My LIttle Chickadee

The Fillin’ Station isn’t really a filling station. You can’t buy gasoline there, at least not anymore. There was a time when you could have had your car repaired and fill up your tank, but that was before competition made it impossible for a small company to compete. So, the owner converted the building into a restaurant. Today, The Fillin’ Station only fills tummies, which is all Amy was looking for when she walked in the door Sunday evening.

The room was full. After all, it was all-you-can-eat fish night. Amy looked around for an empty table, but they were all occupied. No waitress came to assist her, or put her name on a waiting list. The Fillin’ Station seated customers on a first come, first served basis, and regulars knew to wait their turn. Amy waited. She leaned against the wall, and then the counter, waiting patiently, but no one seemed to be leaving. Everyone had their heads together, whispering, while glancing toward the last table in the far corner. Amy hated gossip, yet she always listened.

Amy allowed her eyes to wander toward the topic of conversation. A woman and a man such as she had never seen before, at least in her lifetime, were perusing the menu. The woman wore an oversized hat with a cluster of feathers reaching for the ceiling, and a figure-hugging blue gown with bugle beads. The man wore a dark suit. A top hat rested on the chair beside him. As Amy stared, the woman smiled and motioned for Amy to join them.

Without thinking, Amy slowly walked toward the table. As she came closer, the woman stood up. “Have a seat Honey,” she said.

The man took a silver flask from his pocket, “Care for some lemonade?”

Amy sat down, and shook her head in answer to the lemonade question. “Hi, I’m Amy,” was all she could come up with to say.

The woman’s voice was loud and authoritative, “Well, it’s nice to meet you Amy. You can call me Mae. This old codger is Bill.”

“Welcome, my little Chickadee,” the man said.

The word Chickadee got Amy to thinking. Yes, a Chickadee is a bird, but that wasn’t what tugged at her memory. She looked at the woman, and then at the man. Pointing, she said, “You’re Flower Belle Lee.” Turning her attention to the man, she said, “And you’re Cuthbert J. Twillie. Grandma and I watched your movie the other night.”

“Ah, yes. My Little Chickadee,” Bill said. “That movie was released in 1940. The first big screen success for Universal after Gone With the Wind. Although, the critics didn’t like it much. Flower Belle and Twillie were our character names. I’m W.C. Fields and this is Mae West. But you can call me Bill. Mae here didn’t like me much at the time, but she got over it.”

“That’s what you think, you old drunk. Do you remember your last line?”

“Come up and see me sometime. And you said?”

Mae chuckled and then said, “Mmm, I will, my little chickadee. And then I sashayed up the stairs. The editor put the words ‘The End’ over my well-endowed posterior.”

The waitress interrupted, “Have you decided?”

“What’s good here, Amy?” Mae asked.

“The all-you-can-eat fish. That is, if you’re not dieting. It’s pretty greasy.”

“I never worry about diets. The only carrots that interest me are the number of carats in a diamond.” She closed the menu, handed it to the waitress, and said, “I’ll have the catfish. And toss in a piece of cherry pie with that.”

Bill pointed to the flask on the table, “I’ll just have my lemonade.”

Amy ordered her usual shrimp and the waitress left. Amy said to Mae, “Are you and Bill married?”

“Heavens no, honey!”

“Have you ever been married?”

“Not to Bill, but I gave marriage a try. It’s easy to get married, but hard to stay that way. I say, don’t ever make the same mistake twice, unless it pays.”

“Do either of you have children?” Amy asked Bill.

“I like children – fried. Children should neither be seen or heard from – again. I never met a kid I liked.”

Mae gave Amy a wink, “Don’t let the old fool fool you, he has a son. He just hasn’t seen the kid in a while. It’s a sore spot.”

“And I haven’t stopped drinking since. Excuse me, I must have a drink for breakfast.” Bill tipped up the flask and took a gulp of the contents.

Mae frowned, “It’s dinner time you old fool. Why don’t you try drinking water?”

“I never drink water. I’m afraid it will become habit-forming.”

Amy watched as the two traded insults. She couldn’t quite decide if they hated each other, or if they were in love. Before she could decide, the food came. The women ate in relative silence, while Bill took a nip or two from his flask and watched people watch him.

Bill leaned in to whisper, “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.” And then he stood up. He looked around, made eye contact with the obvious busy-bodies in the room and said, “Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch.” With that, he staggered toward the exit, and disappeared through the door.

Mae pushed back her chair and stood up, “I like a man who’s good, but not too good – for the good die young, and I hate a dead one. Better go make sure he doesn’t get run over crossing the street. It was nice meeting you, honey.”

With that she too disappeared through the door.

The waitress brought Amy’s food: a plate of fried shrimp, slaw, hush puppies, and a piece of cherry pie.

Realizing she was here to work, Amy shook the daydream from her head, opened her notebook, and picked up a pen. She began writing a review for the movie, My Little Chickadee.