Page 105 of The Woman in the Hollow
“Personal driver and personal chef… and personal security guard.”
“All positions I’m enjoying holding,” he assured me as he took the jug handle to spit the car back out on the other side of the street so we could pull into the parking lot of the diner.
I passed it every day since I’d been in Navesink Bank. It was a gaudy silver structure with a domed foyer and big picture windows lining all the sides.
I’d been oddly fascinated by it each time I drove by, wondering about the people inside.
Was the man sitting alone, cradling a cup of coffee and looking off into the night, just enjoying a quiet moment tohimself, mourning a love lost, or was he waiting for a date that might not come? Was the server going to offer him a conciliatory smile before passing him the check?
Were the group of rowdy girls there after a night of clubbing? Were they celebrating a birthday? An engagement? Or maybe a recent breakup?
As we were led by a middle-aged server over to a window seat, I couldn’t help but wonder what people might think of us as they drove by.
Would we look like colleagues? Friends? Or would someone see our chemistry, the delicate beginnings of a new connection?
“Okay. So, what does a real Jersian order at the diner?”
“That is entirely up to you. I have a cousin who has never ordered anything but a grilled cheese and fries; my mom is a BLT kind of person; breakfast is always a popular choice, though.”
“What do you recommend?”
“The coffee. It’s bitter and borderline undrinkable. But that’s the charm of it.”
“Bitter coffee. Check. What else?”
“Well, I’m assuming you’ve never had disco fries before.”
“I don’t even know what disco fries are.”
“They’re fries topped with melted mozzarella cheese and brown gravy.”
“Brown gravy?” I asked, dubious.
“Trust me. It’s just something you have to experience to understand. But we will order pizza fries too, just in case they aren’t a hit for you.”
I flipped through the massive laminated menu—complete with pictures and little stories—feeling a little overwhelmed by the options.
“What are ‘fat’ sandwiches?” I wondered aloud.
“Sandwiches that have either meat or a veggie burger, cheese, veg, fries, and mozzarella sticks.”
“Well, that sounds perfect for my first diner sandwich then.”
I settled on the ‘Fat Albert,’ which featured a veggie burger along with the veg, cheese, fries, and mozzarella sticks.
We sipped our awful coffee as I flipped through the little tabletop jukebox full of oldies.
“Do people actually eat the desserts in that case?” I asked, eyeing the front counter where we were meant to pay with its long glass dessert case.
“What else would they do with it?”
“Well, it could just be for display.”
“To be honest, I’ve never had dessert from a diner, save for ice cream, and I don’t know anyone else who has either. I’d be dubious about the freshness.”
“What about the little boxes of cereal?” I asked, spotting the individual ones lined up on a shelf over the coffee station.
“You can order those.”
