Nicholas led me inside the diner. I didn’t know what I was expecting. The usual maybe. Stool chairs and a counter where they fry the burgers and the fries, checkboard design flooring, stainless steel tables and leather seats by the window, people still dressed in the clothes they wore the night before, much like myself. However, when I stepped inside the diner, I was pleasantly surprised.
The smell of homemade muffins filled my nostrils. I was reminded of my mother’s kitchen when I was a child. Upbeat music was blasting through the speakers. The floor was rather made of shiny, dark brown wood. The wooden tables and wooden chairs were occupied by patrons within the range of forty-five to sixty. Lively abstract paintings adorned the walls, and the ceiling had red, brown, and white lamps.
The man frying the burgers by the counter looked to be about sixty years old, and so were the cashier, waiters, and waitresses. There were also little people working as waiters and waitresses.
I was impressed by the whole interior of the place. I never expected a restaurant outside the city to be this classy and cozy.
We were approached by an elderly woman. She was wearing a pink uniform and had a big smile on her face.
“Oh, Nicholas. My favorite customer.” She beamed, pulling Nicholas for a kiss on the cheek.
Instead of feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable about the woman’s show of affection, Nicholas smiled back at her and pinched her on the cheek. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asked, his smile never wavering.
“Even better, now that you’re here,” she replied brightly.
Great! He’s charming to all ladies, regardless of age.
The woman looked at me and smiled. “Who’s your good-looking friend?” she asked Nicholas.
I extended my hand to her and said, “I’m Ken, Ma’am. Ken Clarke.”
“Clarke?” She blinked back.
I nodded.
“How are you related to Robert Clarke?”
I looked at Nicholas uncertainly. I wasn’t sure how to answer. What if I said Robert Clarke was my father, and he wasn’t welcome here? Knowing my father’s demeanor, anything was possible.
Nicholas noticed my discomfort. He smiled widely at the woman and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a common name, Margaret. Now, tell me, did you save my table?”
Margaret smiled and seemed to forget her question as she led us to a table situated in the corner of the room. She removed the Reserved sign from the table as we sat down.
“As usual, this table is reserved for you. Sundays at ten,” Margaret said. “What could I get for you, dear?” she asked me.
I haven’t seen the menu, so I just said, “I’ll have whatever Nicholas is having.”
She smiled at me. “Sure, dear.”
After Margaret left, I excused myself to go to the restroom. I realized that I hadn’t washed my face, and my breath still reeked of the Green Fairy, although it wasn’t a bad smell at all. I didn’t know what else they put in the cocktail I drank last night, but it smelled like a combination of wood and flowers, and it seemed as if I gargled perfume all night.
I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped because I looked as if I had just gotten out of bed. My hair was totally disheveled. I had to keep pushing it away from my eyes. My inner shirt was crumpled as if I wore it without ironing it first.
If Jen could see me now…
Well, if she saw me, the first thing she'd do is berate me for looking untidy and careless. She would insist I go home immediately, shower, change my clothes, and gel my hair back to its usual glory.
Well, it was probably a good thing she was not here. For the first time in years, I felt no pressure, not even from myself, to look as if I had just stepped out of the covers of a magazine. The only person who knew me here was Nicholas. And I didn’t give a damn about what he thought.
I washed my face and wiped it dry with disposable towels. I noticed that the sink had floral hand wash, matching lotion, and good Lord, disposable dental kits. I opened the cabinet beside me and found all sorts of stuff you wouldn’t normally find in your local diner. They have disposable underwear, diapers, feminine pads, shaving kits, fresh towels, and new shirts. There was a can on the top shelf that said, “Take only what you need and help us fund this service.” And then a smiley face.
I took one of the shirts from the cabinet. The print on the front showed a cartoon of a tough-looking hippie with a cigar in his mouth, but he was wearing a polka dot shirt. The words below him read, “Grandma took me in.”
I smiled. This diner is a place to go to if you don’t want to go home or if you have no one to take you in for the night. The whole bathroom was clean and designed to look like a bathroom in a house. It was meant to be a home for everyone who needed it for a few hours. It was run by grandpas, grandmas, and little people. In this place, you didn’t have to be anybody you’re not. You can be who you are, and nobody will judge you.
The shirt in my hand was a little too big for me, but I didn’t care. It felt very comfortable. I took off my jacket and my shirt. I took a pack of dental kits and brushed my teeth. They had a shower room, which was very squeaky clean, so I took off the rest of my clothes and hopped in to remove the cigarette and club smell on my hair and skin.
When I was done, I took a pair of new disposable underwear from the cabinet. I discarded my underwear and shirt in the bin. I was pretty sure they had designer tags on them, but I didn’t care. My father’s secretary sometimes takes care of my wardrobe to maintain a level of luxury in my style whenever I go around town. I put on the new shirt and then my jacket. I towel-dried my hair and then combed it with my fingers.
When I was done, I was certain I smelled and looked better than I did when I walked in. I fished a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and put it inside the can. Now, I felt better, too. I hate to admit it, but I was glad Nicholas brought me here.
When I returned to our table, our food was already served. Nicholas pretended not to notice the change in my appearance, but he could not wipe the grin off his face.
His phone rang. He looked at the screen and then declined the call. It rang again about five more times. Finally, he turned his cellphone off with a frown on his face.
“Why didn’t you take the call?” I asked him, faking the concern in my voice and face. “For all you know, it could be the mother of your unborn child. And she’s out there helpless and alone after you knocked her up.”
He balled a tissue and playfully threw it at me. “First, I would not be so careless to knock up a girl. And second, if that happened, I would never ignore the call. But no, I’m absolutely sure that caller was not after me because I may have fathered her child.”
“Well, with your reputation, you’ll never know, man.”
“You will never know. But I do,” he said. “Now, if you excuse me for a moment, I need to speak to Grandpa Chef.”
When he left, I had an ugly feeling that Nicholas may not be the wicked playboy I thought he was.