The Diner

© 2000 D.J. Rondinone
All rights reserved.

Chad pulled his red Mazda up to the diner, The Old News Café, and grunted at it with disgust.
Where the hell was he, anyway? Route 38 or 88, he had thought the sign read some ways back, but neither one of those were even on his map. He had no idea what town he was driving through; in fact, at this point he couldn't be positive he was still in New Hampshire. He felt like he had been driving for hours, and his entire body needed a good stretch. This was Chad's first trip north to the Granite State, and he vowed it would be his last. After getting himself lost, he had spent the last half an hour attempting to retrace his steps, failed miserably, and now he had to go inside this decrepit café and ask one of these hillbillies for some directions.
Still fuming from the drive, he walked across the parking lot, noting the ridiculous assortment of cars that it held: a pair of beat-up Chevettes, one rusty green station wagon with a sagging rear end and what looked to be the original tires, and a dark blue Ford Pinto. He stopped to give the Pinto a second look. Hadn't those things been outlawed a couple years ago, he thought, half-seriously. He felt a little uncertain about leaving his red sports car out here among such company as he imagined the types of characters that would inhabit a place like this. They were sure going to love him. He doubted any of them had ever even seen a guy in a tie before, let alone the $600 suit he was wearing. Nevertheless, he walked up to the large wooden front door, upon which a handwritten sign informed him the café was open until two am, pulled it open and walked in.
The first thing he noticed, entering the smoky, dimly lit diner, was how small the place actually was. It seemed about half the size of what it looked from the outside. Not that it had looked like anything spectacular from out there, but the difference was noticeable just the same. And just as the parking lot had suggested, the diner was nearly deserted. Sitting by himself on a stool to Chad's left, a mousy-looking fellow with long, dark hair sat balancing a very large cello between his thighs. The guy was fiddling with the tuners and looked ready to start playing any minute now—audience or no audience. Toward the back of the diner an old couple sat opposite each other in a booth, eating silently. The woman looked up at Chad as he walked in, stared at him for several seconds, then quickly buried her face back in her plate. A lone fellow wearing thick glasses, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a paperback novel in the other, occupied a third table by himself. He read the book by holding it just inches from his giant spectacles, slowly turning each page.
Well, that explains all the dents on at least one of the cars outside, Chad chuckled. To his right was the counter, run by a plump, middle-aged woman with long blonde hair pulled tightly back into a bun.
"Hi," she greeted him, wiping both hands on her apron as he approached the counter. "What can I get you?"
"Outta here," Chad said bluntly. "I'm looking for Route 125." He leaned slightly over the counter and took her in . . . took her all in. She was actually a bit more than plump—those were some good-sized hips she had hiding down there. "I'm headed back to Massachusetts," he explained, feeling rather foolish having to explain to this woman he was lost. He was glad nobody was standing nearby to hear him.
"Route 125?" she repeated, not noticing, or ignoring, Chad's sharpness. "I'm sorry, but I really don't get out of the area all very often. I've heard of it, but I'm the wrong one to ask if that's where you need to go." She paused for a moment, presumably in thought, and then looked toward the back of the dining room. "Ted will be out in just a minutes." She gestured toward a closed door near what looked like the kitchen. "He'd be able to help you—if you don't mind waiting a few minutes, that is."
The last thing he wanted to do was wait around this place, especially seeing as the guy with the cello looked ready to fire the thing up any second now, but the apologetic look on the woman's tired face held him—she looked almost guilty that she wasn't able to help Chad personally, or that she was putting him out by him having to wait five minutes for some good directions. He felt almost bad for her, in some pathetic way.
Hell with it, he decided. I've been driving forever, I'm exhausted, a short break would probably do me good. He wasn't thrilled about it, but he would wait.
"I don't mind waiting at all," he lied, and a smile crossed her face. She wasn't attractive in the least—rather plain looking with a face that was weather-beaten with age and Lord knew what else—but she seemed the most sincere person he had talked to tonight . . . and maybe in quite some time. The word 'motherly' popped into Chad's mind to describe her. Might even be a grandmother, now that he thought about it.
"Maybe you could get me a coffee while I wait?" he read the name off her shirt, "Sue?"
"Coffee. You got it." She walked off to get him his drink, humming softly. Chad's grin disappeared the moment she turned her back.

As Chad sat waiting for Sue to return with his coffee, his eyes wandered over the diner. If this was the typical crowd the Old News Café attracted on a Saturday night, he couldn't for the life of him imagine how the owner stayed in business. The only interesting thing about the place was that it was unlike anything he had ever seen in Boston. That wasn't a good interesting, however; just a curious one.
As he watched, the guy with the cello lifted the bow into position and readied his instrument to play. The Mouse looked around the diner for any signs of interest, found none, and with four quick taps of his foot began bowing away just the same.
Chad cringed and prepared for the worst. The instrument was big, and, looking at the guy holding it, there was just no telling what kind of hullabaloo it was liable to produce. After his long, stressful night of driving—a good portion of it lost—Chad wasn't sure his nerves could handle such a racket. He looked at the guy holding the novel within kissing distance of his face, and wondered if he was even aware of what was about to happen. The whole crazy scene made him smile.
Chad was still wearing his crooked grin when the music started, and although it was a bit loud, that's exactly what he would call it. Music. It was good. It was better than good. There was no singing, just song: a continuous, delightful rhythm. He had no idea a cello was even capable of such sounds. It reminded him of the music from the movie Aladdin, the only kids' movie he had ever really enjoyed. The Mouse played with his eyes closed, softly rolling his head back and forth as he went, and Chad suddenly found himself relaxing in the soft, steady sound that drifted within the café and through his head. He never even noticed Sue setting his coffee down beside him.
"Here you are," she said softly, tapping him on the shoulder.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks," he mumbled, without bothering to reach for the drink.
"He's good, huh?" she asked, continuing to stand behind him.
"Surprisingly." Chad replied. The guy hardly looked like he could play a radio. "How long has he been playing here?"
"Peter's been coming here for years," she said, over the melody. "Every Saturday night. Melanie too."
Chad looked back over and realized there was second person with the musician now, a woman. Or was it a kid? He couldn't tell for sure. She was kid's size—if she stood next to Chad she would maybe reach up to his belly button, no more—slim, yet she had curves like a woman. And as he watched her dance in perfect rhythm to the music, her back toward Chad, he realized she danced unlike any kid he'd ever seen before. In a word, sexy.
She moved in a slow, seductive way—not erotic, but softly, as much with her arms as with her body. She wore a long purple dress, which dragged along the floor as she swayed, and had the blackest hair he had ever seen on anybody. And she was so small—she fascinated him as much as the music did. She never took her eyes off the musician. He played, she danced, and the two of them kept Chad riveted—it was like watching a snake charmer seducing his snake out of its basket. He forgot about his coffee beside him, or the reason he was here to begin with, getting directions back to Route 125 so he could be on his way home again. He wanted to do nothing but watch the tiny woman, Melanie, dance. She looked over at Chad, then hurriedly turned away as if he had just caught her staring or something. Chad was positive there had been just a hint of a smile on her face.
He smiled back without realizing it, playing along with the music in his head, anticipating each rhythm, each note, from the instrument, each swaying movement by the dancer, and it took him a moment to realize he was being spoken to once again. He tried to ignore it, but the voice came back louder.
"I said, she's fascinating, isn't she."
Reluctantly, he peeled his eyes from the tiny dancer—for the moment, anyway—and turned his attention toward Sue, who somehow was now standing on the other side of him. His coffee sat on the counter, untouched.
"Amazing," he said, picking up his drink. "How old is she?"
Sue started to say something, then stopped. "Older than she looks," she said simply.
"I figured." Chad put his coffee to his mouth, took a healthy gulp, then nearly spit the mouthful right onto his lap in disgust. A small amount actually did dribble from the corner of his mouth and onto his shirt. It was cold. Completely cold.
Dumbfounded, he stared at Sue. He could not wait to hear her explanation as to why the coffee she had brought him was anything less than piping hot.
"Sorry about that," she apologized, handing him a napkin. "I probably should have gotten you a fresh cup." Chad wiped his shirt as Sue waved to the old couple who were now getting up to leave, both of whom were looking at Chad curiously. The man eventually turned away, but the woman continued to stare. Chad blew her a kiss, and finally she turned away in disgust.
"'Night, guys!" Sue called across the café, oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place. The old man looked back at Sue and smiled, his wife just looked back. "See you next week?" she asked.
"As always." the man shot back over the music. The couple promptly disappeared out the front door.
Letting his eyes linger on the door a moment longer, Chad's gaze wandered down to his watch, and he nearly fell right off his stool. Ten forty-five? His mind reeled. How in the hell? He had pulled up to this place at ten on the button; of that he was certain. He remembered thinking that at this rate he would be lucky to reach Boston by midnight. Forty-five minutes he had been in here. How long had the Mouse been playing? Chad listened, but it sounded like the same song the guy had started with. He looked at old Eagle Eyes with the book, who had since put down his novel and was watching the musician as well. Otherwise, the place was deserted.
Had he really been watching them for three quarters of an hour? It seemed impossible, yet apparently he had. Had they been looking at him? Laughing? He looked down at his cold cup of coffee, then up at Sue suspiciously, but the simple smile on her face made him think that she had never laughed at anybody in her life. And old Eagle Eyes just didn't look smart enough to laugh at anybody.
Chad relaxed a little, but he still did need to be going. He would be pushing it to be home by one in the morning, now. Reaching inside his wallet, he pulled out a couple of ones and laid them on the counter. He looked at his cold, untouched coffee, and almost took one of the bills back. Then he remembered his car outside and how nervous he had been about leaving it alone for just a few minutes. He also remembered he still needed some directions.
"Here," Sue said, as if he had spoken that last thought out loud. "Take this. This should get you home from here." She produced a slip of paper from her apron, upon which was written a series of directions promising to bring him directly to highway 125. Apparently, he was much closer to it than he had originally feared.
"I guess I didn't do all that bad," Chad said. He studied the piece of paper for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. "Might even have found it myself, if I'd kept at it."
"Of course you would have," she said. "You were doing just fine." The music picked up a notch in the background, and Sue stole the briefest of looks over Chad's right shoulder.
"By the way," he paused. "What town am I in?"
"Sugar Hill," she said. "Population just over five hundred." For some reason she seemed quite proud of this fact.
Well, Sue," he said. "If I'm ever by this way again, you can be sure I'll be stopping back here." He didn't mean by a far cry, of course—he had promised himself earlier that he would never set foot in New Hampshire again, and he meant it—but she didn't need to know any of that. "I think my trip home won't be half bad, now." he lied to her again.
Sue beamed at that. "You drive safe," she told him. Chad gave her a wide grin, as if to say he always drove safe.
As he turned around to leave, he paused for just one more look at Melanie. He wondered if she ever got tired. She's been coming here for years, Sue had said to him. Just how old did that make her? Sixteen? Twenty-five? Older? He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't want to interrupt the two of them. He wondered if she and the Mouse were related. Or married?

Sue held motionless as Chad paused to watch Melanie one last time. She waited several moments, not daring to move, and then ever so slowly leaned over to him until she was within inches of his ear. Chad didn't even glance her way—for all he seemed to know, Sue was no longer even there.
"Chad?" she said softly.
He ignored her, or didn't hear her at all. All his attention was focused on the dancer, who was now staring directly back at him. Their eyes were locked, unblinking.
"Chad." Sue said, louder. "Chad!"
No response. Not even a flinch.
"Well, what do you think?" a deep voice suddenly said from behind Sue. An older and extremely well-dressed man—a man who had not been there a minute earlier—was now standing next to Sue.
"He's perfect," Sue said. "An out-of-towner who won't be missed." Chad sat completely hypnotized, not hearing any of the conversation that was taking place within feet of him.
"Good." the man said somberly.
They stood silently next to each other for a moment. Peter continued to play his cello, Melanie continued to dance, and Chad continued to watch them both stupidly. Sue leaned across the counter, reached into Chad's jacket pocket and grabbed his car keys. Chad never moved.
"Hey, Eagle Eyes!" she cackled to the nearsighted man with the giant glasses, teasing him with the name they had all heard Chad refer to him as. "Over here!" She tossed him the keys, which not so surprisingly bopped him on the forehead and fell to the floor. "Get rid of the car!"
Eagle Eyes awkwardly bent over to pick up the keys.
"I don't know what you're smiling about," he shot back. "He thought you looked like a grandmother with a big fat ass! It was all I could do not to laugh right out loud at that one!" He hee-hawed loudly, then jumped up and darted out the front door as if Sue was going to come pounding after him.
Sue didn't chase after him, though; she instead walked over to the front door and closed it behind him. She locked the dead bolt and flipped the sign over so it now read closed for the night. That done she walked back to the counter. The music had stopped, and Peter was quietly packing his cello back into its case. Melanie was once again nowhere to be found—almost as if she had never been there at all. Their work was done.
Satisfied, Sue left Ted alone with the hypnotized Chad in the dining area, walked into the back room where they stored their belongings, clicked on the overhead light, and began removing her apron. What a night! And it had almost all been for nothing. For one awful moment she had feared they were going to have to let him go, which would have been tough; they were starving as it was, especially poor Melanie. But things had worked out just fine in the end—as they usually did—and now it was almost over.
The dining room remained silent. She folded her apron and set it onto the chair, removed her shoes, and slipped on a pair of sneakers. She was in the process of fiddling with her ponytail, trying to undo the knotted rubber band that always seemed to tangle up on her, when the screaming started. Chad's agonizing shrieks—first of terror, then of pain—howled throughout the diner. Sue jumped—she always did—but quickly regained her composure and continued about her business.
She would wait here in the back until it was over, which should be shortly. The screaming never lasted long.
Chad, for all his flash and talk proved himself to be no different than any of the others, just as Sue suspected. Within moments he was silent. His pathetic cries for help ended as abruptly as they had begun, and the dining room was quiet once again. Sue waited just another moment to be sure, heard nothing, then, certain it was over, she headed back out into the dining room to claim her share of the food, humming softly.

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