High School Honey

by Bill Bowler

Chapter 11: Vecchio’s Diner

Mr. Vecchio’s restaurant was on Brookbank Avenue, near the intersection with Broadway. The big front window looked out on the park across the street. Honey and Shirley both worked there as waitresses.

Mr. Vecchio was a bald, middle-aged, overweight, former teacher at Brookbank High who had lost his job when the position was phased out due to cuts in the education budget at the state level. Married, with two kids and a hefty mortgage, he had panicked when he lost his job. But he was able to combine his modest savings with a more than generous unsecured personal loan from his brother-in-law, a vice president at First National Bank of Pasquanack, to raise the down payment to buy the restaurant. Its former owner had decided to sell and retire to the Phoenix area on account of asthma and advanced age.

As often happens, Mr. Vecchio managed to turn adversity to his advantage, building up a nice little lunch business over the last few years. He was making more now than he ever had at the high school. Losing his job had been a blow to his vanity. At first, he had been indignant and embarrassed when his former colleagues came into the restaurant while he was working behind the register. But they behaved towards him as they always had, and when he began to make more money than they, he felt secret satisfaction, even magnanimity.

“Hello, Mr. Vecchio.”

“Why so formal? Call me Frank,” he said to Honey as she arrived for work, took off her coat, and stepped behind the counter in her short uniform. Mr. Vecchio encouraged the girls to wear their hemlines up. It was good for business and the girls concurred as miniskirts were then the height of fashion. Honey, Shirley and the other girls had all raised the hems to make the best of an ugly uniform.

Honey preferred to address her employer as Mr. Vecchio. She wished he would keep his distance. He was all over the girls who worked for him. After all, he was old and married with kids almost her age, and still he liked to get too close. She could smell him and feel his breath. She hated it when he touched her, which he did frequently on various pretexts. She told him so, but he was very insistent.

“C’mon, relax.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Lighten up, you’re all tense.”

Shirley was making coffee and Honey was filling the salt shakers when Mr. Vecchio asked Honey to come to his office for a minute. The office was a back room by the kitchen where Mr. Vecchio had a desk and they kept files and posted schedules, a quiet spot for Mr. Vecchio to read the Racing Form when it wasn’t too busy out front. He pulled a stepladder over to a high shelf, wincing as he moved the ladder.

“Ow,” he groaned as if to himself. “Honey, could you get that box of invoices from the top shelf for me? It hurts my back to reach like that.”

He stood beside her as she climbed the stepladder. As she reached up towards the shelf, her uniform crept a few more inches up her leg, exposing her thighs at eye level for Mr. Vecchio. His eye balls bugged out. His mouth went dry. He began to perspire. She was so close. Her thighs were smooth and firm, and almost completely exposed. All he had to do was reach out. She was just inches from his nose. He couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

“Say, Mr. V? Which of these boxes do you want? There are three up here.” She looked down at him. “Mr. V?”

“Wha’?... Oh, the one on the left. Yeah.”

Honey stepped down off the ladder and put the box on his desk.

“Thanks, Honey. You know, when I was younger, I’d have had no trouble, but now my spine’s out of whack.” He rubbed his back and winced. “I can hardly bend. It acts up bad sometimes.”

He put his arm around her shoulder as if to support himself and his hand brushed the top of her breast. Shirley stuck her head in the office.

“Mr. V?.. Oh!.. Excu-use me!”

Honey stepped away from him. “Please, Mr. Vecchio!”

“Call me Frank, OK? Now go on out front. There’s customers waiting, remember?”

Honey left the office, whispering to Shirley.

“He was trying to grab my boob, the pig!”

“I can’t believe that creep!” said Shirley.

“He’s disgusting!”

“It’s illegal! I’ll tell Jack.”

The girls came out from Mr. Vecchio’s office into the dining room. It was a good Saturday lunch crowd. Not an empty booth, not even a seat at the counter. The place was full of kids and families enjoying burgers, fries, shakes and sundaes.

Shirley stopped at the side stand to make a fresh pot of coffee and Honey refilled a couple of creamers. Through the big front window they could see Jack in the park across the street, standing by a pile of money and talking to Flea and Floater.

Jack the Bear let the two miscreants go this time, and continued his beat through the park, shaking his head. Kids these days had no respect for authority, no respect for the law. When he was in high school, police officers and teachers had been treated with respect. Although, to be totally honest, maybe he was looking through rose-colored glasses. As he thought about it, he remembered that the respect for authority had been edged with scorn. In fact, his friends who rebelled had been secretly admired. But now these kids take it to such extremes! They confront you with it, throw it in your face. Where will it lead? To no good, that’s where. Jack shook his head ruefully.

As he ambled across Brookbank Avenue towards Vecchio’s, Jack forgot the gambling incident in the park and his thoughts turned towards his girlfriend, Shirley. He, Jack Baer, a veteran officer of the Brookbank Police Department, was romantically involved with a beautiful, popular, highly sexy and desirable young high-school girl. She was a bit frivolous, and not too smart, but fresh and smooth and warm and incredibly exciting to touch.

Jack had graduated from Brookbank High in the late ’50s. In his day, status had been derived principally from success in athletics, and only secondarily from destructive behavior. He had been an awkward adolescent, ill-suited for sports. He played football and baseball poorly.

Physically, he was still rather uncoordinated and starting to develop a noticeable paunch, but he compensated by wearing a uniform and a gun. Shirley was the type of girl he had desired when he was in high school: petite, friendly, in need of protection. And now, at age 28, when his old high-school buddies were saddled with nagging wives and screaming brats, he, Jack Baer, was having great sex with a beautiful, young, innocent, red-haired beauty. To have now what he had so desired then, how could he express the intense sweetness of the gratification, of the victory?

Jack entered Vecchio’s and sat at Shirley’s counter. Shirley poured him a cup of coffee and brought it over. Jack laid his hat on the counter, put three sugars into his coffee, and said, “Thanks, babe. Gimme a club sandwich on rye, too, ar’right? Lotsa mayo. And fries.”

Hugo Bloman, in a gray sweat suit and sneakers, was passing the front window of Vecchio’s and saw Officer Baer. Bloman entered and sat next to the cop. Mr. Vecchio walked over and leaned on the counter to join their conversation.

Mr. Bloman was saying, “It was outrageous. They acted like animals.”

“What happened?” asked Mr. Vecchio.

Jack answered, “Young Fleanor assaulted a boy from Pasquanack last night at a dance at the high school.”

Shirley served Jack his sandwich and fries, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Bloman.

“Nothing for me thanks. I’m about to run.”

Mr. Vecchio turned to Office Baer. “What’s wrong with those kids? They have everything, fine homes and families, wealth, education. These kids have all the material benefits of life.”

“The parents are to blame,” said Mr. Bloman, “They set no example, and look how the kids behave! Like animals. Vandalism, drugs, sexual promiscuity. You think they tolerate this type of behavior in Russia? Straight to Siberia, no questions asked.

“These patterns of antisocial behavior are already ingrained by the time they reach high school. We on the faculty and administration try our utmost to instill respect for our institutions and values, but for some, it’s already too late. The attitude of these few, and I’d say it’s a small minority, is arrogance and insolence. Disrespect for everything we stand for. Greater discipline is needed at the elementary level and, most importantly, the introduction of the teachings of Christ. Otherwise, it’s anarchy, and God help us!”

“It’s unbelievable!” exclaimed Vecchio. “These kids think nothing of destroying private property!”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Jack stood up and adjusted his holster. “Any kind of violence or property damage breaks out while I’m on duty and it’s gonna be over quick.” He patted his revolver. “The way things are, with society breaking down and lawlessness, strong deterrents are needed. The criminal must know that if he breaks the law, punishment will be swift and certain.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Vecchio.

“Absolutely right,” agreed Mr. Bloman.

“Great sandwich, Frank,” said Jack as he feinted for his wallet.

“On the house, Jack. Glad you liked it,” said Mr. Vecchio.

Mr. Bloman rose, too. “Doing six miles today.” He thumped himself on the chest. “Ahh! There is nothing like exercise. Physical fitness, mental, and spiritual health are one and the same. Do you think vandals and drug addicts exercise? Ha!”

Jack blew a little smooch to Shirley when no one was looking and walked out of the restaurant with Mr. Bloman.

to Challenge 381...

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