From His Perspective

Chapter 8

The door to Second Breakfast opened. A bell jingled.

“Morning, boss,” Dana called out. She stood behind the counter wrapping silverware into paper napkins. Tall with short blond hair, she looked almost too slim in the maroon Second Breakfast polo, black skirt, and small black and white checkered apron.

Second Breakfast sat at the northern end of Lake Avenue on a small lot in what was known as Charlotte. Locals pronounced it Shar-Lot. Not Shar-lette.

For countless decades the place had once been a hamburger place known as LDR Char-Pit. Using his life savings, Alan “Tubs” Sauers put all of his eggs into one basket because he believed the location ideal and bought the establishment. That was nearly fifteen years ago.

“Tubs, Dana. Tubs.” The large man shook his head. “We gotta go through this every day? I hate the nickname boss.”

The Genesee River and Lake Ontario sandwiched together at the corner end of Lake Ontario State Park. Tubs realized it didn’t matter the small-dot area in Rochester was littered with the competition. Along the River stood the Port of Rochester, which housed a Bill Grey’s Tap Room, California Rollin’ Sushi Bar, and two higher-end restaurants. Next door to Second Breakfast was a giant club with an outdoor party and concert deck. The business changed hands and names so often he couldn’t keep up. Currently, the place was known as Legends.

“But I work for you. You are my boss.” She turned to face the cook. “Am I right?”

The cook, with his head down, didn’t respond. The grill sizzled. The diner was filled with the aroma of cooking bacon.

“And anyway, Boss sounds more respectable than Tubs,” she added.

At the very north of the street was a people favorite, Abbott"s Frozen Custard. The stand had been around since 1926. It was a two window ice cream parlor. In the summertime, the lines stretched down and around Beach Ave.

There were also some bars and a few more restaurants south of Second Breakfast, but none of them were diners.

“Then call me Alan. Alan is better than boss.” He shook off his jacket. “But what would make me happiest is Tubs. Simple request.” Tubs took pride in the remodeling he’d done once the keys had been handed over. Along with black and white checkered flooring, he’d installed a traditional diner counter, complete with padded red swivel stools. There was viewable access for patrons to watch the cook making the meals.

On every booth sat an old fashioned coin-operated juke-box, with a limited playlist. The hand-selected songs chosen by Tubs ranged from the fifties, sixties, and seventies.

“I’ll work on it.”

“You’ll work on it,” Tubs muttered as he passed by the counter and disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen area. “Good morning, James.”

“Good morning, Tubs.”

“What time did you get here?”

“A few minutes before you. Making Dana an omelet and bacon. Would you care for anything?”

“Wouldn’t say no to a few fried eggs on rye?”

“Coming right up.” James folded the omelet onto a plate, added the bacon, and a parsley garnish.

“She don’t need that,” Tubs announced, hanging his jacket on a coat rack by the back door.

don’t “Sir?”

“The parsley. What the hell are you garnishing her free breakfast for?” Tubs grabbed a clean maroon chef’s jacket, with black outlines. It matched the one James wore.

James removed the parsley and tossed it in the garbage.

“Now what did you go and do that for?”

“Do what?”

“I mean it was already on the plate. Could have just left it.”

it James stood still for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed.

“You’re fine. You’re fine. Forget about it,” Tubs said.

James set the plate up in the window, the counter line between the kitchen and the servers. It sat under the heater lamp. He swatted the bell with the spatula. “Order up.”

“I’m going to need some help today.” Tubs rolled his sleeves up his forearms. When he first opened the place he stayed behind the grill from open until close. The reason he bought a diner was because he loved to cook. It wasn’t long before his feet, legs and back protested. Age and weight probably had something to do with it, too. Nearly sixty, he was cresting three hundred pounds. While he learned to relinquish command and did the best he could to stay out of the way of his cooks, when things got busy, Tubs jumped in to help because he enjoyed getting his hands dirty.

“My help? With what?” James cracked an egg and spilled it onto the grill. It sizzled. “Bacon?”

Tubs patted his bulbous stomach. “I shouldn’t.”

James waited.

“Sure. Why not?”

James nodded and laid down several pieces. The bacon crackled as it cooked. The smoke rose off the meat. “What do you need my help with?”

“Got a girl coming in, this afternoon. A woman. I know, I know,” Tubs said. He waved a hand through the air, self-scolding himself. “A woman is coming in, this afternoon to interview for a waitress spot.”

James stood up straight. “I’m not following.”

“I have a doctor’s appointment at one. The woman is coming in at one-thirty,”

“There’s no way you’ll be back in time.”

“I know that. I was hoping you could handle the interview.”

James turned away. He flipped the eggs over. “Me? Why don’t you reschedule?”

“It took me four months to get this appointment.”

“Not reschedule with the doctor. Reschedule the interview.”

“I probably could.”

James used tongs and turned the bacon over, and then popped two slices of rye into the toaster.

“See, the thing is, you’re better at this stuff than I am,” Tubs said.

“Cooking?”

Tubs punched James in the arm. It wasn’t hard, but it pushed James off balance. “Not on your best day, esquire.”

James’ grin vanished.

“Sorry,” Tubs said. He held up both hands in surrender. “I’m sorry about that.”

James said, “What am I better at?”

“Interviewing.”

“I never interviewed anyone for you before.”

“I know that. But you know the things you can ask and the kinds of questions you can’t ask, right? I say things wrong. I still say things like girl instead of woman, and will tell a girl she looks pretty, and hold open a door for a girl—all the things you can’t do anymore.” Tubs reached for a plate. His toast popped up. He lathered the slices in butter.

“I think some of those things are still okay,” James said, placing the eggs onto one piece of toast.

Tubs pursed his lips and c****d his head to one side. “I think you could be wrong there, son. But, regardless, you’d still be better at it than I would.”

“I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

“You’ve been with me six years now.”

“Almost six years.”

“Almost. That’s still five-and-a-half years longer than anyone else.”

“Roger’s been here a long time,” James pointed out.

“James, will you interview the girl for me this afternoon, or not?”

James added the slices of bacon onto the eggs. “You really have a doctor’s appointment?”

“I do.”

“Anything serious?”

“Not that I’m aware of. It’s just a physical. You know how it goes. Lose weight. Eat better. Exercise.” Tubs set the plate down and picked up the sandwich. He took a huge bite. Egg yolk dripped down his chin. “What do you say?”

Dana looked into the kitchen over the counter, through the line window.

James gave her a wink. “Sure, Boss.”

Dana laughed.

Tubs grunted. “Now, don’t you start with that, too!”