Queenie's Cafe (10 page)

Laura felt like someone had let the air out of her. She could apply in Vero Beach, but she had a feeling they’d say the same thing. Luke said he’d loan her the money. She didn’t want to owe him any more, but what other choice did she have? Maybe, if she worked it right, she could get by on what he’d already given her. It would be a stretch, but if the utility bills didn’t come right away...

Who was she kidding? She needed Luke and his money. Reluctantly, she picked up the phone, but all she got was a recording. She couldn’t leave an apology on his answering machine.

Remembering the tape, she pushed the play button again. She heard Elvis’s voice, then static, and then the sound of a phone ringing. A man’s voice answered.
“King of the Road.”
It sounded like her father.

“Bruce, it’s me.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Queenie.”

“I want that baby.”

He said,
“It’s not yours.”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“So what if it is? What do you care?”

“We’ll pretend it’s mine,”
said Queenie.

“Like hell we will.”

“I won’t give you a divorce so you can marry that slut.”

“I’m leaving end of the week whether you like it or not. It’s over, Queenie. I won’t stay with you any longer.”

The connection was broken as one receiver slammed down, then the other. Elvis came back on and she switched the tape off. Dad told her Queenie wanted kids and she wouldn’t give him a divorce, so Laura wasn’t surprised at the phone conversation, but why would Queenie keep the tape? She’d not only kept it, she’d hidden it.

Laura tossed the sticky cassette case in the trash and slipped the tape in her pocket. Why didn’t her father leave at the end of the week like he said? What made him stay?

And what made Florence give up her baby?

The phone rang and Laura snatched it up, hoping one of the loan officers had changed their mind about giving her a loan to open Queenie’s. But it wasn’t a loan officer. It was Luke.

“I tried to call you today, Luke.”

“I didn’t get a message.”

“I didn’t leave one.”

“Why not?”

She wiped off the counter while she talked. “I called to apologize. I didn’t want to say that to some machine.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I thought you were interested in a partnership, but I don’t want to force it on you. If you want to do it by yourself, that’s all right. You don’t have to do business with me or my corporation.”

Laura swallowed her stubborn pride. “Yes, I do. The banks all turned me down.”

“I’m not surprised. They have certain guidelines they have to follow.”

“Are you still sending your contractor over to look at the motel?”

“Do you still want him to come?”

“Yes, I’d like to know—”

“So would I. Do you need more money now?”

“Not until the electric bill comes.”

A burst of laughter came through the phone. “Sometimes I think you’ve got more pride than sense.”

She threw the towel in the sink. “Do you always have to be right?”

“Are you opening tomorrow?”

“Yes, at six.”

“Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

The mailman brought a letter from Corbin.

I tried to get your phone number from the Internet, but there was no listing for Whitfield in Kingston. I’m hoping this letter gets to you.

Laura glanced at the address on the envelope.

Laura Whitfield

Kingston, Florida

He’d given her his e-mail address, as if she had a way to send an e-mail to anyone, and asked her to call him collect.

He still wanted to date her, but who had time to date? She had a business to run, and it was a good excuse to end their relationship, such as it was. Corbin was an okay friend, but he wasn’t the man for her.

She called the number in his letter. Corbin wasn’t there, so she left a message. “Corbin, this is Laura. I inherited a café here in Kingston, and I’m not coming back to West Palm Beach. If you’re ever up this way, stop by Queenie’s Café. Bye.”

That should be enough to end it between them. It wasn’t as if they saw each other that often anyway.

She started the dough for the cinnamon rolls she planned to serve when the café opened in the morning. They could rise slowly in the refrigerator overnight and she’d bake them first thing in the morning, so the café would smell like coffee and cinnamon.

<>

Tuesday morning, Laura was up at five and in the café at five-thirty. She’d opened many times for Queenie, but this time she was doing it for herself. She looked around at her café.
Her
business. The furniture looked shabby, the chairs patched with duck tape, the tables scratched and stained with cigarette burns, but it was clean. Everything was clean. She was immensely proud of what she and her friends had accomplished. With the new carpet and fresh paint, the place had never looked better. It smelled better, too. The cigarette smoke and grease smell was gone. When Laura was a little girl, a haze of smoke hung in the air all the time, but Florida had a no-smoking law now. People smoked in their cars or outside the door, not inside the restaurants.

She started the coffee and put a pan of cinnamon rolls in the oven. Before long, the whole place smelled like cinnamon and fresh coffee. She turned on the big electric OPEN sign in the window at six and unlocked the front door.

Marv Walker appeared just after she opened. He was a small man with thick glasses and thinning hair, a nice man she’d known most of her life. He seemed a little lost since his wife died nearly two years ago.

“Am I the first one here?”

“You sure are. Your breakfast is free. I really appreciate all the work you did for me, Marv. If I could afford it, I’d feed you free for a month.”

“You don’t have to do that, Laura. I’m just glad you’re open. I hate to eat my own cooking.” He inhaled. “Do I smell cinnamon rolls?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You make ’em yourself?”

She smiled. “Just for you, Marv.”

Luke came in a few minutes later with a basket of multi-colored flowers. “These are for you. Whatever happens with a partnership, I want you to succeed, Laura. I hope everything goes well today.”

She knew he meant it. He’d been generous with his time and money.

By seven, there were eight people in the café, all talking and laughing over breakfast. Laura greeted each one and thanked them for coming. Everyone commented how good the place looked, with the fresh paint and new carpet. Two ordered extra cinnamon rolls to take home.

She put a coffee pot in the dining area. “Help yourselves to coffee.”

“You mean you ain’t gonna charge us for a refill like Queenie?” asked Charley.

“No, sir. Help yourself.”

Some of these people hadn’t been in the café in years. They were all locals, people who knew how strained things had been here before Laura left. One person mentioned the place closing down, but no one said anything about Queenie.

Every customer said they were glad to have Laura back and to have the café open again. It was exactly what she needed to hear.

Laura couldn’t stop smiling. Eight people. Queenie never had more than four or five for breakfast, sometimes none at all.

She served lunch to thirteen people that day. Carmen Messina, the local real estate broker, said, “Laura, this place looks nice. I really like the new carpet. You’ve changed the menu, too.”

“I thought I’d try something different. What do you think?”

“I like it. It’s not all fried stuff like before. Hot chicken salad? That sounds good.”

“Would you like to try that? If you don’t like it, there’s no charge.”

“Well, then, how can I refuse?”

“How’s the real estate business these days?”

“Slow. Are you interested in selling?”

Laura shook her head. “I can’t sell without at least trying to make a go of it here.”

“If you change your mind, call me. As much as I need the business, I hope you decide to stay. We need a good restaurant in this town.”

Laura smiled. “One hot chicken salad, coming right up.”

She stayed busy from five-thirty that morning until nearly nine that evening. It was a long, tiring, but happy day, and she’d taken in enough money to pay the electric and garbage bills this month. She shouldn’t spend the money on another phone call, but she had to call Dad and brag a little.

Florence answered the phone. “Laura, how nice to hear your voice.”

“I opened Queenie’s today. I served thirty-seven people, more than Queenie ever served in one day.”

“Well, that’s encouragin’.”

“I don’t expect this every day, but it was a nice beginning. I saw some people I hadn’t seen in years. They all seemed glad to have the place open again.”

“Of course they are. Where else they gonna go?”

“Is Dad there?”

She hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “He went to bed early, honey. I hate to wake him.”

“No, don’t wake him.” Laura finally came down off her cloud and realized that something was wrong. Dad never went to bed until after the evening news. “Is he sick?”

“Just a little depressed. There ain’t no business here. Nothin’. The guy that sold us this place said there was, but we ain’t seen nobody. If somethin’ don’t change soon, one of us will have to go out and get a real job.”

Laura was stunned. Why didn’t they check out the books before they bought the business? Her father had more sense than to risk his money on a poor investment.

Didn’t he?

<>

After the phone call from Laura, Florence stood in the bedroom door watching Bruce sleep. The only reason they bought this place was because no one knew them here. Bruce had never said he was ashamed of her, yet sometimes she wondered. Why would a man want a woman who’d slept with as many different men as she had? Yet she knew he loved her.

They were both disappointed in the fishing camp. Bruce had spent most of Queenie’s life insurance money to buy this business, and it wasn’t worth spit. No wonder the man was so anxious to sell. Maybe if they advertised more it would bring in some business, but advertising cost money, and they were running low.

She knew Bruce felt guilty about wasting so many years in that dumpy old motel in Kingston, but guilt wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t give Laura back her childhood, wouldn’t give them the years they’d lost, and it wouldn’t build a future.

There was no future here either, and the sooner Bruce admitted it, the sooner they could sell this place and get out of here.

<>

Two days later, Luke’s contractor, Jay Fisher, came to inspect the motel. Laura handed him the key to the office. “The other keys are behind the counter. Help yourself. I can’t get away right now. Three rooms in the back are occupied, and room five, but the others are all empty.”

An hour later, Jay walked into the café and handed her the key to the office. “I’ll get the numbers worked up and call Luke.”

“Would you like some lunch before you go?”

His light blue eyes lit up. “Sure.”

“One special coming up, on the house.”

“That come with a cold beer?”

“Sorry. You have to be old enough to drink it before you can get a license to serve it. I’m not quite there yet.”

“You run this business and you’re only twenty?”

“What do you mean only? I’ve been working here since I was eight years old.”

Jay grinned. “Hell, I’m forty-five and I’m just gettin’ started.”