register.
The tinny radio over the coffee urn’s playing a Garth Brooks song:
Little café, table for four
But there’s just conversation for three
“I ain’t staying at Clyde’s,” Ronette says. She sticks her chin up for a minute, then she lets her face fall and her mouth
goes down and she starts crying, right behind the counter with the big open can held in her two hands and the drops making
little craters on the surface of the coffee like rain on a dusty road. Tears have always silenced him, so he just looks at
her with her mascara eye-rings breached through and offers his big hairy paw over the counter but she doesn’t take it so he
feels like a fool and pulls it back. “I ain’t going to be able to get by,” she says.
“You’re working here.”
“Three mornings a week. Way you guys tip, it don’t buy cigarettes.”
“Summer it’ll get better,” Doris says.
“Wicked long time till summer.”
“Clyde ain’t helping you?” Lucky asks.
“That son of a bitch ain’t giving me a dime. He says I walked out on him so I can pay.”
“Did you?”
“I couldn’t go in the door of that place no more. It was like a frigging igloo in there.”
“Thought you had a hot tub,” Doris says.
“I mean the
emotional temperature.
Clyde would sit there without saying nothing days on end. It ain’t walking out if you can’t bring yourself to walk in.”
“You did get the car,” Lucky reminds her.
“What the hell use is it? The insurance was in his name. He ain’t even paying the premiums. Just stay away from me, I’m an
uninsured motorist.”
“You know,” he says, “I might be wanting a sternman. Didn’t you used to fish with Teddy Dolliver at one time?”
“It was his brother Reggie,” she says, with some pride, though Reggie Dolliver is currently up in Thomaston serving two to
five for aggravated assault.
“Reggie then. He ain’t going to need you in the joint. How about working every other day for me?”
Doris gives out a choked little laugh followed by a spasm of cigarette coughs. “Good idea, Ronette. You ought to consider
it. Your husband would get a kick out of that. Hey Lucky, didn’t Clyde date your old lady once upon a time?”
Ronette looks up. “He didn’t do nothing of the kind.”
Doris says, “How would
you
know, honey? It was before you were born.”
Ronette lights a cigarette off the one she was smoking, stabs the spent butt in the dishwasher to put it out, throws it in
the garbage. “Clyde is a jealous fool. He was born in the Year of the Pig, that’s what it says on the Chinese place mat up
at the Tarratine mall. Jealousy is the
main quality
in the Year of the Pig.”
“You must mean horse, dear,” Doris says. “There’s no pigs on those Chinese place mats.”
Ronette says, “I bet the both of you never ate a Chinese meal in your lives.”
Lucky says, “Bullshit. I was in Vietnam. We used to eat stir-fried dogmeat over there. Tell me that ain’t Chinese.”
“It ain’t. Dog’s Vietnamese, not Chinese. Anyone with half a brain knows that. Rat’s Chinese.”
“How’d you come to know so much?” Lucky asks Ronette.
“Clyde used to take me out.”
“So how come you left him?”
“It wasn’t what happened when he took me out that was the reason, it was what didn’t happen when we got back home.”
“None of that talk,” Doris says. “This is a family place.”
“It’s true, Doris, and my lawyer says that’s grounds. Noncon-summation, he put it right down in black and white.”
She starts crying again into the five-pound coffee can, which she’s still holding.
“All them tears,” he says, “ain’t going to do the coffee any good.”
“Hell with you, Lucky Lunt. I’ll pee in it if I want.” She shoots a guilty look over towards the cash register but the boss
lady doesn’t flinch.
“Flavored coffee, Doris. That’d bring the yuppies in.”
“Why don’t you take the morning off,” Doris
The tinny radio over the coffee urn’s playing a Garth Brooks song:
Little café, table for four
But there’s just conversation for three
“I ain’t staying at Clyde’s,” Ronette says. She sticks her chin up for a minute, then she lets her face fall and her mouth
goes down and she starts crying, right behind the counter with the big open can held in her two hands and the drops making
little craters on the surface of the coffee like rain on a dusty road. Tears have always silenced him, so he just looks at
her with her mascara eye-rings breached through and offers his big hairy paw over the counter but she doesn’t take it so he
feels like a fool and pulls it back. “I ain’t going to be able to get by,” she says.
“You’re working here.”
“Three mornings a week. Way you guys tip, it don’t buy cigarettes.”
“Summer it’ll get better,” Doris says.
“Wicked long time till summer.”
“Clyde ain’t helping you?” Lucky asks.
“That son of a bitch ain’t giving me a dime. He says I walked out on him so I can pay.”
“Did you?”
“I couldn’t go in the door of that place no more. It was like a frigging igloo in there.”
“Thought you had a hot tub,” Doris says.
“I mean the
emotional temperature.
Clyde would sit there without saying nothing days on end. It ain’t walking out if you can’t bring yourself to walk in.”
“You did get the car,” Lucky reminds her.
“What the hell use is it? The insurance was in his name. He ain’t even paying the premiums. Just stay away from me, I’m an
uninsured motorist.”
“You know,” he says, “I might be wanting a sternman. Didn’t you used to fish with Teddy Dolliver at one time?”
“It was his brother Reggie,” she says, with some pride, though Reggie Dolliver is currently up in Thomaston serving two to
five for aggravated assault.
“Reggie then. He ain’t going to need you in the joint. How about working every other day for me?”
Doris gives out a choked little laugh followed by a spasm of cigarette coughs. “Good idea, Ronette. You ought to consider
it. Your husband would get a kick out of that. Hey Lucky, didn’t Clyde date your old lady once upon a time?”
Ronette looks up. “He didn’t do nothing of the kind.”
Doris says, “How would
you
know, honey? It was before you were born.”
Ronette lights a cigarette off the one she was smoking, stabs the spent butt in the dishwasher to put it out, throws it in
the garbage. “Clyde is a jealous fool. He was born in the Year of the Pig, that’s what it says on the Chinese place mat up
at the Tarratine mall. Jealousy is the
main quality
in the Year of the Pig.”
“You must mean horse, dear,” Doris says. “There’s no pigs on those Chinese place mats.”
Ronette says, “I bet the both of you never ate a Chinese meal in your lives.”
Lucky says, “Bullshit. I was in Vietnam. We used to eat stir-fried dogmeat over there. Tell me that ain’t Chinese.”
“It ain’t. Dog’s Vietnamese, not Chinese. Anyone with half a brain knows that. Rat’s Chinese.”
“How’d you come to know so much?” Lucky asks Ronette.
“Clyde used to take me out.”
“So how come you left him?”
“It wasn’t what happened when he took me out that was the reason, it was what didn’t happen when we got back home.”
“None of that talk,” Doris says. “This is a family place.”
“It’s true, Doris, and my lawyer says that’s grounds. Noncon-summation, he put it right down in black and white.”
She starts crying again into the five-pound coffee can, which she’s still holding.
“All them tears,” he says, “ain’t going to do the coffee any good.”
“Hell with you, Lucky Lunt. I’ll pee in it if I want.” She shoots a guilty look over towards the cash register but the boss
lady doesn’t flinch.
“Flavored coffee, Doris. That’d bring the yuppies in.”
“Why don’t you take the morning off,” Doris
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