Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

Renaissance
www.renebooks.com

Copyright ©2003 Estate of David O. Dyer, Sr.

A faded brown pickup truck jerked slowly down the Old Charlotte Road in the heart of Dot, North Carolina. The bearded driver did not seem to notice the fouled sparkplug that caused a cylinder to occasionally misfire, or the startled looks on people's faces when the truck backfired. He carefully looked over the business establishments on either side of the road. At the end of the street he pulled into the parking lot of the Dot Baptist Church and let the motor roughly idle while he observed the building, the manicured lawn, the picnic pavilion and the graveyard behind the church. After several minutes he put the truck in reverse, backed up, and reentered the street, reversing his course. He parked in the lot beside the Dollar Building, climbed out and made his way down the sidewalk to Dot's Diner.

It was lunchtime and the place was crowded. He took the only available seat—a stool at the counter—and waited. He recognized some of the diners, but not most. So many newcomers, he thought. Maybe there's room for two more.

He was disappointed that it was not Dottie who finally came to take his order. He told the waitress he wanted a hamburger plate and a Pepsi-Cola. “Is the owner of the diner in?” he asked.

“That would be Dottie Frank,” the waitress replied. “She's in the kitchen. I'll get her."

“No,” he said. “This is not the proper time. You're too busy. I'll come back later."

He watched the girl scurrying from customer to customer and wished that her uniform were tighter across the chest and had a shorter hemline. Bitch might be good-looking, he thought, if it weren't for those huge pimples and all those scars. At some point in her life, he reasoned, the teenage curse must have covered her whole face.

A few minutes later Dottie Frank placed his order in front of him and smiled. “June said you wanted to see me."

“Yes ma'am,” he said, “but I don't want to disturb you while you're so busy. I'm a short-order cook and was wondering if you need any help?"

The man sitting to his right joked, “She sure does, but she's too stingy to pay for it."

“Now you hush, Creasy Green,” Dottie said. “I have all the help I can afford right now, mister..."

“Name's Edward Crow. People call me Eddie. The wife and I have been working at the Cup and Saucer in Charlotte. They're tearing the place down to put up a high-rise office building, so the restaurant is closing."

“That's a shame,” Dottie said as she slid a bottle of catsup within his reach. “Isn't the owner going to relocate?"

“Maybe. He hasn't decided. I don't have much money to live on while he makes up his mind."

“There are so many restaurants in Charlotte. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding work."

She turned, picked up a pot of coffee and refilled the cups of customers siting at the counter. When she returned the pot to the burner, Crow said, “Ma'am, what's going up on the corner?"

“Yeah,” an eavesdropping customer in the booth behind Crow said. “You know everything, Dottie. What is being built across from the Dot Grocery?"

“Must be something Tim Dollar is building,” yet another customer chimed in. “If it costs money, you can bet on Tim or Sandy Dollar having something to do with it."

Vic Kimel washed down a bite of meatloaf with a gulp of ice tea and said, “Not that I know of, and I'm the Dollars’ Business Manager, you know."

“And I am his contractor,” Carl Elliott added. “Obviously I'm not building it. I stopped by there yesterday, but none of the workers were talking much. From the looks of the superstructure I would guess it's going to be something like a motel with perhaps a restaurant in front."

“God, I hope not,” Dottie laughed. “I barely make ends meet as it is. I don't need any competition. George,” she said to the man sitting at the counter to Crow's left, “have you heard anything?"

George Bennett kept his eyes on the bowl of beef stew before him. “I keep pretty much to myself,” he mumbled.

“Afraid we can't help you, Mr. Crow,” Dottie said.

“Thanks anyway."

Dottie hesitated. “Mr. Crow, do I know you? You don't look familiar, but your voice reminds me of someone."

“I don't think so,” he replied. “This is my first time in Dot. By the way, ma'am, is there a garage in Dot? My old truck seems to be ailing today."

“Best in the county,” Dottie replied. “Take it to the Dot Super Save at the traffic light. Tell my son Billy I sent you."

Crow ate in silence, and then drove directly to the town's only service station.

“I speck you have a fouled plug,” Billy Frank said as he wiped his hands on a red shop cloth before shaking hands. “Let's take a look."

A few minutes under the hood confirmed the young mechanic's diagnosis. “This is the guilty party,” Billy said as he held aloft an oil covered sparkplug. “You need plugs and points real bad, but it won't do any good until we find where this oil is coming from. I'm afraid you need a ring job."

“I'm out of work right now,” Crow said. “I can't afford all that."

“Well, in that case, let's clean this little gismo up and see if it'll last a few more miles."

A tiny blur flashed through the office into the bay area and grasped Billy Frank around his left leg. “Well, hello, Junior. Where's your mama?” Billy greeted.

“She's in the car waiting for you to fill us up,” Junior replied as he motioned towards the gas pumps.

“You behave yourself now,” Billy said to Junior. “Your mama will blame me if you get grease all over yourself."

Junior grinned and released Billy's leg. “Mister,” Billy said to Crow, “you'll have to excuse me for a minute."

Eddie squatted and looked the boy in the eye. “And who might you be?” he asked, trying to be friendly.

“My name is Timothy Dollar, Junior,” the child said proudly.

“And that's your mama in the red Cavalier?"

“Yep,” Junior said and he dashed towards the workbench where Billy kept his greasiest tools.

Crow stood up and gazed at the woman in the car Billy was servicing. Sandy Dollar, you honey-haired, flat-chested bitch, he said to himself. We meet again.

“Why, George Bennett, what brings you to the diner in the middle of the afternoon?” Dottie asked as the thin, salt and pepper haired man pushed through the diner's door.

He looked at the floor and rubbed the toe of his right shoe against a tile as he replied, “I want to talk with you a minute, Dottie. I thought maybe you wouldn't be too busy this time of day."

“Sure,” she beamed. “What's on your mind?"

“May I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked as he motioned towards the rear booth.

“It's on the house,” she replied. “Make yourself comfortable. I'll be there in a second."

George stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. “Mrs. Frank, I'm the one who is building on the corner of Highway 13 and the Old Charlotte Road."

“So you're the mystery man,” she laughed. “George, please call me Dottie. Everybody does. What are you building?"

“That's what I want to talk about, but if you don't mind I would like to tell you a little about myself first."

Dottie laughed. “Since there's no bar in Dot, we have no bartender to share our problems with. I was elected years ago."

“Until I moved to Dot, life revolved around my business and my wife. God, how I loved her. Together we built a chain of seven restaurants in Charlotte. You know how the restaurant business is. We worked twelve to fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, but it was fun. We loved the work and we loved each other. Our restaurants were our family, I guess. She couldn't have children."

Dottie realized that something very serious was on George's mind and her expression changed from mirth to concern.

“I'm fifty-six years old. She was fifty-nine. We decided it was time to retire and maybe take up golf and fishing. We sold the restaurants for a great price and bought one of the Dollars’ houses on the first golf course. She just up and died on me. Heart failure, they said it was—kills as many women these days as it does men."

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, without apology, wiped the tears from his eyes. “I miss her so much. I ... I was just plain miserable without her. I came close to taking my own life. I just didn't have any reason to live. One afternoon the preacher dropped by to invite me to church. Mack McGee was so easy to talk with I found myself pouring my soul out to him."

“He's a good man,” Dottie agreed. “And his wife, Mary Lou, is a jewel. She's the physician who runs the Dot Clinic, you know."

“Yes,” he said. “She's treating me for a little prostate problem. Anyway, Mack suggested that I need to find something to occupy my time. Something I can really get interested in."

“Makes sense."

“Yes. But when I started thinking of the possibilities, all I could come up with that might be interesting was to get back into business."

“So you decided to build a motel?"

He nodded. “Tim and Sandra Dollar have so many businesses going I don't see how they can keep up with them all. They don't miss much, but in planning for their recreational complex they overlooked a big opportunity."

“George, I don't pretend to know much about anything except the restaurant business, but although Dot is beginning to grow, it's still a small town. I don't see how it can support a motel."

“It's not Dot that will support the motel—it is the recreational complex. The three golf courses are magnificent, Dottie. During the first year of operation the courses drew golfers from all over the southeast, but because there was no motel in Dot, they had to stay in Charlotte."

“I would have thought they might use the rental log cabins the Dollars built around the lakes."

“They would, but the log cabins are much more popular than even the Dollars envisioned. There are seldom any vacancies."

“Oh,” she replied. “I didn't know that. George, when you started talking about the motel, you got a little fire in your eyes. I think going back into business is just the thing you need. I know that when my husband passed away, it was the diner that kept me going. Of course, there was also Billy."

“Billy?"

“My bouncing baby boy,” she joked. “He runs the Dot Super Save, diagonally across the corner from where you are building your motel."

“Sure, I know Billy. I just didn't know he was your son. Dottie, the reason I'm here is ... well ... I want to buy your diner."

She laughed. “The diner's not for sale, George. As I said, it's my life. It keeps me going. It puts money in the bank."

“I didn't realize until today's lunchtime conversation that my business would hurt yours. I don't want to do that. I'll give you a fair price, Dottie. Don't you think it's time you retired?"

“You're serious, aren't you? George, the diner is not for sale."

“Then I'll run you out of business."

Dottie threw back her head and laughed. “How are you going to run me out of business, George? My customers are my friends. I suppose you plan to have some sort of motel restaurant, but my friends will not desert me."

“It's going to be a big restaurant, Dottie, and we'll be opening in three months or less. The location is perfect for catching all the recreation complex traffic, but to be ultimately successful I need all the business in Dot. Money talks, Dottie. I'll set my prices below yours and then you'll see just how faithful your customers are."

“You can't set your prices below mine and still make a profit, George."

“True, but losing money for a year or two is worth the wait, and I can afford to outwait you, Dottie. Remember, I told you I got a good price for the Charlotte chain."

Dottie slid out of the booth and glared at him. She leaned over the table and stuck her face in his. “What happened to the pathetic old man who came in here a little while ago crying over the death of his beloved wife? I liked him better than the greedy bastard who so quickly took his place."