Diner

The diner was so quiet before Nat unlocked the doors that you could hear the heater in the coffee machine when it would buzz on and off. When it was clear, the early sunlight would spill in through the front windows, over the chairs, which were still upside down on the tables, and onto the old-timey linoleum floor. The air would still smell faintly of toast and bacon, as though it were giving a subtle overture to a symphony.

When he got in at five, Fred put on a pot of coffee, then swept and mopped the floors. After that, he sat at the long counter and watched the sun come up until Nat got there. Nat counted the cash while Fred wiped down the tables and set them.

“There’s eight dollars missing,” said Nat from behind the counter.

“I didn’t close last night,” said Fred without looking up from his work.

“I swear I’m gonna buy cameras for this place.”

“It was probably a mistake, Amanda wouldn’t steal anything. Remember the time she found that man’s wallet? Wouldn’t even take a twenty as a reward.”

There was a knock on the glass.

“Dave’s outside,” said Fred. Nat threw him the keys and started counting again.

“Damn it’s cold outside,” Dave said, walking in the door. “I’ll bet it’s minus twenty.”

“Said minus eight on the radio,” said Nat. “That’s not too cold.”

Dave pulled a stool off the counter and sat down. “Anything ready back there?”

“We can make you some toast and coffee. Stoves aren’t on yet.” said Nat.

“Well they should be. It’s six-fifteen already.”

Fred looked at the clock on the wall. It was quarter to six. In the kitchen, the cooks were taking things out of the fridge and placing them on the counter, ready for the day.

“Actually, it’s quarter to,” said Nat. “You can have some toast and coffee.”

“Just the coffee, then. You get the paper, Fred?”

“It’s on the counter.”

Dave grabbed the newspaper next to him. “So it is, Freddy boy.”

From six to seven, there were hardly any customers. A few office workers getting coffee before going to work, two men coming off the night shift on security at the parking lot, and a couple late-nighters. The late-nighters walked in, eyes glued open, and spoke very quickly. One was short and tan, with a faux-hawk and eyeliner on. The other was regular build, dressed all in white. His long hair was dirty and looked wet. They sat near the wall at the back of the diner, and took a long time to decide. When they motioned to Fred that they were ready, they ordered from the lunch menu. “Lunch starts at eleven,” Fred said. Both of them looked at their watches.

“We’re going to need another minute,” the short one said.

Fred attended two other tables then came back to them.

“How’re the pancakes?”

“They’re good. Come with real maple syrup.”

They looked back at the menu.

“And the waffles?”

“Good. Come with the syrup too.”

Fred saw Nat watching them from the cash.

“Alright,” said the tall one. “I’ll have a western omelet.”

“And I’ll have the steak and eggs.”

“We don’t have any steak today.”

The short one rolled his eyes and slapped the menu onto the table. The tall one was looking out the window.

“Well then I’ll just have the eggs, huh?”

“How d’you like them?” asked Fred

“Over-easy. No... Sunny.”

“You mean sunny-side up?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“You want toast with that?”

“Oh you have toast? It’s not on the lunch menu?”

“You can have toast or hash-browns.”

“Gimme the hash-browns.”

Fred picked up the menus and walked to the counter to put in the order. He opened them up to put them into the holder, and found a wet piece gum inside one.

“Kids,” Nat said to Fred. “Staying up all night is bad for ‘em.”

Dave looked up from the paper. He straightened his back, puffing his belly out. “They’re probably on drugs,” he said.

“Maybe,” said Fred, using a napkin to get the gum off the menu.

The order for the late-nighters came out, and Fred brought the plates to the table, along with ketchup and a refill of coffee. They didn’t say anything when the plates arrived.

After seven, more customers started coming in: retired couples who came in every other day, young couples who made awkward conversation and left quickly, and some regulars, who all sat at the counter, talking to Nat. Dave was telling them that the two kids by the wall were strung out on something. “Wouldn’t get too close to those two.”

Fred was polishing cutlery and watching them from behind the counter. They leaned over their plates, but didn’t eat much. Every so often, they’d look up at each other and smile or give a little laugh. They touched each other’s arms. Fred turned to the kitchen and smiled while he put the cutlery into the tray.

Nat and Dave and the other regulars were glancing over at them every so often and talking quietly.

“... touching like gays.”

“... wife never touches you like that.”

Laughter.

“When was the last time you even...”

“Why, just last week, this pretty little thing...”

Fred went to the table and asked if they were done. They looked startled to see him.

“Yes,” said the tall on with the wet hair. “Thanks.”

Fred cleared the table and brought the bill, which he left between the salt shaker and the ketchup.

He said hello to Amanda as she walked in the door and to the counter. She squeezed his shoulder as she went by. She smelled like watermelon today.

“Hi Nat. Hi Dave. Hi guys.”

“Amanda, the cash was short again today,” said Nat before she had a chance to walk around the counter for her paycheck.

Fred watched him from the table he was setting.

“Sorry, Nat. I must have miscounted it. I can give you the eight dollars.“

“I’m sick of telling you, Amanda.” Nat had both his hands on edge the counter and his eyes were fixed on the cash in front of him. “If you can’t count, that’s a big goddamn problem.”

“I can count, Nat, I just-“

“I don’t want to hear it. You fuck up the cash every fucking week. I could hire an eight year old to do your job.”

Amanda opened her mouth, as though to say something, but closed it again before saying anything. Her eyes were wet.

“What? What are you going to say?”

Fred walked up to Nat. Nat stood straight and faced him. Nat looked very small next to him, and his grey hair hardly reached Fred’s nose.

“Come on, Nat, she made a mistake. You make them too when you count the cash.”

Nat was almost shaking from anger. “Stay out of this. It’s my restaurant. I’ll handle it the way I like.”

Amanda was crying hard now. She took eight dollars from her purse and put it on the counter before running out.

 Fred pushed the eight dollars to Nat. “Happy now?”

The regulars sitting at the counter weren’t talking any more. Dave was watching the arts and life section intently, and the others were pushing around their hash browns around their plates or looking at their coffee.

 When Fred turned back to see his tables, the two late-nighters had left.

“Where did those two kids go?” said Nat, trying to put things back to normal. “They didn’t pay yet.”

Fred checked the washrooms, which were empty, then ran outside to the street. The customers inside watched through the window, one or two even got up to see if anything would happen. There were businessmen, couples strolling down to the Old Port, and bike couriers all along the street. The late-nighters were gone. Fred walked back inside, and the diners seemed disappointed as they turned back to their food.

“Could tell soon as they walked in that they were no good,” said Nat.

“Probably on drugs, those two,” repeated Dave. “Did you see the thin one’s hair? Greasy as your onion rings, Nat.”

The other regulars gave a chuckle.

Fred went to clean the late-nighters’ table. There, under the ketchup, were two crisp twenty dollar bills, enough to cover the 23 dollar bill and leave a hefty tip. Fred smiled and put the forty dollars on the counter as he walked by.

Nat looked confused. He looked at the table, then at Fred, then back at the money. He took it and put it in the cash.

Fred waited tables until 3. Nat took the afternoon off. His daughter was going to the dentist’s. After 3, Fred sat at the counter and talked to Amanda, who came in at 2. She still smelled of watermelon. Her hair was loose, the way it was when Nat didn’t tell her to tie it up.

He watched her until six. They talked about the weather, her boyfriend, her apartment. They stopped talking after a while. He just watched. Every time she put the money into the cash, she would keep a dollar or two in her hand and put it in her apron. At one point, she took a twenty from the cash and stuffed it in her pocket. She didn’t see Fred looking at her.

The next day, Fred came in early. He swept and mopped the floors, then sat at the counter to watch the sun rise. It was overcast, so he watched the sky turn from dark purple to gray. At five-thirty, Nat came in and counted the cash.

“Twenty-fucking-four dollars short today. I can’t fucking believe it.”

Fred kept on setting the tables.

“I didn’t close last night.”