After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, I got back out of bed and set up my computer on the kitchen table. Fortunately, the apartment had wireless Internet. I had to find my notes from the landlady, because the apartment’s password had like six consonants and one vowel. I was glad I didn’t have to learn Polish.
On a whim, I went to Facebook and looked up Ashley’s page. She’d already changed her relationship status to “single.” There were a couple dozen posts with condolences from her girlfriends and co-models, mostly bashing me. She had graciously accepted their comments with contrived humility and eager victimhood. In one comment, she had magnanimously defended me with “He has his good points.” Wow. How could I have been so wrong about her?
With everything on my mind, I felt restless. I put my coat on and went back outside to the dark street. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a safe neighborhood, but it looked liked one. At least it was quiet.
I walked toward the market with my hands in my pockets, past the façades of apartments and small businesses hung with CLOSED signs. West of the market I spotted a neon sign glowing OPEN. I crossed the street toward it. Mr. G’s Diner. I pushed the door open and walked inside.
CHAPTER
Nine
The great introductions of our lives usually arrive quietly and untrumpeted, appearing like the piece of paper in a show’s Playbill announcing a cast change.
Joseph Jacobson’s Diary
The diner was small, with a half-dozen vinyl-seated booths, two tables and six chairs along the bar, beneath the diner’s menu. The place was empty except for a young woman standing behind the counter wiping it down. She looked close to my age, maybe a year or two older.
She was pretty, though in a dressed-down way, as if she were trying to hide it. She had light brown hair that fell to her shoulders, with an errant strand falling over her face. Her eyebrows were slightly darker than her hair, accenting her almond-shaped eyes. She had full lips though she didn’t wear lipstick or any other makeup.
She continued wiping the counter, oblivious to my entrance.
“Hi,” I said.
Nothing. Then I noticed the white cord under her chin. She was wearing earbuds. I stood there for a moment, then moved in front of her and waved. “Hi,” I said.
She jumped back with a small gasp. She pulled out her earbuds. “You scared me.”
She had a soft, raspy voice. Her eyes were bright green.
“Sorry,” I said. “Could I get a cup of coffee?”
She didn’t answer right away, but looked me over with a strange expression. Finally, she said, “Uh, sure. What would you like?”
“Just a decaf. With milk.”
“Okay. Give me just a minute. You can sit down, I’ll bring it out to you.”
“Thank you.”
I had the pick of the place. I chose a table near the shuttered front window. She walked over to the diner’s front door and flipped a switch on the sign, locked the door, then returned to the counter. A couple minutes later she brought out my coffee with a cream-cheese Danish.
“I didn’t order the—”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not charging you for it. It’s the end of the night so I was about to throw it out anyway. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it looks good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She walked back to the counter and set back to work. I slowly sipped my coffee, examining my surroundings. The place was clean, its sky blue walls decorated with simply framed portraits, some black and white photographs, some sketches or drawings. I recognized some of the faces, like Ronald Reagan, John Belushi, Raquel Welch, Walt Disney and Robin Williams. But there were more I didn’t recognize. I tried to figure out what they had in common, but the connection eluded me.
The diner was quiet. There was no music playing, no noise at all except the sound of the woman putting things away behind the counter.
I asked, “Are you always this slow?”
She gave me a strange look.
“I mean, the shop. Not you.”
“No. We’re closed.”
“What time do you close?”
“Midnight.”
I looked down at my watch. It was eleven-forty. “It’s still twenty to,” I said.
“It’s twenty to one,” she replied.
I looked back down at my watch. I’d forgotten to change it with the time change. “Sorry. I’m on the wrong time zone.”
She didn’t say anything.
“So it was already midnight when I came in,” I said.
“I forgot to lock the door.”
“Thanks for letting me in.”
“It’s okay.”