Carbs & Cadavers (3 page)

“That was the best stack of strawberry pancakes I have ever tasted,” James exhaled, feeling his belt groaning across his bulging waist. “I’m eating all the junk I can before starting a new diet,” he told the girl just to make conversation. He had made a terrific mess with the syrup and felt guilty watching her scrub the sticky droplets from the tabletop while he sat there reading.

“Don’t want to get your book stuck,” she said kindly. Her name tag read
Whitney
and was pinned on the simple white apron she wore over her jeans.

“Did you go to Blue Ridge High?” James asked.

“Yep. Go Hawks!” she said with false enthusiasm.

James put his crumpled napkins on her tray. “Homecoming parade not your thing?”

“Nah. Plus, I could use the hours. I’m attending James Madison U part-time. I’ll need all the cash I can get my hands on just to pay for two classes.”

“Good for you,” James nodded in admiration. “What’s a parade when compared to a college education? Do you know what you’re planning to major in?”

“Business.” Whitney handed James his bill. “I can’t wait to get out of this hick town, and I figure a business degree is my ticket to a better life,” she added with a surprising amount of vehemence. “If I can ever afford to
complete
my degree, that is.”

“Whitney!” Dolly called. “Can you help Clint slice all the meatloaf? I think we are about to be as packed as feathers on a rooster in a few minutes.”

James looked around the diner. Aside from him, there were only two other clients enjoying a late breakfast at Dolly’s. The midday sun was making its way into the restaurant, glinting off of some of the exotic souvenirs Dolly and Clint had brought home from their travels around the world. Dolly’s husband, Clint, had been in the Coast Guard for almost twenty years. He had been stationed in Guam, Honolulu, the Philippines, Alaska, and up and down both coasts of the United States. Each time Clint was given personal leave, Dolly got to choose a new country for them to visit. Now the evidence of their global wanderings was forever preserved on the walls and in the rafters of the diner.

From his booth, James could reach out and touch an enormous sequined sombrero, a porcelain Mardi Gras mask, an African walking stick with a carved snake curling up the handle, a rusty tin sign reading
Banheiro
(meaning “bathroom” in Portuguese), a cricket bat, a beautiful black silk kimono spread out in order to show off its embroidered green dragon with the forked tongue, and a corkboard covered with the labels from French wine bottles. James tried to sit in a different booth each time he visited in order to admire a fresh collection of treasures before he began reading.

As he scanned the room, James noticed one of Lindy’s neon pink flyers posted on the bulletin board by the front door. A young man in a rather ragged-looking letter jacket was examining it. As James watched, the man yanked the flyer off the board and held it out to Dolly, who was wiping an already gleaming countertop.

“What’s this?” he yelled across the quiet diner. “An ad for the Fat Loser Club?”

“You hush up, Brinkley Myers,” Dolly scolded without looking up from her scrubbing. “Some folks need a little help gettin’ into shape. There’s no need for you to be puttin’ them down.”

“Well, I hope
you
don’t join in. We all love you
just
the way you are,” the young man named Brinkley oozed with false charm while eyeing Dolly’s chest.

Dolly flashed him an amused grin. “Now you hang that back up on the board like a good boy,” she gently ordered and then disappeared into the kitchen.

Ignoring her, Brinkley shoved the paper into his jacket pocket and then plunked himself down into a nearby booth. James studied the young man from behind his coffee cup. He was tall and muscular, except for the first hints of a promising beer gut, and looked like he was in his mid-twenties. James was unsure why he was still wearing a high school letter jacket, but assumed that he was a former high school jock who wanted to show his support for the football team. He had a square jaw covered with blonde stubble and a full head of curly, reddish-blonde hair. The unkempt hair combined with deep-set dark eyes gave him a roguish Hollywood look.

Draining his tepid coffee, James wondered if Brinkley had kept the flyer because he was planning to join. He hoped not. The young man seemed to wear a cocksure and slightly malicious aura. Turning away from Brinkley, James took a twenty out of his wallet and laid it on the table. Neither Whitney nor Dolly was anywhere to be seen, so he decided to finish the chapter he was reading while waiting for his change.

Outside, the hum of a large group of people intensified as the front door of the diner burst open and the noise of the crowd erupted into the calm room. Dozens of people came streaming into the restaurant, laughing and cheering. All were wearing red and black hats, scarves, or sweatshirts. James recognized the two shades as the school colors of Blue Ridge High.

A group of boys wearing letter jackets crowded into the booth next to him, elbowing one another and yelling loudly at another group of boys sitting at the largest table across the aisle. They all seemed to pay homage to Brinkley before settling down in their seats. A great deal of backslapping and high-fives were exchanged between the high school boys and the lone adult wearing one of their jackets.

Dolly bustled over to the posse of boys with an enormous smile and proudly eyed the rambunctious group. “Well, gentlemen. I’ve made a special meatloaf to get y’all good and ready for tonight’s game. What’s needed today is meat and mashed potatoes and a bit of tail whuppin’. What do ya say to that?”

The boys let out a communal holler and banged their fists on the tabletops.

“Just lemme have your drink orders and then I’ll be back with your food. I think y’all should have milk—good for your bones—especially when you’ve got to stand up to some of those Jefferson linebackers, but I know some of you are addicted to ole Dr. Pepper, so I’ll let you decide.”

Dolly flipped open her pad and began scribbling down drink orders. James tried to catch her eye but she was fussing over the football players like a mother hen, so he looked around for Whitney instead. However, Whitney clearly had her hands full taking care of the group at the counter, so James grabbed the bill and his money and maneuvered around the posse of excited boys clotting the aisles between the booths.

As he struggled to pass the three booths where the football players milled about, a middle-aged woman with hair bleached beyond blonde into white knocked into him with her elbow.

“Sorry,” he said. The woman said nothing, but stepped aside to let him pass. At the counter, Whitney was busy serving drinks.

“I’d better pay up,” he said, handing her the money. “I think you’re going to need my booth. Looks like you’ve got some football players here.”

“Damn right!” exclaimed a man at the countertop as he butted into the conversation. “Those boys are going to play their hearts out tonight. Yes sir. There’s nothing better than a night game in October. Nothing better.” He thumped the countertop with his palm in order to emphasize his point. James thought he detected a hint of whiskey in the air.

Other patrons at the counter nodded their agreement and then began discussing which game over the course of the last several years had been the coldest. As Whitney handed James his change, Brinkley Myers suddenly appeared behind his right shoulder.

“Hey, Whit,” he casually greeted the pretty waitress as James laid down a five-dollar bill out of his pile of change.

Ignoring the speaker completely, Whitney politely thanked James for her tip and then pointedly turned away from Brinkley. She poured glasses of ice water and served them to two men at the other end of the counter without raising her eyes. Brinkley shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

At that moment, James noticed Whitney throw Brinkley a menacing look as the younger man leaned over to chat with one of the customers at the counter. Her eyes blazed with anger for just a flash before she marched off toward the kitchen, her ponytail whipping back and forth like a rapid pendulum.

“You gonna watch the rookies throw some touchdowns tonight, Brinkley?” one of the men asked the boy. “Think anyone’s gonna break your record?”

Brinkley puffed out his chest. “For most touchdown passes thrown? No way. No one’s going to do that, but hopefully some Cougar
necks
will get broken!”

The men at the countertop applauded. The one sitting in front of James reached around and enthusiastically clapped him on the back, pinning him in place. James was contentedly stuck in the midst of the townsfolk’s camaraderie and anticipation. Normally, he would be uncomfortable being in the middle of the crowd, but everyone seemed to accept his presence as natural. James smiled shyly at the men and women seated around him. Then Whitney returned, bearing plates of meatloaf with sides of mashed potatoes swimming in brown gravy for all. Brinkley once again tried to get her attention, but she continued to ignore him.

“So you think we might win tonight?” a woman asked Brinkley as she waited for her meal to cool.

“Yes ma’am,” Brinkley nodded and then smiled and raised his voice, his eyes boring into Whitney’s turned back. “I’ve been looking forward to this game all season. I think we’re
due
this game. Sometimes it’s just time to pay the piper, know what I mean?”

The woman beamed at him. “So you think our boys are going to get lucky?”

“Sure.” Brinkley shrugged. “
I
plan to get lucky pretty soon. Right, Whit?” He laughed.

The sexual implication was lost on the woman, but several of the men at the counter guffawed heartily and exchanged high-fives with one another. The pleasant spell James had been under was instantly broken by the men’s coarse response. He felt embarrassed for Whitney and gave Brinkley his most disapproving stare. The young man turned and returned James’s look with a flippant grin.

As Brinkley passed James, he leaned over and spoke so that only James could hear. “I bet you’ve never had a girl like that. Maybe it’s because you look like you swallowed a few watermelons.” Then he gave James a patronizing pat on the belly and moved back toward the booth where the football players and his meatloaf waited.

Trembling with anger, James watched as the boys held out a playbook for Brinkley to examine. They had obviously asked the former player to join them in order to review their plays for the night, and anyone could see that the boys viewed Brinkley as a living legend.

More and more people crammed themselves into the diner. James had had enough of both the crowd and of the gross display of hero worship for such an obnoxious young man. By the time James could finally squeeze himself out the door, with people pushing past him to get in, every seat had been taken. He suddenly noticed that there were no children present at Dolly’s, but once he stepped outside he realized why. All of the children and their parents were continuing to march down Main Street. Curious as to their destination and seeking something to buoy his spirits after Brinkley’s disparaging remarks, James followed alongside them.

At the edge of town, one of the side streets had been blocked off and a miniature amusement park had been erected. James spotted a petting zoo, pony rides, popcorn and cotton candy machines, as well as several thrill rides, including a tiny roller coaster and a spinning ride that was guaranteed to make the kids who overindulged on cotton candy good and sick. There was also a row of carnival games where parents could spend inordinate amounts of money in order for their child to win a stuffed animal worth a fraction of the cost of the game.

James watched a little girl run up to a female clown wearing an enormous blue and white polka-dotted bow tie and floppy pink shoes and politely ask for a balloon animal. The clown smiled silently, nodding in agreement, and then made a grand show of blowing up and twisting a yellow balloon into the shape of a poodle. The little girl was thrilled and James watched her run back into her parents’ arms with a tinge of envy. He wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to experience fatherhood.

James lingered around the children a bit longer, not wanting to return to the quiet of his house and the grumblings of his father. Finally, he strolled back down Main Street toward the parking lot where he had left his car. The street was littered with a variety of small trash from bubble gum wrappers to cigarette butts, but James knew that the town’s maintenance crew would restore cleanliness and order before the day was out. After all, weekends meant the arrival of horse people and tourists, the main economic infusion for Quincy’s Gap. The horse people would compete in local shows or purchase animals from one of the Quincy’s Gap horse farms while the tourists would visit the Civil War sites, historic homes, and apple orchards, or simply drive through the countryside in order to view the vibrant foliage. With the golden sunlight streaming through the pear trees and the carnival atmosphere pulsing in the air, James was feeling more at peace with his hometown than at any other time since his return.

Back at home, Jackson had locked himself in his shed as usual and had closed all the shades so that James had no idea what he was up to. James didn’t even bother telling his father that he was home. He doubted the old man would even notice until dinnertime. He fixed himself some decaf, settled on the davenport to read, and then briefly considered attending the football game. James wasn’t very interested in sports, but it might be a topic of conversation at tomorrow night’s supper club and James didn’t want to appear uninvolved in one of the autumn’s biggest events. Then again, he decided that since he was almost done reading his book and that it was sure to be cold at the game, he might as well stay put.