out past Lost Hills and into the one state park in the area with any greenery, including an isolated stand of redwoods.
They walked on the wide, well-worn, leaf-covered path for several quiet minutes before Mary began to talk about her childhood in Tennessee and then how they’d moved to Colorado so her father could take a job with a mining company out there. It had been a good job; they’d lived better than they had in Tennessee.
“But sometimes I still miss it, you know? I’d like to go back there – see if it compares with my memories.”
“It probably won’t. Maybe you should just hang on to the memories.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look sad until now.”
Tuesday turned and offered her his hand to step over a wide branch that had fallen across the path. “Once I got out, the only time I went back to where I grew up was to bury my father.”
“Oh! Geez. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. He was a great man. It was just everyone else in that town I hated.”
“Hate is a strong word.”
He sighed. “I suppose it is.”
When she was standing beside him, he kept hold of her hand. “Just so you know, I’m going to kiss you today.”
Mary raised her brows. “What if I don’t want you to?”
“Then you just tell me not to, and I won’t.”
She considered for a moment. “Sounds fair.”
Tuesday lived up to his promise, without objection, in the middle of a sunlight dappled cathedral of ancient redwood trees. Minutes passed, and they clung to each other like old lovers, rediscovering something that had been lost.
“We need to go,” Mary said, breaking away. “I have to get back.”
Tuesday nodded, and bought two drinks, two apples, and two candy bars at the ranger station on the way out of the park.
They ate in the car as trees gave way to hills that gave way to desert. About halfway back, it began to rain.
“Wow,” he said. I don’t think it’s rained since I’ve been here.”
“It usually starts in the fall, but this year it’s been a little late.”
“Yeah. Hard to believe it’s November. It must be almost seventy today.”
Mary sucked in a breath. “We may have a problem.”
He turned to see her face, now stricken with something like panic. “What’s wrong?”
“Red Bull, my…uh…boyfriend works construction. If it’s raining, he might have gotten off early and already be at the diner.”
“Mary,” he said, “I won’t let him hurt you. I promise you that. But I can’t make him leave until you want him gone – until you tell him to leave. Then, if he doesn’t, you can count on me to convince him you really mean it.”
She looked over at him, seeming to size him up. “What do you do for a living, Tuesday?”
“I’m…uh…a bodyguard.”
“And you’re just here temporarily, am I right?”
He nodded. “My…project…is in Strawberry, but he won’t need me forever.”
“So where do you get off interfering in my life?”
“Mary, face it, your life sucks.” He knew he was suddenly sounding like Price, but figured the time for subtle had passed. “You need to change it, and I can help. If you want Red Bull out of your life, tell him so. I can make sure he doesn’t do you any harm.”
“And what happens when you’re gone? What am I supposed to do then?”
“I won’t leave Red Bull in a position to come back to you. And there are plenty of men out there who’d treat you better, who’d be nice to you and love you for who you really are, not just as arm candy or a punching bag.”
“What does that mean – you won’t leave him in a position to come back to me?”
“It means I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Depends on how stubborn and hard to frighten old Red Bull turns out to be, really.”
“Have you ever killed a man, Tuesday?”
He shook his head. “No, and I didn’t mean that.”
She gave what he feared was a sigh of relief.
By the time they reached the diner, the rain had let up, and there wasn’t another soul in sight.
“I don’t want to just leave you standing here.”
Mary fished around in her little white handbag. “It’s okay. I can wait inside. Sam gave me a key to the back door.” She produced a gold key and waved it at him.
“Didn’t you say you’d just started working here? Sam must trust you.”
“I’ve only been working here since about the time you started coming by, but I’ve known Sam a while. He lives back down Route 8 in the same trailer park Red Bull and I do.”
Tuesday frowned. “What’s it called?”
“What? The trailer park?”
He nodded. “Don’t they all have lofty sounding names like ‘Seaside Manor’ or something?”
“I guess you’re right,” she said, smiling. “I never thought of it. It’s called ‘Sunshine Estates’.”
Tuesday stopped the car close to the back door and went around to help Mary out. He stood waiting while she turned the key in the lock and opened the kitchen door.
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
***
The next morning he arrived earlier than usual and was just getting out of his car when Red Bull’s old pickup pulled into the lot. He saw Mary in the passenger side, her features dimmed behind the dust covered window, and he waited by his car.
“Morning, Mary,” he called when she slid out of the truck.
Red Bull opened his door and surveyed them both from across the faded turquoise hood. “Who’s this turd, Mary?”
Mary looked back and forth between them. “Tuesday’s just one of the regulars, Red. He comes in early for breakfast.”
“You know his name?” He came around to her side of the truck and grabbed her arm, but glared at Tuesday. “And what the hell kind of name is Tuesday?”
He shrugged. “What kind of name is Red Bull?”
“How the fuck do you know my name?” Red turned his head sharply, black hair swinging under a red bandana. “How does he know my name, Mary? You been talking to this fucker?”
“The cook mentioned you were bad for business,” Tuesday said. “I think he dropped your name.”
“Sam?” he demanded, still clutching Mary’s arm. “Sam’s known me for ten years. What’s he talking to you for? And where’d you come from? You don’t look local.”
Tuesday shrugged. “I’m not really here to make friends, Red. I’m here to get breakfast. So why don’t you unhand the waitress so she can do her job.”
Tuesday headed for the door.
“You motherfucker, don’t turn your back on me.” Tuesday felt a burly hand clamp down on his shoulder.
“Red, please!” Mary squeaked.
Tuesday stood still, resisting the big man’s pull on his shoulder. “Take your hand off me.”
“I said turn around, you pansy!” Red Bull moved his hand and grabbed Tuesday around his left bicep.
Tuesday didn’t move. “I suggest you stick to picking on women half your size.”
“Red, please,” Mary called out again, stronger this time. “You know how Sam hates when you fight with the custome
rs. Do you want him to fire me?”
“I don’t give a damn if he fires you. The food in this place isn’t fit to wipe your ass with. I didn’t want you working here in the first place.”
“Well we can’t make the rent unless I work because you drink more of your take-home than you manage to take home.”
Red let him go, and Tuesday heard his boots scrape on the gravel as he turned around.
“What did you say? Are you crazy, woman? You think you can just embarrass me like that in front of people?”
“I’m not people,” Tuesday said, finally turning around. “I’m just a guy trying to get some breakfast.”
Red stalked back toward Mary, and Tuesday felt his anger surge. “But if you lay a hand on her, I’ll kill you. Mary should tell you to go straight to hell, but even if she won’t, I won’t let you beat a woman right in front of me.”
“Then go inside. Or are you planning to play the hero? Is that it, pretty boy?” Red laughed. “You won’t be the first to make that mistake. Mary’s mine, and I’ll do just what I please with what I got.”
“No, I’m not.” Mary’s voice was so soft Tuesday almost didn’t hear it.
“What did you say?” Red Bull asked, turning toward her.
“I may be weak, but I’m not yours.” She stood a little taller. “I may be afraid and stupid. I may have made a lot of bad choices and not many good ones, but they are mine. They belong to me, and I belong to me. I do not belong to you.”
“Get in the truck.”
Mary didn’t move.
“Get in the goddamn truck!” Red Bull’s face was now a tomato, blending in with his red bandana.
Mary moved to step past him. “I’m going to work. At my job.”
Red Bull shot out his arm to block her path, but Tuesday moved faster. He slammed Red’s arm down, propelling them both hard into the side of the truck.
“Mary, go inside,” he said, holding Red in place.
She took two hurried steps, then turned around. “Don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Tuesday asked, looking up for a moment from the throbbing vein on the side of Red Bull’s neck.
Mary met his gaze. “Never mind. I’ve got work to do.” She turned and went inside.
Tuesday let Red Bull go, walked quickly around the truck, and reached through the open driver’s window to pull the steering wheel off the column.