Lake 8

T S brock Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Just as the discussion was about to heat up, the screen door squeaked open and in walked a stick figure of a man. He fashioned clean tan slacks and matching shirt with embroidered gold and red beads threaded in the prevailing Mexican tradition. He squinted like he needed glasses and donned a crisp stylish cowboy hat. Jim was just taking a bite of his blueberry pie, hesitated, and looked up in bewilderment. Lisa, the waitress, was just setting down a stack of gleaming golden pancakes in front of an ecstatic Norma (Mrs. Smith) but didn’t spill anything.

    Customers all around stared as if a predator had entered into their territory trying to abscond their provisions. The quiet din of environmental confusion and muted conversation filled the place. But all at once, it all came to a standstill, and the stick figure cowboy was standing in the doorway.

    “What can I do ya for Mister?” Jamaica, the owner, swung the question like a boomerang from behind the bar.

    “I don’t suppose you would have a cup of coffee.” The man nodded and tipped his hat with deliberate reverence.

    “We have lots of coffee but, if I may ask, what’s your business.” Jamaica began to lighten up and seemed to recognize the man if only from some obscure circumstance. Perhaps Déjà vu or maybe it was the effects of mushroom coffee. She softened momentarily.

    “Please allow me to introduce myself,” the thin man bowed. “I’m Luke Williams and my band and I are, well….” He rubbed his forehead, “Well, we’re playing at the Lake House tonight. I just come here to invite ya all. I know it’s Saturday and all, and it’s the weekend and we intend to provide some fine entertainment. That’s what I come to say. But. True tellin. I would love a cup of coffee.”

    “Sure enough, Luke Williams and the Gun-Slingers, I saw you down in Tennessee not long back,” Howard Johnson, a travelling vacuum salesman recalled. “You were quite something else… and you have a woman fiddle player!”

    “That’s exactly correct, sir. Much obliged. And Macy Jay, she is the best. You know she played at the Gran Ole Opree… well, come to think, the Holiday Inn Grand Opening as well… “

    “Yah! Macy Jay. By gosh sir, that was it!” Howard rose and shook Luke’s hand.

    “It just so happens I have lots of coffee. Have a seat,” Jamaica gestures. Luke looked around the room then moved in measured step toward the pastor’s table and sat down with him. She brought Luke Williams a steamy cup of strong black mushroom coffee. “You take sugar or cream?”

    “No, mam… thank you,” Luke nodded.

    The din picked up, and discussions of the afternoon political rally were sidetracked. Audrey walked around the lively space making conversation with Luke and all the customers. It was uncanny. She had the ability to bring conflict into harmony in most situations. Yet plans to resist the political offence of Don McDonald never left her mind. She knew any opposition would be week. Nothing to do but go ahead with a protest.

After all, politics almost always succumbs to friendly conversation… Not reality.

Audrey ended up sitting with Pastor John and Luke Williams looking out into the sky and enjoying the warm sunlight near the window next to the door. It turned out to be a beautiful morning. And the mushroom coffee mellowed all…