In Laymon's Terms

“Great. That’s fine, miss. Thanks.” Gary ran his eyes down the rounded contours of her short-skirted uniform as she drifted back to the diner’s counter. He blew on the steaming, oily coffee and took a tentative sip. He felt a tingling warmth flood his chest and mused whether it was the coffee or the stirring curves of the waitress.

He suddenly remembered he had forgotten to get his wife a gift this trip. A “just a little something” item, something to suggest that, as always, he was still at least trying. For close to two years now he’d been trying. Trying to chip away at the icy distance between them that had grown as frigid as the night air outside. Trying to get her to love him again.

He tried to push her from his mind. Wasn’t as though she was likely to think much of a gift from him anyhow, being too busy lately to give a damn about him or his firm, a wildly successful defense and security firm that had paid her ass through law school. Seemed like these days Linda always had more important things on her mind, and her law partner Richard was probably pretty damn high and cozy on that list. Still, he wished he’d remembered something for their little girl, Kelly. Their only child, the love of his life. Just three years old now and cute as hell. Well, maybe there’ll be something down the road a bit that’s still open. Or there’s always the next trip.

“Not bad, huh?”

Gary turned his head to the booth behind his. A young man in his early twenties wearing a black T-shirt and timeworn leather jacket sat grinning at him. A cigarette lay smoldering in an ashtray on the table by his hand. His other arm was draped loosely around the shoulders of a girl who looked sixteen going on thirty: blonde and pretty, but with ashen smudges under her hooded eyes and drawn cheeks pinching into the corners of her mouth. The girl sat mute, staring vacuously at the vein-work map of scratches and stains on the white Formica table.

“Sorry?”

“The waitress, man.” The man’s eyes flicked hungrily over to the waitress. “You know, the chick with the coffee. She’s really somethin’, huh?”

Gary glanced over at the woman. She stood in front of a waist-high counter, past which could be seen a brightly-lit but apparently empty kitchen. She was leaning across the counter, her arms folded beneath her chest and resting on the counter as she talked cozily to another customer, an older bearded man who sat on one of the red stools with the familiarity and assurance of a regular to the diner. The waitress’ heavy breasts threatened to spill from the top of her simple but low-cut dress. A good way to ensure a tip, Gary figured. Her eyes caught Gary’s gaze and she whispered something to the customer. Chuckling, the bearded man looked over at him. And winked.

Gary turned back around on the red bench-cushion. Feeling like a ten-year-old boy caught looking at his dad’s Playboys, his temples drummed hot with embarrassment. Was it his imagination or were the diner’s only other patrons, a couple of big guys in long-sleeved flannel shirts and suspenders sitting across from him in a booth near the door, also shooting glances in his direction? Was he the show tonight? The out-of-towner the locals can get a few chuckles from?

He spoke over his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess she’s something all right.” He shuffled his papers and spread them out upon the table. He lifted his cup to his lips and savored the hot bitterness on his tongue and the cup’s warmth on his hands. He set it back onto the table and, picking up his pen, tried to focus on his work.

“Something else I can get for you?”

Startled, Gary looked up from his note-taking and saw the waitress standing at his booth again. She was holding her order pad in one hand, a pen in the other. Gary’s eyes flicked to her chest. With a red flush he felt wash across his face, he struggled to keep his eyes fixed on her face. “Oh. Sorry,” he said quickly, “I’m not looking to order much tonight. Just the coffee, all right? Thanks.”

The waitress shrugged and, slipping both pad and pen in her dress pocket, strolled back to the counter.

“I’m tellin’ ya, man, that’s some prime backwoods ass. And, lemme tell ya, Randy knows prime ass when he sees it. Sure, maybe she’s a little on the ripe side, damn near old enough to be my Mom, but shit, you catch those titties on her? Goddamn!”

Gary sighed, put his pen on the table and twisted around. “Look, pal, I’m not—”

“Sherri here,” Randy said, shaking the quiescent young girl’s shoulder, “well, she’s alright in the tittie department, I guess, but Christ did you check out hers, man?” He shook his head, his longish black hair wagging from side to side across his pale face. “I mean, fuck me—those’re some serious tits, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Gary felt his cheeks go warm. He patted the air and said, “Look, just keep your voice down, all right?”