He asks, "Where are we going?"
I say, "We could go to Denny's." Denny's is my favorite place miles around. It's one of the rare places where I feel safe, at home, alive. They use powdered eggs for their omelets and a special artificial mix for the pancakes and the syrup is artificial, too, but it's alright. I like that.
Dan says, "I'll drive." I usually walk because I no longer have a car, but Dan has a car and he wants to use it. It's funny. The world looks different, like we are in a space shuttle and we are going to Pluto, except that we are just going two blocks away from my apartment, two crossings, two traffic lights.
"Hey Johnny, how'r you doing today?" she asks. She is Juliet. She is one of the regular waitresses—my preferred one. She is a nice girl: fat-assed, red-eyed, but kind inside. Soft and honest. Everything is simple with her.
"Hey Cassie, fine. What about you? And the kids, are they okay?" I ask.
It's a joke between us. Juliet, bah. I don't like that name, and she doesn't like mine; it reminds her of her brother (he was a rapist). She suggested once that she could call me Johnny if I didn't mind. I did not, and I decided that Cassie was cool, too. Cassie and Johnny. Dan looks puzzled. "Yeah," I say, "I know." There is not much I could say. It's our joke.
We take seats in the back of Denny's main room. From here I can see the traffic in the street. The rain falling. I can see whoever enters the place and whoever leaves. I can also see the other customers. It's Sunday. The place is crowded, full of noise and color. It is quite something. Next to us, a couple is having breakfast. The guy is alright. He is nothing special—average. But the girl. I've always wondered how those girls could be interested in those men. She is greatly above the average American woman. Above the average American man, too. Maybe she is French, or British, or she comes from Mars. She is cute. Sexy. Has a perfect haircut, a beautiful nose—a bit too long but exciting. Her voice rings high and cool. She reminds me of Victoria Paris, of Scarlett Johansson, who wanted to marry my brother in my dreams, and I look at her and smile. She looks back and smiles too. I like that, but I wonder what she expects from me.
Dan orders coffee. I order a coffee, too, and a shot of whiskey. Of course, they don't serve whiskey in diners. Cassie says, "You should drink less, Johnny." She is right. But I drink. Whiskey or wine. Anything. Dans asks, "Do they serve whiskey? Good lord!" I know he is not the kind of guy who drinks alcohol on Sunday mornings. I felt it because of the tie and the suit and the shirt and the shoes. I say, "No, they don't serve whiskey. She is my friend".
Cassie's gone. Dan asks, "Did you do her?"
I ask, "Make her?"
He says, "Yes, do her."
I say, "You're nuts. She is the mother of my children."
He asks, "The mother of your children?"
I say, "No, she is not. I was just kidding."
He says, "You are kidding. Yes. So you didn't do anything?"
I say, "Of course, no. But I love her, really do."
He says, "You never loved anybody. Remember?"
I say, "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. But Cassie's good vibrations. Huge vibes and I love her."
He asks, "Good vibrations?"
I say, "Yeah. She is positive. She is 100% life. Pure life."
He asks, "You have changed, no?"
I say, "I bet I have. I am a better man now."
He asks, "You are a better man?"
I say, "I've improved myself."
