Page 24 of Lady Sings the Blues

7.

Elise

We stop at Margie’s Homecookin’ for breakfast. Street parking only. I’m glad for Mark to be driving because I could never imagine parallel parking his behemoth truck.

The only reason I know it’s called Margie’s Homecookin’ would be from the fancy script painted in the front window. Most people know the place by the big neon sign hanging above the door. The sign simply says,Eat.

From the day I moved here to the day I left, I don’t know that I realized the diner had an actual name. But what I knew then, I still know now. Margie makes the best blueberry pancakes in the county. Not that Mark would know. What’s with men and their steak and eggs? Logan, Beau, and even Tommy—always the steak and eggs.

With strong coffee and light conversation, I begin to let my guard down, thawing somewhat to the town again. That is until Margie herself steps out from the kitchen.

I only have the briefest moment to brace before she calls out, “Elise Manning in my store. Missed you, girl.” Not the response I expect from the woman who used to smother Logan and Beau with golden boy attention and comped meals after home games. Highly unfortunate that her greeting calls attention to the other patrons that thetraitorbitchwhorelurks among them.

“Hi, Margie. Good to see you.”

“Hi, Margie. Good to see you?” She repeats. “That’s all you got for me after what? Five years? Get your ass up.”

I stand. Margie makes her way over to me through the small dining room. Seems we’re the entertainment for the other patrons. Seems just like old times, Margie still doesn’t care for gossipers.

“Eyes on your own plates,” she yells at them while just about squeezing the life out of me. “’Cept for you, baby boy,” she says dripping sweetness to my date. “You can stare as long as you want—”

“Mark,” he cuts in, which yeah, that’s rather odd.

I can’t see the look on her face, but she pauses a beat. “I know who you are. I may be old, but I ain’t that old. Been comin’ in here his whole life,” she mumbles to herself. “Don’t think I know his name.”

She releases me allowing both of us to slide back into the booth. “How long you in town for?” she asks.

Mark reaches over, grabbing my hand across the table. “I’m countin’ on forever.”

Margie smiles big enough at him to show all five of her missing teeth. “Bet you are.” Miss Margie, she’s a cantankerous old broad, and when I say old, she always liked to joke that God created herthendirt. Her voice is pure gravel from smoking a pack a day since conception but her heart can hold the whole town. I’d been worried her heart held the town minus one. What was I thinking?

“Marge,” her husband yells from the pickup window. “We got backup orders.”

“Seems my work ain’t never done. You stay, you come back. You leavin’, you come back first, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When she’s safely back in the kitchen and out of earshot I ask him, “What was that about? The name thing?”

“Looked like she was strugglin’ for a second. Ready to head out?”

I nod. The waitress sees me nod and thinks I’m asking for the bill because she walks over to drop it on the table.

“No thanks.” Mark waves her away. “We’re not stayin’ for the drawin’.”

She blinks looking ten kinds of uncomfortable, reaching to snatch it back. He stops her hand. “I’m kiddin’,” he says and picks it up.

Now I know I had to have known him back in the day because Lo and Beau used to use that exact same line to fluster the waitresses. Heard Tommy say it at the bar just the other night.

I open my purse to pull out money when Mark pins me with a hard stare that screams, ‘Don’t you embarrass me by trying to pay.’

“At least let me leave the tip,” I tell him.

“Touch that wallet, I spank that ass, darlin’. You’re with me, I pay. Not tryin’ to tread on your feminist sensibilities but we got some traditions you’ll just have to deal with. I pay on dates, hold the door and I always drive.”

“That it?”

“It’s a start. I think of more, I’ll tell you.”

---