Secrets & Fries at the Starlight Diner by Helen Cox - Book Blitz + Giveaway
Secrets
and Fries at the Starlight Diner
What brings Bonnie Brooks to The Starlight Diner? And why is she on the
run?
As the front-woman in a band, Bonnie is used to being in the spotlight,
but now she must hide in the shadows.
Bonnie only has one person who she can turn to: her friend Esther
Knight, who waitresses at the Fifties-themed diner. There, retro songs play on
the jukebox as fries and sundaes are served to satisfied customers. But where
has Esther gone?
Alone in New York City, Bonnie breaks down in front of arrogant news
reporter, and diner regular, Jimmy Boyle. Jimmy offers to help her. Can she
trust him?
When
the kindly owner of the Starlight Diner offers Bonnie work, and she meets
charming security officer Nick Moloney, she dares to hope that her luck has
changed. Is there a blossoming romance on the cards? And can Bonnie rebuild her
life with the help of her Starlight Diner friends?
Off
Stage at the Starlight Diner
ON BROADWAY
JUNE 1977
JUNE 1977
The
moment that thick, velvet curtain dropped to the ground, so did I. Kneeling on
the polished stage, I tried to settle the brawl in the pit of my stomach while
a half-hearted applause thudded in my ears.
‘Mona, you
alright?’ Scott, who’d had his hand in mine when the curtain fell after a rocky
performance
of West Side Story, rubbed my back
with the hand he had spare.
‘I’m fine,’ I
lied. ‘Just feel a bit funny.’
‘Hey, we need
water over here. Can somebody get some water and a chair? Hello?
Sometime
this century would be just swell,’ he barked at one of the chorus actors, who’d
watched me double over without even flinching.
Squeezing Scott’s
hand tighter, I winced and looked into his eyes, which were the
deepest
blue you’d ever see. He’d taken his role of Tony to my Maria way too serious
ever since rehearsals began six weeks before at the Theatre Royale on Broadway.
It was my first time working in a show where people actually paid for a ticket
and he’d made it his business to watch out for me. One night, he’d even
threatened one of the white cast members for saying things he oughtn’t about
the young, black girl who ‘had curves in all the places you wanted her to.’
My husband Alan
had been jealous of all this in the beginning, before he realised my
leading
man was looking for a leading man of his own.
‘Alan – he was
supposed to be waitin’ in the wings,’ I said.
‘Well, don’t just
stand there, go get him, quick,’ Scott said to Nadia, who’d played
Anita,
her on-stage best friend duties bleeding into real life as she dashed off into
the blackness.
‘Just breathe,’
Scott said, helping me up into a wooden chair.
I did as he said,
but still my stomach churned.
‘What’s
goin’ on jelly bean?’ Alan’s voice filtered through the small bunch of actors –
he
was the latest guest in the worst kind of after show
party. ‘You had a little too much excitement this evenin’?’ I tried to smile
but my muscles wouldn’t work that way so I gazed into his eyes instead. There
was always a steadiness to be found in them, no matter what was going on. ‘What
happened?’ Alan asked Scott.
‘Not
sure. Knew something wasn’t right at the beginning of the show but I thought
you
were just nervous.’ He looked at me and then stood up,
frowning across at Alan.
‘What is it now?
Why’s everybody stood here?’ I heard Anthony, the director, screeching
from
off stage. He was always heard before he was seen and had the unique ability to
put the whole cast on edge within the space of a sentence.
‘Oh Lord,’ I
sighed.
Even in the state
I was in, I could hear him huffing and shoving people out of the way, and
then
he appeared pasty-faced as ever. His red-hair slicked back, with gel or natural
grease I never could tell. Standing by his side was my understudy, Rosa. She
was all long legs and luscious brown locks, and bitter as hell that I’d got the
leading role and she hadn’t.
‘What’s the matter
with you?’ Anthony’s eyes tightened into suspicious slits.
‘Don’t know. Just
feel real sick all of a sudden. Maybe it’s the heat off of the stage lights
gettin’
to me or somethin’.’
It wasn’t the
stage lights. Something was up. I’d known that for weeks, but it was easier to
pretend
I was coming down with something passed on from my baby brother, Clifford than
it was to find out the truth. This was my shot on Broadway. Whatever the bother
was, it’d have to be life-threatening before I let it slow me down.
‘If Mona can’t
deal with the stage lights, maybe it’s best I take over,’ said Rosa, rubbing
Anthony’s
shoulder, ruffling the satin on his yellow shirt patterned with daisies that he
either had a dozen of or never washed.
‘We’re not there
yet, Rosa,’ Anthony said, still staring down at me.
‘But, she’s not
even Puerto Rican!’ Rosa threw her hand out at me in disgust.
‘You’re Italian,’
Scott glared at her.
‘Yeah, well. So?
My colouring is a lot better for the part than hers.’
Alan squeezed my
right shoulder. His reminder to keep things civil. He’d heard all about
Rosa
over the dinner table at home and had, like my Daddy might, told me to turn the
other cheek.
He needn’t have
worried. Anger boiled inside me but all I really had the strength to do
right
then was breathe a bit heavier in her general direction.
‘Do you need a
doctor?’ Scott crouched again, looking me level in the eyes.
‘I don’t know.’ My
words stuttered out. ‘Keeping myself going through the show just took
it
out of me, I think. I feel real sick like I’ve been on a bus for too long, that
kinda feeling.’
‘My cousin used to
feel like this,’ said Nadia.
‘Oh yeah.’ Anthony
looked between Nadia and me. ‘What was wrong with ’em?’
‘Well...’ Nadia’s
eyes widened. She looked at me and started chewing on her bottom lip
which
was painted traffic light red for her role in the play.
‘What, what, what?
Spit it out.’ Anthony’s hands tugged at the roots of his hair.
‘She was
pregnant,’ said Nadia.
Silence fell.
The small crowd of
actors looked at me.
‘No. No. That
ain’t right. I ain’t pregnant.’
‘How do you know?’
Rosa sneered. ‘Aren’t you keeping your husband happy?’
‘That’s not really
somethin’ you should be commentin’ on, is it?’ Alan glared at her,
perhaps
starting to realise why she got me worked up all the time.
Rosa opened her
mouth to argue but Anthony cut her off, speaking in his quietest and most
deadly
voice.
‘Are you telling
me my lead actress might be pregnant three days into a sixteen week
run?’
He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers flat against the lids.
‘This can’t be
morning sickness,’ I said, ‘It’s after ten in the evening.’
‘That’s not really
how it works,’ said Nadia.
‘Oh. Then why’d
they call it mornin’ sickness?’ I looked back at Scott. He shook his head
at
me, smirked and used the sleeve of the ridiculous red, silk shirt he wore as
part of his costume to dab at the beads of sweat along my hairline.
‘If you’re
pregnant, you’ve really gone and done it.’ Anthony started to rant. I didn’t
dare
look
at him myself but I watched Scott’s profile as he turned and scowled up at the
director. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Nothing was ever good enough for
Anthony and that ain’t exactly what you call an appealing quality in a person.
‘Steady on now,’
said Alan. ‘We haven’t planned no baby.’
‘Looks as though
you’re getting one anyway. All that publicity we did with your face
all
over it and you’ve gone and done this,’ Anthony bleated on.
‘What’s the big
deal? So she feels a little sick once in a while. Rosa can stand in those
nights,’
Scott said.
‘Good thinking,
Scott. And what about a month down the line when she starts showing?’
Anthony
waved his hands in a frantic ball around his stomach. ‘A pregnant Maria? Oh
sure, perfect. You’ve ruined my show you stupid little bitch.’
I pushed my lips
into a pout, must’ve looked stupid as hell but it was all I could do to
stop
myself from crying right then. My chin wobbled under the strain of holding back
the tears.
Scott looked at
me. His whole face had darkened. He stood and walked over to
Anthony,
squaring up to him so their noses were almost touching.
‘Scott, just leave
it. We’re just gonna get outta here,’ Alan said.
But Scott wasn’t
listening.
‘You know, I’ve
had about enough. You need to take that back Anthony.’
‘Why should I?’
Anthony dug his finger into Scott’s chest. The rest of us, who knew a bad
move
when we saw one, cringed.
‘You don’t talk to
a lady that way.’ Scott wasn’t a muscle man but he was broad, unlike
Anthony
who was scrawny in every dimension.
‘Huh, she ain’t a
lady.’
‘How would you
know? You’re no gentleman.’
‘Gentleman? What
universe are you living in? Lords and ladies. Lace collars and corsets.
You’ve
read one too many of those prissy regency novels. Too many years locked away in
your bedroom trying to hide what you are.’
‘And what am I?’
Scott growled.
‘A fag,’ Anthony
spat, presuming Scott’s desire to hold on to his job would stop him
doing
anything stupid.
He was wrong.
Without warning,
Scott threw a right hook that sent the idiot staggering backwards.
‘Son of a bitch,’
Anthony cried out, pressing both hands to his face. His nose was
bleeding,
probably broken.
For a second
nobody dared speak. Scott stood, breathing heavy enough to shake his black
crop
of hair forward into his face. Anthony glowered back at him and was, naturally,
the first to break the silence.
‘Hey,’ he pointed
at Alan. ‘You, aren’t you a cop? Aren’t you gonna arrest him for that?
For,
for assault.’
Alan had just
finished his training with the NYPD and boy did he ever take his work
seriously.
It was a steady job so I’d encouraged him to qualify, but if I’d known he might
arrest one of my friends, I’d have suggested he become a realtor instead or
open a butcher shop like Momma had suggested on more than one occasion.
Scott turned to
us, still panting, and awaited the verdict. My husband looked long at him
and
then fixed his eyes on Anthony.
‘I’m off duty,’
Alan said.
Words that relaxed
everyone, except the director.
‘Get out!’ Anthony
screamed at the three of us. ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’
‘Not a problem,
c’mon Mona. Let’s get you home,’ said Alan.
Scott took my left arm, Alan took my right and
between them, they got me back on my
feet.
I leant against Alan for more support, looking up into the calm of his eyes
while the pair of them walked me off stage.
Looking anywhere,
except back at all I was leaving behind.
To read the rest of this short story for
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About
Helen Cox
Helen
Cox is a book-devouring, photo-taking, film-obsessed novelist. If forced to
choose one, Helen’s Mastermind specialism would be Grease 2. To this day, she
still adheres to the Pink Lady pledge and when somebody asks her if she is a
god she says ‘yes.’
After completing her MA in creative writing at the University of York St. John Helen found work writing for a range of magazines, websites and blogs as well as writing news and features for TV and radio. She has written three non-fiction books and founded independent film publication: New Empress Magazine. She currently lives in York and writes novels.
After completing her MA in creative writing at the University of York St. John Helen found work writing for a range of magazines, websites and blogs as well as writing news and features for TV and radio. She has written three non-fiction books and founded independent film publication: New Empress Magazine. She currently lives in York and writes novels.
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Helenography
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/helenography/
Giveaway
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Milkshakes and Heartbreaks - Open Internationally.
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1st December in order to be in with a chance of winning –
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