Just Another New York Story

Back at the Diner

Eating alone in a diner is a New York tradition: being with people without being with people. Accepted, fostered, quietly celebrated by those who relish the ritual of settling into a cushioned booth, ordering off a familiar menu, chewing and sipping through hours of daydreams, of silent plans and musings of adventures; potential topped with a banana split.

Veronica sits on the same stool and orders an egg cream and grilled Swiss from Janet. Young Frank Sinatra sings old sentimentalities through the dusty speakers that hang in the corners close to the ceiling. Old New Yorkers brood and kvetch and nosh for as long as they please. In a real New York diner, no one is rushed.

Veronica stirs her egg cream with a straw and stares down at her F. Scott Fitzgerald book on the counter beside her plate. She vaguely wonders about its contents while replaying in her mind, to the fullest detail that she can, the romance of her early-morning dream.

She loses track of time, remaining vigilant of every reflection coming in off the street and entering the frame of the antique mirror.

"No rush," Janet says, laying a pencil-scribbled bill on the F. Scott Fitzgerald book. "Just take it to the register whenever you're ready."

"Oh," Veronica says. "Okay... thanks...will do."

Janet leans in on the counter and gives her a crooked smile.

"He didn't show today," she says.

"Oh—who? No! I'm just here...reading my book..."

Janet's eyes twinkle as she pushes off the counter. She turns away and dusts a glass cake dome with a feather duster the same color blue as her eyeshadow. Meanwhile, Veronica makes a show of opening her book and sighing into randomly-turned-to page fifty-one.

She's almost done reading the same sentence for the fourth time, when she hears a persistent tapping.

"Look!" Janet says.

Standing on tiptoe, her pink dress straining across her body, Janet uses the plastic handle of the feather duster to point up at an old, signed photograph.

"Your friend," she says, with an impish wink.

Veronica shoots up from her stool, leaning in as far as she can. That's him! Basically recognizable in his younger iteration...His teeth are just straight enough to look nice in a smile without being too perfect. He holds his arms out in a classic showbiz pose, confident and bursting with energy. He wears a fitted suit, skinny tie, and shiny shoes, with his dark, thick hair in an Elvis pompadour.  He's only slightly taller than his strikingly pretty female co-star, whose smile and dancer's pose show a graceful pride and exuberance. Her smooth, bouncy hair frames her heart-shaped face. She wears a short, silky dress and T-strap heels, her long, slender legs so pretty to behold...

Janet nods as if congratulating herself for reading minds.

"Frankie Checkers and Della Marie. They were hot stuff."