register, front and
center; someone had wrapped a garland of red and yellow flowers
around it.
As we headed for our booth,
every single person we passed said hello to both of us. Everyone
was dressed in their Sunday best, fresh from church, and they all
waved or touched us or shook our hands.
Part of me liked the
attention, the familiarity. It was nothing like being in L.A.,
where I was almost always just another face in a great big
crowd.
But another part of me had
to fight to keep the smile in place. Because I couldn't help
wondering if any of those people might have written the anonymous
death threat letters I'd just O.D.'d on at Polka
Central.
Then, it occurred to me: this must
have been how my father felt every day of his life. Always knowing
someone out there hated him enough to threaten his life. Always
wondering who it might be.
Peg and I sat down across
from each other on the red vinyl-upholstered benches in the booth.
The instant our butts hit the seats, gentle sad-eyed giant Stush
Dudek--owner and chief cook at Stush's Diner--appeared alongside
the table. "Lunch is on me, ladies." He wiped his giant hands on
the white apron tied on over his black t-shirt and tan khaki pants.
The logo on the chest of the t-shirt featured Polish Fly's insect
mascot, with the letters R.I.P. underneath...and below that, "Rest
In Polka."
Peg reached beside her on
the seat and lifted her red cloth sling purse with the white polka
dots. "Thanks, Stan, but I told Lottie I'd buy. It's her first day
on the job, y'know."
"Congratulations, sweetie." Stush
stuck out his hand. "Your dad would be proud."
I reached out, and his
enormous hand enfolded mine like a huge warm compress. "Thank you
for saying that."
"However." Stush let go and
raised an index finger in the air. "Your money is no good here
today. Either of you." With that, he turned and grabbed two menus
from a table behind him, then slapped them down in front of us.
"I'll be back to take your orders in a minute. Coffee's on the
way."
As big, sad Stush ambled
away from our table, Peg smiled and fluttered her fingers. "I guess
lunch is on the house then."
I smiled back at her. "He
sure told us, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did." Peg's
clown-wig afro bobbled as she nodded emphatically. Then, she
clapped once and folded her hands on the table in front of her. "So
what do you think so far? About the job?"
I reached for one of the menus. "So
far so good, I guess."
Peg nodded and cleared her
throat. "Good. Glad to hear it."
Just then, Stush's giant hands lowered
steaming white mugs full of black coffee to the table. "Figure out
what you want yet, ladies?" His sad brown St. Bernard eyes gazed
down at us.
"The usual please, Stush."
Peg hadn't even opened the menu.
Stush leaned his willow tree body in
my direction. "What about you, sweetie?"
"I don't know." I stared at
the menu pages in the clear plastic folder, but nothing jumped out
at me. I didn't seem to be hungry for anything in
particular.
"Tell you what." Stush
reached down and closed the menu in front of me. "I'll bring your
favorite-- halupki .
How's that sound?"
I felt instantly relieved.
"Sounds great, Uncle Stush."
"Trust me, sweetie." Stush
gave me a wink. "You won't be sorry. And we've got incredible paska
and poppyseed kolaches for dessert." He shook his head sadly.
" I can't enjoy
them, with my diabetes and all, but I guarantee they'll knock
your socks off,
hon."
As he loped off toward the
kitchen, Peg hauled her polka-dot purse off the bench and plopped
it down on the table. "I need to talk to you about something,
Lottie." She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. "About the
crank file."
I frowned. "What about it?"
Peg leaned even closer,
dropped her voice even lower. "It wasn't complete."
I wondered where she was going with
this. "How so?"
"Something was missing." Peg
fished through her purse and came up with a double-folded piece of
paper. " This was
missing."
She handed me the paper, and I
unfolded it.
center; someone had wrapped a garland of red and yellow flowers
around it.
As we headed for our booth,
every single person we passed said hello to both of us. Everyone
was dressed in their Sunday best, fresh from church, and they all
waved or touched us or shook our hands.
Part of me liked the
attention, the familiarity. It was nothing like being in L.A.,
where I was almost always just another face in a great big
crowd.
But another part of me had
to fight to keep the smile in place. Because I couldn't help
wondering if any of those people might have written the anonymous
death threat letters I'd just O.D.'d on at Polka
Central.
Then, it occurred to me: this must
have been how my father felt every day of his life. Always knowing
someone out there hated him enough to threaten his life. Always
wondering who it might be.
Peg and I sat down across
from each other on the red vinyl-upholstered benches in the booth.
The instant our butts hit the seats, gentle sad-eyed giant Stush
Dudek--owner and chief cook at Stush's Diner--appeared alongside
the table. "Lunch is on me, ladies." He wiped his giant hands on
the white apron tied on over his black t-shirt and tan khaki pants.
The logo on the chest of the t-shirt featured Polish Fly's insect
mascot, with the letters R.I.P. underneath...and below that, "Rest
In Polka."
Peg reached beside her on
the seat and lifted her red cloth sling purse with the white polka
dots. "Thanks, Stan, but I told Lottie I'd buy. It's her first day
on the job, y'know."
"Congratulations, sweetie." Stush
stuck out his hand. "Your dad would be proud."
I reached out, and his
enormous hand enfolded mine like a huge warm compress. "Thank you
for saying that."
"However." Stush let go and
raised an index finger in the air. "Your money is no good here
today. Either of you." With that, he turned and grabbed two menus
from a table behind him, then slapped them down in front of us.
"I'll be back to take your orders in a minute. Coffee's on the
way."
As big, sad Stush ambled
away from our table, Peg smiled and fluttered her fingers. "I guess
lunch is on the house then."
I smiled back at her. "He
sure told us, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did." Peg's
clown-wig afro bobbled as she nodded emphatically. Then, she
clapped once and folded her hands on the table in front of her. "So
what do you think so far? About the job?"
I reached for one of the menus. "So
far so good, I guess."
Peg nodded and cleared her
throat. "Good. Glad to hear it."
Just then, Stush's giant hands lowered
steaming white mugs full of black coffee to the table. "Figure out
what you want yet, ladies?" His sad brown St. Bernard eyes gazed
down at us.
"The usual please, Stush."
Peg hadn't even opened the menu.
Stush leaned his willow tree body in
my direction. "What about you, sweetie?"
"I don't know." I stared at
the menu pages in the clear plastic folder, but nothing jumped out
at me. I didn't seem to be hungry for anything in
particular.
"Tell you what." Stush
reached down and closed the menu in front of me. "I'll bring your
favorite-- halupki .
How's that sound?"
I felt instantly relieved.
"Sounds great, Uncle Stush."
"Trust me, sweetie." Stush
gave me a wink. "You won't be sorry. And we've got incredible paska
and poppyseed kolaches for dessert." He shook his head sadly.
" I can't enjoy
them, with my diabetes and all, but I guarantee they'll knock
your socks off,
hon."
As he loped off toward the
kitchen, Peg hauled her polka-dot purse off the bench and plopped
it down on the table. "I need to talk to you about something,
Lottie." She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. "About the
crank file."
I frowned. "What about it?"
Peg leaned even closer,
dropped her voice even lower. "It wasn't complete."
I wondered where she was going with
this. "How so?"
"Something was missing." Peg
fished through her purse and came up with a double-folded piece of
paper. " This was
missing."
She handed me the paper, and I
unfolded it.
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