"One of them ' coons cut through my coat that I had wrapped around my arm to use as a shield. A sharp knife that was." His dark blue eyes shine as a kid' s looking at a train toy and he laughs as if the six inches of scar running along the top of his arm we retickling him. Despite his joviality, I wouldn' t like to get into a knife fight with him on a bridge, or anywhere else.
The nights go fast and the usual customers come and go. They sit at the counter, mesmerized by Johnny' s tales and eat my food with far less enthusiasm. They come to Al' s to be entertained, not to eat; they buy food and coffee as the admission ticket to a friendly conversation. We got drunks, former drunks, bikers, vets, rednecks, mechanics with dirt packed under their fingernails, and divorced women who are way past their prime and who only got wrinkles on their faces as compensation for putting up with losers and their lousy marriages. All are welcome at Al' s and we make merry company. I have learn more about life standing behind the counter next to Johnny than I ever did behind my desk at school.
It' s late at night and the clock' s hands are approaching closing time. Our routine is to close and then Johnny and I have our meal. After, we clean up and Johnny does the cash register then he pays me before we leave the place and go our different ways home. I' m washing the last pile of dishes when somebody enters the joint. I don' t bother to look back because I' m up to my elbows in dirty water, scrubbing a big pot. Johnny and the double barrel shotgun under the counter can cover my back.
"Hi handsome," a female voice comes from the other side of the counter. I pay no attention because I think the voice is talking to Johnny.
' Hey fly boy! Too busy to say hello?" The voice is now louder and with a hint of annoyance.
I turn around and there is Debbie in a flimsy summer dress with her little nipples pushing the thin fabric out.
"Debbie…! What are you doing in this side of town?" My smile comes upon my oily face. I can see myself wearing a food stained and dirty apron and a white paper cap. I' m both glad seeing Debbie and I' m embarrassed at the same time. Soapy water drips down my fingers onto the greasy floor.
"A customer drove me to his place and afterwards didn' t want to take me back to my motel, so I started walking and passing by I decided to have a cup of coffee and something to eat." Her dimples, her damned dimples with her smile make me feel like a dupe.
"It' s gonna take you all night to get back to your place," I say.
"No really. I will get another customer on my way back, or more than one, but I will eventually find a john to take me home."
During this time the unflappable Johnny just stood behind the counter and smiled. It was obvious that having a whore in his reputable establishment was of no consequence to him. He walked to the door and flipped the sign from "Open" to "Close" and came back to his place behind the counter. I just stood where I was, water now just a trickle running down my fingertips.
"Well," says Johnny. "Are you gonna offer the lady something to eat or are you just gonna stand there like a dummy?"I snap into action, dry my hands while Johnny asks Debbie, not really asks, but tells her what she will have for dinner. While they made small talk I got dinner going for the three of us: double cheeseburgers with bacon and onion rings for everybody. Once done I placed the three servings on the counter and before I had time to say anything, Johnny grabbed two of the dishes and took them to a little corner table by the window.
"You two can eat here," he said, a devilish smile on his face. "I will eat at the counter while I close the register."I knew Johnny long enough to know that he was full of it. Closing the register meant grabbing all the money and giving me my cut. He never counted anything, he just grabbed the cash in a bundle and put it in his pocket and went home. But there he sat, counting bills and eating alone while I had to sit with Debbie by the window. Right after we sat he had come over with a pair of beers and had placed them on our table.
"No beer license in this joint but we are closed so… who gives a damn?" His boyish smile in his wrinkled face made me go along with his idea of a joke. I knew he had a joke up his sleeve some where, but he didn' t seem too keen to go for it, at least not yet.
"He' s so cute," says Debbie after Johnny walked back to the counter.
"He' s nuts," I say aloud so Johnny can hear me. "And he knows it." Johnny smiles behind the counter and ignores me, chopping down on his dinner.
We sit across from each other and start to eat in silence. It was obvious she was hungry. I chew and watch the traffic go by US 1. I picture Debbie walking alone on the dark sidewalks, waiting for a john to stop to either make more money or get a ride back to her place, or both. Late at night and waiting to be picked by strangers, maybe some crazed nut, and her only defense is her cute dimples. I shake my head in disbelief, still looking out of the window.
"What?" she asks. Her eyes are inquisitive, as if trying to see beyond the expression on my dirty face and right into my mind.
"I don' t want you walking back alone tonight. It' s too dangerous. I' ll take you home." She smiles but doesn' t contradict me and lowers her gaze as if embarrassed. She chews for a few seconds, swallows and then says in a soft voice," Thank you. You' re an angel."
Behind me Johnny speaks.
"Good night. I' m going home. Your money is on the counter."
"Good night," says Debbie. "And thank you."
I turn just in time to see him winking to Debbie, the old coot.
"See you tomorrow," I say. "I' ll lock up for you."Johnny' s stocky frame disappears through the door and he ambles away, probable thinking of the fun he was going to have at my expense the next night.
Alone we eat. We make small talk and drink our beer in short seeps. There is no reason to hurry but there is no reason for us to bedinning together either but somehow it feels right to be alone and together this night. I' m filthy with kitchen stains and smell like onions, and she is also dirty in a way that hurts me when it shouldn' t because it is not my business. At least she doesn' t stink like I do. The dirty cook and the prostitute; this ain' t the Lady and the Vagabond; this ain' t fucking love story but two losers eating together, probably a joke in the making if Johnny has his way.
I take her home in my jalopy. I' m free of the apron and the hat but the onion stench still hangs around me. She doesn' t seem bothered by it, but why would she? Her line of work requires a strong stomach. We talk, we laugh and have a good time. I drop her on the sidewalk in front of her place. I can see another girls sitting on lounge chairs, smoking and waiting for their johns to drop by. I know a few. Before she got out of the car she kissed me on the cheek. Her tender touch still burns. She smiles and the darned dimples make me look like a fool again. She walks away, says hello to her coworkers and before entering the lobby she turns around and waves at me, blowing a kiss with her hand. I smile and wave back. What a fool I' m.
Next night Johnny says nothing to me about Debbie. Not even one question or remark. Maybe, after all, it had not been a joke.
Letter to Tony
Pencil on legal size yellow sheet
April 27, Daytona Beach.
Dear Tony:
How are things out there in Youngstown? Any steel mills left? Anybody left in town? Every pizza man in Dayton a is from Ohio, union men working for tips. I haven’ t finished school and I already have a huge student loan to pay back, and the Old Man is broke. I have been flying banners for an out fit in New Smyrna beach. The pay is crap but at least I get to put lots of hours in my logbook. It' s hard on your ass when you spent all day sitting in a plane. It' s hot, noisy and when you have a head wind the damned thing barely moves, but at least I' m getting the hours. A few many more thousands of hours and then I can get a job with an airline (by then I will be forty at least).