Just Another New York Story

The Diner

The blue and white tiled walls of the diner are covered with old signed photographs of famous people and hand-painted paper signs ("Veal chops—$14.50!" "Neptune's Delight—Twenty bucks!"). The air is heavy with cooking oil and chatter.

Veronica swivels in her stool and checks out her reflection in the expansive antique mirror hanging on the wall behind the counter.

"What can I get you, honey?" the wrinkled, red-haired waitress says. She's chomping on gum in her pink zip-front dress and bright blue eyeshadow.

"Oh, I'm just...waiting for someone. I guess I'll have an egg cream."

"One egg cream!" the waitress shouts into a rectangular kitchen window, where a fry cook is furiously working.

"Coming right up," she says with a wink.

Veronica smiles and attempts a full rotation on the stool.

"She flies through the air with the greatest of ease!" His singing voice—both its sudden, loud proximity and its quality—causes Veronica's balance to falter. She grips the counter, steadying herself just in time.

"Janet old doll, the usual please."

"Coffee, black. Want a grilled provolone?"

"Not today, honey."

"You got it," she says and points with her chin at Veronica. "And the egg cream for the lady is on its way."

"An egg cream?" He raises his eyebrows and shakes himself.

"I'm Francisco," he says. "What's your name, dear?"

"Nice to meet you," she says. "I'm Veronica."

"Ronnie," he says. "You alright? You almost just fell off the stool."

Veronica blushes. "No, I—just your... singing —you have a nice voice... I'm sure you've been told that before."

"What's with the egg cream? You're too young for egg creams!"

"Oh, I've had them since I was a kid. My Grandpa used to make—"

"Right," he says, holding up a hand. "You a dancer?"

"I'm an actress."

"You're very balletic."

"And you?"

"Not balletic."

"I mean what did you—what do you do?"

"You mean besides hanging out in the hardware store?"

He shrugs and pours some sugar in his coffee from the glass dispenser. His eyes return to meet hers with a slightly withdrawn intensity.

"Music," he shrugs. "Always just music."

"What kind of music?"

"Every kind of music." He stares at her while stirring his coffee.

"Italiana?" he says, more a confirmation than a question.

Veronica nods and he returns it like he knew all along...

Having just served a table of customers, Janet comes back around behind the counter. She wipes it with a dry cloth as she and Francisco exchange nostalgic gossip about people from the old neighborhood named "Chubby Pete" and "Sally the Blonde." Veronica drinks her egg cream and watches a man with hunched posture and a hint of swagger come over and place a hand on Francisco's back. He has a newspaper under one arm and filmy brown eyes that twinkle. He wears his hair in a small white afro and smells like pipe smoke. He and Francisco exchange secretive banter that ends with both of them erupting in laughter that sends the friend into a good-natured coughing fit.

When he's gone, Francisco shakes his head and mumbles to Veronica, "That's Leroy Crown, 'Captain Midnight' he was called...I keep tellin' him he's gotta quit that pipe...We used to play the clubs together. Great horn player."

He stands up and finishes his coffee in a swig.

"Thank you Janet," he yells at the kitchen, slapping some cash on the table. Veronica swivels around to face him.

"I'd like to fix you up with my son," he says, stuffing his wallet in his pocket. "You're not married are you?" he says with a wink.

Veronica shakes her head and smiles, coyly looking off to the side.

When her eyes return to where he was, she's shocked to find him halfway gone. "We'll talk soon, Ronnie!" he calls over his shoulder as he pushes open the diner door and rejoins the music of the street.

Shaking her head, Veronica puckers her lips on her plastic straw and sucks the chocolate syrup from the bottom of the glass.