Frannie (at the Rehabilitation Restaurtant)

7/29/2019 Frannie (at the Rehabilitation Restaurtant)

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First Serial Rights

Michael J. Martin

847-899-4870

[email protected]

FRANNIE

(At the Rehabilitation Restaurant)

IV

by

Michael J. Martin

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Frannie loved her familys farm. On a winter morning she loved the pink dawn sky and

the warmth of the dairy barn, the sweet smell of the hay and the cows and their milk.

She helped her dad with his endless chores and she carefully watched how he

did them because she knew she too would grow up to be a farmer. He kept a close eye

on her and only became angry when he feared she might get hurt.

Each morning she carried a freshly drawn pitcher of milk from the dairy barn that

her mom would skim for cream, after it had settled. On Sundays, following Mass, she

sold eggs at the roadside, ten cents to the dozen. She conducted her business serious-

ly and did not give much heed to the compliments the neighbors and townsfolk paid her.

When she turned nine, she was given sole responsibility for feeding the kittens.

The kittens gathered together at the same place in the straw at the back of the

barn and awaited her; they understood her routine and knew just when to expect her.

They looked up and pretended to be surprised at her arrival, and they crowded their tin

bowl as she bent down and poured the delicacies from her slop pail into their bowl. She

reprimanded those kittens that hadnt sidled to the bowl and reminded them that they

too needed to eat. She waited for the kittens purr, a sound she likened to the hum of

electricity that skipped through overhead wires, and she told the kittens good-night and

wished them all sweet dreams.

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Twice a day Mr. Earl arrived in his rumbling red truck to cart the milk away. In

winter he attached a plow to ensure a path to the milk on snowy mornings, and hed

clear the drive between the old garage and the road for Frannies dad, and also the

graveled rectangle between the house and the dairy barn. Occasionally on a Saturday

his daughter Beth rode the rounds with him and she shyly waited to see if Frannie would

invite her to stay; on these days they climbed up on the tractors or fed apples to the

horses, or searched the entire farm for the kittens, who magically re-appeared at their

bowl when it was time for their dinner.

Too, there were times Frannie was invited to ride with Beth and her father to the

Chippewa County Co-op. They would deliver the milk and go to the cafe in town for

their favorite, two chocolate-chip pancakes and a scrambled egg. When she returned

home from her last trip to the Co-op, she told her mom that her head hurt and that her

insides felt soggy; her mom pressed a hand to her forehead and found she had a fever.

When she became sick, her mother held her up in bed. Her little brother was not al-

lowed to visit Frannie in her room.

The doctor came to the farm and examined her, and the next morning her mom

and dad swaddled her in warm clothes and drove to Minneapolis, to the Polio Annex at

the General Hospital. She was wrapped in hot packs of wet wool to keep her muscles

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calm and the nurse came for her in the morning and afternoon for exercises to keep her

muscles strong. She saw the wheelchairs, the crutches and the leg braces all around

her, and she saw them in her dreams; but the machine she couldnt think about, the one

she would not allow into her dreams, was the blue iron lung machine. It was shaped like

the belly of a small baby whale and Frannie knew that once it was closed around you it

wouldnt let go.

She missed the rhythms and the routine of the farm. The rich, earthy smell of the

hogs and the cattle gave way to the shiny antiseptic scent of the hospital that only made

her nose itch. And natures sweet sounds, wind through the trees or the animals mar-

veling at a new day, yielded here to the constant clanking of metal and the low murmur

of whirring machines. She wasnt sure who she should tell that she wanted to go home;

her nurse was kind and she wouldnt want to hurt her feelings, and the doctor seemed

stern and unlikely to listen.

She worried more about the kittens than her missed schoolwork; numbers and

letters came easily to her and she was confident shed catch-up fast. But she knew her

brother could be impatient and careless with his chores, and she doubted hed wait to

make sure that all the kittens had fed.

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She would wake with a start in the middle of the night and believe for a moment

she was back at home. She wouldnt let herself cry because she knew once you started

crying you couldnt always stop. So she would think about the farm and wait till sleep

stole back over her and carried her away to morning. One night she woke and coughed

several times till the flashlight nurse came to her bedside and asked, why arent you

sleeping, dear child, and Frannie had whispered, Im protecting against the blue ma-

chine. But the more she considered it the more she came to see that what woke her

was not fear, but the sighing and the flashing --yellow, red and green and blue--of the

many devices that blinked all round her, like thousands of fireflies in the dark, cavernous

dormitory.

She would imagine the farm, and, in her minds eye, its wide open spaces

seemed even more expansive while she was away; two-hundred acres covered miles

and miles. She could see the fields and how the pale corn glowed golden, and she

knew there was nothing in the world prettier than the autumn sun setting over the corn-

field to the west. She saw her mom in the kitchen, baking, always baking, cookies and

pie, cupcakes and bread, and her aunts there too, in the warmth of the winter kitchen,

laughing, helping, singing.

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She was allowed to stay up later than her brother and when it was her time for

bed she crawled under the covers, and out in the distance, over the dome of the silo,

she sought the familiar winking light high atop the radio tower; when she tired of the

towers blinking light she would move her head on the pillow and look out further yet, to

the stars that hung on invisible threads from heaven, and she listened for the comfort-

able timbre of the muffled voices downstairs until the voices faded away.

Her mother wore lipstick on the day she came to take Frannie home and Nurse

Dierdre led them down the hall to the doctors office. The doctor appeared much less

severe when he smiled up at her mother. He spoke in his language--a mild spinal polio;

nestled at the base of her right hand; the virus, you see, multiplies and destroys nerve

cells; fortuitously, it affected the central nervous system, not the brain stem; yes, the

weakened muscles can improve--words that seemed to bound soundlessly off the office

walls and slip under his carpet. Frannie looked out the window at the chill November

sky and watched the departing birds fly in their imperfect V, and she thought it was time

to leave now, she was homesick for the farm.

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She wanted it all to stay the same, exactly as it had been, but when you go away and

come back there is always a shift; sometimes it is subtle, sometimes straightforward. It

might be imperceptible at first, but you sense the change, and the uneasiness you feel

stems from the unknowing, and is even more painful than the yearning you feel for the

way things were.

Frannie was banished from the dairy barn till the doctor allowed her to be near

the animals again. She snuck into the barn to check on the kittens, and when her dad

discovered her there his face looked the same as when he would find her too close to

the moving machinery. He lifted her up and carried her out of the barn, she was crying

now, and he tried to comfort her. Now, now, sweetheart, he said, you dont have to

worry about the kittens. Ill take care of them. We just have to make sure youre better.

But kittens arent animals, she sobbed. Theyre kittens.

She abandoned her outside chores for lowly inside chores like laundry, dusting

and setting the table, and she watched her dad from the window, filling the wagon with

feed for the hogs or leading the cows back into the barn for their milking. She knew that

he missed his helper and that was likely the reason for his grumpiness. At the dinner ta-

ble he groused about the sinking price for his milk, and he rubbed his brow when he

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talked about necessary capital expenditures;she didnt like the sound of it, whatever

they might be.

In the early spring she and her brother learned they would have a new baby

brother or sister, due to arrive over the summer. Donald looked up from the Erector-set

crane he was building and said, Oh. Whats the babys name? And he went back to

his work.

Frannie picked up her jacket and went outside. The snow had melted and she

carefully avoided the puddles. She walked past the silo to the edge of the corn-field, the

black soil turned up in preparation for planting, and she imagined the corn coming up,

row upon row of green shoots stretching toward the sun. After dinner she found her

mom alone in the kitchen, making school lunches and listening to music on the radio. I

should be happy, she said, but I think Im not.

Her mother ran a hand through the girls hair and studied her for a moment.

Youll adore the new baby, she said. You were always so good to your little brother.

Everything is so different, though. She sniffed back her tears.

Oh, sweetheart--we dont stay the same. Neither does anything around us. Her

mother bent down and kissed her hair at the crown of her head. You want the corn to

grow, dont you?

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Her reply was muffled in her mothers embrace and she wanted to be held till the

tears went away. Her mom began swaying to the ballad on the radio, holding her, a

slow waltz. When the song ended Frannie brushed away the tears with the back of her

hand and looked up at her mom. I think Audrey would be a nice name for my new sis-

ter, she said.

Audrey was three years old when their father finally accepted an offer for the

farm. He did not want to sell the farm, but felt he no longer had a choice. The slight

profit margin of his small operation had not allowed for the requisite improvements and

he was unable to further burden himself by rolling still more debt. That one good year

that might allow him to catch-up, to mechanize the milking parlor or wash away the in-

debtedness, seemed more distant with each passing month, and each month added

fresh weight to his worries. Roofs leaked and his aging machinery broke down.

They all put a bright smile on this move to town, even convincing little Audrey that

she would like their home in Eau Claire better than the farm. Frannie told herself shed

become a regular kid, flat-chested and self-conscious, no longer a kid with a farm, but

all was not lost, the move would put her closer to the boy in town that she liked. She

came across her mom in the kitchen pantry, packing away her pots and pans. She

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could see that her mom had been crying, and she hugged her. I guess well both miss

seeing the corn grow, she said.

The tears beaded again in her mothers eyes. Ive loved this farm, sweetheart,

she said. Ill miss it.

They couldnt drive by the farm for a long while and instead took the roundabout

way to the Dairy Queen out on the county road. Their father did well selling insurance

to the farmers, and when Audrey went to school their mother took work at the floral

shop. Donald had decided he would become a scientist and Frannie dreamed of ways

she might acquire her own farm. They told Audrey she would be a ballerina.

She met Alan at 4-H and he was the first boy she ever held hands with. She tried

to be on his left so that if he took her hand again he would take her better hand, but he

laughed when he recognized her ploy. Dont be silly, he said. I love both your hands.

They went to the bandshell to hear the concerts, and he would pick her up after work at

the coffee shop on Water Street. One Friday night he took the highway north, past

Chippewa Falls, toward Lake Wissota. I know a place, he said.

She wondered how he knew this place, but worried more about the calculation

she was doing in her head; after counting the days one more time she thought she

would be alright. Alan parked the car behind a collapsed barn and they held each other

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on the bench seat of his fathers Chevvy Impala. With an arm around her waist he

swept her down and under him, and clasped his mouth on hers. He unbuckled himself

with one hand and tugged at her underpants with the other. He lay on top of her,

wedged between her legs, unsure now what to do with his hands.

Frannies head was pressed up against the door and her neck strained against

the arm-rest. She was unable to get comfortable and her back hurt, and then she hurt.

She wondered if thered be blood. They rode back to town silently. She thought it would

be nice to hold hands, but he had both his hands on the steering wheel. She wanted to

talk, to break the silence, but as each moment passed it became more difficult to say

anything. Their chaste kiss when he dropped her off at home seemed incompatible with

the night.

Alan left 4H for the Photography Club and he carried his Canon F-1 with him ev-

erywhere. Frannie became his unwilling model, and the camera doted on her; it loved

her heart-shaped face, her wheat-colored hair and pale blue eyes. His favorite picture

of her was taken at the coffee shop; she stood akimbo, surprised to see the camera, left

hand on hip and the middle finger of her right hand thrust directly into the eye of cam-

era. When Alan sold an early photo--a copse of golden birch at twilight, their delicate

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branches sheathed in silvery ice after a winter storm--he knew he would make his living

with his camera.

Frannie still knew how she wanted to make her living, though she didnt know

how she would get there. She took on more shifts at the coffee-shop as she neared

graduation and thought that after summer she would move to the Twin Cities; shed

heard of dinner houses in St. Paul where a good waitress could make fifty dollars a

night in tips. She lifted trays with her left hand and used her weakened hand for lighter

duty, like serving platters and lifting coffee cups. She iced her hand when it ached, par-

ticularly the webbing between her forefinger and thumb, and took two aspirin after each

shift. She continued to pitch in at 4H when she could.

Autumn came and Alan surprised her by asking if shed move to California with

him. She surprised herself by saying yes. She could visualize Alan on her farm, though

the picture was not perfectly in focus.

iii

They rented a small house on a scruffy street in Oceanside. Frannie bussed tables at

the Chart House in the harbor, and Alan took pictures of sunsets and ships. He told her

hed have to get lucky, he needed a big score, and hed take day trips to Los Angeles

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and walk the streets to force his luck. His break came when he spied Ali McGraw in the

doorway of a tobacco shop. His photograph of her was his first sale to a national maga-

zine.

He pressed on, spending weekends in Los Angeles, and then he was gone. The

postcard he sent Frannie showed the Golden Gate bridge, all copper red against the

blue of the sea and sky. She re-read his brief message: Up in San Francisco now, try-

ing to get on with Rolling Stone. Hope youre okay. You can give my old clothes away,

Im buying new threads. Or wear them if you like! Anyhow, Merry Christmas! Your

friend, Alan. No return address was noted.

Frannie tore the postcard into the smallest bits she could. Your friend, my ass,

she muttered to herself. She bunched the bits in her hand, threw on a jacket and

walked the five blocks to the ocean; she fed the postcard to the wind.

She bundled his clothes in a large Hefty bag, collected his toiletries and his silly

cologne and wondered for a moment about setting it all on fire in the back yard. She

pitched the pictures of him, frame and all, into her bag, cinched it, knotted it twice and

tossed it into the trash can outside. She played her favorite record album and made

herself tea and cried when Joni Mitchell sang her Riversong, not because she would

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miss Alan, she wouldnt, but because she still missed the farm and it was Christmas-

time and she wanted to be home.

The house was a humble afterthought, a dump really, and she struggled with the

rent. Late in spring, when she read the notice for the Rehabilitation Restaurant in the

North County Times, she saw a way out. She fibbed a little, maybe exaggerated the ef-

fects of the polio, but Miss Maggie from the County liked her and assured her one of the

twenty-five positions at the Restaurant. She packed all her belongings into two card-

board boxes and sold her beat-up Datsun to the neighbor next door for a hundred dol-

lars and the promise of a ride to the Restaurant.

Move-in day, a brilliant Saturday in June, and all the faces, all the activity in the

parking lot made Frannie realize just how lonesome she had become at the house in

Oceanside. She gave the little Datsun a farewell pat on its hood and waved good-bye to

her neighbor and stood in the center of the parking lot with her two boxes and pillow and

wondered how she would fit in. A car stopped in front of her and a young man pushed

himself out of the car. A cigarette burned in the corner of his mouth. He went around to

the trunk and lifted a large suitcase and a stuffed laundry bag. The driver, a short, gray-

ing woman, met him at the trunk and waited, expectant. You can go now, ma, he said,

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and he shooed her back behind the steering wheel. Frannie noticed the burned and

scarred skin of his neck.

Others hugged and cried their farewells. Already, music poured from the open

windows of the squat, three-story cottages that crouched in the yard behind the white

wooden fence. She watched the racket up and down the stairs, some trudging with the

weight of their luggage, some bounding. She felt that old sense of anticipation, that

something good could happen any moment, and began toward the fence.

A small group huddled at the clipboard that hung on a fence-post; the fellow with

the eye-patch greeted Frannie. My names Rickey, he said. This here, and he point-

ed at a young man who wore a cowboy hat, this heres Olin. Olin tugged the brim of his

hat even lower over his brow. Several others nodded and waved.

Its nice to meet you all, she said. My name--

No, wait! Rickey waved his hands to stop her. I have to guess who you are.

He hasnt been right yet today, Olin said. Frannie couldnt read his expression

under the hat.

Rickey lifted the clipboard and scanned the chart for names. You are-- He

bowed his head in concentration, the answer was coming to him now. You are Faye!

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Well-- Frannie set her boxes and pillow down. Not unless my name has

changed. But you did get the first letter right.

Hes pathetic, Olin said.

Rickey ran a finger over the list of names. Aha! Youre Frannie!

Hey! Score one for the whiz kid, Olin said. Now show her whats under your

eye-patch so she can go find her room and unpack her stuff.

Rickey slipped his thumb under the patch and flipped it up over his eyebrow.

Frannie looked into the empty eye-socket; she didnt blink and she didnt shriek. The

hollow was dark and shriveled and it made her think of her grandmothers wizened

mouth. She held the gaze of his good eye, leaf-green with flecks of gold, and she

thought it the prettiest eye she had ever seen.

The withered socket seemed to cry out for a prosthesis, if only to restore its in-

tegrity, but she dare not say anything, she didnt understand their game. She thought

she was being tested, or maybe being teased, and teasers always seemed cruel till you

pulled back their curtain; her Uncle John called her the Little Dutchman and vexed her

till she came to see his teasing was truly very clever, and was his manner of trying to

win her affection in the only way he knew.

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Rickey blinked first, and he meekly fixed his eyepatch. Olin pushed his hat to the

crown of his head. The crowd at the fence-post was quiet. I know which room is

yours, Rickey said. Ill help you carry your things up.

She followed him through the gate, into the yard and up the stairs to her room.

Home, sweet home, he said, and left her boxes on the landing. She unlocked the door

and lifted the shades, opened the windows and looked around; a desk and a chair, a

bed and a two-drawer pine dresser. The back third of the room was cloaked by a cur-

tain that still smelled of fresh vinyl; she drew the curtain to reveal her sink, toilet and

shower. Perfect, she thought, it beats a room in the convent.

She unpacked her boxes and hung her framed picture of the farm over the desk.

She admired it, decided it was off-kilter, nudged the lower left corner and heard a voice

call to her from the landing. Hi--dont let me bother you, Im Lillian. Frannie laid down

the hammer and joined her out on the porch.

Hey, do you smoke? Lillian asked. Im really not supposed to, and I dont want

a whole cigarette, just need a couple hits from someone elses.

Lillian seemed to squint in the sunshine, or possibly it was the crescent shape of

her small eyes that made her appear to squint; an impish smile played at the corners of

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her mouth. Her delicate and fine-boned face reminded Frannie of her barnyard kittens,

and she noticed the slight stretch of Lillians sundress at her stomach.

Yknow, Im one of the oddball freaks that hasnt taken it up, Frannie said. Ive

tried, but every time I nearly coughed half to death.

Id ask one of the guys, but they slobber all over em.

Lillians manner made Frannie smile. She was happy to be out in the warmth and

the light of the sun, beside this slender, gamine beauty. Im Frannie, she said. Im

one of the lunch waitresses.

Oh, cool, said Lillian. Im the lunch hostess. We get to work together.

Lillian padded back down the stairs to continue her quest, and Frannie stuffed

her baggie of picture hooks and hammer in the bib pocket of her overalls and went out

on a search of her own. She crossed the lawn to the cottage nearest hers and found an

old guy, maybe her grandfathers age, out on his porch in a straw hat and Hawaiian

shirt. He appeared almost regal in his folding-chair, the king amused by the hustle and

bustle of his minions in the parking lot in front of him. He tipped his hat to Frannie, and

she leaned against his porch railing. Need any help hanging your pictures? she

asked.

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I aint got no pictures, girl, he said. What Ive got is a photographic memory .

He tapped a finger against the side of his head. Its all up here, see?

My names Frannie.

Fanny! He cackled and coughed. See, thats how Ill remember you--Fanny.

He spit to extinguish his cigarette and dropped the butt into the ashtray he cradled in his

lap. He looked her over. We could go in there, and he jerked a thumb over his shoul-

der toward the door, but it wouldnt be to hang no pictures, if you catch my drift.

As it happens, Im an all-time catcher of drifts, she said. She looked beyond his

sly smile to the playfulness in his eyes. Can I take a cigarette for my friend?

He stood and pulled a Chesterfield King from his pack. Names Gunner, he

said. You might check on the fellah above me--heard him sobbin when his mama left.

Sounds like he dudnt know what the sam-hell hes doin up there. Believe he called his-

self Herbert.

Frannie thanked him and climbed the steps to the second floor landing. The door

was cracked open and she looked in: first she saw the heaps of his things on the floor,

a mound of shoes and socks and slippers, and a tuft of underwear, some worn and

stained alongside unopened packages of tee-shirts and boxers; under a pile of shirts

and slacks she saw a toothbrush and several prescription bottles. She leaned into the

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room and found him--he sat at the edge of his bed and he clutched a wad of tissue in

one hand, his Bible in the other.

He stood in greeting and Frannie could see he had been crying, his eyes all red-

rimmed and swollen. She noted that everything about him was sturdy and thick, from

the lenses of his glasses and the bulky plastic ear-piece he wore to his wide flanks and

big stubby nose. His porcine ears gave it away, he reminded her of those guileless fel-

lows back home, the hogs, and she liked him immediately. Let me help you arrange

your stuff a little bit, she said. Youve got a regular mess workin here, buddy.

Herbert went out on the porch to wipe away his tears and quiet his sniveling while

Frannie sorted his clothes, folded them and ordered his dresser. She organized his sink

and medicine cabinet, decided his room was now home, and called to him: I love this

picture, she said.

She held it out in front of her, a framed and matted family portrait in black-and

white; father in a solemn suit and fedora, mother in her Sunday dress and there was

Herbert, maybe five years old, in a crew-cut and smiling, wearing a striped shirt and

suspenders that held up heavy woolen trousers. Where was it taken? she asked.

Backyawd at home in Dacwamento, he said.

And howd you end up down here?

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Aftaw dad died mom moved clote to her didter in Otentide.

Frannie climbed up on the desk and measured its width with her wingspan, made

a small marking on the wall in front of her forehead and hung Herberts picture. First

time away from home, buddy?

Herbert nodded.

Were gonna be alright, she said. You know that. Well be working soon, well

get busy, and well all make some good friends along the way.

She hung pictures for several others who were grateful someone had remem-

bered picture hooks and nails, and as she reflected back on her day she thought it a

very good first day at the Restaurant; the great energy in the air warmed her, and al-

ready the dank little house in Oceanside was a faint memory. She had met so many

people, and tomorrow she would work on memorizing their names. And she met Seth,

who took her breath away. She knew his name immediately.

There had only been one who rankled, whose words had stung. A group had

gathered on Lillians porch after dinner and Frannie jumped the stairs to join them. Lil-

lian and others waved, but Faye looked her up and down: Bib overalls? she asked. I

thought that whole cutesy country-girlthing was over--like years ago.

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Well, I grew up in the country, Frannie said, as if that settled it, but Faye fired

back, yeah, well I grew up in a stinky, smelly city and we stopped wearing bibs by the

time we grew boobs. A few on the porch laughed and Frannie became very conscious

of what she was wearing.

She didnt understand Fayes antipathy toward her, it was almost as if she had

been singled out, and in time it only worsened; all her grievances seemed to stem from

something Frannie had said or done.

At the end of their first week, Frannie was clearing her station after a busy Satur-

day lunch. Faye carried a tray heavy with dirty plates and stopped before the kitchen

door. She pointed at Gracie, the busgirl, and scowled at Frannie. Why is she always in

your station? she asked. We could all use a little help, yknow. Frannie didnt feel that

Gracie spent any more time in her station than Fayes or Rachels, but she walked Gra-

cie over to Fayes section and together they began clearing and setting her tables in

preparation for the dinner shift. When Faye returned from the kitchen she told Gracie

thanks, and turned to Frannie. Dont worry, she said. Me and Gracie got it. I guess

when I want your help, Ill ask for it.

The annular dining room was divided into three stations at lunch, and Mr. Woost-

er assigned Faye Station-3, farthest from the kitchen and across the dance floor, on the

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simple premise that she was the biggest and strongest of the girls. Fayes grievance

with the station wasnt the distance, however; she was unhappy because her bay tables

faced south and the heavy plastic shades had to be drawn against the fulgent California

sun. It wasnt long before Faye had seen the familiar pantomime once too often: Lillian

guiding a party into her station and then the hesitation, a guests finger raised and point-

ed toward an open table in Rachel or Frannies station, where no shade was drawn and

the bay tables looked over the yard; where the sun came gently, filtered through the

leaves of the great silk oak tree. The waitresses folded folded napkins at the long table

at the start of lunch, and when Faye watched Lillian re-direct another party from her sta-

tion to Frannies she shoved her stack of napkins off the table and onto Frannies lap.

So! she cried. The princess of Station-1 steals another one of my parties. Whose

ass did you kiss to get that station? After their shift Frannie asked Mr. Wooster to rotate

her and Faye between stations one and three; Rachel would keep her middle station.

The following week the women had convened at the long table at the end of their

shift, awaiting the departure of the few remaining patrons. Frannie wondered aloud

about the cooks mutable moods; on this day he seemed especially sluggish and slow.

Faye dropped her jaw and opened her mouth. Dont you get it? she asked. Cids a

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drunk--he was hammered today! She shook her head, as if such a thing could be lost

on anyone.

There were other episodes and Frannie questioned her own fault in this resent-

ment. She learned early on not to challenge Faye: the morning she and Lillian had

done Gracies hair, swept it up off her neck and tied it back in an elegant French twist,

and the kitchen crew and then Rachel and Cheryl all cood over Gracies new coif, Faye

assumed indirect credit: I knew the French twist would look nice, she said.

That was Lillians idea! Frannie protested.

The idea wasnt yours, was it? Faye asked. Id hate to see what you wouldve

done with her hair.

The women all knew that Faye liked Olin and that Frannie liked Seth, yet it

seemed to Frannie every time they were in a room together, whether the kitchen, or the

bar after work, Faye found a way of sticking her big boobs in Seths face. She accepted

that she had no claim on Seth and she chastised herself for her sensitivity; she had nev-

er learned to flirt and shouldnt be chagrined at those who had.

It was six weeks now since shed waved good-bye to her car. The race-meet

down the coast at Del Mar would begin soon and business would spike. The sky was a

brilliant blue these days, and she lived a mere stones throw from the ocean. It was all

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open to her now, as wide and open as the sea in front of her and she knew there was

neither time nor space for this pettiness with Faye. She resolved to make her a friend.

END

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Frannie (at the Rehabilitation Restaurtant)