“What’ll it be, Mac?” the white clad fry cook asked the John seated alone at the counter across from us.
“Coffee. Black.” The reply was short and clipped. He wanted to be alone.
“Refills for you two?” the cook asked us?
Harry looked into our cups, “Yeah.”
Harry seemed nervous tonight. Since he picked me up, I could tell there was something not right with him. Tonight, he was more frugal with his words, more fidgety with his hands.
I like Harry. He’s a good Joe. Of all my clients, he is by far my favorite. I really look forward to his sales trips when he calls and asks to see me. Once a month, regular, two nights, Thursday and Friday, like clock work. I can always count on Harry. When I have some bad days, and I can’t seem to wash the stink of the last guy off me, or the last three for that matter, I know I can count on Harry to come and save me for those two nights anyway.
The cook brought the loner his mug, and then filled ours. Harry took his black, I add milk and sugar. Life has been harsh and bitter to me, at least my coffee is sweet and mild, ha!
The loner stays hunched over the counter and his coffee as if protecting it from some thief.
The soft noise of the squeaky ceiling fan and the clink and rattle of the cook in the back accentuate the silence of the place.
I put my spoon down and take a sip, “What’s bugging you tonight Harry?”
“What? Why, nothing Doll Face,” he tried to smile, but it was weak. I can read guys. Part of the job. “why would you ask that all of a sudden? "
“Because you are not the same guy that took me out last time, or the time before that neither. A woman can tell these things Harry. So tell me, what’s up?”
The loner continued to stare into his mug, ignoring us. We could hear a few sounds from the back. The cook was still with us.
Harry played with his cup, slowly turning it on the counter, looking at the mug and not me, “Well, Doll Face, you know I don’t like you doing the job you do.” He started, “and, well…”
“Harry,” I said, “we’ve talked about this. It’s what I do. It’s what I have to do to get by. You know I hate it. Every night the same, just different Johns. They only want one thing from me and I only want one thing from them. You think it’s easy going out and getting drunk each night just so I can stomach the next sweaty guy who pays my tab? Two, three Johns a night sometimes? I go home and get sick to my stomach if I think about it Harry. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve puked my guts out and bawled myself to sleep when the reality of what I am hits me.” I started crying, I just let lose, lost it I guess.
Harry put his arm around me, pulled me close to him as I shook and sobbed on his shoulder. Harry never wanted me for sex. He would make me wear the nice dresses he got for me, and take me to nice restaurants. He would wine and dine me, and just talk to me. That's all he wanted he said, just some good conversation.
“Can you string more than four words together to make a sentence?” he asked the first night we met at the bar. “if you can do that, I’ll pay your tab, just for the conversation, nothing else. Deal?”
“Deal!” I agreed. This would be some easy money.
But as the months went by, I really came to look forward to his visits to the city. He was more then just a John to me now, much more. And a woman can tell when it’s over. He was nervous about something. I was sure it was over. That’s why I lost it I guess. I knew I was losing him. The one guy who made my life even a little bit bearable, and he couldn’t stand me anymore.
“Donna, it’s OK, “ he said quietly. He never called me Donna. This is it, get ready.
“Donna?” He said and he hooked his finger under my chin and tilted my face up to his, “will you marry me?”