announced when Clark stood on the scale, and “One-oh-nine on the dot,” when it was Frankie’s turn.
“Lighter than me.” Pepper feigned jealousy.
“Nobody’s hiding lead in their pockets, I hope,” the hostess said.
“Not us,” Clark told her. “We’re tried and true.”
She smiled, opened her hand to the dining room, and said, “Pig out!”
They chose a table, sat down and ordered drinks (iced tea for Pepper and Frankie, bourbon and Coke for Clark), and then got up again and stood in a buffet line. There was barbeque, fried chicken, fish squares, meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and four different kinds of dessert, including an enormous pan of banana pudding, which was half gone and sliding forward like lava. “Want to compete?” Clark asked Frankie as they filled their plates.
Frankie still didn’t get it. “How?”
“We weigh in again at the end of the meal. They charge by the ounce. Whoever gains the most wins.”
“I don’t eat much,” Frankie said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Pepper said, reaching for the banana pudding spoon. “I’m going to win.”
Clark drank three bourbons. Both he and Pepper went back for seconds before Frankie was halfway through his plate of food. He’d taken too much because he’d wanted to try everything on the buffet, but he realized it didn’t matter because if he didn’t eat it, it was free. “This restaurant makes the most sense of any around,” Clark said, chewing. “Eating out should be like buying a shirt. You go into a store and try on a few shirts, but you only pay for the one you actually walk out with.”
Frankie sipped his tea from a cup so wide he had to use two hands to lift it. He was beginning to doubt Clark was gay. Pepper smiled whenever he caught her eye. He smiled back, but felt uncomfortable. “Are you two married?” he asked.
She waved her left hand and showed Frankie her wedding band. “Seven years.”
He spotted a matching band on Clark’s finger and was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. “Do you have kids?”
This, for some reason, made Clark laugh, and Pepper reached over and lightly slapped his arm. “No,” she said.
Clark wiped his mouth with his napkin. Then he downed the last of his bourbon, pushed back from the table, and lit a cigarette. “Frankie’s interested in space travel, but he doesn’t want to do it through NASA.”
“You want to be a cosmonaut?” Pepper asked.
“I’d like to have my own space ship,” Frankie said. He looked at Clark. “Can we talk about Gordon Cooper now? The sighting?”
Clark winced. “You’re not going to bring up that did-we-descend-from-aliens business again, are you?”
“No. I’d just like to hear about what he saw.”
“Look, call it what you want, but my theory is that being out in all that space does something to people’s heads. Certain big-ego types, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“It can make certain kinds of people a little—” Clark seesawed the hand holding the cigarette, zigzagging the smoke.
“But what’s the story?”
“The story is, there is no story. Cooper saw ice, or something like ice, coming off the back of his ship. From what I heard, the boys in Ground Control groaned big-time over that one. Same thing happened with Carpenter.”
“Scott Carpenter photographed a saucer,” Frankie said. “I read about it in a book, and saw the picture.”
“He photographed a tracking balloon. He
said
it was a saucer.”
“He believed it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my point. Certain kinds of people—with an inflated sense of their own importance—get blasted up there and then get a little, I don’t know, light-headed. They start seeing things. It’s loony tunes.”
“Clark’s a little bitter,” Pepper said around her last spoonful of pudding.
“I’m not bitter. I’m realistic.”
Frankie said, “I read that NASA officials told reporters not to ask questions about that stuff.”
“Exactly. Because it was embarrassing.
“Lighter than me.” Pepper feigned jealousy.
“Nobody’s hiding lead in their pockets, I hope,” the hostess said.
“Not us,” Clark told her. “We’re tried and true.”
She smiled, opened her hand to the dining room, and said, “Pig out!”
They chose a table, sat down and ordered drinks (iced tea for Pepper and Frankie, bourbon and Coke for Clark), and then got up again and stood in a buffet line. There was barbeque, fried chicken, fish squares, meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and four different kinds of dessert, including an enormous pan of banana pudding, which was half gone and sliding forward like lava. “Want to compete?” Clark asked Frankie as they filled their plates.
Frankie still didn’t get it. “How?”
“We weigh in again at the end of the meal. They charge by the ounce. Whoever gains the most wins.”
“I don’t eat much,” Frankie said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Pepper said, reaching for the banana pudding spoon. “I’m going to win.”
Clark drank three bourbons. Both he and Pepper went back for seconds before Frankie was halfway through his plate of food. He’d taken too much because he’d wanted to try everything on the buffet, but he realized it didn’t matter because if he didn’t eat it, it was free. “This restaurant makes the most sense of any around,” Clark said, chewing. “Eating out should be like buying a shirt. You go into a store and try on a few shirts, but you only pay for the one you actually walk out with.”
Frankie sipped his tea from a cup so wide he had to use two hands to lift it. He was beginning to doubt Clark was gay. Pepper smiled whenever he caught her eye. He smiled back, but felt uncomfortable. “Are you two married?” he asked.
She waved her left hand and showed Frankie her wedding band. “Seven years.”
He spotted a matching band on Clark’s finger and was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. “Do you have kids?”
This, for some reason, made Clark laugh, and Pepper reached over and lightly slapped his arm. “No,” she said.
Clark wiped his mouth with his napkin. Then he downed the last of his bourbon, pushed back from the table, and lit a cigarette. “Frankie’s interested in space travel, but he doesn’t want to do it through NASA.”
“You want to be a cosmonaut?” Pepper asked.
“I’d like to have my own space ship,” Frankie said. He looked at Clark. “Can we talk about Gordon Cooper now? The sighting?”
Clark winced. “You’re not going to bring up that did-we-descend-from-aliens business again, are you?”
“No. I’d just like to hear about what he saw.”
“Look, call it what you want, but my theory is that being out in all that space does something to people’s heads. Certain big-ego types, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“It can make certain kinds of people a little—” Clark seesawed the hand holding the cigarette, zigzagging the smoke.
“But what’s the story?”
“The story is, there is no story. Cooper saw ice, or something like ice, coming off the back of his ship. From what I heard, the boys in Ground Control groaned big-time over that one. Same thing happened with Carpenter.”
“Scott Carpenter photographed a saucer,” Frankie said. “I read about it in a book, and saw the picture.”
“He photographed a tracking balloon. He
said
it was a saucer.”
“He believed it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my point. Certain kinds of people—with an inflated sense of their own importance—get blasted up there and then get a little, I don’t know, light-headed. They start seeing things. It’s loony tunes.”
“Clark’s a little bitter,” Pepper said around her last spoonful of pudding.
“I’m not bitter. I’m realistic.”
Frankie said, “I read that NASA officials told reporters not to ask questions about that stuff.”
“Exactly. Because it was embarrassing.
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