One Summer_...at Charlie's Diner

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Stephanie paused, took a deep breath, and pulled a folded envelope from her shoulder bag. “Jim and I wrote up a promissory note, good for a year, after that … well, maybe sometime in the future. We won’t forget you. You’ll be the first we contact if any interest in the show crops up.”

  Stephanie gave the envelope to Star, then stuck her hand out as did Jim.

  Star shook their hands, a mechanical reaction.

  “Wait. You can’t be serious. Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  “It’s not a joke. We’re sorry. Jim’s phone number is at the bottom of the note. If you have any questions call him. Come on, Jim, let’s get out of here.”

  Jim dutifully followed in Stephanie’s wake, turning with one last thought. “That Christmas log, what did you call it, Buche de Noel, was out of this world. Can you send me the recipe?”

  Star, standing with the promissory note in hand, stared at the producers as they shot out of the hall.

  Tyler stood at the front door waiting to drive the winner home, maybe stop for a celebratory dinner, definitely tell her his news. He was excited, but at the same time filled with sadness. He was leaving Star.

  Standing where the stage had been, standing in the empty hall, Star blinked. Was it all a dream?

  When Stephanie and Jim brushed past Tyler at the door, he looked around for Star. He took a step into the empty hall and stopped. Something was wrong. She wasn’t smiling, almost like she was hypnotized. Fearing she was going to keel over, he slowly approached her.

  “Hey, Star, it’s me. Your Gran is waiting in the car. Are you sick … what’s wrong?”

  Seeing her dream of the little bakery fading away, she looked up.

  “What’s wrong? Everything!

  “There’s no prize money.”

  Tyler took hold of her shoulders. “Look at me, Miss Bloom.” He gently lifted her chin his deep brown eyes looking into her blue eyes filled with disbelief, searching his face for answers.

  “You won today. There are going to be many news outlets reporting your win by morning. Those stories will spawn more stories. Now, come on. Your Gran is waiting in the car.”

  Star nodded.

  Tyler walked her out of the cement-block building. Gran was leaning against the car, her wide smile disappearing as she caught sight of the pair walking toward her. It was not a triumphant march. She opened her arms as Star reached her. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Gran looked over her granddaughter’s shoulder to Ty. He was shaking his head as he opened the back door of the car.

  Star pulled back. “Gran, the contract to syndicate the show fell through. Jim said there’s no money. In fact, he and Stephanie are broke.”

  “That’s awful. How long have they been perpetrating this fraud?”

  Tyler had to smile at the crusty side of Madame Bloom.

  “I don’t know when they found out, but from the way they acted I would say they were in shock, so maybe last night … even today. How can I win and lose at the same time, Gran?”

  “Now you listen to me, sweetie.” Gran slid into the backseat making room for Star to follow.

  Tyler climbed in behind the wheel and turned to be a partner in the conversation.

  Gran picked up Star’s hand. “With all the publicity, those news people who were there today filming the two episodes, the story of your winning, decisively I might add, something is bound to happen.”

  Star pulled the letter from her tote handing it to her grandmother who quickly read the few handwritten lines.

  “Tyler, did you read this?” Gran asked handing him the piece of paper. “You see, Star, it still might happen. They gave you a promissory note … they intend to make good on your winning.”

  “Only if they sell the show, Gran. Stephanie sure didn’t sound or act like that was going to happen.”

  Gran patted Star’s hand as Tyler handed the letter back. “Just so you know, Star my dear precious granddaughter, I’m not leaving just yet. Let’s see what happens when the news of your winning hits the news wires. What do you think, Tyler?”

  “My thoughts exactly. Star is a winner and tomorrow morning everyone will know it.”

  Starting the Lincoln, he pulled out of the empty driveway, turning north on Williamson Boulevard, then east on International Speedway to the ocean. His news would have to wait another day.

  Chapter 47

  ────

  WORD SPREAD RAPIDLY.

  The producers of the much-hyped pilot of the reality television series featuring amateur bakers had fled town and, worse, they had reneged on the top prize: $50,000. The old phrase, that’s show business, was bandied about with a shrug.

  The lesson—if it sounds too good to be true then it probably is. That’s life.

  The fact that the winner of the competition, Star Bloom, was one of their own, gave grist to the television, radio, and print reporters. The winner turned loser was the morning’s lead story.

  Tyler drove up to the curb, throttled the Harley’s engine twice, waiting for her to step out the door. Star put on a brave smile as she hopped on the seat behind him, arms around his waist, head resting on his back. He would have loved her resting against him if it wasn’t because she was so sad.

  Entering the diner, Charlie first, then Wanda with tears in her eyes, told her how sorry they were. They couldn’t believe that nice man who chatted with them over refreshments could be such a scoundrel.

  Star felt worse as the day wore on. Everybody felt terrible hearing the news, hugged her, told her not to worry. She was a winner for God’s sake.

  Tyler watched her receiving the hugs, the condolences, always responding with a smile, thanking everyone for their concern. Benny, the Butterworth sisters, couldn’t believe how the producers could perpetrate such a fraud—the same words Gran had used.

  She closed her eyes, fought back the urge to cry when Jane, Liz, and Manny arrived for lunch, ostensibly for lunch, but really to offer their support. In every instance, she said the producers meant well, they simply had lost their investors and were never given a contract to sign.

  The turnover of the seating at the diner was constant. Thank heaven for that, Star thought wondering if she might run out of meatball mini-tarts. She did run out of cranberries, substituting an orange marmalade glaze. Putting the plate up on the order window for Tyler, she noted there were no more tickets hanging on the wire, no orders waiting to be filled. She chuckled—every ticket had included a smiley face at the bottom. Tyler’s way of trying to cheer her up.

  Wanda asked Star to sit down for a cup of coffee.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, sliding into the booth opposite Wanda, she thanked Ty for the coffee.

  Wanda looked up at Tyler over the rim of her coffee mug. “Please join us. I have something to tell you and Star.”

  Ty slid in next to Star. “That was some rush we had this morning. Those kids loved your mini-tarts. Everyone did. And all your …” Tyler stopped talking. Were those tears in Wanda’s eyes?

  Wanda looked wistfully at Tyler. What a treasure—not really a boy, almost thirty. But he seemed like a boy with his cartoons, his clever way of turning a phrase. “I’ll tell you straight up, no point in beating around the bush. Charlie and I are closing the diner after Labor Day. It will be the end of summer and the rush of tourists will be gone. We’re putting the diner up for sale.”

  Wanda looked down, reached for the little plastic box next to the wall—tapped the sugar packets noting they had to be replenished as she pulled out a white paper napkin.

  Star reached for Wanda’s hand. “Business is good, why—”

  “We’re burned out. Charlie isn’t well. Too much, it’s just too much work for us … to keep it going. Charlie wanted to tell you himself, but he couldn’t face you. He says you two are like his children, children we never had.”

  Ty looked at Star. Another blow to her. And he still hadn’t told her he was leaving. Yesterday wasn’t the right time, and now this. Tomorrow? “I’m sorry,
Wanda. But now that your business is booming, and with your location … I mean right across the street from all the action—Bandshell, Ferris wheel, the beach—you should be able to clear enough to, to, maybe retire.” His brows raised, eyes hopeful. “Don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. Thank you, Tyler. Oh, and the robber is in custody. The police picked him last night at the bus station. He had a ticket to Miami in his pocket.”

  “That’s a relief,” Tyler said.

  “Yes, your drawing was a big help. Detective Watson called Charlie this morning, wanted him to come identify the guy in a lineup.”

  “And did he?” Star asked.

  “Yes, without a doubt. Oops, here’s that family and their little ones. Better give them your special drawing placemats, Ty.”

  The shift ended. The new part-time cook Wanda hired while Star was competing drifted in to relieve her. She briefed him on what to expect from the dinner crowd. Rain was predicted which meant the diner would be rocking. The diner was a great place to kill time until the rain stopped.

  Tyler told Star to wait inside. He had a couple of rain slickers stored in the bike. Dashing back in, he helped her on with the yellow slicker, promising to drive slowly. She’d be home in less than five minutes, beats walking and getting soaked.

  Pulling to the curb in front of her building, he turned off the key, hopped off to help her. Removing the slicker, she thanked him for the ride, turned to dash inside.

  He grasped her arm. “Star—dinner tomorrow? My studio. I have something to show you.”

  “Okay, tomorrow. Bye.”

  Chapter 48

  ────

  STAR OPENED HER front door to the homey aroma of Gran’s fresh baked meatloaf, glazed with sesame-ginger sauce, and a side of garlicky mashed potatoes.

  “Gran, you’ll never know how much I love you,” she said drawing her grandmother into a warm hug.

  “I love you too, sweetie … more than you’ll ever know. Now, throw those greasy smelling clothes in the hamper, take a quick shower if you like while I open a bottle of wine I bought from the nice liquor store up the street. Then, I want to hear about your day.”

  Star gave Gran another hug. “I won’t be long. Go ahead and pour.”

  When Star stepped out of the bathroom in her fuzzy sky-blue bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her wet hair, she saw Gran had pulled out all the stops trying to cheer her up. A candle flickered happily in the center of her second-hand bistro table.

  Gran handed her a goblet of wine. “Now you sit while I serve up our dinner. I heard the news on the television after you left this morning. All the reporters were talking about you. I bet some of your friends stopped by the diner.”

  “Some? How about all. They were so nice … it was awful. You’ll never guess the bombshell Wanda laid on Ty and me. She and Charlie are closing the diner after Labor Day. The end of summer. Putting it up for sale.”

  “Oh, dear. It must be hard for them … or maybe a relief. Charlie didn’t look all that well yesterday at the … you know…”

  “Yeah, you can say it … at the bake-off. You’re right, though. Wanda said they were tired, couldn’t handle it anymore. She said Charlie wasn’t well.”

  “So, no little bakery, and now you have to find another job. Labor day’s only two weeks away.”

  “Sucks doesn’t it. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Sweetie, it does suck. How can I help? Pick up some newspapers tomorrow? Are there any that handle jobs in the food industry more than others?”

  “Maybe I should give up.”

  “You don’t mean move back to Hoboken?”

  “No. I’m not that desperate … yet.”

  “Star, you just won a competition. It wasn’t easy. Baking is in your blood—”

  “But, Gran … no prize money. No job—signs I’m not meant to—”

  “Voodoo nonsense! You have to be patient.”

  “How patient? I can’t pay the bills with hope.”

  “Okay. Let’s say … give it one month. One month after the diner closes. Maybe they’ll change their minds. Now, let’s not beat a dead horse. I’m changing the subject.”

  “Gran, what would I do without you?” Swirling the wine goblet in the candlelight, little dashes of red popped through the glass. “I’m glad you’re here … maybe I can trick myself.”

  “Trick yourself?”

  “Yeah … like I’m on an upswing.”

  “Star, we never had a chance to talk about Ash, the man you mentioned several times when we chatted over the phone. Last thing you said to me was that his grandmother flew over from London to help him. I couldn’t believe how you described his saving your life. Thank God he was there.”

  Star took their plates to the sink, rinsed them, put them in the dishwasher. “He’s a Muslim, Gran. A good man. A man on a mission.”

  “What kind of mission, dear?”

  “To paraphrase his grandmother, Ash turned away from the militant ways of his family in Syria.”

  “Syria? Oh my goodness.”

  “Yup. Turned out his mother and her mother schemed to be sure he was born in the States … the Bronx. His grandmother and grandfather paid for his education … Master’s Degree in Media Communication, so he could be the voice for Muslims here in the U.S., a voice to tell Americans the other side of the story, a story that most Muslims are peaceful and would never want to hurt our country. Anyway, he left for Miami, and then in a few months is going on to Detroit … and … I don’t know … travel around the country.”

  “My, my … such dedication. It wouldn’t have worked, you know.” Gran topped off their wine.

  “Tell me why not, Gran. I want you to tell me.”

  Gran could see that Star was conflicted, but also trying to come to grips with losing someone to a cause, someone she cared for.

  “Sounds to me like two people with strong ambitions were drawn to each other, but their ambitions didn’t align. Ash must have seen that but couldn’t bring himself to alter his course. Powerful thing when you feel an obligation to a cause, a mission bigger than your life, a calling if you will.”

  “We never kissed—he touched my arm, I took his hand, pulled him along the beach. Yet, I was attracted to him and I felt he was to me.”

  “It hasn’t been long … his leaving. How do you feel now?”

  “The first episode of the bake-off finished the day before the robbery. Everything happened so fast after that. Fast, but I felt like I was going through a time warp in slow motion. Police, accusations, his grandmother, then he was gone. Was he real? Yes. A forever memory. You’re right, I guess. It was not to be but Manny said I’m a richer person for having known him.”

  “And, my dearest granddaughter, Ash is richer for having known you. Now, let’s get some sleep. Are you sure you’re okay on that lumpy couch of yours?”

  “I’m sure. Sorry about the bed, if you can call a blowup mattress a bed.”

  Gran chuckled. “You should have seen your grandfather’s and my first apartment. It was about on a par with yours.”

  “Before I forget, Tyler wants to show me something. He asked me to dinner at his studio tomorrow after work. Maybe a new cartoon … like the little baker girl losing.”

  “Hey sweetie, you’re on an upswing, remember?”

  Chapter 49

  ────

  IT HAD BECOME one of his favorite things to do—transporting Star on the back of his Harley, her arms wrapped about his waist, her head leaning into his back. He could envision her blond hair floating out from under her helmet on the wind.

  Pulling into his driveway, they both hopped off, running up the steps to his studio to escape the soupy humidity.

  “What smells so good? Italian for sure.”

  “Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. I told her we’d pick something up on the way, but, when she heard you were coming over to have dinner with me, she insisted. Spaghetti is in the slow cooker on the counter, and … yup … Italian bread w
ith garlic butter is in the micro ready to be zapped.”

  “Looks like she opened a bottle of Merlot … letting it breeeathe.”

  “That would be Dad. Are you hungry?”

  “After cooking all day I can’t believe it, but, yes I’m hungry. How about a glass of wine first. You said you had some news. Tell me, Superman. Give.”

  A rash of nerves ran through Tyler’s stomach. All of sudden he didn’t want to tell her because then it would be real. He’d be leaving. He kept telling himself it wasn’t forever, but it felt like forever.

  Star perched on the high stool at the counter holding a wine glass out to him. Tyler poured, pulled up another stool at the end of the counter so he faced her. His Kewpie doll was now a woman, a woman he loved. He had to be careful, not say those words. Not now, maybe never, but definitely not tonight.

  He didn’t know how she was going to take his news. She’d be happy for him, for sure. Because he was her friend. Now that Ash was gone, he didn’t know if she had another friend, or friends. She never said, and he pretty much knew what she did every day, every hour.

  “I told you I was applying to some small animated film companies. There are a few that receive subcontracts from Disney, Pixar, and DreamWorks—the biggies.”

  “Ty, someone wants to interview you? I’m not surprised. You are sooo talented. They’d be lucky—”

  “I had an offer. I accepted it … I … I’m leaving for Burbank in a week.”

  “Burbank? As in Burbank, California?”

  “Yes. I signed a one-year contract with a small animation company, to be a member of their team working on a new DreamWorks project. They liked how I bring animated characters to life—their feelings, their emotions. Star, they actually told me that.”

  “Ty, that’s incredible. Your dream. How long have you known … why didn’t you tell me …”

  “You had a lot going on, the bake-off … and stuff. You’ll never guess what caught their eye, what they really liked? Why I was selected.”