Where Everybody Knows Your Name 1

To healing and dreams

It had become part of my morning ritual.

In order to rehab my leg fully, I walked each morning. At first I wandered, but later I followed the same route each morning. Two miles to a restaurant, locally famous for great breakfast. Most mornings I had a fried egg, toast and black coffee.

On Fridays, I celebrated the completion of another week. I added Belgian waffles.

I used the word "restaurant." It was originally "Mark's Coffee Shop," but later it was "Mark's Café." Then Bob bought it. It's still Mark's Café.

Another reason for the morning ritual was to battle the memories of the accident. Nightmares still woke me at night. The worst ones were those in which I saw her battered face.

At first, I had different servers for my breakfast ritual. Later, I noticed it was almost always Marci. It was on her name tag.

Marci greeted me each morning. "Don!"

I couldn't help but think of Norm on Cheers. "Where everybody knows your name."

I started calling back: "Marci!"

She was pretty, at least far as the typical uniform in a coffee shop turned into café allowed. I had trouble guessing her age. I finally settled on 35.

On Fridays, Marci knew my celebratory order. After calling my name, she would tell me to find a seat and she would give my order to the kitchen.

One thing began to change. When she delivered my order each morning, she often put her hand on my back and looked into my eyes.

"How are you today, Don?"

I wondered how much she knew.

Gradually, my slight limp faded away, and I regained my strength. Fall was coming on, and I decided to clean up my garden before winter hit. That had too many memories attached to it, so I quit after a few hours.

I pondered whether to return to practicing law. It had been 18 months since the accident. I knew most of my clients would have found other attorneys, and I had no stomach for rebuilding my practice. Nor did I need to.

One of the defendants was the other driver, and his insurer offered policy limits quickly. The main target was the employer of the driver, who stupidly chose to go to trial.

The jury, in addition to reimbursement for direct hospital and rehabilitation costs, added on a substantial amount for pain and suffering, compensation for my wife's death, and punitive damages against the driver's employer.

They appealed, but the verdict was affirmed. We agreed to a settlement only in the manner of payment. I received an annuity of $12,000 a month for life. The balance of the jury's award to me was paid in cash.

I had made a lot of money practicing law for nearly 30 years, so I had long ago paid off my home. I didn't need to work.

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My routine changed one morning.

Marci brought me my Friday fare, then leaned down and whispered in my ear.

"I'd like to take you to dinner. Please call me."

She placed a napkin in front of me. It had a phone number on it.

I glanced at her behind the counter. She was looking at me. Smiling, but clearly hoping.

That afternoon, I sat in my den, staring at the napkin. I was so torn inside! On the one hand, it might be nice to socialize--have a new friend, although she was young.

On the other hand ... well ... I kept thinking about Wendy. Then I cried.

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The next day, Saturday, I sat in my easy chair in the afternoon. I had a book I planned to read. All I could see was the napkin, or rather, the phone number on it.

Marci.

Deciding to call is one thing; calling is another. I decided to call, but stared at the number instead.

I finally called.

"Marci? This is Don."

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It was Sunday evening. I met Marci at the local Olive Garden. She insisted on treating me, so I insisted on this restaurant. I could afford a lot better, but I knew she couldn't. I tipped her well, but not that well!

"Marci, tell me something about you. All I know is the coffee shop. I don't even know your last name."

"Chambers. Marci Chambers."

"How long have you been at the coffee shop?"

"Five years, but it isn't where I thought I'd be at this point."

"Why is that? What was your plan."

"I got my undergraduate degree in poly sci and planned to go to law school."

"What happened?"

"My father died. My mother ... well, she's been in ill health for years and hasn't been able to work much. Doctors can't seem to get to the bottom of it. All I know is I had to find a way to provide for her. Besides, there aren't many jobs around here for someone with a bachelor's in political science!"

"Oh, Marci! I'm so sorry. Did you ever take the LSAT?"

"Yeah, just before my dad died. That was almost 15 years ago."

"How did you do?"

"I think it was 98th percentile."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, but enough about me. You usually pay with cash, but once you paid with a credit card. Donald Q. Mangelson. I always wondered. What's the 'Q' for?"

"Quinn. My mother's maiden name."

"Well, Donald Quinn Mangelson, I googled you. Tell me about Wendy."

I paused, uncertain whether I could go there and re-open that wound.

I got bailed out. At least for now. Our food arrived.

As we ate, I watched Marci. She was cuter tonight than at the café. Surprisingly cute. She arrived at the restaurant with a short skirt--not flagrantly so, but short enough to attract and keep my attention. It was obvious, although nothing was exposed--she had a nice figure. Nice curves. Prominent bust. Bigger than Wendy.

"I asked you to tell me about Wendy."

"Are you sure you want me to talk about that?"

"I'd like you to."

I started slowly. "Wendy and I met in high school. We dated from halfway through our sophomore year, through graduation, and then through four years of college. We were both virgins until our wedding night, the month after graduation from college."

I paused to think. Why had I talked about our wedding night? That's just weird!

"I entered law school. I had a full-tuition scholarship, but Wendy worked to supplement my part-time job and a little grant money."

"How were you as a law student?"

"I was solid. About top 15% my first year, but I climbed into the top 10% by graduation."

"What was your emphasis there?"

"All the classes populated by future litigators. I clerked for a federal district court judge in Ohio and then joined my law firm in Chicago. After a year, we bought a nice home in Oak Park, where I still live, about two miles from here."

"You started to tell me about Wendy."

"Sorry, I got side-tracked."

I paused, as I thought about her.

"Wendy was the love of my life. She was the second and last girl I dated. The first girl I kissed. She was the kindest person I've ever known. One of those who wanted no attention but tried to spotlight others. Behind the scenes doing all the work but never wanted the spotlight."

"She sounds wonderful. How long were you married?"

"Thirty-one years."

I stopped there. Thinking. Marci continued.

"Tell me what happened the night of the accident."

"Don't you know? Surely ... "

"I've read the reports and the news articles. Tell me what you experienced that night."

"You really want to hear that?

"I do."

"Ok, we'd gone to a concert in the city. I was driving home on the 290. It was late. Not many cars. Suddenly there was one coming right at us. In our lane. I tried to avoid it. I really tried ..."

"I know, Don. It must have been terrifying."

She moved to a chair on the side of the table and put her hand on my arm.

"Then what happened?"

"I don't remember much about the collision, except it was violent. Unbelievably violent. Later, I realized I had locked up the brakes and he swerved as well. I can't piece together the geometry of it all, but ...

I started crying.

Marci put her arm around me.

"But what, Don?"

"His car hit the right front of mine--Wendy's side of the front--and climbed over the top on that side. Wendy was dead. Her face was a mess. I still see her face ..."

I couldn't go on. I was crying too much. I was staring at the table and wiping away tears. Marci's arm was around my shoulders.

"Why did you want me to tell you this?"

"You've been holding it in. No one to talk to. I care about you."

"Why do you care about me?"

"You're a sweet guy. You've been nice to me. To everyone. Bad things happen to nice guys, too."

"What made you think I've been holding it in?"

"I know the look. I didn't know you before the accident, but I've felt since you started coming in there was a weight on your shoulders. That's why I googled your name. To find out what that weight was. I learned about the accident. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, Marci. Can I change the subject?"

"Sure."

"Why did you ask me out?"

"I didn't. I asked you to call me. When you called, I asked."

I was laughing. "You should have gone to law school. Still, why?"

Marci looked into my eyes. There was a long pause.

"I ... well, Don, I've watched you for a year. Your daily routine. It was part of your rehab, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. My doc wanted me to walk every day to get my strength back. He said my limp was small enough he felt it would go away quickly, but I had to continue rehab."

"And you wanted to dance again?"

She made me laugh again. "Not really, although I was once a decent dancer. Wendy always said ... well, that was a long time ago."

"Would you take me dancing sometime?"

"Why? You've been dancing all around my question. Why did you want to ask me out?"

"Sorry, another lawyer tactic?"

"As is the ability to insist on a witness answering the question."

"Why? At first, I felt sorry for you. You seemed so sad. After a while I realized what a handsome man you are. Your face still needed a little healing back then. You're a handsome man, Don. I've wanted to go out with you for a long time."

"Is that why you always waited on me?"

"Yeah, I asked Sue, the other waitress, to let me take care of you."

"I ordered the same thing every time."

"Except Fridays. What's special about Fridays?"

"I completed another week of rehab."

"Your reward to yourself? I love it. You're a determined man. Focused."

"I always have been."

"You were an attorney, right?"

"Was ... Is ... not sure which it is now, but yes."

"Are you going back to practice law?"

"I thought about it. I realized most of my clients have had to find another attorney. My firm probably tried to hang onto quite a few but would have reassigned them to other attorneys. I would be starting over."

"How old are you, Don?"

"57. Since you asked, how old are you?"

"36."

"The more relevant fact is I don't need to work again. The jury hit the employer of the other driver pretty hard. That company knew he was drinking again and they still allowed him to be sent out on a delivery. Deep pockets. The kind I always liked as a plaintiff's attorney. I don't ever have to work again."

"Is that what you want? A life of ease. Sitting in an easy chair for the next 30 years?"

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"I don't think it's you. Not a comfortable life for one like you."

"Have you always been so perceptive about people?"

"Waitressing turns out to be excellent training!"

"I haven't asked about your mother. How is she?"

"Not well. I mean, really not well. Not the usual not well."

"I'm sorry. You've been living a difficult life. Taking care of your mother says a lot about you."

"I was the only person who could. Do you have children, Don?"

"Yeah. Megan is 30, married, 2 kids. Spence is 28, married, 3 kids. Amber is 25, married, 1 child. Six grandchildren. None of them lives close, though."

"Would you like to travel to see them?"

"I'd like that. Maybe it's time. Were you ever married?"

"No. I had a couple chances in college. Timing wasn't what I wanted. Now I'm too old to meet a lot of guys. At least ones I would date."

"You're desperate enough to date me?"

She blushed and put her hand on mine.

"It's not desperation. It's hope, and I also hope that doesn't scare you away."

"I faced tougher moments in the courtroom! Mostly from ugly opposing counsel."

"Are you comparing my looks to them?"

"Marci, I've always thought you were cute. It's nice to see you in something a little less ..."

"Waitressy?"

"Yeah. That may not be a word, but it's spot on. You look very nice tonight. If I ask you to dance, would I get to see more of you?"

"That was quite smooth? Sort of like 'If I said you have a beautiful body would you hold it against me?'"

"That was going to be my next line."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Do you need the question read back to you? You asked, 'If I ask you to dance, would I get to see more of you?' My answer is yes."

"I'll make you a deal. You sign up to take the LSAT test again. I'll pay the test fee. You do that this week, and the following week I'll take you to the Christmas social and dance held by the Chicago Chapter of the State Bar. Do you have something fancy to wear?"

"Ok, wait. Why do I need to take the LSAT?"

"Humor me. I'll help you prepare for it, if you want, but I suspect you'll do fine."

"No, I don't have anything fancy to wear. I'm embarrassed by that, so maybe we need to rethink the dance."

"Nonsense. When do you get off work tomorrow?"

"I work 6:30-3:30."

"May I pick you up at 3:45 and take you shopping? You should say yes to this. I'm paying."

"You don't need to do that for me!"

"Marci, you need to learn to accept a gift graciously."

"Ok. 3:45 pm it is. I'll bring some clothes to change into in the back of the Café. Bob, the owner, prefers calling it that. His favorite line is, 'We're not a coffee shop!'"

That made me laugh. I'd heard Bob say that a couple of times, and her imitation was on the money.

"Marci, thank you for tonight. I think this has been the best day since the accident."

"I hope there will be better ones ahead for you."

"And perhaps for you?"

She was blushing again.

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That night I thought again about Wendy. Quickly, however, I thought about Marci. I realized immediately how my thoughts had switched that way.

Was that good, or was it bad? Perhaps neither--or both.

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At 3:50 pm, Marci came out the door with a sack in her hand (probably her waitress uniform). She was wearing a casual skirt and blouse, although most was hidden by her heavy winter coat.

I got out and opened the door for her. I was driving my Lexus and not my pickup.

"Hi Marci. You look nice."

"I figured you were a gentleman...thanks for opening my door for me."

"I forgot to mention two rules. First, I open your door. Not you. Second, today while shopping, don't look at price tags. I want you to pick what you like the most."

"Are you sure?"

"Marci ..."

"Never mind. Accept a gift graciously. I'm trying."

I took her to a local Saks. I had flipped a coin to decide between that and Nordstrom. We entered and headed for the women's clothing department. Marci figured out quickly where the formal dresses were.

What followed was a lot of fun for me. It takes a lot to make watching a woman shop a fun thing!

She picked out three dresses--all of the little black variety--and headed for a dressing room.

"Do you want to see them."

"I'd like that."

She came out wearing one, and then another. The third didn't fit, so the salesclerk found it in her size and brought it to her.

I thought she looked fabulous in all of them. She wasn't quite satisfied. Back to the rack. Three more. This time, after trying on three, she went back and put on the fifth of the six dresses she now had in the dressing room.

"Do you like this, Don?"

"Yes, but is this your favorite?"

"It is, but it's over $600!"

I just looked at her. She smiled.

"I know. No looking at price tags."

I was about to suggest it, but the salesclerk knew her job. She helped her find a bra that was black and worked better with the cut of the dress. Then some black stockings. They whispered together for a moment, wandered over to the side and picked out something. Then it was over to shoes, where she found an elegant pair of black heels.

Marci walked over to me with an embarrassed look on her face.

"Don, she asked me whether I wanted stockings and a garter belt or just stay-ups. I chose the garter belt. I think I'll feel sexy with that, but if you weren't planning on spending that much ... ok, I know what you're about to say!"

She kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you so much for all this. Just so you know, I got up early this morning and registered to take the LSAT again. It's in two months."

"How much were the fees?"

"You don't have to ..."

"Marci! It's the deal you agreed to last night."

"Ok, the LSAT fee was $238, plus $238 for the Credential Assembly Service, and $45 for the first score report."

"Where do you plan to send it?"

"Northwestern. Pritzker."

"Good choice. You paid with your credit card? I'll give you a check for $521 today."

She kissed me on the cheek again. "Don, I hope you don't mind me kissing you on the cheek. I need to express my thanks somehow!"

"Another good choice! The dance is on the 14th. Would you have dinner with me first? Say 7 pm?"

"That sounds wonderful. I haven't been on a real date in years."

"It's pretty simple. I can help you with a flowchart if you like. Or, you can just go out with me and enjoy the evening."

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"Perhaps a dry run?"

"A dry run?"

"Ok, that may not have been the smoothest way to ask you to go out with me next Saturday."

"I'd like that. Where?"

"How about we drive into the city in the morning and visit the Art Institute and 360 Chicago for a fabulous view over the city? Have you done either of those before?"

"I haven't. That sounds fun. Dress warm?"

"Only if you don't like freezing! I'll pick you up at 9 am on Saturday."

"Thanks, Don. I'm looking forward to it.

"Give me your address or show me how to get there to take you home."

"My car's at the Café, but let's exchange phone numbers and I'll text you my address. My mom and I live in a little brownstone in Bridgeport. It's not much.

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I saw Marci every day that week, of course. My normal morning walk and stop at the Café. Marci had a wonderful twinkle in her eye Monday and made a point of kissing me on the cheek a couple of times. I could hardly wait for Saturday!

I had no trouble finding her house. It was a little depressing. A breadwinner's death and long illness of a mother will do that. Prolonged poverty leaves marks.

Marci was ready and smiling broadly. She introduced me to her mother. She was nice but looked awful.

I opened the car door for her.

"If you want, you can take off your coat and throw it in the back seat. I always prefer that to wearing a bulky coat while I drive."

I threw mine back there and she did the same.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you again, Marci."

"I'm happy to hear that. This week dragged by for me."

I parked in a garage just off Michigan Avenue, in between the Hancock Tower and the Art Institute. We headed for the tower first. The views were amazing. At one point I stood behind her, pointing out things on the ground. She leaned back against me, and I put my arms around her. We stood there like that for several minutes.

Due to the cold, we took a taxi to the Art Institute. Normally I would've enjoyed the walk down Michigan Avenue.

As we entered the Art Institute, Marci took my hand. It had been a while for me.

I hadn't asked Marci whether she liked art, but she seemed to be enjoying everything. She didn't want to skip any of the rooms and lingered long over several of the more famous pieces, such as Grant Wood's "American Gothic," Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks," the one that shows the interior of a diner at night, but from the outside. She laughed when she saw "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte," by Georges Seurat.