Works/Limbo Diner Expectancy

CASSANDRA, disoriented, five-four, with unruly hair of various colors but eyes always watery gray-blue, turned the wrong corner several times and found herself somewhere in a part of the city she'd never seen.

She drove around a few more corners and ended up in the same block. She sighed and pulled the car into the nearest parking space, wondering who she could ask for directions. The nearest occupied establishment was a small diner, seven seats; she looked in through the plate glass at the lone customer on the stool farthest from the window.

Apparently it was time for lunch.

She sat on the stool at the opposite end, nearest the door, examining the worn Formica and not the dark glasses of the other occupant. A woman in her sixties, gray hair attempting to escape from the bun where it was impaled by two lacquered pins. Black severe dress, impenetrable. The woman looked steadily ahead as she sipped her coffee, but did not appear to ever fumble for the cup.

"What'll it be, hon?"

Cassie faced front. Across the counter: an immense woman, probably three hundred pounds, perfectly round face, shiny brown eyes, gray uniform, hair tucked into a paper hat.

"Um ... coffee. And I'd like to see a menu?"

"Oh, we haven't got one," chirped the waitress. "What would you like? I imagine Joe can cook it, so long's you don't get fancy on me."

"What's good today, then?"

The waitress slid Cassie a steaming cup of coffee on a saucer. It halted in front of her obediently: Drink me. "The special's meat loaf," she suggested.

"That'll be fine, then."

The waitress nodded and glided to the window. "Joe! One blue plate!" She moved like one of the ballerina hippos in Fantasia, with an unthinkable delicacy. "Miz S, more water?"

The woman in the dark glasses nodded. "If you please." The waitress picked up a small stainless teapot from in front of the ostensible Miz S. Cassie mentally revised the beverage. Filling it with a gentle hiss of water from the urn, the waitress closed the lid again and set it ritually before the old woman. The door to the diner opened.

"Coffee, Pearl." The new entry sat down next to Cassie and tossed her hair out of her eyes, giving her for a moment the appearance of a horse about to rear. "Hello there. Would you prefer I moved to the next stool? Don't mean to intrude." Cassie turned to look, more surprised at the verbal address than the seating.

The newcomer stared at Cassie for a moment, black thick eyebrows sliding slowly up her face as she examined Cassie's. She made a disgusted mouth. "My mistake. Pardon me." She shifted a stool further away.

"I don't care where you sit," said Cassie.

"No, no," gestured the woman with the eyebrows. "No reason to make my day any worse. No offense."

At the far end, Miz S chuckled, very low.

"Bad day, then, Henna?" said the big waitress - clearly Pearl - setting the coffee cup down. Pearl was not as chirpy with her regulars, Cassie observed. Or maybe it was just Henna.

Cassie reflected that the nickname was a little blatant, but so was Henna's hair - shocking red-orange, and it looked like it had been black once. Of course, Cassie's hair tended to be a different color every day when she woke up, and she was sure that everyone assumed she dyed it, so who was she to cast stones?

Henna had a nearly triangular face, chin coming to a sharp point. Her hair was thick, wavy, and descended to her shoulder blades. Her eyes were as black and as glossy as her arch eyebrows.

"Business is horrible, Pearl. You know the drill." Henna sipped her coffee, stopping to inhale some of the steam first. "The low echelons have too many people fighting for jobs and the star players skim the plum ones off the top."

"Competence, of course, has nothing to do with it," said Miz S, continuing to look straight ahead as she sipped her tea.

Henna's eyebrows collided. "Thank you for that enlightening and wholly unbiased comment, Madame S," she snarled.

A clatter in front of Cassie - she startled, caught engrossed. But it was just her meat loaf. Pearl set salt and pepper shakers next to the plate. "Enjoy!" Pearl seemed to be studying her face as well, until the door opened.

A man in a brown suit with slick brown hair. Cassie dismissed him - obviously one of those actuarial types. Henna leered at him. Outside, a taxi departed.

"The cab driver told me this was a good place for lunch," he explained to no one in particular, seating himself between Henna and Cassie.

"I must remember to thank him," said Henna quietly.

"He should know," Pearl said heartily. "He eats here just about every day. What'll it be? Coffee for starters?"

He gestured to Cassie's plate. "Coffee, sure. And I'll have what she's having." Cassie turned and gave him an unimpressed look. Henna winced a little.

"Joe! Another blue plate!" Pearl hollered, moving to fetch the coffee.

"So what brings you to this part of town?" Henna said to the brown man.

He smiled sheepishly. "Is it obvious? I'm only in the city for a business conference. I went looking for a nice place to have lunch, got lost, and eventually had to hail a cab."

"A business conference?" Henna said, oozing interest. "And what is it that you do?"

"He sells insurance," said Mme S and Cassie, from opposite ends of the counter.

Henna inhaled sharply. The man looked back and forth like a suspicious mouse, then decided to smile. "I guess that's pretty obvious too, huh?"

"How's the meat loaf, hon?"

Cassie nearly startled again. Pearl moved too quietly. "It's delicious. Thanks." Then she realized she hadn't actually eaten any yet. Pearl raised an eyebrow and grinned broadly. Cassie hastily took several bites, face hot.

"But you're not especially satisfied with it," Henna was saying.

"Is anyone ever satisfied with what they're doing?" the man replied.

"Exactly," Henna replied. She smiled with pursed lips. Cassie thought she used too much lipstick. "But if you had your pick, what would you be doing?"

The man considered this. "Oh, I don't know. I can't think of anything offhand that excites me any more than this does. I know that probably sounds bad ...."

"On the contrary, I think it's very reasonable." Henna smiled reassuringly. "No one really wants to spend their days in toil. What would you be doing if you were financially secure?"

The man grinned. "Who knows? Probably in a cabin by some mountain stream somewhere, spending every day fishing."

"What would it be worth to you?" Henna said.

"Right to the chase," grunted Mme S.

Cassie ate a little more of her meatloaf.

"I don't understand," the man said.

"Well, for example ... are you married?" Henna gave Cassie a look. Whether asking her for information or telling her to keep quiet was unclear. Of course the man wasn't married, Cassie thought. She looked at Henna blandly. Mme S apparently was also keeping her counsel. But, really, wasn't it obvious?

"No, I'm not. Why do you ask?" the man said with a slight smirk.

Oh, get a clue, Cassie thought.

"I'm thinking hypothetically," Henna replied to him. "Suppose someone offered you that cabin and the ability to spend the rest of your mortal days that way. What would you be willing to offer in exchange? What would you be willing to give up?"

The man looked flustered. "What are you getting at here?"

Pearl set the plate in front of him. "Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, carrots. Eat it while it's hot."

"Thank you, miss ...." he said uncertainly, looking like he'd been knocked off-balance.

"No offense meant," Henna said hastily. "Just a little wool-gathering, that's all. Sort of a thought experiment, you might say. My theory is that when people have certain dreams, they get attached to the idea, but they don't really want to work for it. They don't want to sacrifice anything. But that's not the way it really works, is it? No free lunch."

"Says you," Pearl commented from where she was leaning. "You haven't settled your tab in a month."

Henna sighed and dealt out several bills onto the counter. "No rest for the wicked." Pearl grinned and swept up the money.

"As I was saying ...." Henna continued.

"I don't have a lot to give up," the man said. "I could give up my job, but I don't think that'd count as a hardship." He smiled drily. "I don't really have much in the way of goods. So it's not like I wouldn't make a sacrifice, it's more like I don't have anything to put on the block."

"What about your soul?" Henna said.

"I beg your pardon?" he replied, stopping a forkload of meat loaf mid-course to his mouth.

"Calm down. This is just an idle conversation, remember? I mean in the classical sense, like in stories. Daniel Webster and so forth. Trading your immortal soul for mortal gain."

He smiled. "I think I'd rather take out a loan against it than make an outright trade."

Henna shrugged. "That's been known to happen. But interest rates are so high that no one ever pays off before they die. Would you trade your soul for your dream life?"

"And we're assuming that this trade means I go to Hell when I die? In the classical sense? Flames and brimstone?"

"Is that what Hell means to you?" Henna replied. "Let's say that it guarantees that whatever happens to you after you die, it won't be pleasant."

He considered this.

"Your meat loaf's getting cold, hon," Pearl said to Cassie.

Cassie resumed chewing without interest.

"That reminds me," said Mme S. "A fresh pot, I think, Pearl."

Pearl drifted down to that end of the counter. "You bet." She took the pot and went to empty it.

The man shrugged and finished the last bite of his lunch. He had barely bothered to chew his food, thought Cassie. "That was excellent, miss."

Pearl smiled from the hot water urn. "I'll be sure to tell Joe you said so."

"I don't think," he continued, studying his words, "that I can make a decision like that. If it were actually happening, it'd be a much easier call. But as a hypothetical situation ... no." He wiped his mouth.

"All right, then, it's real," Henna said. "A genuine offer. Trade your soul for that cabin and fishing rod."

He smiled. "Not a very good joke."

"Not a joke at all," Henna replied. "As a representative of the Infernal I am entitled to make discretionary offers. I'm quite serious."

He looked at Henna, meeting her gaze squarely. After a few moments, he shuddered a little and turned to Cassie. "Is she?"

Cassie shrugged. "I'm a stranger here myself."

"She's serious," said Mme S.

To Cassie's surprise, the man looked relieved. "Could I have my check, please?"

"Well?" asked Henna.

The man extracted a few bills from his wallet, and returned it to his breast pocket. "That makes everything much simpler. Ah, thank you, miss." He counted out money and stood up. "The food really was delicious."

"I hate being ignored," Henna hissed.

"I'm nearing retirement age," he explained, walking to the door. "I have arterial sclerosis. I have high blood pressure. I estimate that I have fewer than ten years left. If I went up into the woods and let myself go to hell - no pun intended - that might be as few as five years. Five years of fishing in exchange for a very long time in hell seems like a bad trade to me. But it was entertaining as long as it was theoretical. Good afternoon."

The door closed behind him and Cassie became aware of a low, repetitive noise. It was Mme S chuckling.

"Like I said," she rasped. "It never crossed your mind that incompetence might be involved."

Henna spun, eyes glistening. "You meddler!"

"I didn't interfere in the least," Mme S replied, taking a sip of her tea. "I even gave you the key piece of information, and you ignored it. Trying to lure a man in his fifties who lives by actuarial tables!"

"He didn't look like he was in his fifties!" Henna sputtered.

"He dyes his hair," Cassie said softly, surprised to hear her own voice. Henna turned to look at her.

"My compliments to Joe as well," Cassie mumbled, standing up hurriedly. "Sorry I couldn't finish it." She threw some money on the counter. She wasn't even sure how much it was.

"Come back anytime, hon," Pearl said.

"I'm sure I will," Cassie replied, moving to the door, avoiding Henna's eye.

"So am I," muttered Mme S, as the door to the diner closed.

Copyright © August 1998. Do not distribute or reproduce.