D is for Deacon (Men of ALPHAbet Mountain) - Page 11

We sat at the table eating, mostly in silence but occasionally chatting until I looked at my watch and stood up.

“Alright, man, I have to get going,” I said. “See you in a bit.”

“Adios, compadre,” he said, keeping his attention on the eggs.

I drove down past town, almost into the next town where the small strip mall across from the grocery store stood. Just beside the strip mall was the tattoo shop. I had been by there a couple of times to chat with the artist who owned the place but hadn’t gotten anything done yet. Now it was time.

As I pulled in, I noticed a familiar car there. Rebecca’s sedan was parked right up front, and when I opened the door, she was sitting behind the counter, talking on the phone. The giant, ancient, yellow-papered appointment book that I swore dated back to the seventies was splayed out in front of her.

“Rebecca?” I asked, and she looked up from her phone call. Her jaw dropped a bit, and then she looked down at the paper, flipped a few pages, and then got off the phone in a fashion that told me the person she was talking to was either a friend or was going to be a very unhappy customer.

“Deacon,” she said, “I don’t know why I didn’t notice your name on the ledger.”

“Probably because I just used my last name, Rowe. I watched Gus write it down as ‘D. Rowe.’”

“He sure did,” Rebecca said, seeming a little flustered.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said, trying to get her back on her feet conversationally. She seemed really out of sorts, and I wondered if I’d interrupted something on her phone call.

“She scribbled something onto the page she had been on when I came in. “Yeah, I really only work here on the weekends, and mostly just to answer phone calls.”

“Cool. Are you an artist too?”

She smiled, and her cheeks flushed with color.

“Yes,” she said. “Sort of. I want to be. Gus is my dad’s best friend. He’s been an honorary uncle to me for as long back as I can remember.”

“That’s nice. Cool to have family and friends so close.”

A shadow ran across her face for a moment, but she rallied and sat down in the chair. I came closer and leaned on the counter.

“Yeah, it was,” she said. I caught the past tense, but she didn’t seem like she wanted to elaborate, and I didn’t press it. “Gus has been showing me the ropes for a while now. One day, I want to be doing work of my own here.”

“That sounds awesome,” I said. “Though, if you leave the diner, I don’t know who I could trust with my sandwiches.”

She laughed. There was music in that laugh, and it struck a chord in me. One I couldn’t quite figure out.

She was so young. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two, twenty-three.

“I’m sure someone else could make them for you,” she said. “Besides, the senior waitresses make all the good tips. They take the better shifts and leave me with the weekday lunch shifts.”

“Which is when I come in,” I said.

“I know. I look forward to that.”

Suddenly, her face went red, and her eyes froze wide open.

“So do I,” I replied with an easy smile.

“Gus is in the back,” she said suddenly. “He should be waiting on you.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Well, good talking to you.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She turned her attention to the laptop on the desk. I could just see what looked like a digital drawing on the screen as I passed. It was gorgeous.

Going into the back of the parlor, I saw Gus sitting in a recliner watching a television show. The chair for customers was behind him, sparkling clean, as was the rest of the equipment. But just a few feet over was what for all the world, looked like a living room out of the eighties. Wood paneling on both walls, an ancient television stand with cassette tapes and a VHS player and a couple of DVDs, and on top of that was a newer widescreen television. In a corner, a refrigerator hummed, and the door to the bathroom stood open.

“Hey, Gus,” I said.

“Deacon, hey,” he said, seeing me and hopping up from his seat. A plate with a mostly eaten sandwich was sat down on the coffee table next to him, but he carried the soda can with him to come over and shake my hand. “Right on time.”

“I make a point of that,” I said.

“I’ve noticed,” Gus said. “Now, you take a seat, and I’ll go get cleaned up and put on the gloves.”

“Finish your sandwich. I cleared my schedule. I have time today.”

“Alright,” he said with a big grin spreading across his face. “Can I get you anything? Water? Soda?”

“I’m good,” I said. “I’ll just take a seat. Whenever you’re ready, really, there’s no rush.”

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