Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette

by Killian B. Brewer

Hank dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket. His shoulders hunched up from the posture, and he shifted from foot to foot. He sighed and then explained, “Look, you know my favorite part about spending the night with someone?”

  “Well, duh?”

  “No. Not that.” Hank chuckled. “I mean, yeah, I love that part. God, I love that part. But it’s the talking afterward. You know, lying there and talking about life, dreams, how your day was, or whatever. And I just prefer that if I wake up next to someone, it’s someone I actually want to hear what they have to say. Somebody who cares what I have to say. And well, that’s not something you can usually tell after one or two nights. So…”

  “So three dates.”

  “Three dates. And your water is still running.” Hank pointed over Marcus’s shoulder at the faucet.

  Marcus turned his back to the man and banged the faucet handle down to stop the water. Marcus looked at the suds and dishes in the sink and considered the man’s words. He quickly spun around and broke out into a broad smile. “But this is our third date.”

  “No. Second.”

  “Third.” Marcus lifted his hand and ticked the numbers off on his fingers. “One. The Woodshed. Two. The Tammy. Tonight. That’s three.” He held the three fingers up and gestured them proudly toward Hank.” Plus you’ve been in the Tammy every day this week. We’ve been talking a lot.”

  “The Woodshed wasn’t a date. We just ran into each other there.” Hank folded one of Marcus’s fingers back down. “So this is date number two. Maybe one and a half, because the Tammy was a thank-you lunch, as you kept telling me.” Hank pushed another of Marcus’s fingers down. “Down to one.”

  “Well, Francine Jones told me if you cook for someone it counts as a date, so,” Marcus popped the second finger back up, “The Tammy was definitely a date. So that’s two.” Marcus thought about the numbers and then glanced at Hank with a grin. “You could leave, circle the block, come back, and we could call it the third date.” Marcus flicked the third finger back up.

  Hank began to laugh and shake his head. He took Marcus’s hand and moved it back to his waist. He held Marcus’s fingers loosely in his fist. “No, Fiat. Look, if this is a problem for you, I can just leave now, and no harm no foul.”

  Marcus looked into Hank’s eyes and let the man’s words sink in. “You know what? I hate doing dishes with no one to talk to. Why don’t you hang out and talk to me while I clean up?”

  “I think I can do that.” Hank cracked a crooked grin and stepped to the sink. “How about you wash and I rinse?”

  “No,” Marcus shook his head and pushed Hank away from the sink. “I’m the host. I clean. And there isn’t a whole lot to wash. Just talk to me while I do it.”

  “Are you sure? I really don’t mind.” Hank turned the faucet back on, picked a plate out of the sink, and began to run it under the water.

  “Just hush.” Marcus took a butter knife out of the sink and aimed it at Hank. “Step away from the dishes, and no one gets hurt.”

  “Fine! Fine!” Hank threw his hands up in surrender and walked to the other side of the island. “You want me to turn on the television? We could watch a movie or maybe put on some music?”

  “If you want.” Marcus scrubbed a plate with a sponge. “I haven’t turned cable on here so there is nothing to watch on television. There are some CDs on the shelf by the television, but I haven’t really looked at what music my grandmother had.” Hank crossed the living room and ran his fingers along the row of CDs in a rack above a small silver stereo system. “According to Miss Helen, my grandmother was really into music from the fifties.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hank answered back. “Connie Francis. The Platters. Elvis. Johnny Mathis. What the hell is a Ferrante and Teicher?”

  “No idea,” Marcus said. “We don’t have to listen—”

  “Oh! This will do.” Hank pulled a CD from the rack, opened the case and turned on the stereo. He dropped the CD into the player and hit a button on the front. “I think this might be right up your alley.”

  Marcus stopped washing the dish he was holding and waited to hear what music Hank had chosen. As the first few notes plinked out of the speakers, Marcus began to grin and hummed along with the song. “Patsy Cline. Classic. I didn’t think you liked country music.”

  “Patsy isn’t country.” Hank turned away from the stereo and crossed back toward the kitchen. “Patsy is a legend.” He stopped at the piano to look at the pictures scattered along the top, his hips swaying in time with the music as he moved slowly from picture to picture. “Really, she’s more like air. Necessary for living.”

  “There hasn’t been anyone like her since.” Marcus pulled the last dish out of the sink. “Some of the new artists are okay. But, I mean—”

  “Oh, my god, Fiat. Is this you?” Hank pointed at one of the pictures.

  Marcus looked from the sink and tried to see which picture Hank was pointing at. “Maybe? What is it?”

  “An adorable little redhead with a parrot on his arm.”

  “Oh, jeez. Yeah, that’s me. Though, I honestly don’t remember when it was taken.” Marcus placed the last dish on the drainer, picked up a dry towel, and wiped his hands. He walked around the island and over to the piano to stand behind Hank. “That’s me sitting on the stool at a diner counter too.”

  “And that one?” Hank pointed at another photo.

  “No. That’s my father.” Marcus picked up the picture of his grandmother and her friends and handed it to Hank. “The woman on the right was my grandmother.”

  “Wow, she was really pretty.”

  “Yeah.” He took the picture from Hank and set it back on the piano. He pointed at another frame. “I think that’s her and my grandfather in that one with the old car, too.”

  “Look at all that red hair.” Hank looked closer at the picture. “And that is not ‘an old car.’ That is a Cadillac. Practically a boat, they were so big back then. And power. Man, back then the engines were practically strong enough to…” Hank’s voice trailed off and he stepped away from the piano. “You don’t want to get me started on old cars.” Hank crossed to the sofa and dropped onto the cushions. He looked at Marcus, patted the empty spot beside him, and draped his arm across the back of the sofa.

  Marcus sat carefully beside Hank before scooting over and tucking himself under his arm. He placed his ear against Hank’s chest and listened to the soft thud of the man’s heartbeat through his shirt. “You can talk about cars if you want.”

  “I’d rather do this.” Hank shifted Marcus off his chest and into an upright position and kissed him.

  Marcus closed his eyes and surrendered to the kiss. He hooked his arms over Hank’s shoulders. As he tilted his head to the other side, Hank pulled away from the kiss.

  “Wait,” Hank mumbled, “I thought you said you didn’t know your grandmother.”

  “Really? I’m kissing you and you’re thinking about my grandmother? Not sure how I should take that.”

  “No. I’m sorry. My brain just keeps rolling, and, if we keep this up, it’s going to be hard for me not to break my rule.”

  “Rules were made to be broken.”

  “Fiat.”

  “Fine. No. I didn’t ever meet her in person.”

  “Then how did she get all of these pictures of you?”

  “Apparently, my mother sent them.” Marcus sighed and leaned back into the couch. “My family history is screwed up. So, like I said, I never met her. I wish I had, though. The stories people tell me make her sound like a dream.”

  “I never knew any of my grandparents either. My mom’s parents were gone before my parent’s married. My parents were older when they had me. And my dad’s mother died on the day my mother found out she was pregnant with me. Which, thank god I don’t believe in omens or signs, because…”

  “Oh, man, that’s crazy.”


  “Yeah. Literally the same day. My mother said it was the disappointment that my father was now tied to her forever by a child. My Nana Hudson didn’t care for my mother. But it was really diabetes. Anyway, I’m named after her.”

  “Your grandmother was named Hank?”

  “No, silly. She was Henrietta. That’s where I got Henry. Which became Hank. It’s funny, I’ve always called her Nana Hudson, though she was dead before I was born.”

  “I never had a name for mine, and yet she still left me all of this.” Marcus waved his hand toward the room. “Mama never talked much about her or my dad unless she had too much to drink. I guess it was too painful or something.”

  “Painful?”

  “Yeah, my dad died in a car wreck before I was born. He was driving back to campus in Athens after dropping my mama off at work at the diner. That’s where they met. He and a bunch of the other football players went in there one night after practice to eat, and he started flirting with Mama. He asked her out, and they got married a month later.”

  “Holy shit. That’s fast.”

  “Yeah. Though I think I’m the reason it happened. Mama said my grandmother Sumter was furious with them for it, so Mama never would come see her. Anyway, one night my father dropped Mama off for a late-night shift at the diner and…” Marcus glanced over at the family photos on the back of the piano and then sighed.

  “Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. I guess it should make me sad, but can you miss someone you never knew?” Marcus shrugged and leaned against Hank’s shoulder. He fiddled with the buttons along the front of Hank’s shirt. “Anyway. It was always just me and Mama. But I do think it made her a little crazy, missing my daddy and raising me by herself. She used to…” Marcus sat up and shifted away from Hank. “I should shut up before you think I come from a bunch of crazy people.”

  “Fiat, we’re southern. We all come from crazy. I think it’s the heat. Or the bugs. I mean, it’s funny. They call this part of the country the land of family values, but, I swear, everyone I know has the most screwed-up families. Hell, my own mother threw me out.”

  “Ha. I win. Mine abandoned me at a roadside diner.”

  “What?” Hank’s chin dropped.

  “Okay, if I’m going to tell this story, we’re going to need cake.” He eased himself off the couch and wandered to the kitchen. “Yes, my dear old mother just left me on the side of the road.”

  “Marcus, that’s terrible.”

  “I was an adult, and I guess she figured her job was done.” Marcus tapped the side of the cake pan to test if it was cool enough. “I don’t know. But one day we pulled into a place, I went to buy her cigarettes, and when I came back, no Mama.”

  “What did you do?”

  Marcus looked over to see that Hank had stretched out on the sofa and placed his arms behind his head. He stared aimlessly at the ceiling, his head cocked to listen to Marcus speak. “Well, at first I had a small panic attack. Then I sat on the curb and cried for about ten minutes.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Then I just thought to myself, ‘screw it.’” Marcus took a knife from the drainer and slid it carefully around the edge of the cake pan. “Then I picked myself up and went into that diner and got a job. I had some cash for a hotel room for a few nights and then I found a cheap apartment near the diner. I just started living life, you know.” He opened the cabinet to his left and pulled out the largest plate he could find.

  “Man, that’s amazing. And your mother?” Hank’s voice grew softer, and his words came out slower.

  “No idea. Don’t really care.” Marcus gave the cake pan a gentle shake, and the cake fell out onto the platter.

  “And then you came down here?”

  “Well, no. That was several years ago.” Marcus picked up the knife and held it over the cake, contemplating his next words. Just tell him. “I got involved with someone.” Marcus took a deep breath and then plunged the knife into the cake. “Someone I met at the diner.” After cutting two slices, he chose two plates from the dish drainer. “We started dating, and eventually I moved in with him. He had a really nice house, and he made me feel as though I was the best thing in the world. It was nice to start with, finally having a home. But he was really jealous.” Marcus lifted the first slice with the knife and dropped it onto the plate. “When we first met, we had lots of friends, but I don’t know. Eventually, he stopped wanting to be around people, and then I stopped wanting to be around him.” Marcus dropped the second slice onto the other plate and dropped the knife into the sink. “So, yeah. That didn’t turn out so good.” Marcus pushed his shoulders back and shook the story from his body. “Unlike this cake, which turned out…”

  Marcus looked toward the couch to see that Hank’s eyes were closed and that his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. “Hank?” Marcus walked around the kitchen island and to the couch. He watched as Hank dozed peacefully, completely unaware of his surroundings. Marcus bent and shook him lightly.

  Hank popped open his eyes and stared at Marcus. “I’m awake. I’m listening. You worked in a diner and… okay. Sorry. I kind of fell asleep.”

  Marcus laughed. “Kind of? You were practically snoring. Was my story that boring?”

  “No. No. I just had to get up really early for work and with my belly full and—”

  “It’s okay.”

  “But I’m awake now. What were you saying? Something about cake?”

  “Why don’t you go on home and get some sleep?”

  “But the cake. You worked so hard on the cake.”

  “Look, I’ll bring you a slice tomorrow when I come to pick up Miss Richards’s car.” Marcus held out his hand. When the other man took his hand, he pulled back and lifted Hank off the couch. “Then I’ll have two excuses to come by and see you.”

  “But I didn’t get to ask you out for that third date.”

  “I think you just did.”

  “Huh? Oh. Yeah. I… god, I’m so sleepy.”

  “It’s okay, Hank. I need to go to bed too. I’ve got to be up at the butt-crack of dawn to be at the Tammy tomorrow.” Marcus steered Hank toward the front door. “And I accept.”

  “Accept what?”

  “That third date.”

  “Oh, yeah. But what are we going to—”

  “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Marcus pulled open the front door and guided Hank out. “Good night, Hank.”

  As the screen door slammed shut, Marcus leaned against the door frame and watched Hank stumble down the sidewalk. As he slowly began to shut the front door, he heard Hank snap his fingers.

  “Marcus, wait.”

  Marcus pulled the door open to find Hank waiting for him on the other side of the screen. “Yeah?”

  Hank pulled the screen door open and grabbed Marcus’s hands, pulling him forward through the doorway onto the porch. “Dessert.” He placed a soft, quick kiss on Marcus’s lips. “Mmm. My compliments to the chef.” With a wink and a smile, Hank turned and walked away, leaving Marcus standing on the porch grinning from ear to ear.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marcus spent the next day humming and singing along with the jukebox and shuffling around the kitchen. Though the songs customers played were the same old things that were played every day, he could’ve sworn that each song seemed to be more romantic and sweeter than he had ever noticed. Several times as he passed behind Francine or one of her daughters, he would wrap his arms around her and spin her about in a quick two-step of laughter and song. Ever-conscious of the clock over the pass-through, he whistled, scrambled, and sautéed his way through the day until Francine finally flipped the sign on the door over to Closed.

  “Get on out of here,” she said and chuckled as she swung her dishrag at him. “Clearly something more interesting than the Jones women has been kicking around your mind all day. Something
that’s made you rather happy. Couldn’t involve a certain grease monkey, now could it?”

  Marcus ducked the question and hurried into the kitchen to fling his apron onto a hook and his hair net into the trash. He pulled the tinfoil-wrapped cake out of the silver refrigerator and tossed it into a plastic sack from behind the cash register. He set off at a trot toward Hank’s garage, each step in time with the lovesick words that Patsy, Tammy, Loretta, and Dolly had crooned from the jukebox. Before he turned the last corner, however, he stopped to let his breathing and heart rate slow so he wouldn’t appear too eager. As he stepped through the opening of the garage doors, he saw Hank, in his usual blue work-shirt and dark jeans, lounging against the enormous, red LTD parked in the right bay. He had one leg hiked up behind him to rest against the white-walled tire and his arms folded across his chest. On one hand, he spun a key ring around his extended finger.

  “Hey there, Fiat.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Right on time, aren’t you?”

  “Hey,” Marcus said, his voice sounding breathy and faint despite his momentary rest.

  “Someone’s out of breath. In that big of a hurry to get this car?”

  Marcus walked over to Hank and grabbed at the keys spinning on his finger. “Or something.”

  “Hold on,” Hank said as he pulled the keys back from Marcus’s grasp. “I need payment first.”

  “Payment?” Marcus asked. He cocked one hip and placed his hand on it. “I thought you said it was taken care of.”

  “Well, Miss Richards has been taken care of, but I deserve a finder’s fee, don’t you think?”

  Marcus gave a quick glance around the garage to make sure no customers were lurking in the corners before putting his hands on the car on either side of Hank’s hips. With his lips close to Hank’s face, he purred, “What did you have in mind?”

  Marcus shifted his weight forward until their lips met. Hank’s hands moved down his back onto his hips and pulled him closer. Marcus relaxed his body into Hank’s and closed his eyes until Hank pulled away. He opened his eyes and stared his confusion at the other man.