Robyn Carr - Runaway Mistress

When Hedda arrived at about two-thirty, she did some chores like refilling ketchup bottles as well as the salt, pepper and sugar containers, and then she took the back booth and spread out her books. She might have a couple of dozen diners in her three-hour shift. Gloria came on at five, and the dinner traffic from five-thirty to seven-thirty was steady again with all the usual suspects showing up. Jennifer knew this because she had stopped in for dinner herself more than a couple of times. Only on weekend mornings did the place stay busy. So Hedda would have trouble saving for the prom on her low wages and meager tips.

“Well, you should probably try it once, if you can find the right dress,” Jennifer said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Hedda returned.

Jennifer had no idea how long her stash and waitress job would have to last her, but there was one thing she did know—she had savings and investments in accounts that Nick Noble knew nothing about. At least not yet. She didn’t know when or how she’d get back to those accounts, but unlike Hedda, Jennifer had them.

Her first week at the diner had gone well; no one seemed particularly shocked to see her and, all in all, the regulars were friendly. There was Louise every morning, with Alice, and Jennifer very much looked forward to seeing them. She loved the old woman’s gruff and direct manner; it was as though being accepted by Louise meant something. Then there was Louise’s neighbor—Rose. Slender and elegant, Rose didn’t seem to be big on diner food—she feasted on tea and toast. Jennifer loved the way the women, so opposite, interacted. Louise was short, stout, with thin white hair, while Rose was taller, whip thin, with flaming red hair, though she was over sixty.

One morning during her second week on the job, Marty, who owned the used-book store, greeted her with “You the bald girl I’ve been hearing about?”

Well, there you go, she thought. You don’t shave your head and go unnoticed. “I guess that would have to be me,” she said. “Word sure gets around.”

“What else have we got to do around here?” he asked, and grinned so big his dentures slipped around. “Thank God there’s a new face now and then.”

A couple of Boulder City cops rode their mountain bikes up to the front of the diner, parked them where they could keep them in sight and sauntered into the diner. The sight of them made her instantly nervous and afraid of being recognized, but they seemed more intent on breakfast than anything. Ryan, the pudgier of the two, said, “Well now—what biker gang are you from?”

“Schwinn,” she answered, pouring his coffee.

His partner and a couple of other diners laughed, but Ryan just shook his head and said, “Schwinn? I haven’t heard of that gang. Schwinn?”

She met Sam the Vet, Judge Mahoney, and the girls from the beauty shop. The joggers were Merrilee and Jeanette, and by their third morning they were calling out “Hey Doris” as they came in the door.

A nice-looking young man came in late one morning and Buzz told her to go introduce herself to Louise’s other next door neighbor, Alex.

She took the coffeepot over and said, “Hi, I’m Doris. I see your neighbor Louise in here every morning.”

“Hmm,” he replied, turning the page on his paper and snapping it open with a sharp shake. She poured him coffee.

“And Alice. We keep dog treats on hand for her.” He said nothing. He peered at her from behind the paper, frowning as he took her in. “Bald,” she said. “Completely bald. Cream? Sugar?” He merely shook his head and went back to his paper. “Not friendly at all,” she reported to Buzz.

“He’s the tall, handsome, quiet type,” Buzz said.

“Definitely tall. And quiet,” she said. “Handsome is as handsome does.”

Jennifer was often seen wandering around town in her baggy green-and-tan fatigue pants, an oversize work shirt, a windbreaker tied around her hips, hiking boots and the backpack that was always with her. She went from the diner to the Sunset to the library to the park and back to the diner. And as she went, she was very observant, always on the lookout for that long black limo. But it did not reappear.

The weather was cool and mostly cloudy with occasional showers, so she spent most of her time indoors, passing the time with reading. Four-thirty came very early, which put her to bed by eight or nine, and for this she was very grateful—she had no desire to flop around all night, worrying about a lot of things over which she had little or no control—like being whacked by her ex-beau.

One evening she left the Sunset at bedtime to venture back to the diner. She had a cup of coffee and piece of pie on her mind. There were no customers present. She found Gloria seated on a stool at the counter and Buzz standing opposite her. Adolfo was in his booth at the far rear, newspaper spread out in front of him.

“Well, a person would think you’d had enough of this place for one day,” Gloria trumpeted.

“I was remembering that apple pie,” Jennifer said. “And the Sunset doesn’t have TVs in the rooms.”

“I been meaning to get a TV for this place,” Buzz said. “But then Gloria would never do a lick of work.”

“Probably true. Sit up here, girl. Buzz, get the girl a cuppa.”

“You don’t ever go home, do you, Buzz?” Jennifer asked as she climbed on the stool.

“There ain’t anyone at home,” he answered, giving her a cup. He poured coffee into both hers and Gloria’s, then he pulled a silver flask out of his pocket and held it over Jennifer’s cup. She shook her head no, but Gloria tapped her cup with her spoon.

“Ah,” Jennifer said, catching on. “Happy hour.”

“Something like that,” Gloria said.

“I go to my family at supper,” Adolfo informed her from the back of the diner. “My Carmel, she is a better cook than even me. We eat an early meal, then I come back most nights. But Señor Buzz, he can manage if I have need to be home. He doesn’t like anyone to know, but he can cook.”

“We trade off pretty good,” Buzz said. “I like it here. Always liked it here. This old diner is a whole lot friendlier than my house. You want ice cream on that pie?”

“Please,” she said. It was kind of nice not to think about the calories for once. This was a big change for her, and she genuinely hoped she wouldn’t grow into her baggy pants. Her mouth was watering before she could dig her spoon into the delicious dessert.

She was so busy eating that she never heard the soft knocking at the back door. Adolfo got up to see who was there, and with the door partially open revealing a man in an old and worn coat, he called, “Señor Buzz. Someone here for you.”

“Let him in, Adolfo. I got just the thing.”

Buzz went back to the kitchen and came out with a steaming bowl and basket of rolls while Adolfo let an old ratty-looking man into the diner. The old guy was in need of a shave, and he shuffled as if his ankles were tied together with a foot-long rope. Without saying a word, the man took the seat at the end of the counter and Buzz put the soup and bread in front of him. He then served the man a cup of coffee and poured plenty of cream in it.

The only person who didn’t understand what was going on seemed to be Jennifer, who watched the man out of the corner of her eye while she ate her pie.

Adolfo came out of the pantry in his coat, cap on his head. “I’m away,” he said to Buzz. “Señora, Señorita—hasta mañana.”

While Buzz was busy with something in the kitchen, Gloria talked about her husband, Harmon, who had had a stroke four years before. She found him on the garage floor, near death. Somehow he pulled through, but with fewer than half his former capabilities. He couldn’t communicate very well, but she claimed to do all the communicating for him. He went from bed to wheelchair to bed and could only be left alone for periods of a couple of hours at a time, so when she worked or ran errands, her neighbor looked in on him and called Gloria’s cell phone if she was needed. “To tell the truth, I work for a break. You have no idea how hard it is to take care of an invalid. Hard on the heart, too.”