Velvet Skye (Updates Fridays)

Chapter 4 (NEW)

The line into Donna’s diner stretches half a block down an otherwise sleepy Studio City sidewalk. Skye does what any good girl would do at first—pops out of the parking lot and waltzes to the back of the crowd.

But she’s got it all wrong.

The secret to beating the “Sold Out” sign at Donna’s during rush hour is breaking the rules, and when it comes to breaking rules...

        “Lines are for losers, Skye.”

        “True, but a necessary evil.”

        “Not always,” I say.

I step out of the crowd of senior citizens and wave to Skye to follow me. We get a couple of sideways glares from the handful of young-old timers who dress up in thrift store fifties clothes and hang out at diners to feel authentic. But we’re through the front door and beelining to the public bathroom like it’s the only reason we came.

When it comes to pulling off a lie, conviction’s key. Step one: Get to the back. Step two: Wait for the hostess to forget we came in. Step three: Steal an empty table. Step Four: Pancakes.

Donna’s is a bar and booth joint for nostalgia junkies and other people’s grandparents. The old grazers book the booths and wannabe-old timers crowd the bars.

The whole place smells like it’s been around since the fifties but that’s part of the charm. Everything’s black and white checkered except for the musty red carpet leading back to the bathrooms. Not exactly the Hollywood standard, but it lights the way well enough.

The usual grazers don’t pay attention to much outside of their burgers and fries, except on Saturdays. Saturdays mean midday rush, and a midday rush means back orders. So while the kitchen cooks are running out of breakfast food, the customers isle watch for people like me and Skye. Sneak-and-seat-stealers.

        “We’re gonna get caught,” she says.

I grab onto her hand as we smile our way past a wiry haired hostess. She’s new, but I know her face. Her eyes linger on me and Skye for a couple seconds too long until family of four snags her attention back to where she’s paid to keep it.

        “I’ve done this a million times, it’ll be fine. Just act like you’ve already got a table and no one will say anything,” I say.           

As much as I don’t wanna believe it, Skye’s onto something. The grazers are staring a little longer than usual, and there’s not a single empty table in sight.            

         “We may need a rain check on those pancakes, Ty.”

         “Oh no, we’re getting pancakes.”

We pass the last booth in the back where and older woman is spooning sugar into the last third of her coffee. No plates. No food. Just coffee. She’ll be out in ten minutes tops.

         “Lady to the left’s about to leave,” I say.

         “And if she doesn’t?”

         “Then I’ll make you breakfast at my house.”

         “Right, Miles would love—”

         “Skye!”

I’d know his voice anywhere, and the second I hear it I go flying into the old coffee drinker’s booth. She glances up from her cup and smiles at me, like she’s been waiting for someone to sit down with her for thirty years.