I stood in the doorway, staring into the dank and dusty interior as the sunlight streamed in behind me. I could see glimpses of what the restaurant used to be, with the spinning stools lined up at the counter and the booths ranging along the walls, but I sighed as I thought about the amount of work that lay ahead to get this place in working order again.
The electricity would not be turned on until tomorrow, so I trooped through the dirt and cobwebs towards the kitchen with the illumination of a powerful maglight leading the way. Cleanup and demolition would be needed for the first few days, before we even considered exactly how we were going to turn this place into a thriving diner/coffee shop. I could hear the skittering of mice as I crossed the floor, and I shook my head as I thought ruefully about how I let myself get talked into these situations.
It was my brother who started it. "You know, Danny, that building over on Second Street is going on the auction block next month."
"Yeah," I replied, taking a long pull on my Corona as I flipped channels from the Cubs game to the Braves game, "so what?"
"Well, I was thinking about Mom and Jenna. Mom's been so listless since Dad died, and Jenna's always had that dream of owning her own diner, ever since we were kids. It seems to me there used to be a restaurant in that building, which sorta put the idea in my head."
I remembered our little sister Jenna, never missing an episode of "Alice," and vowing to one day run her very own diner. Of course, we assumed she would outgrow that fantasy and move on to other things, but it was still something she managed to mention wistfully whenever the family was together. Personally, I thought she was more like the scatterbrained Vera, but she had been a waitress all through high school and college. And Mom, for sure, needed something to shake her out of her funk. Dad's unexpected death at such a relatively young age had rocked her six months ago, and she continued to sleepwalk through her days.
I straightened up in the recliner and set my beer down on its coaster. "What makes you think we can buy a building, even one as dilapidated as that one?"
"Thought you'd never ask, my man," he chortled as he reached in his back pocket to pull out an envelope, then tossing it onto my lap. "Remember that video game we created a while back?"
My pulse quickened as I thought about what he was saying, and my hands fumbled with the envelope. I scanned the words of the letter in disbelief, and looked up to see my brother grinning in delight.
"Can you believe they're gonna pay us that much for the rights?"
I couldn't. "King of the Road" was a game we'd come up with three years ago, but had no success in selling at the time. Apparently, my brother had kept trying, and had hit the jackpot. I was dumbfounded.
"I guess we can afford a building!"
*****************************************************************
One thing had led to another, and I stood now in our not-so-new building. I had been elected to handle the renovations, as I was both the handy one and the currently unemployed one, having been recently laid off due to budget cuts in my company.
In addition to the restaurant, two other structures were attached on either side, each about 2000 square feet. One had been leased to a lawyer who moved to a bigger town, and I couldn't remember who had been in the other one. At any rate, with the electricity now on, I could see possibilities of opening up the space to make the diner, and especially the kitchen, more spacious and workable.
I'd hired the town librarian's son to help with the grunt work, and told him to round up a friend who was willing to do manual labor. It was May, and school was out for the semester, so the son had shown up with his college roommate from Illinois, who didn't want to return home for the summer and had jumped at the chance to work elsewhere. The job was going to take most of the summer as we planned to do a lot of work ourselves, so it was ideal for the two of them.
Jared, the librarian's son, was a solid, well-muscled stud who played on his college's lacrosse team. At 6'1", with tousled blond hair, washboard abs, and a mischievous grin, he was lucky if he had time to catch his breath as he moved from one coed to another. He was ideal for some of the heavy manual labor we would be doing to start.
I was a little dubious about the quality of help we would receive from his buddy, Brian, however. Also about 6'1", if he weighed 120 lbs. it would be a surprise, and no one would ever describe him as well-muscled. Scrawny was the word that came to mind as I watched him lift the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe away the sweat already forming on his brow, and saw the nearly concave belly with rib bones jutting out. His Spongebob boxers peeked out above the top of his baggy basketball shorts.
By noon, all three of us had stripped off our shirts as we hauled trash and junk out of the sweltering buildings. Jared's tanned torso glistened with perspiration, and the play of his muscles as he effortlessly shifted whatever bulky items needed moving was a joy to watch. I had found myself, on more than one occasion, watching him rather than working.
Brian had proven to be stronger than I'd guessed, although with his undefined and hairless chest he still looked like a fifteen-year-old rather than the nineteen I knew him to be. He was a tireless worker, and I thought that Jared had made a wise choice in bringing him to help.
I called for a break, pleading old age, and Jared and Brian sank down gratefully on either side of a booth while I straddled a chair pulled from the corner where we'd stacked them. Jared and I both popped a top on a couple of Bud Lights, while Brian selected a Sprite from the cooler I'd brought along.
The boys leaned back against the wall as they stretched their legs out across the seats of the booth, with Brian cocking his left leg up to rest his soda on his knee. His baggy shorts sagged open, and it took a monumental effort not to sneak a peek as he laid his head back on the window ledge. Jared drained half his beer with a couple of swallows, then he, too, laid his head back on the ledge. I took the opportunity to ogle his body, and to unfavorably compare my own.
At thirty-five, I had not escaped the inevitable thickening around the middle, though hard work had so far staved off the love handles. Glancing down at the sweat rolling down my hairy chest and belly, I realized that a few weeks of this kind of work would be better than any gym workout I'd been doing.
I polished off my beer, and set my empty down on the table to return to work. The boys followed suit.
TO BE CONTINUED
The electricity would not be turned on until tomorrow, so I trooped through the dirt and cobwebs towards the kitchen with the illumination of a powerful maglight leading the way. Cleanup and demolition would be needed for the first few days, before we even considered exactly how we were going to turn this place into a thriving diner/coffee shop. I could hear the skittering of mice as I crossed the floor, and I shook my head as I thought ruefully about how I let myself get talked into these situations.
It was my brother who started it. "You know, Danny, that building over on Second Street is going on the auction block next month."
"Yeah," I replied, taking a long pull on my Corona as I flipped channels from the Cubs game to the Braves game, "so what?"
"Well, I was thinking about Mom and Jenna. Mom's been so listless since Dad died, and Jenna's always had that dream of owning her own diner, ever since we were kids. It seems to me there used to be a restaurant in that building, which sorta put the idea in my head."
I remembered our little sister Jenna, never missing an episode of "Alice," and vowing to one day run her very own diner. Of course, we assumed she would outgrow that fantasy and move on to other things, but it was still something she managed to mention wistfully whenever the family was together. Personally, I thought she was more like the scatterbrained Vera, but she had been a waitress all through high school and college. And Mom, for sure, needed something to shake her out of her funk. Dad's unexpected death at such a relatively young age had rocked her six months ago, and she continued to sleepwalk through her days.
I straightened up in the recliner and set my beer down on its coaster. "What makes you think we can buy a building, even one as dilapidated as that one?"
"Thought you'd never ask, my man," he chortled as he reached in his back pocket to pull out an envelope, then tossing it onto my lap. "Remember that video game we created a while back?"
My pulse quickened as I thought about what he was saying, and my hands fumbled with the envelope. I scanned the words of the letter in disbelief, and looked up to see my brother grinning in delight.
"Can you believe they're gonna pay us that much for the rights?"
I couldn't. "King of the Road" was a game we'd come up with three years ago, but had no success in selling at the time. Apparently, my brother had kept trying, and had hit the jackpot. I was dumbfounded.
"I guess we can afford a building!"
*****************************************************************
One thing had led to another, and I stood now in our not-so-new building. I had been elected to handle the renovations, as I was both the handy one and the currently unemployed one, having been recently laid off due to budget cuts in my company.
In addition to the restaurant, two other structures were attached on either side, each about 2000 square feet. One had been leased to a lawyer who moved to a bigger town, and I couldn't remember who had been in the other one. At any rate, with the electricity now on, I could see possibilities of opening up the space to make the diner, and especially the kitchen, more spacious and workable.
I'd hired the town librarian's son to help with the grunt work, and told him to round up a friend who was willing to do manual labor. It was May, and school was out for the semester, so the son had shown up with his college roommate from Illinois, who didn't want to return home for the summer and had jumped at the chance to work elsewhere. The job was going to take most of the summer as we planned to do a lot of work ourselves, so it was ideal for the two of them.
Jared, the librarian's son, was a solid, well-muscled stud who played on his college's lacrosse team. At 6'1", with tousled blond hair, washboard abs, and a mischievous grin, he was lucky if he had time to catch his breath as he moved from one coed to another. He was ideal for some of the heavy manual labor we would be doing to start.
I was a little dubious about the quality of help we would receive from his buddy, Brian, however. Also about 6'1", if he weighed 120 lbs. it would be a surprise, and no one would ever describe him as well-muscled. Scrawny was the word that came to mind as I watched him lift the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe away the sweat already forming on his brow, and saw the nearly concave belly with rib bones jutting out. His Spongebob boxers peeked out above the top of his baggy basketball shorts.
By noon, all three of us had stripped off our shirts as we hauled trash and junk out of the sweltering buildings. Jared's tanned torso glistened with perspiration, and the play of his muscles as he effortlessly shifted whatever bulky items needed moving was a joy to watch. I had found myself, on more than one occasion, watching him rather than working.
Brian had proven to be stronger than I'd guessed, although with his undefined and hairless chest he still looked like a fifteen-year-old rather than the nineteen I knew him to be. He was a tireless worker, and I thought that Jared had made a wise choice in bringing him to help.
I called for a break, pleading old age, and Jared and Brian sank down gratefully on either side of a booth while I straddled a chair pulled from the corner where we'd stacked them. Jared and I both popped a top on a couple of Bud Lights, while Brian selected a Sprite from the cooler I'd brought along.
The boys leaned back against the wall as they stretched their legs out across the seats of the booth, with Brian cocking his left leg up to rest his soda on his knee. His baggy shorts sagged open, and it took a monumental effort not to sneak a peek as he laid his head back on the window ledge. Jared drained half his beer with a couple of swallows, then he, too, laid his head back on the ledge. I took the opportunity to ogle his body, and to unfavorably compare my own.
At thirty-five, I had not escaped the inevitable thickening around the middle, though hard work had so far staved off the love handles. Glancing down at the sweat rolling down my hairy chest and belly, I realized that a few weeks of this kind of work would be better than any gym workout I'd been doing.
I polished off my beer, and set my empty down on the table to return to work. The boys followed suit.
TO BE CONTINUED
