Chapter 6

Roxie drove to the diner the next day for her regular two-in-the-afternoon Sunday shift. She winced as she drove. She didn’t know much about cars, but it was quite clear that the noise that the engine was making wasn’t the right one. It didn’t matter if the car was moving or stopped at a light. It kept making that squealing sound; it got louder if she stepped on the gas. She’d learned the hard way that squealing sounds in cars were the most expensive kind. She thought she had everything straightened out after Junior replaced her fuel pump.

There was nothing to be done about it right then. She urged the worn-out car through the streets to the diner. As she got closer she wondered if Cal would show up for dinner. He was a semi-regular on Sunday nights. If she saw him, maybe she would have a chance to set him straight on the thing between her and Stan the week before.

She thought for a moment about Junior—or was it Edwin. Whatever his name was, she hoped he’d take another turn at fixing her car. She just couldn’t afford a big garage bill.

“What else was romance for, anyway?”

Her body was functioning a lot better than usual for a Sunday, owing to the decreased amount of drinking the prior night. That nagging hangover wasn’t there to help her mark the hours of what promised to be a slow turn on a Sunday night. She even wondered if she might have looked prettier than normal. Probably, she thought, that was what she wanted to think.

“A human being can convince herself of just about anything if she has an open mind.”

She walked in the door and Millie was in her usual spot, adding up the receipts. It was between lunch and dinner, so the Diner had no customers at the moment. Stan was sitting at the end of the lunch counter nursing a cup of coffee over the Sunday paper. She walked past them and through the kitchen to stow her purse for safekeeping, and then returned to the front to start working.

“How was the morning shift?” she asked Millie while tying on her apron.

“Pretty good,” Millie answered. “Cal Tucker was in for breakfast.”

Stan grunted, but didn’t look up from his paper.

“I wasn’t askin’ about him,” Roxie protested.

“Who said you were?” Millie laughed. “Did you go out with Junior last night?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Roxie said. “What’re Saturday nights for if I can’t spend them watching Junior get himself in trouble? We went over to that Red Rooster dive. Junior’s not allowed in the Dew Drop Inn for another three weeks. I hate bein’ in that Red Rooster. We were lucky to get out in one piece. We called it an early night.”

“I thought you looked a little less comatose than usual,” Stan called out from his perch at the far end of the lunch counter.

Roxie shot Stan a ‘none of your business’ look.

“Forget about him,” Millie said. “Like I told you, Cal had breakfast here this mornin’. Chances are you won’t see him tonight.”

“You keep telling me somethin’ that I’m not interested in knowin’,” Roxie insisted.

She checked Millie’s expression for signs of being hurt by the rebuff. Finding none, she picked up a cloth and began wiping down the tables.

“You don’t sound very uninterested to me,” Millie countered after a couple of minutes.

Roxie would be damned if she’d admit anything. She kept wiping down the tables. Roxie knew Millie well enough to know that there was more that she was dying to tell. She was sure to spill everything in a matter of minutes without being asked.

“Cal and Homer Barlow had lunch together in here last Monday,” Millie blurted out.

“I know,” Roxie said without looking up. “I saw them come in as my shift was ending. They eat lunch together all the time.”

Millie turned toward Roxie with her hands on her hips.

“Well, this time was different,” she declared.

“You mean Cal didn’t have meatloaf?” Roxie laughed. “I got him to try the chicken croquettes last Sunday.”

“I’m not joking,” Millie insisted. “If you think it’s a joke, then I won’t tell you.”

Stan let out another exasperated grunt.

“She was eavesdropping on them and found out that Cal thinks he found a buyer for the old typewriter factory. Now you know, so can you two cut the chatter, please?”

Millie bit her lip and her eyebrows formed a vee over her eyes, which is what she always did when she got angry.

“That’s not all I know. There’s more that I haven’t told anyone—not even Stan.”

“You’re gonna tell us now, aren’t you,” Stan scoffed.

“Homer said he was gonna’ help Cal take his place as Mayor when his term comes to an end. Ain’t that excitin’?”

Millie beamed, as though introducing a grandchild. Millie’s news nearly made Roxie lift her head with a start, but she caught herself in time.

“Maybe it’s excitin’ for Cal, but it means nothin’ to me,” Roxie said. “I hope it makes Cal happy, ‘cause he hasn’t found anything that makes him happy so far.”

Millie stopped talking; Roxie kept on with her work. Stan folded up the paper and retreated to the kitchen.

Roxie wondered what would make anyone happy, because it seemed that she knew so few happy people. For Cal, she knew it would be a life in the barn tending to tractors and cows. Junior always tried to look happy, but Roxie knew that he hadn’t found it, either.

She was unsure about Millie, who thought she knew what would make everyone happy, but neglected to tend her own garden. Stan never even tried to pretend.

For herself, she would be happy if, for once on a Sunday night shift, there would be a decent amount of tips that would make the effort worth her while. Beyond that modest ambition, she dared not venture further.

Perhaps happiness was the lack of disappointment, so if those extra tips came her way it would be enough. That wasn’t bad, because she knew her odds against disappointment were better if she kept her expectations low.

“I’m gonna find a way get Bonnie and Cal together,” Millie interrupted without any warning. “Cal needs to find someone soon; he won’t have time after he’s Mayor. Bonnie would be just right.”

“So you tell me all the time,” Roxie snapped back at her. “And I keep askin’ you what makes you think I give two hoots.”

Millie laughed at the remark, and that made Roxie start to get angry.

“I can tell you do, dearie,” she yelled across the room. “Your words might say one thing, but that color in your face says another.”

Roxie stomped her foot, and that made her pencils and order pads fall tumble out of the pockets of her apron.

“You got it all wrong,” she shouted back. “I’m just tired of hearin’ about it all the time, that’s all.”

She bent to her knees to pick up her lost things.

“Have it your way,” she heard the queen bee reply. “But remember this: Cal just ain’t your type; never was—never will be. Cal is for Bonnie, so don’t go getting’ any ideas. How would Cal ever get to be Mayor if he was seen with someone like you?”

Roxie finished picking up her pencils. She was still on her knees and she popped her head up so Millie could see her.

“I told you, I don’t care. My chance with Cal is long gone. Bonnie can have him—if she wants him. I just don’t care.”

It was just past eleven as Roxie coaxed her car through the tired streets of the small city where she’d always lived. There were a couple of late customers in the diner and a lot of cleaning up to do. She thought about leaving it for the morning, but didn’t. She never did that unless she was really tired. There was no other traffic at that time on a Sunday night. It gave her the chance to look around as she drove.

There was little to look at. Not many things changed, except in ways that didn’t matter. When Roxie was much younger, there was a Gulf station on one of the main four corners. That company went out of business, so the sign changed several times, but it was still a gas station. The most recent affiliation was with a chain of discount gasetarias joined to convenience grocery stores.

Roxie shook her head as the waited for a light to change.

“What an ugly thing to plunk right in the middle of town,” she said out loud.

It occurred to her that only she was listening to her advice, which seemed to be a normal condition.

It wasn’t that the citizens liked the idea of the gasetaria at the four corners as the signature landmark of their community. It was just how things developed, that’s all. The property remained in the hands of the same family through the decades. They fought every change, and no one really cared very much to do the changing.