To be a journalist on your own and with your own career seemed the finest thing possible, and then one night — or early morning, depending on your point of view — it had all changed, with a smile and an offer of a free drink, when Casey Riley had entered her life.
She listened as she waited for her breakfast as voices were raised, points were made, even a few arguments conducted at various places across the room. In a space of a few minutes she had heard about the dating habits of one of the local selectmen, two sons who were about to go to county lock-up for burglaries, a messy divorce, and a contractor from across the river in Vermont who liked to help lonely housewives with more than just leaky roofs.
There were lots of loud voices and laughs, and she felt so out of place. She stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, took a sip, and, surprised, took another. Not bad... actually, pretty damn good for diner coffee. She had read once that making good diner coffee meant being a bear in cleaning out the urns and associated plumbing on a daily basis. So someone here was paying attention, and she knew who it was: the large man by the grill, shaved head and black goatee, wearing a tight black T-shirt, white apron tied snug about his jeans-enclosed waist. He looked to be about fifty or sixty, depending on the light, and in the midst of frying up bacon or sausage, or stirring up eggs, or cracking eggs over the grill, he worked hard to get the food out as quickly as possible.
But even with the flurry of motions in his arms and hands, he kept up a constant patter with the rest of the customers, and kept his eyes on the grill.
Sausage patties flipped over.
“That’s what you get from inviting out-of-town talent, I’ll tell ya.”
Two eggs cracked open, the whites and yokes sizzling on the grill.
“I don’t care if he sleeps with his cousin or his wife, so long as the tax rate doesn’t go up next year.”
Large hands, whisking a couple of eggs in a metal bowl.
“Mark my words, you start paying the state reps more, you’ll get more laws and regulations, that’s what you’ll get, and that’s what we don’t need.”
She watched him for a bit. Jason Lovell. Owner and chief cook and dishwasher of the Have a Seat grill.
Her potential interview subject.
And then, as the waitress approached her, plate of scrambled eggs in her hand, she thought of something else.
If she was lucky, very lucky, perhaps her savior.
There are whirlwind romances, and there are romances that move at the speed of hurricanes. And such had been the case with her and Casey Riley. That night — or early morning — he had brought her a drink and had cornered her in a relatively quiet area of the bar, a nice place north of the Financial District, and after the usual give and take of who are you, and what are you doing (she: BU and then Columbia Journalism School, lucky-break internship that led to the Wall Street Journal; he: CCNY and then a variety of jobs at various trading firms on Wall Street), he smiled at her with soft brown eyes that had an adorable crinkle about them in the corner, and he said, “Look. I don’t want to be too forward here, but how about breakfast?”
And though she had thought him pretty good-looking in a rugged kind of way, she thought he was moving way too fast, and he had laughed and said, “Just breakfast, that’s all. I know a nice little place. You’ll love it.”
Elaine had checked her watch. “Where? It’s only one a.m. I’m not really that hungry.”
He grabbed her purse, gently too her forearm. “This place is great. It’s in Victoria.”
Head spinning, not sure why she was letting him lead her on, she had said, “Victoria? Where’s that? In Connecticut?”
“Nope,” he had said, leading her to the door. “British Columbia.”
God, how she had laughed, right through him bundling her into a cab, and then a quick run out to LaGuardia, and in a matter of just a few more minutes she had been put into a private jet, some sort of Gulfstream model, and a few hours later, she had seen the sun rise above the Rocky Mountains and decided she liked very much being with Mr. Casey Riley, and wanted to see much more of him in the future.
The waitress dropped off the plate and scurried off and Elaine sprinkled some salt and pepper and took a bite. Though her jaw ached a bit, she was amazed at the taste and consistency of the eggs. In diner visits past — and not too many, she had to confess — eggs were either cold or overcooked or lumped to one side and so stiff they had to be cut with a knife. But not these; they were light and fluffy, had a wonderful consistency that almost seemed to melt in her mouth, and she ate them so quickly she was disappointed when she had finished.
The noise in the diner seemed to move in cycles, louder and softer, and then louder again, and when the waitress came back and said, “Anything else, hon?” Elaine looked at her and said, “No, just the check. please.”
“ ’Kay,” and with that, a slip of paper was put on the table, but before she went away, Elaine said, “Excuse me, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Could... could I see Jason Lovell, the owner? Could I see him for a moment?”
The waitress’s eyes narrowed, like that of a mama bear seeing someone getting too close to one of her cubs. “Is there a problem? You didn’t like your breakfast?”
Elaine said, “No, no, there’s no problem. The eggs were delicious. I... I just need to talk to him.”
The waitress glanced over at the grill. “He’s pretty busy.”
“I know. It’ll take just a minute. That’s all.”
She shrugged and walked away, and Elaine glanced at the check — three dollars and fifty cents, can you believe it! — and when she looked up again, Jason Lovell was striding towards her, wiping his big hands in a towel.
Oh yeah. She had interviewed bankers and senators, congressmen and unindicted co-conspirators in various business shenanigans, but never had she been so nervous, feeling her heart thump away like that, as Jason came closer.
The day of her marriage she had been talking about something to her cousin Tracy when Mother came and gently tugged at her elbow. “Just a minute, that’s all I need,” she had said as Mother brought her to a corner of the function room that was used to store additional chairs. She tried to stifle a sigh as Mother looked her over. Father had left her years ago, and much to the surprise of friends and relatives, Elaine had taken Father’s side in the whole mess. Mother had a sharp eye and sharper tongue, had grown up protesting in the streets during the ‘sixties, and from Elaine’s point of view, Mother saw everything in life as just one more assault against one more barricade, no matter who or what the barricade was.
And then, surprise of surprises, Mother kissed her on the cheek, and when she drew back, there were tears in her eyes.
“Mother... what’s up?” Elaine said.
Dressed in a light-blue gown that was no doubt going to be donated next day to some charitable outfit, Mother said, “I can’t believe this day has come... and that you’re married.”
That had brought a smile to her face. “Can’t believe your little girl has gone out on her own?”
Mother had shaken her head. “No... I can’t believe you chose him, that’s all.”
Something cold formed in her chest. “Mother, please, not now. Not today.”