Bobby's Diner (9 page)

“Sort of.” I backed up against
the counter and leaned on it with my butt.

“Well, then what? You were just
gonna wash your hands of this diner? Bobby’s? Bobby?” She was getting all riled
up again and I knew I was no match for Vanessa when she was like this.

“All I’m sayin’ is, I think
everyone would be happier
 
if…”

“Oh, I get it.” She interrupted
me. “Now you’re thinking

of everyone else’s happiness.
When she emphasized the word ‘now’ I knew what she was implying. I just raised
my hands with a surrendering motion. But, then I didn’t need to imply anything
after a second when she said, “Well, aren’t you the martyr. No, young lady. I
don’t know what your mother taught you. But, mine taught me ‘you make your bed,
you lay in it’! No. You’re not selling—I’m not selling. If you’re going to
atone you’ll do it with me breathing down your neck for the rest of your life.
Do you understand me?” She sounded like the momma I’d always dreamed of—hard,
but with a soft river running under her skin.

“So, now you’re gonna tell me how
I’m gonna live out the rest of my life, is that it?”

“Well, at least for today. We
have dinner to serve tonight.

Get back to work!” She grabbed a
tea towel and snapped it at my ass. We would have the diner together for one
more night anyway.

Vanessa loved being strong and
being in control and she grew an inch each time she took charge of a situation.
This was one way we differed. I admired her. I admired my dead husband’s
ex-wife.

CHAPTER 13

José had worked at the diner
since he was a young boy. He snuck in over the border as an illegal. But after
Vanessa got a hold of him, he got his citizenship papers and a green card, and
he
 
worked as a legitimate resident. At
the time, his entire family lived in Mexico. He would send money to them
monthly to help out. Bobby and I would clean out our closets annually and fill
boxes up with clothing we no longer wore. And, José would ship them down to his
mother and father, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews.

Bobby and Vanessa took José in
when he had no one else to turn to. He’d come up from Phoenix where immigration
laws were tightening like a noose around businesses who hired illegals. But, a
little more north in a small, out of the way town authorities just seemed to
look the other way. José was solid and dependable. He showed up
 
like clockwork. Vanessa taught him better
English than what he knew when he got to the states.

Bobby and José always fantasized
about a garden in the back of the diner. Bobby even went so far as to buy a few
books to learn about vegetable gardens. He and José would draw out plans and
dream about the layout, the fresh food, the smells, all the stuff that comes
with having a garden. But, they never got around to it while he and Vanessa
were still married. After the divorce they had to hire an extra person for the
kitchen. So, when Bobby started building our garden, I told him I could help
him build the diner’s. Well, neither Bobby nor José had one extra second to
help, but they did it anyway. I worked early in the morning when the day was
cool and they would help out after their shifts even when the sun was scorching
hot. We finished the enclosure one Sunday
 
and Monday, built the potato bin the following Sunday and Monday. After
we rototilled the ground and turned the soil with
 
added organics we began setting stakes and putting
in raised
 
gardens, walkways around the
garden, we even added bloomers so we could have fresh-cut seasonal flowers on
the tables. The overall enclosure had two entrances. One entrance a person
could walk through and the other we could get a large piece of equipment
through it if need be. That entrance had a
 
double-gate. The single gate had a lovely arching arbor that we planted
Esparanza— the name of the plant means ‘hope’ in Spanish—to grow up and over
the structure. Hummingbirds
 
couldn’t
resist its yellow trumpet flowers but the deer wouldn’t touch it, when they
came around, that is. And, every so often I’d see a doe walking in the
distance. But, the noise from the highway and the bustle around the building
usually kept them away for the most part.

Within a matter of a few weeks we
started producing annuals—flowers and, of course, vegetables. Lettuce sprung up
like weeds, so did the broccoli and green onions. Within three months of
building our garden we were using most everything we grew in our restaurant.

People loved it. We loved it.
José loved it.

Bobby almost changed the name of
the diner to Jardin de Jose. I talked him out of it. Thinking back I might’ve
been wrong. But, at the time Bobby’s seemed the best even with the new garden.
Bobby’s is what people knew the restaurant to be. Changing the name would
change the customer base, I thought. We never told José. I wish we had.

People started to hear about our
beautiful garden in the back. José would sneak people outside and around so
Bobby didn’t know. Not that he would-a cared, but he thought he
 
might. José would sell tomatoes and lettuce
to some of our customers. He’d say, “Mr. Carlisle, someone
 
gives you money for veggies!” He’d shove the
cash in Bobby’s hand and walk away like a new father—beaming and all.

One day José called very early
and woke us. He’d learned his mother had died and had to get to her funeral. We
did all we could to assist him in his time of need. That’s when we found out
José had been selling vegetables on
 
Sundays when we were closed. Every Monday we’d come to work to find a
pile of cash in the tip jar. Everyone loved Monday’s because the waiters and
busboys not only had the regular tips but also the already-filled tip jar at
the
 
cashier’s counter. No one would ever
fess up to it. We didn’t put it together until José was out of the picture for
a few days.

Arnie, one of our regulars had
heard about José’s mother
 
and asked what
we were going to do about Sunday.

“Sunday?” Bobby said to Arnie.
“We’re closed on Sundays.”

“So, we don’t get our weekly
veggies?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Out of the garden, you know,
José’s been selling vegetables and flowers. It’s a real farmer’s market, by
god! We
 
think it’s a great idea, Bobby.”
Arnie was talking like it was Bobby’s idea. Then, it all dawned on us, the
three of us, right then and there. Everything fell into place. How we never
seemed to have any wasted vegetables, how the money appeared like a
 
coin left under a pillow by the tooth fairy
after losing a tooth, how everyone loved to talk to José, how we kept getting
new plants even when we didn’t remember ordering any. We were so busy with the
diner, you see, to keep track of something that
 
seemed
 
to be thriving. We weren’t
missing cash, we were getting it. No inventory was stolen, things seemed off,
but fun. Not bad, like we had a dishonest employee or nothing’. So, we looked
away.

Well, after José got back the jig
was up. When we confronted him he looked like a beaten puppy. He started taking
off his apron like we were firing him.

“That’s right, José!” Bobby said
it real mean. “You get off that apron and…” He paused for a second. “Put your
garden gloves on and get to work! We have a busy Sunday ahead of us in a couple
of days and we can’t have our little market in a shambles!” José’s face looked
like one
 
big question mark. When Bobby
broke into laughter José realized he was happy about everything. But, kept
saying, like a forgiven sinner, “Thank you, Mr. Carlisle, thank you.”

“Jesus Christ, José. You’re the
best. Get out and have fun in your garden. Now go!”

He’d returned the day before from
the funeral and Bobby wanted to make sure he had something to live for again. I
know how you feel when you lose your mother, like you’ve lost half your body.

We’ve kept up José’s tradition.
Any money he makes from vegetables sales that aren’t reinvested in new plants,
we put in the tip jar. And, I’ll bet you any amount that we have the only
employees who fight to get a shift in on Mondays.

CHAPTER
 
14

He was big—big and mean-looking
and homely as a baboon. He didn’t give a name, why would he. He just appeared like
an apparition in a horror movie. He had pockmarks from acne past.
 
And, when he talked his tight skin pulled in
odd directions, not like supple soft skin, but like he’d been burnt on a
spinning
 
wagon wheel. You wanted to feel
sorry for the guy, but he had lava in his veins, hot and raging. So, you felt
scared instead.

Vanessa seated him back in the
corner like he’d requested. He ate a sandwich and drank one beer after the
other, for two-and-a-half hours till mostly everyone was gone. That’s when he
asked to speak with the owner. Vanessa told him she was the owner.

“What can I help you with?”

“This place is sweet.” He sucked
on a pickle when he said it like he was sucking someone’s dick.

“Thank you sir, we think so.”
Vanessa was taken back a little but remained cool and began to walk away.

“It’d be a shame if anything were
to happen to it.”

She stopped suddenly and turned
back to him. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think I stuttered ma’am.
You think about what I said, now.” He slid to the edge of the seat to stand.

“How safe are you here running a
business like this, being a woman and all. You could get hurt. If I was you, I
think I’d sell to the first person who made me an offer.” He got up next to her
slow and so close she could smell his rancid breath. “You have a good day now.”
He wiped his mouth with the napkin that had been on the table and threw it back
onto the seat.

Vanessa stood speechless as he
pushed by her out of the restaurant and got in his shiny black Yukon. Its
windows
 
were dark so you couldn’t see
inside. She walked just outside the doors as he was pulling out of the parking
lot. The license plates had been removed from the back.

***

“Georgette?”

“Mm hmm?” I was cleaning up in
the kitchen after the lunch rush and didn’t look up.

“We’ve just been threatened.”

“Hmm.” I was intent on reordering
the kitchen and didn’t quite catch what Vanessa had said. “I’m sorry Vanessa, I
didn’t catch that. What did you just say?” I stopped wiping and put my hair
behind my ears. “We’ve been threatened—to sell. He said if we didn’t sell, we’d
be hurt.”

“What?”

“That’s right. Some big lug-nut
just came in, ate lunch, poured about a keg of beer into his mouth, and then threatened
us if we didn’t sell.” “That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m telling you, Georgette. It’s
what just happened.”

“Who waited on him.” “I did.”

“Why?”

“He just started ordering after I
sat him in the booth and so I brought it out to him. Easy enough, I thought.”

“Did anyone else see him?”

“Oh, I’m sure they all saw him.
He looked like he’d been run down by horses pulling a wagon full o’ ugly!”

“Vanessa.”

“Shit, Georgette. This guy was
nasty. All pockmarked and everything.”

“Vanessa, a person can’t help
something like that!” “Inside, too. That’s not the point. He threatened our business—you
and me—get it?”

“It’s just so hard to believe.
Why would anyone want to threaten us?”

“I don’t know. But, something’s
not right.” Vanessa left the kitchen.

When I’d finished wiping down the
counters I went out to talk to her again. She was standing at the front door
looking out. She had one hand up to her mouth and the other on her hip and
looked like she was in another world.

I noticed something I hadn’t seen
in her before. From that
 
position, deep
in thought, she looked smaller somehow. Before, she’d always looked bigger-than-life
to me. I guess because I always felt a little ashamed around her since
Bobby,
 
and all. But, for this brief
moment, she looked fragile.

“Has he been back?”

I’d startled her from her demons.

“No. Not yet.”

“Hey, Van. Let’s try not to worry
about this, okay? It’s a
 
distraction we
don’t need. Nothing’s gonna happen. Don’t you give it another thought.”

She turned away and clasped both
her arms around the front of her like she got a chill down her spine. “Have you
counted the till?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Well, don’t you think it’d be a
good idea if you did?

Come on, Vanessa, let’s close
this place up, okay?”

“Sure… of course, you’re right.
What’s gotten into me? He really had me going for a second. What time is it?”
She looked at her watch. “Oh, Christ! I’m supposed to be at Roberta’s tonight.
She wants me to help her with some things around the house—you know, some of
Rick’s things. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Wanna come?” When she saw my face
lighten up and actually consider being included she quickly rescinded the question.
“Oh, I’m joking. I’m certain Roberta would prefer to be alone with her mother.”
She said it like it was a sentence in prison. But, to me, it sounded like water
to a parched animal in the desert.