The midday crowd slows for the hour, as Howie adds the unused burger patties back to the freezer. He plucks the white tickets from the rung, and sends the orders out as fast as Sarah and Bunaé can serve. Howie shuffles toward the grill, where he wastes away, day after day. He puts the next batch of orders on: one omelet sunny-side up and a side of bacon strips; three pancakes with a side of hash browns; a T-bone steak smothered in gravy and onions paired with mashed potatoes. It’s a busy Wednesday for the diner that typically has few patrons at a time.
Barney’s Diner stays open 24-hours where Broadway meets 42nd street. It’s nestled between New Victory Theater and the NBA Store. Barney’s is an unwelcomed sole proprietorship in the way of city progression. The golden mushroom-shaped booths line the walls, while the silver tables accent them with shimmering reflections of light. Barney’s captures the true essence of the fast-paced city. Star studded mementos dating back to the mid-70s, zip all around the family owned business. It’s a rare survivor of its kind, to still be standing among these conglomerates.
As Howie finishes the orders on the grill, Sarah waddles over. She places the dirty dishes on the counter, while she stashes the tips into her breast pocket.
“Howie, I need a break,” Sarah says, as she fixes her blue dress and places the golden flowered apron onto the counter. They stand their looking at each other before Howie acknowledges her request with a simple nod and smile.
“Try and get off your feet. Bunaé and I will manage. Rest up!” Howie calls after her, just before turning back to the grill. At his admittance, Sarah makes her way towards the lounge, passing by the jukebox that was blasting Yellow Dove by Sinca Vvuole. Howie is so good to me and I love this song. Sarah rubs her full belly, and disappears behind the checkered lounge doors.
Bunaé returns with another meal ticket.
“Sarah’s on break. It’s just you and me, babes,” Howie says briskly.
“Good, I’m scared she’s going to burst any moment, How,” Bunaé snaps.
“Yeah, yeah she’s a real trooper for coming in,” Howie says, eyeing the new ticket with his good eye.
Bunaé stares at Howie for a moment. She takes in his salt-and pepper goatee and follows the hard lines that trace his forehead. She catches herself staring and takes a seat on the stool, humming the melody to Yellow Dove.
The bell above the entrance doors sounds, and in walks three men in pinstriped suits.
“Welco-“ Bunaé starts, as she hears the bell ring, until her glance falls upon the new guest. Not these bastards, again.
The three business type takes the booth directly across from where Bunaé is seated. One in a feathered Fedora hat stops to tie his gator shoes. All the while he attempts to catch a peak under Bunaé’s purple skirt, which barely covers the spider veins that race along her legs.
Bunaé knocks on the counter. She twists out of the man’s view and adjust her skirt. The knock notifies Howie of the men’s presence. He looks up from his grill in their direction. The man in the feathered Fedora hat raises his left eyebrow and tilts his head, as if he wants to relay a message.
“See what they want,” Howie relays.
“Howie, you know these sons’ of bitches don’t want any of our food,” snaps Bunaé, while scratching her head with a Barbie pin, from her tattered hairdo. Howie finishes putting the meals together. He doesn’t even bother to recognize Bunaé’s blank statement.
Bunaé hops off the stool and pulls out her notepad. She glides over to where the trio is seated.
“You boys gonna eat something or just suck up all my oxygen?” Bunaé asks, twisting her foot back and forth, as though she were a practicing ballerina.
“No,” says the man in the feathered Fedora hat, speaking for the trio.
“Well, what exactly can I do you for?” Bunaé asks.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have the strawberry malt,” the man by the window says in the quietest of voices.
“I’ll see what I can do. And you two?” Bunaé asks with an impatient look growing on her face.
“Your number and diner would do me plenty of good right now,” the man closest to her retorts. The men laugh, but find Bunaé giving them a deadly stare. She is unnerved when Howie’s hand reaches her shoulder.
“Bunaé, how about you leave me to handle these fine men. You go make sure that fine couple over there is happy,” Howie says, giving her a slight peck on the check. Bunaé doesn’t budge. Howie takes a seat next to the man in the hat, and gives Bunaé a reaffirming smile that everything’s alright. She departs.
“We hate to come to you like this How, but you know this place has to go,” the man next to Howie says.
“I know James, but it’s hard to give up on a family legacy,” Howie slides in, as he fiddles with the napkin dispenser on the table.
There is a brief interruption. The man who ordered the malt has a phone call. He excuses himself. The three men sit there, awaiting James next strategic offering. He pulls out some neatly folded, off-white papers from his coat. Howie looks skeptical, but the partings of his lips show his excitement.
“It’s getting too late to continue going in circles with you, How,” says James. “We need to buy you out, so we can turn this into a nice little high-end bistro,” James continues.
“The asking price is right for the picking; and shouldn’t you be entering into retirement soon?” nags James’ wingman. He continues. “You know that pretty thang you got over there, won’t be sticking around for too much longer pops.
“That’s enough, Elroy,” James declares.
“I’ve told ya’ll I’m not totally sold on selling just yet,” Howie says, as he clumsily drops a few papers onto the floor. At that moment, Elroy gets up and collects the papers. He slams them down on the table, which catches the attention of Bunaé and her customers.
“James, handle this. I’ll be in the office when this deal is complete. Oh and don’t worry Howie, my boy, I’ll be sure to look after Bunaé when she leaves you,” Elroy laments. He chuckles to himself pushing open the glass doors and fades into the mob of people.
The two men sit next to each other mute as a death child’s hearing. Riv Rak by Tae White croons on the jukebox.
“You know she’s only ten years younger than me,” Howie lets out. James shakes his head in acknowledgement. Bunaé returns with Sarah, just after escorting the last few customers out. Bunaé takes a seat in the empty booth, while Sarah positions herself on the stool. She’s etched upon it.
“Is everything alright, Howie?” asks Sarah with a look of displeasure on her face.
Howie took a moment to answer. He rapped alongside the table to the beat; and finally looks up at Bunaé and Sarah.
“I’m thinking about selling the diner,” Howie says.
“Are you serious?” Bunaé and Sarah reply in harmonic unison.
“Yes,” Howie replies, pushing the papers across the table for Bunaé. She picks up the papers slowly. Her eyes glide over them with a superb quickness. She flips to the third page and cuts herself.
“Damn it,” Bunaé shrieks.
“It’s not that bad, baby,” Howie says in a cautious manner.
“No, I cut myself,” Bunaé says, as she sucks her throbbing thumb.
Sarah’s comfort level steadily declines. She is now slouching on the counter, barely able to sit up. James takes notice.
“Is she going to be alright?” James asks.
Bunaé and Howie spring to Sarah’s side, each one slowly bolstering the balloon of a woman up. James comes out from the booth and tries to stagger the table, it doesn’t stir. The couple begins to make their way towards the lounge.
“Call somebody!” Bunaé shrills.
James pulls out his cell phone and dials frantically.
*******
Sarah lies on the suede blue sofa chair, while Bunaé fixates on the water spots that trail their steps. Howie is back upfront driving away the few NYU students, who sauntered in looking to grab a bite to eat. For the first time in over 30 years, Barney’s is closed for the evening.
Howie and James retreat back to the longue. Sarah greets them with a soft moan, that’s growing louder by the minute.
“The paramedics should be here shortly. The dispatcher says they’re coming on foot, seeing how traffic is backed up,” James says.
“Great,” Howie says, before caressing Sarah’s hand.
The three look on with concern as Sarah grows more and more cramped. Bunaé moves to position herself behind Sarah to act as a human pillow. She moves the gingered locks of hair from Sarah’s red face.
“You’re doing good girl,” Bunaé says.
Sarah mouths a few words, before letting out a tired groan. Her actions become more jagged. Howie pats her on the leg, and looks over at James. James face is of nothing but shock and nausea.
“James,” Howie starts, “how about you go check up front and see if the medics are here, yet,” Howie offers.
“Gladly,” James gulps.
*******
Outside of Barney’s, a crowd of theatergoers were forming wanting in. Their appetites were spiked from the three hours long, play, Paper Planes. James searches the crowd for anything that resembles a paramedic. In the fourth window frame he sees them waving crazily. They try making their way to the door, but the hungry crowd remains oblivious.
James rushes to the glass double doors.
“Move out the way! Move and let these people in,” James barks, pointing in the direction of the medics.
The crowd gives way to the two paramedics and the doors close behind them. James leads them to the lounge. Sarah and the baby can no longer wait.
“I have to push now!” Sarah cries out.
“Alright ma’am,” the paramedic says, while she and her associate take their places.
Howie, Bunaé, and James look on with fear and excitement. Sarah’s grip tightens on Bunaé’s hand. She begins to push.
“A few more pushes and he’ll be here. Keep it going,” the paramedic calls.
With one last shrill Sarah gives it all she’s got. The baby’s neck is wrapped in the umbilical cord. The paramedic goes to remove it, but it snaps. Sarah lets out a sigh of relief, and the assisting paramedic takes the baby. Bunaé kisses Sarah and coos in her ear.
Howie and James prop open the lounge doors, so the paramedics can take Sarah and the baby away on a stretcher. In front of Barney’s sits a waiting ambulance. Bunaé gives Howie a kiss and jumps in the back of the ambulance to accompany the new young mother.
That’s my girl. I don’t even know why I let Elroy get to me like so. Howie scratches his head, as he and James watch the ambulance shoot down the sidewalk.
“Well that’s definitely a type of performance I’d expect from a Juilliard student,” Howie says jokingly to James, who are both now amongst a clearing crowd.
“Your damn right,” James says, “the boys at the office will never believe this one.”
“James, my good man, I’m ready to sell this place. There may be too much excitement for my old heart,” Howie shoots back, placing his hand on James’ shoulder.
The two stand there for a moment marveling at the oblong sign that flashes Barney’s Diner.
“Howie, I promise, you won’t regret this one bit,” James says, following Howie back into the diner.
