by John Davis Collins @1999 All Rights Reserved By John F. Clennan, Esq.
"Jane," Jimmy Blades, sitting rigidly in the corner booth with that firm
fixed hawkish expression of Yankee determination, declared, "You're only a
waitress. You're meddling."
I gritted my teeth. Jimmy the 40 year old ne'er do well scion of a
prominent local family here in Prudence knew little about the restaurant
business and cared even less, although he did enjoy being the boss. Only a
series of accidents had put Jimmy in charge right before the first snows
dotted the lower Bershires.
I smiled and lowered my head servilely and looked outside at a light snow
falling this Lincoln's Birthday. Yet I knew then, and have always known that
the little diner in the bend in the state highway leading to Prudence was
always mine.
Legally the land the diner stood on was land owned by Jimmy's mother's
estate. When the tenant retired leaving the fixtures, Jimmy's relatives
allowed Jimmy to run the restaurant just to keep him busy, while they
plundered, Estates, I well knew, produced nothing but mischief.
Bearded Bill Gagakos swivelling on a stool at the counter to watch me
lecture Jimmy on timeliness, broke into a big smile. After I poured another
cup of coffee Bill strode over to Jimmy's corner to renew his offer.
Henry Miller, a local lawyer who gave up his practice, bundled in his
army jacket against the Northern cold, snickered, "No hard headed Greek will
ever crack Yankee granite... Scaling the treasured towers of Illium would be
easy by comparison."
The bearded Greek had been the only one interested in the restaurant, but
Jimmy was holding out for a steep price, just to show himself capable to
relatives.
Jimmy's relatives chuckled at Jimmy, just as mine had chuckled at my Mom
and me, when Dad died, but I had an excuse. I was only 16, Jimmy, with
greying temples at 40 years was a man, or supposed to be one.
I slung more coffee into Miller's cup. "Problem is... like you Henry,
Jimmy Blades doesn't see the possibilities... and the possibility is... "
"The diner is owned by Jimmy's mother's estate and the executor'd like to
turn a few bucks, but won't cry if the diner closes."
I poured coffee for the pretend boss. My eyes flashed with anger.
Jimmy led a spoiled life and worked as a golf pro all summer. His
education at a name college had gone to waste.
As I bent over the table, Bill fell silent, reeled back, pulled away from
the table with a forbidden reserve. Jimmy, college sweater over white shirt
and tie, impervious to my presence continued, "The fact is that if I have
what you want you have to deal on my terms."
After I walked away, Bill leaned forward and spoke at low breath, "You
want to double what the land and business are worth." The deep resonance of
Bill's whispered tones carried over to the register.
Henry pleasantly smiled at me and shook his head. We both knew, come
Easter, Jimmy would want to be outdoors and lose interest.
"My restaurant !" I grumbled to Henry, "My restaurant! Because some fool
tied to Mama's apron strings boots buyer to prove his granite." And it was
my restaurant. My job here in this Yankee country of cousins was all I had
got out of my father's relatives. I had no intention of watching my legacy
evaporate at the whim of fools.
Henry wandered off where a group of school children were at a booth on
their day off from school working on a history project... How Henry loved
History... Yankee History.
Bill rose from the corner booth shaking his head. He leaned forward and
deliberately spoke in his deep foreign voice, "You'll have to wait a very
long time for those numbers." Bill spoke deliberately enunciating every
syllable, not with the hesitancy of a foreigner but in a lyrical tone, we
Yankees can't find in our English and with absolute confidence and authority.
Jimmy Blades snickered, but before Bill had strode halfway to the door,
raced to the back. I sighed in disgust. I don't know how Jimmy had
restrained himself. He had wanted to clean his clubs today. Even as a
dusting of snow gently fell today, golf season was little more than a month
away.
Bill signaled me to pour a quick cup of black coffee and paused to listen
to Henry's recitation of Yankee History to some of the children doing
projects for school..
"And the brave Hampshiremen together with Maine and Vermont held the
round tops while the Yorkers crushed the rebel's advance in the center and
delivered the farms of loyal Pennsylvania from the clutches of the evil
traitor Colonel Lee..."
Bill laughed and shook his head. "Dykyvoros," Bill yelled, "do you know
what banner the 5th New York fought under when it repulsed the Confederate's
charge ?"
There was silence. Miller turned to Bill Gagakos and stared as if the
question were absolutely stupid.
"The Maltese Cross of the Greeks," Gagokos answered, gulped his coffee
and bound for the door.
I had come over to the table with hot cocoa for the children. As Mr.
Gagakos passed, I remarked, "Some Northerners may apologize; not us; we
Yankees're proud to be right !"
If I hadn't decided that Bill Gagakos would be the next owner before, I
committed myself...
"Mr. Gagakos ?" I called after the imperious Greek.
Turning, Bill raised his bushy black eyebrows in reply. His dark eyes
ordered me to continue.
"Jimmy's out to prove to his family he can be crafty in dickering..." I
leaned forward, "But you can catch Jimmy short."
"Short ?" Bill squinted his eyes probing me. "Short of
money ?"
"No. After Easter Jimmy plays outdoors until fall...He's a golf
caddie..." I stressed the word "play".
"PEDI AMERIRANAKI !"
"The brat," I declared. A flicker in Bill's eyes suggested my guess at a
translation was correct, I continued, "will want to quit playing restaurant
right before Easter."
"End of April...?" Bill questioned.
"By the end of April, the doors'll be bolted and the equipment plundered.
I said Easter." I looked at the Greek strangely. Was he daft ? Had I
chosen the new owner wisely ?
"Oh," Bill thought out loud, "the Latin Easter, two weeks earlier."
"Latin Easter, what in ---?" Maybe I had made a mistake, I thought to
myself. "Just remember to be here when Jimmy's polishing his golf shoes."
Bill, in all the time I would know him, never needed to be told twice.
On a sunny day in early April, Bill strode in dressed in knickers and a
scottish tam. His open shirt revealed a hairy chest and a yellow cross
dangled from his neck.
Jimmy looked up from his newspaper. A bag of golf clubs were propped up
in the booth next to him. Jimmy tried to hide an evil smile. Like a true
Yankee, Jimmy waited for Bill to speak first.
Bill nodded and pulled out a newspaper. Jimmy stared in amazement.
"You're here to discuss the sale of the restaurant ?"
"No, I'm here to invite you to Golf... I like working out of doors...
Sounds like an interesting occupation to take up."
The deal was cut by afternoon. The long black coated attorney for the
estate was at the diner with the legal papers.
"Most irregular, Mr. Gagakos, but as this is an all cash payment... You
do need a lawyer. You have one, don't you ?"
Bill looked perplexed for a second and glanced at Henry Miller who was
entertaining school children with Yankee History lessons.
"...and the US Army entered the rebel capitol of Richmond with its band
playing the rebel anthem ... and a couple of hours before his death, right
before Easter, President Lincoln dedicated their song to the nation... "
Bill looked to me and I glanced at Henry.
"Mr. Miller will suffice," Gagaokos said.
The deal concluded and Bill took some bottles out of his case and placed
them on the table. The estate's attorney politely waived a decline and left,
but Jimmy Blades and Henry Miller remained. They were sleeping in the corner
booth when I turned out the lights and shuttered the doors.
Standing in the doorway, I looked at Jimmy Blades nestled against Bill
Gagakos with Henry Miller crumpled face down on the table in front of them.
"Bill, you crazy Greek, you haven't figured it out, This restaurant is
mine."
??