One Summer_...at Charlie's Diner

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Chapter 2

  ────

  THREE DAYS, THREE SHIFTS.

  Ambling along Atlantic Avenue from her studio apartment, Star felt herself relaxing, pushing the charge of sexual harassment behind her. Her new job was fun. Who would have thought interaction with the customers could be enjoyable.

  She had always visualized herself behind the scenes, in the kitchen surrounded by gleaming copper pots, the flicker of controlled flames from the gas burners gently melting chocolate squares for her latest dessert, scents of vanilla and ginger along with the aroma of garlic and onion from the other chef’s entrées. She had never witnessed the patrons experiencing the food, closing their eyes, savoring the flavor melting on their tongue.

  The diner was also planets away from serving at the Manatee Bar. The guests at the diner were friendly, engaging her in lively conversation—where to find the best hot dog, here of course. T-shirts—next door. Trinkets—two shops down. Now and then a couple argued across French toast, but leaving hand in hand after their last sip of coffee.

  No butt pinchers. Husbands and wives, enjoying each other’s company, planned their day, as opposed to men out to make a score following a few drinks. At least as far as she could tell, that’s how it was at the diner.

  The first day had morphed into two, then three. She bonded quickly with Charlie and Wanda. Turned out they were the owners of the silver diner. They genuinely seemed to like her too.

  Now a new day, a spring in her step, a smile bubbling with thoughts of her new job, she approached the diner’s glass door rimmed with shiny stainless steel. She grinned at her reflection. Not bad. A slim blond Florida girl, nice tan in spite of the hours spent in a kitchen.

  Sunday morning, a 7:00 a.m. opening on a bright, sunny May day. The cool salty ocean breeze wafting over Daytona Beach held the humidity at bay, for a few hours anyway.

  Tyler was easygoing. Wanda scheduled the two waiters to overlap the lunch shift. Behind his intense look through his black-rimmed glasses, Ty was a man who seemed to find humor in most everything as long as the i was dotted and the t crossed. Precise with everything in his life, he dressed neat as a proud penguin—white short-sleeved shirt, always a black bow tie a little askew, a pair of black slacks with a sharp crease down the leg.

  The morning crowd filtered into the diner—their chatter punctuated with laughter, always holding out their mugs for refills when Star made the rounds offering a fresh brew of coffee. Still learning the ropes, few as they were, she didn’t mind that the crowd was shrinking, gave her more time to cater to her guests.

  Star had noticed the day she first helped Benny through the door that there were many empty seats. She thought the diner delightful and couldn’t figure out why there wasn’t standing room only. Maybe it was Jonny, the early morning cook. Orders were filled quickly when Charlie was behind the grill. But tension seemed to float heavy in the air when Jonny flipped the burgers.

  The regulars soon called Star by name, asking for another pat of butter, or more strawberry jam for their toast and muffins. A real hometown feeling, Star thought.

  A little after nine o’clock, an olive-skinned man entered, his eyes darting around the diner. An older man sitting at the counter, stood, reached into his pants pocket, dropped a few coins by his empty plate. Picking up his bill he walked to the cash register a few feet away. “Thanks, Star. Have a good day.” Smiling, he passed the newcomer who slid onto the vacated stool.

  Star picked up the change, empty mug and plate, and flashed a smile at the new customer. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  She glanced at him as she poured steaming coffee into a mug. “Haven’t seen you before. Vacationing?”

  “Not really, Finished school, threw a dart at a map, and here I am.”

  “Come on. A dart?”

  “Not really. Looking for a job. Any tips?”

  “First tip, put the diner down as your go-to-place.”

  “Go to?”

  “Sure, the place to go to when you’re hungry while looking for a job. What’s your name?”

  “Ash.”

  “Okay, Ash. What kind of work are you looking for?”

  “Anything at the moment.”

  “What would you like for breakfast this morning? Our special breakfast plate—”

  “Coffee is all for now, thanks.”

  He looks hungry. Just coffee? Low on money” I know how that feels. School he said—looks a little old for school. He has at least a year on me, maybe thirty. Nice smile though, Star thought. “Okay. Refills are on the house.”

  Star leaned against the coffee service cabinet. Rubbing her lower back, she watched the man at the counter by the name of Ash. He was a poster for tall, dark, and handsome—smoking hot eyes under thick black hair, pensive face with a dash of mystery. With those looks he should be in a steamy TV series, she thought. She had never fallen for a man, but she could see herself … maybe … falling for someone like this one.

  Checking on the other counter customer, and a booth of three, Star swung back by Ash who was still nursing his coffee. Topping off his mug, she tilted her head. “You said you’d take any job but if you had a choice, what would it be?”

  “Maybe a cook,” he said with a slight curve to his lips nodding at Jonny behind the order window.

  “I’m a pastry chef, or was,” Star said. “A cook’s position is pretty much filled now, but the turnover is constant here at the beach, not for chefs but short-order cooks. You have to be in the right place at the right time. I picked up this job last week. Needed something quick … a long sordid story.” Star grimaced. “Take a walk down the street, both sides, pop in, ask if they need help. You might strike it lucky like I did. Stop back later. Tell me how it went … that is if you want to. I’m pretty familiar with some of the places. Don’t count out starting as a waiter."

  Tyler came in early, asked Star if there was anything he should be aware of about the likes, dislikes of the customers seated on his side of the diner. Star told him everything was under control. She had the two men sitting at opposite ends of the counter. Star rang up the register giving a woman, an infant in her arms, her change.

  Feeling a sharp elbow in her back, she turned to Ty.

  “That guy at the counter. Know him?”

  “No, just making conversation. He’s looking for summer work.”

  Ty left her, introducing himself to a new group in booth one—“cream, sugar, maybe ketchup?” Hustling to the order window, he picked up four plates of pancakes, lining them up his arm, a pitcher of syrup swinging from his little finger at the end of the row of plates.

  • • •

  THE FEW EARLY-MORNING regulars sauntered out, replaced by late-morning tourists preparing for a frolic on the beach across the street, perhaps the boardwalk down by the Ferris wheel, or rollercoaster. One couple fed the old Wurlitzer with more than a few quarters playing one movie soundtrack over and over, The Sting, rocking the walls of the diner for almost an hour. The red, purple, and blue neon circling the ceiling jumped gaily in rhythm to the music.

  Wanda nodded to Star. “How about a cup of coffee? Take advantage of a slow spell before the sunbathers return, burnt to a crisp. Give you and me a chance to talk.”

  Star let a puff of air roll over her lips. A chance to get off her feet, even for a few minutes, was an invitation not to be passed up. Smoothing her black apron over her short black skirt, she slid into the booth across from Wanda, a cup of coffee waiting for her. Ty was quick where Star was concerned, Wanda too, of course.

  “What do you think so far?” Wanda asked looking over the top of her mug at Star. “I have to say, I’ve never seen anyone adapt to a situation as fast as you.”

  “You’re not as surprised as I am. I’m amazed at how I begin to see the regulars as real people, a peek into their lives.”

  “Anyone particular?”

  “Yes … the Butterworth sisters are priceless. And, Benny is a hoot. Has he ever tol
d you what happened, why he’s in a wheelchair?”

  “No, he hasn’t. Maybe some kind of accident. The war … always a war somewhere it seems.”

  “Wanda, I love it here. Before, I was so busy in the kitchen I missed everything that was going on out front. Very important to see how, and more important, if your customers are enjoying their food.”

  “But at the Manatee you were out front.”

  “Well … yes, but serving drinks was much different. Had to dodge some of the more aggressive men, if you know what I mean.”

  “A pretty girl like you? I can only imagine.”

  “Excuse me, Wanda. The man coming in the door was here this morning, new to the area. I’ll—”

  Wanda’s head jerked up. “Wait. You smell that? Something’s burning.”

  Star glanced over at the order window as she stood up, a swirl of smoke curling up to the tin ceiling.

  Charlie stormed out of the diner’s tiny back office. In three strides he was standing nose to nose in front of Jonny, yelling at Jonny tossing three charred burgers into the trashcan beside the grill. Charlie’s eyes bulged, temples throbbing as he looked down at the burgers lying in the trash. “What’s the matter with you? Not just burning … incinerating burgers? And, the man in booth four this morning wanted hash browns, not burnt hash, burnt hash to go with the eggs scrambled … not over-easy.”

  “Nothing’s the matter with me. It’s that new waitress. I can’t read her writing.”

  “Yeah? I think you’re stoned. What do you say to that?”

  “I quit. That’s what I say to that.” Jonny yanked off the bib apron stained with egg yolks, and bacon grease. “I’ll be back tomorrow for my pay.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to see your sour face again. Wanda, get the man a twenty.”

  Wanda hustled to the counter, pulled a twenty out of the register shoving the bill against Jonny’s chest.

  “Okay, now git,” Charlie snapped, glaring at the man passing himself off as a cook.

  “Twenty? You owe me more than twenty.”

  “Let’s just call it even after all the food you wasted, not to mention what you’ve stuffed into that oversized gut of yours. Oh, yeah, I caught you plenty of times. Out!”

  Charlie stood, hands on his hips, fuming, knowing it meant more hours he didn’t have to spare, or the strength to stand at the grill. A family slid into an empty booth, laughing, brushing off the itchy salt sticking to their legs from the surf. Now, what was he going to do?

  Good riddance, Star thought. The jerk didn’t fit in. Charlie and Wanda are too good for him. No wonder customers are going someplace else.

  Ash, sitting at the counter watched the banished cook slam out the side door. Others looked around at the altercation, watching Charlie, wondering if they were going to get the lunch they ordered.

  Ash squinted, then stood and walked around the corner of the counter.

  Charlie’s brows hitched up wondering what this guy wanted.

  “Sir, I can help. I’ve done some short-order cooking, and—” He backed away as Star popped up in front of him.

  “Charlie, I can do it. I can cook. Give me a try … at least for the day. I’ll cook ‘til closing. Please. Please.” Star edged out Ash, and now stood within five inches of Charlie.

  “Give her a try, Charlie,” Wanda said with a sigh. “We won’t have many customers for the rest of the … unfortunately, for the rest of the day,” she added in a whisper.

  Charlie’s shoulders slumped, his eyes wearily seeking his wife’s, weighing his options. “Two women. I don’t have a chance. The grocer called. Our order is packed, ready for me to pick up at the market. I have to go. Wanda, show Star around the grill, the freezer, the pantry. Tyler’s here, so I guess it’s up to the three of you to keep the place going. I’ll hurry.”

  Four days and she was already a cook. Maybe not a chef, and burgers were not petit fours, but it was a step up in Star’s mind.

  A sudden guilty feeling swamped over her. She’d been rude, jumping in front of Ash. Picking up the pot of coffee, she approached him.

  “Ash, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

  “Hey, no problem. I worked in the school cafeteria, saw an opportunity to help.”

  Star topped off his coffee. “See, I really need this job. Charlie’s had problems with cooks, so I thought it was a chance to secure my place—”

  “It’s okay, really. But I see you’re not just a pretty blonde with big blue eyes and a soft voice … that voice comes on strong if something is important to you. A spine of steel I bet. Besides you already have a job here. Seniority.”

  “Did you have any luck … a job?”

  “Some. I have an interview next week.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll stop by, tell you if I get it.” Ash reached in his pocket for change.

  “No, no. My treat.” Star put her hand up.

  “Thanks. See you.” Ash slid off the stool, ambled to the door.

  “Bye,” Star called out.

  • • •

  AS PROMISED, Charlie hustled in the back door in less than an hour. He and Wanda carted the bags of groceries in from the diner’s white, beat-up Ford van, Wanda prattling in his ear every step of the way. “Star is a whiz, Charlie. Encourage her to take on the dinner service. You look exhausted.”

  Over the next two hours there was a burst of activity—two booths, a table of three, and four of the counter stools turned over. The scent of coconut sun-screen over-rode burgers and bacon. Sunburned, exhausted beach bunnies straggled in and straggled out.

  The day had flown by. Hands hanging by his side, Charlie shook his head at Wanda slouching on a chair opposite Ty.

  Tyler was hunched over the table, scribbling, or drawing with quick broad strokes on the back of one of the diner’s paper placemats. He grabbed a second placemat, then a third, his hand repeating the gyrations, stopping only for a second when he saw Star. She had finished scrapping and scouring the grill. She strolled out from behind the order window—whistling.

  Sliding along the red-vinyl bench next to Tyler, the toes on one foot pushing off a white sneaker, then, switching feet, pushed off the other sneaker.

  Charlie shook his head again—the woman was whistling. He shuffled to lock the side door then the front door wondering at Star’s stamina. After what had gone on today, he could barely manage to lock up, let alone pucker his lips to whistle. How did she do it?

  Charlie leaned against the old Wurlitzer. “Star, if you want a job as our cook just say the word. I don’t know where you came from or where you’re going, but as long as you’re here, we’d like you to be our cook. I’ll take the early morning shift. You start with the lunch crowd to closing.”

  “I’d like that.” Star grinned at Charlie, then Wanda. Wiggling her toes, she slipped on her sneakers. “Charlie, mind if Ty and I grab a coke? Thought we might take a walk down to the beach. That is if you don’t have plans, Ty? I promise I won’t talk your ears off—work talk. We both have to get some sleep.”

  “Hey, you two go right ahead. Tomorrow’s Friday, payday. Consider the coke on the house.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.” Ty carefully stacked the three menus he had scribbled on, folded them in half, in half again, and a final fold sliding them in his pocket and scampered out the back door after Star.

  Chapter 3

  ────

  “FEEL THE AIR, Ty. Isn’t it glorious?” Star was already across the street, calling to him, waving her arms over her head, dancing around, touching her toes, laughing at Ty’s gangly gait hustling across the street to join her.

  Catching her infectious laughter, a smile filled his face, chuckling at her dancing.

  Shouldering her tote she grabbed his hand, pulling him down the path between the shops to the beach. Skidding to a stop a few feet from the waves, she drew open the tote, dug out her white bib apron spreading it on the sand. Dropping cross legged, she patted the apron for him to sit. Tyler in an awkward
movement, his legs not cooperating, sat beside her leaning back on his elbows.

  Star looked up at the blanket of stars reaching to the horizon, fading away in the bright lights of the Ferris wheel and boardwalk along the midway behind her. It was a night to be out, out enjoying the cool breeze pushing away the heat and humidity of the afternoon. Screams from riders braving the rollercoaster mixed with the jingle of the pinball machines in the arcade, mixed with the squeals of young and old as the surf swirled over bare feet.

  Glancing away from the new moon, she observed Tyler twisting the tie of her apron. “Ty, what were you doing with those menus … just before we left?”

  Leaning on one elbow so he could straighten out his body to get into his front pants pocket, he pulled out the folded sheets. “Now, don’t laugh.”

  “I won’t. Let me see.” Star tried to pluck the sheets from his fingers but he was too quick, pulling them out of her reach. She chuckled. Ty looked like a character off the cover of her Gran’s stack of Saturday Evening Post magazines stored in the garage.

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Promise.” She crossed her heart and politely held out her palm to him.

  He handed over the folded menus. Hugging his knees he stared at her face as she slowly unfolded the placemats … dramatically … slowly … glancing at him as each fold opened, nodding at him, squinching her eyes to slits like a Cheshire cat about to discover a hidden treasure.

  Carefully smoothing out the creases of the top sheet of three on her lap, her expression changed from Cheshire to shock.

  A fresh ocean breeze fluttered the edges as she lifted the top sheet, then the second, to the third. She reshuffled the pages, sorting through them again, grasping them tightly to thwart another breeze from stealing them away.

  Star began to laugh, jumping to her feet. She viewed all three again, still laughing. At each page she paused, grinned at Ty, laughter spilling from her lips.