Helen Cox - Sunrise in New York

To New York.

To the Starlight Diner.

To Esther.

Before stepping inside, I glanced one last time over my shoulder, just to be sure nobody was out there. Watching or waiting.

Snowflakes danced in the pale glow of street lamps and steam blew out of the subway vents, but people were few, and hurrying home out of the cold. The coast seemed to be clear.

For now.

I didn’t know what kind of reception I’d get from Esther, not after what had happened between us. When she found out what was going on, the parts it was safe to tell, I’d at least be subjected to a tut and an eyebrow raise. That much was certain. Both were almost patented gestures for her. Still, I needed a friendly face and she was the closest thing I had.

‘Hi there, honey,’ said a soft, inviting voice, which was accompanied by the rich flurry of the saxophone playing in the background. Turning, I saw who had spoken: a waitress standing just behind the counter.

Looking at her, my shoulders tightened. They were already sore from three days and two nights sleeping on buses and hostel beds and I winced at the sting.

It wasn’t Esther.

God damn it, where was she? Why couldn’t she have just put her home address on those letters she sent? Well, I had my suspicions about why. But I couldn’t think about that. Esther was pretty much the only person I had to turn to and the only lead I had on her was this restaurant.

‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll be right with you,’ said the waitress. I was still holding the door half-open, letting in the wintry darkness.

Nodding, I shuffled in, past some guy sitting at the end of the counter. I didn’t look right at the fella but I could feel him staring. More than likely he was eyeing up my hair, which I’d dyed blue with a three-dollar rinse and hacked off just above the shoulder with a pair of kitchen scissors on my way out of Atlantic City. I still wasn’t quite used to the attention it got me. Being a brunette was a lot less conspicuous but, after what had happened, looking anything like myself could be lethal.

Deciding on the seat furthest from the doorway – and the bitter chill – I set down my guitar and suitcase on the red and white chequered lino and sat up at the counter. Only then, when I’d stopped shivering, did I pause to properly size up my surroundings.

This wasn’t your average diner, that much was for sure. It was one of those fifties-themed restaurants built to preserve the good times gone by. That explained the Marvin Berry and the Starlighters record, and something came back to me then from one of Esther’s letters, about the diner having a retro twist.

That was no understatement.

The place was painted a blinding shade of red and had vintage signs hanging around the walls advertising sodas and milkshakes, each one complete with some sickly-sweet slogan like ‘Put a cherry on top of your day’. The smells left behind from the cooking of hot dogs, omelettes, grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries all lingered, creating their own unique, sweaty perfume. Yep, the place was just how Esther had described it alright. Well, according to the parts of her letters I could understand. Truth be told, she was a bit of a walking dictionary. Even with a college education, I only understood eight out of every ten words she said.

‘What can I get for you, honey?’ The waitress, who according to her name tag was called Mona, leaned on the counter with her notebook in hand. She looked weary, as would anyone who was still at work past eleven the day after Christmas, and was wearing quite a bit of make-up to cover up the fact she was beat. She’d glazed her lips with a cherry-coloured lip gloss and lightning bolts of silver powder zigzagged across her eyelids in sharp contrast to her black skin.

I opened my mouth to place an order but then hesitated. I had about seven dollars left in the world. No point ordering big if Esther wasn’t even around.

‘Matter of fact, I’m looking for Esther Knight. She still work here?’ My question came out casual enough, which was a miracle considering how desperate I was.

‘Oh, you’re a friend of Esther’s?’ said Mona.

Neat. How do I answer that one honestly?

Am I a friend of Esther’s?

I think so. I think she forgave me for what I did. It was months ago now and she’d written me a couple of letters like she promised so she couldn’t be that sore about it.

‘Uh, yeah,’ I said.

Oh, nice going, Bonnie. Just spectacular. A commendation to you on delivering the least convincing declaration of friendship ever.

‘Well, she’s over in England, visiting her mom for Christmas. Not back till late tomorrow,’ the waitress explained.

‘Oh.’ I heard the crack in my voice but Mona didn’t seem to notice. Hearing that news was like being shot through the heart. Esther really wasn’t here. Not even in this country, let alone the city. I had no money, no place to go and it was glacial outside. What the hell was I going to do? Ride the subway all night? That seemed to be about my only option. It was that or freeze to death on a park bench.

‘Want something to drink while you’re here?’ asked Mona.

‘I’ll get a cuppa coffee. Thanks,’ I said, trying to ignore the empty churn of my stomach. I had to save what money I could. Tomorrow, people would be out shopping again and I could busk for a few more bucks. Probably scrape together enough for a decent-sized pizza and a night in a cheap motel in case things didn’t work out with Esther.

‘Not a problem, just gotta run out back and get a fresh pack of beans. Won’t be a minute, honey,’ Mona said. I was going to say something polite. That she should take as much time as she wanted, I wasn’t in any rush to be back out in the cold, that kind of thing. But at the idea of being outside, alone in New York, all the words caught at the back of my throat. So I just did a little shrug and smiled as best I could.

The second she pushed through the swing doors out to the kitchen however, it happened. Tears, thick and salty, forced their way out. My whole body shook with the might of them and I covered my eyes and mouth with my hands in an attempt to block out the world. To forget the fact that I was howling like a kid in a downtown diner, all to the tune of ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll’, which had followed up ‘Earth Angel’ on the Wurlitzer.

‘Hey, you alright?’ a man’s voice said. I jumped at the sound. The guy at the counter with the staring problem. I’d forgotten about him. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. Thanks to my dad accusing me of ‘turning on the waterworks’ whenever I’d wept as a child, I hated to cry under any circumstances, but it was always worse when you had a witness.

And now what was I supposed to say to this guy?

I sucked in as much oxygen as I could, dropped my hands to the counter and turned. Twisting my lips into something that resembled a smile, I tried to stem the flow of my tears. I hadn’t really got a good look at the man before. He had a sharpness to his eyes. They were a deep brown and pretty intense, to the point that he seemed almost angry about something. His hair fell in blonde waves around his face and he might’ve been cute if he only learned to smile instead of leer, and if he halved the amount of cologne he wore. The musty smell caught at the back of my throat even from this distance; I didn’t want to know how it was up close. What did he do, shower in that junk?