The original Two Grumpy Old Men Café story appeared on The Scribbler in 2013. This short story is a continuation and takes place a year later.
The Finale of the Two Grumpy Old Men Café.
It’s
6:35am on a breezy Friday morning when Wilmot Parker III is bawling out his
partner, CJ Parker (no relation).
“How
could you do such a dumb thing?”
CJ
is sitting on one of the stools at the counter that surrounds a cooking area in
the Two Grumpy Old Men Café or as more fondly referred to by the staff and
regulars, TGOM Café. He’s twirling back and forth like a little boy even though
he is 76. His chin is down, he doesn’t want Wilmot to see his grin. The lady
that helps them out in the mornings is coming in the back door and hears what
is being said. Taffy Fitzsimons can see CJ through the back room she has
entered, through the open door to the main eating area. He looks sheepish but
she knows it’s only a ploy.
“What
did he do now Wilmot?”
CJ
livens up.
“What
do you mean “now”? I’m not that bad Taffy.”
“Well
goodness knows you’re the one that gets in the most trouble with the loose lips
around here.”
“I’m
supposed to be grumpy, aren’t I? That word is on our sign?”
Wilmot
is leaning against the prep station behind the counter where he is in command.
“Being
grumpy doesn’t allow you to be obnoxious.”
Taffy
enters the main dining room, placing her purse on the counter, this one is
yellow vinyl with orange polka dots the size of golf balls. CJ is five seats
down on the corner and stares at her with mischievous eyes. She can’t help but smile
at the rascal.
“What
happened?”
Wilmot
already has his black chef’s jacket on, TGOM Café embroidered on the left chest, checkered chef
pants which are a tad too short exposing his skinny ankles. He turns towards Taffy putting both hands on
the counter to lean forward.
“Three
ladies came in after you left early yesterday for your dentist’s appointment.
I’d guess they were in their early forties.”
CJ
sits straighter, into the story now.
“Oh
man, were they lookers too, especially the one with the…”
“Shut
up CJ.”
Wilmot
glares at the interruption.
“So,
Casanova here, our smut king, when he approaches their table he says,
“Good
morning ladies. How’s your little mustn’t-touch-it’s
today?”
Taffy
is astounded but cannot control herself and bursts into a surprised chuckle
which turns into a hearty laugh. CJ loves her reaction and joins in. Wilmot has
his arms akimbo.
“It’s
not funny you two.”
Taffy
is holding her stomach and sputters.
“What…what…happened?”
“They
got up and left is what happened! That’s not good for business.”
CJ
laughs quietly, his body does the motions.
“Well
it depends on who they tell.”
Wilmot
tries to be angry but the joviality of his two closest friends finally gets to
him and he gives up.
*
Several
years ago, the three of them were sitting in a hot tub at the back of CJ’s
condo. Both Parkers are Canadian
snowbirds and Taffy is originally from Hawaii.
Wilmot is a widower, Taffy a widow and CJ a dedicated bachelor that has
never been tempted to the altar. The second bottle of 16 year old Lagavulin on
the sideboard was half empty. The water pitcher and ice bucket had been
depleted two drinks before. With too
much time on their hands they decided to open a café. It would be opened only
for breakfasts, only in the mornings, closed on Sundays and the proceeds would
go to charity. None of them needed the money and they wanted their afternoons
free.
Wilmot
is a retired wealth manager, 78 years old, widower for thirteen, a very poor
golfer even after nine years of taking up the sport which he dedicates his
afternoons to faithfully, except Sundays which if for church and rest. On the
course he’s in the sand so often, his golf crony’s nicknamed him Traps. He is
also a fantastic cook. Taller and more
angular than his partner, he shuttles the breakfast specials out hot and
delicious from behind the counter in an open kitchen that is exposed to the
patrons. He’s quieter than CJ but don’t count on him taking too much prodding
from his partner or even Taffy if she is in a good mood, he can spar verbally
with either of them.
CJ
built houses for a living. Quit and sold everything when he was 65, bought two
condos, one in New Brunswick back home and one here in Fort Myers. Had many
relationships with a variety of beautiful women that usually lasted 6-8 months,
what CJ defined as ‘long-term’. He always wanted to be an author and spends his
afternoons writing erotica under the alias of John T Boner, except Fridays which is his get-loaded-day and Mondays
which is set aside for business affairs. His series of smut is a moderate internet
winner, successful enough that he has a fulltime staff of one to look after the
website. All he does is write, sign checks and spend the profit shamelessly.
Taffy
came here with husband #2. He was from Wisconsin and they met at Fireman’s
convention in Las Vegas. Fireworks. Divorce in Reno nine weeks later. Marriage
in nine weeks plus one day. Both taking
early retirement and moving to Florida, a new beginning, a new paradise. One
year into retirement, Ben Fitzsimons is dead. Massive heart attack. Left her all his investments which looked
bottomless last time she checked. Two years later she dated CJ. Bad idea. However,
they proved the theory that former lovers can still be friends and with nothing
better to do she ends up working with the Parkers, as she refers to them.
She’s
flamboyant, loves bright colors but the owners insist she wear what she refers
to as the lifeless, black “company golf shirt”. They made the mistake of not
mentioning her pants, which normally fit snug enough to compliment her smart
figure. The ones she wears today are more peaceful, denims with gay
flowers embroidered down the side of each leg. One of her finds from Gatsby’s
Pre-owned. An exotic blend of Polynesian
and Caucasian, she adds delight to the diner. The patrons love her.
The
café itself is a work of art. Large
portraits of renowned Canadians, hang randomly on the buttery bare brick walls to
stare at the patrons; some smiling like Gordon Lightfoot and Terry Fox or the
more serious expressions of Alex Colville and Frank Mahovlich. The U shaped
cooking area extends out from the back wall and is surrounded by ‘50’s style
rotating counter stools scavenged from a diner being demolished in Miami,
reupholstered in taupe Naugahyde. Cozy
booths line the right and left walls, artsy deco tables along the front window.
CJ serves the counter clients and Taffy
does the booth and tables.
When
the Parkers gutted the building, a former haberdashery and up-scale clothing
shop for men of larger girth, they left the overhead steel girders exposed.
Electrical conduit, vents, pipes are all neatly aligned. Huge vent stacks go
straight up through the roof from the cooking station in the center of the
horseshoe. The whole ceiling has been sprayed a soft brown like milk chocolate.
The atmosphere is winsome. The outer bricks, below the tinted front windows,
gleam from fresh whitewash. A wide awning with bold black and white stripes
shades the front sidewalk. It shares a common flat roof with Family’s Hardware
on the left and The Author’s Index, a used bookstore, on the right.
The
trio finally give the joke a rest with Wilmot shaking his head. Moving
wordlessly to the prep counter by the wall, he begins to prepare the batter for
the pancakes that the first regulars always ask for. Mini-fridges are tucked
under the counter where the cash is located opposite him towards the main floor
where Taffy and CJ can both access it. A French door, normally closed is on the
same wall where Taffy entered earlier. The back room has another preparation area,
ovens, storage of staples, closet, mini office with a narrow desk and the smell
of CJ’s biscuits cooking. Taffy re-enters the back room tossing purse and a JC
Penny shopping bag full of clothing to drop off at the Goodwill Center later,
into the closet. Removing a black waiter’s half apron from the top shelf, she
calls out.
“Better
check on the biscuits CJ, smell about done.”
CJ
rushes back to the oven, opens it and removes two wide pans of sixteen biscuits
each placing them on the counter beside him. The tops are nicely browned, the
sides white with minute stretch marks from which delicate aromas flow. He’s all
grins, modest as usual.
Taffy
is nodding to him as she ties her apron behind her back. She’s eaten too many
of his biscuits.
“Yeah,
they are CJ.”
He’s
sliding in another pan, 48 of the tasty suckers should last until 9-9:30 he
thinks.
“Why
thank you Taffy.”
He
turns to face her.
“Are
you doing the happy hour with us later, John and Dora are coming by and he’s
bringing his Dave Brubeck collection.”
Taffy
remains silent for a few seconds staring CJ in the eye. They can hear Wilmot
clanging pots, the bacon sizzling and the percolator gulping. Fresh coffee,
pork frying and hot baking aromas permeate the café, a sensible persona. She
reddens a bit.
“I
have a date tonight.”
“Well
that’s great Taffy, you need a guy friend. You’re hanging out with the Chiasson
sisters too much anyway, you always tell us they only want to shop.”
“Well
they do but they’re so much fun. Anyway, maybe we could join you later on?”
Now
she drops her eyes which is odd, never one to be stared down. CJ has a warning
bell go off in his head.
“Uum…who’s
this date by the way, someone I know?”
She’s
nodding her head, looks back up at him again with the Taffy smile. Such
innocence has no place on a sixty-eight year old woman.
“Wilmot.”
CJ’s
eyebrows go up, the eyes widen. He takes a step back as if unbalanced. His deep
voice expresses unbelief.
“Wilmot?
You and Wilmot?
Now
she has a frown and her hands on her hips.
“What’s
wrong with me and Wilmot?”
The
noise out front stops and the chef calls out.
“Are
you guys talking about me back there?”
The
sizzle changes tune as Wilmot turns the bacon over. Taffy hushes with a finger
across her lips to CJ.
“No
Wilmot, I was telling CJ about the new cot I bought for my apartment.”
CJ
still has a look of incredulity on his face and he whispers.
“Well,
the old dog. But c’mon Taffy, he’s too anal for you, he even folds his
underwear. Besides that, he hasn’t been secretive about having an ED problem?”
“Oh
CJ, it isn’t always about sex.”
CJ
rubs his chin.
“It
isn’t?”
She
tsks-tsks at his wonderment.
“Anyway,
don’t say anything, okay? He wants to tell you himself and he has something
important to say.”
“Oh,
you’re just going to leave me with that. What is so important that it needs a
man-to-man?”
She
turns to head into the dining section.
“You’ll
have to wait and see. Don’t ruin it.”
CJ
is perplexed. He covers one of the pans of biscuits, picks up the other and
follows her out. When he enters the outer area, he eyeballs Wilmot who is
innocently preparing the morning fare. He will be curious all day.

Horatio
Rasmussen is the first customer as usual. The only thing unusual is that he’s
in a good mood for a change. He’s the night watchman at the marina and things
don’t always go well with drunken sailors and their mates and partying that
often goes into the early morning. Even though it is only 7am Rasmussen is
showered and shaved, dressed in his best jeans and a clean black t-shirt that
reads “Get Some” in bold red letters
on the back. CJ can’t get him ruffled today.
“I’m
going to the airport to pick up my son, I haven’t seen him for over a year. Your
rudeness is not going to get me going this morning old man!”
The
Chiasson sisters are earlier this Friday. All three of them decide to sit at
the counter this morning because Gertrude has a crush on CJ. She takes the same
special every time she visits but keeps CJ waiting as he takes her order while
she peruses the menu for several minutes. It hasn’t changed in the four years
the Café has been open but she has a tough time making up her mind. She gets a
little miffed when CJ prods her.
“Will
you hurry up woman? I have other people to serve and you’re slowing me down.”
She
scans the restaurant and sees no one else waiting. She’s about to say something
curt when she notices the green eyes sparkle and the smile creases on his
temples. She blushes.
Delivery
people come and go; a few get takeout, one or two might sit and gorge. Most
will get some Java to go. Several of them don’t stop talking regardless of
whether you’re listening or not. A couple of regulars, Joe, the egg, milk and
cheese man from Hebert’s Dairy and Phil from Young Bros. Wholesalers, are hilarious, a fount of foul humour. The foreigners manage a “you sign here”.
“Aah,
if only I was a young man again. I’d be making you a happy young lady.”
To
the girls, CJ is a relic. They barely look up from their phones when he taunts
them. One of the boys wants to show off
his knowledge of diner lingo and orders biddy
board and an Atlanta special. The
Parkers call an egg an egg. CJ passes on the order for French toast and fetches
a soda. Tells the kid in his best grumpy voice,
“Smarten up and talk English.”
His
friend’s giggles turn to envy when CJ ruffles his hair and offers up the cold
drink.
“And
here, you can have the Coke.”
The
trio never stop until the 9:30 lull. Around that time there are only one or two
patrons so CJ makes a fresh batch of biscuits, only 24 this time, enough until
they close at eleven. Someone ordered fried baloney and dark toast, distressing
the normally inviting aromas. Taffy
heads to the backroom to get a clean apron, fix her hair and color up her lips.
Wilmot unloads the large dishwasher that belches steam clouds placing the
utensils and dinnerware in their proper places. He’s humming “Swinging Doors”,
an old Merle Haggard song. At the peak of the morning, he was showing off his
egg flipping skills and startled everyone when he burst out in the same song.
“And
I’ve got swinging doors, a jukebox and a barstool. My new home has a flashing…”
Taffy
and CJ intervened almost simultaneously with a hearty warning.
“Forget
it Wilmot!”
“Give
us a break and stick to swinging your sausages.”
CJ
approaches Wilmot and joins in on the humming. They sound like hornets. CJ gives Wilmot a playful punch in the arm.
“So,
what’s new Wilmot?
“New?
Well…”
Wilmot
looks his friend in the eyes and he realizes that Taffy must’ve said something
to CJ who’s been acting odd all day, a little quieter as if he has something on
his mind. No Wilmot decides, he’s going to wait until they can sit down. He
knows CJ loves the restaurant.
“…aah,
never mind CJ. It can wait until after we close.”
Wilmot
checks his watch.
“Only
another two hours.”
He
returns to the toast that has just popped that smells overdone. CJ scratches
his head, looking bewildered. A young couple sit at the bench, camera clad,
touristy. CJ grabs a couple of menus and heads to serve them.
*

When
the daily chores are done and the restaurant ready for the next day, the three
move to a booth on the side with fresh coffees. Taffy and Wilmot sit side by
side facing CJ, who is dying of curiosity.
“Well,
what’s up? Why didn’t you tell me you two were dating? What’s this important news?”
Wilmot
holds up both hands.
“Whoa
now buddy. First off, it was none of
your business that Taffy and I have been seeing each other. You’d only be
teasing us in front of the customers.”
CJ
sits back in the booth; he’s miffed, looking like a little boy again, spoiled.
“I
thought we were friends.”
Taffy
tilts her head and frowns in disbelief.
“You
know better than that CJ, we’ve been great friends for quite few years and you
know how much I love working with you, what we’re doing for others. You just
get carried away sometimes CJ with the “grumpy” stuff and your silly book
stuff. Surprisingly, our guests seem to like you, you clown.”
CJ
is about to respond when she holds up a finger, she’s not through.
“We
are both very fond of you CJ, so be happy for us. Now, Wilmot wants to tell you
something.”
She
turns in her seat to takes Wilmot’s hand in hers, holding it in her lap,
looking him in the eyes. For a short moment the only sound is the ticking of
the refrigerator. CJ is touched by the glow that radiates from her pretty face.
Wilmot looks like he just won the lottery. CJ is still CJ.
“Will
you two stop? Or rent a room, for Pete’s
sake? Now tell me what is so important?”
Serious
now, Wilmot sits straighter, places his elbows on the table, hands around his
mug of coffee.
“Taffy
and I are moving to Hawaii. I’m giving
you my half of the Café so long as it’s for charity. You’ll have to find another pretty waitress.”
CJ
is flabbergasted. He thought they were
going to tell him they were getting married or something dumb like that. He’s speechless for a change. Sitting back in
the booth, shoulders sagged; he looks down at the table top in deep thought. The
first thing he remembers is the hot tub of several years ago, he visualizes the
toast they had to anyone wanting out, only had to ask, no hard feelings. Taffy
and Wilmot respect his concern and sit quietly.
CJ
has a dozen notions all at once. Loosing contact with his friends, can he do it
alone, who would he hire, they rumble about his head. He’s about to ask when
they are leaving when they are disturbed by a knocking at the door. Wilmot gets
up from the booth, turns to CJ.
“Taffy
and I’ll get this CJ, you think about what I said. We’ll get the food dishes
out and give the Pastor the envelope.”
“Yeah,
yeah, Wilmot. Thanks.”
Taffy
follows Wilmot clutching the white envelope stuffed with bills. Wilmot grabs
the meals off the counter and they head to the back door. CJ sits slouched,
still pondering his future. He listens to the voices in the back. He can
distinguish a couple of the regulars, Bobby and Madonna. A higher pitched one he
doesn’t recognize. He knows they will all be grateful. The noise takes his mind
off his troubles when he thinks of all the good they have done for people like
the lot out back.
His
mind steps off the curb without looking both ways and it hits him. He jerks
upright in his seat, hitting his elbow on the table edge. He can’t get out of
the booth fast enough. He rushes to the
back door, which is ajar. Outside the mob is shuffling back to the minivan with
their Styrofoam held guardedly against their chests. Pastor Noble holds his sweat
stained fedora in one hand, his pale white head reflecting the noon light. CJ bursts
in looking directly at the Pastor. Interrupting something Wilmot was saying, he
blurts out.
“Pastor
Noble, how would you and your staff like to have a profitable restaurant, debt
free?”
CJ
is grinning like he discovered something more valuable than diamonds, his chest
is out. Pastor Noble’s eyes widen and he drops his hat in surprise. Wilmot and
Taffy are looking at CJ like he lost his mind until they both see the logic and
grin wider than their friend. Wilmot
pats CJ on the back before putting a protective arm around the diminutive
pastor to lead him back into the restaurant.
“Pastor,
have we got a deal for you.”
Thank you for visiting the Scribbler. For those that missed the first TGOM Café story, it is available in SHORTS Vol.1 at amazon.com.
Please join us next Friday when you will have an opportunity to read Chapter 1 of Maggie James splendid new novel, The Second Captive. The Prologue was featured here on the Scribbler last month and is archived if you want to check it out first.
Excellent story, but I've grown fond of your characters, Allan. It is sad to see the end of the TGOM Cafe, but what a fantastic feel good ending. Great job, once again.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the comment Lockie. The TGOM Café has had its day but you haven't seen the last of CJ. Can't get rid of him yet.
DeleteGreat story, Allan, and a fitting followup to the first TGOM story. Looking forward to reading the next two ... and any more you may write in the future!
ReplyDeleteThank you Susan, both for the visit and comments.
DeleteThank you Susan, both for the visit and comments.
Delete