Across the decades, people from all over the world have found a home in New York City. The same can be said about the Starlight Diner, a 1950s-themed eatery not far from where East Houston Street meets Clinton. Its blue neon signage lights up the sky on grey days and dark nights. All day, every day, between eight in the morning and midnight, the diner doors are open. A fact regulars from the East Village can count upon, and so many of them do.
Of course, when your doors are open, anyone can walk into your life – someone besides the local cops on their lunch break or the old lady who always asks for the corner table and orders ice cream in December and soup in August. The next person could just as easy be a stranger with a story you’ll never get to hear and secrets best left untold.
No matter who walks through the doors at the Starlight Diner, no matter how far they’ve travelled or how they’re feeling about their life just then, they’re all welcomed with the same warmth. All of them are invited to sink into the soft, red leather of the booths, smile along to the fifties ditties playing out on the jukebox and order themselves a milkshake.
But it’s the folks who work there and eat there that make the Starlight Diner really special. They may not always want you to know it, but they’ve got good hearts. Big hearts, too. And when you’re surrounded by people like that, it’s impossible not to feel at home.
New York, 26 December 1990
The sultry notes of ‘Earth Angel’ by Marvin Berry and the Starlighters floated all around me as I pushed open the door of the diner. The song oozed out of a Wurlitzer jukebox standing in the far corner and a warm rush of relief swept through me as I realised I’d made it.
To New York.
To the Starlight Diner.
To Esther.
Before stepping inside, I glanced one last time over my shoulder, just to be sure nobody was out there. Watching or waiting.
Snowflakes danced in the pale glow of street lamps and steam blew out of the subway vents, but people were few, and hurrying home out of the cold. The coast seemed to be clear.
For now.
I didn’t know what kind of reception I’d get from Esther, not after what had happened between us. When she found out what was going on, the parts it was safe to tell, I’d at least be subjected to a tut and an eyebrow raise. That much was certain. Both were almost patented gestures for her. Still, I needed a friendly face and she was the closest thing I had.
‘Hi there, honey,’ said a soft, inviting voice, which was accompanied by the rich flurry of the saxophone playing in the background. Turning, I saw who had spoken: a waitress standing just behind the counter.
Looking at her, my shoulders tightened. They were already sore from three days and two nights sleeping on buses and hostel beds and I winced at the sting.
It wasn’t Esther.
God damn it, where was she? Why couldn’t she have just put her home address on those letters she sent? Well, I had my suspicions about why. But I couldn’t think about that. Esther was pretty much the only person I had to turn to and the only lead I had on her was this restaurant.
‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll be right with you,’ said the waitress. I was still holding the door half-open, letting in the wintry darkness.
Nodding, I shuffled in, past some guy sitting at the end of the counter. I didn’t look right at the fella but I could feel him staring. More than likely he was eyeing up my hair, which I’d dyed blue with a three-dollar rinse and hacked off just above the shoulder with a pair of kitchen scissors on my way out of Atlantic City. I still wasn’t quite used to the attention it got me. Being a brunette was a lot less conspicuous but, after what had happened, looking anything like myself could be lethal.
Deciding on the seat furthest from the doorway – and the bitter chill – I set down my guitar and suitcase on the red and white chequered lino and sat up at the counter. Only then, when I’d stopped shivering, did I pause to properly size up my surroundings.
This wasn’t your average diner, that much was for sure. It was one of those fifties-themed restaurants built to preserve the good times gone by. That explained the Marvin Berry and the Starlighters record, and something came back to me then from one of Esther’s letters, about the diner having a retro twist.
That was no understatement.
The place was painted a blinding shade of red and had vintage signs hanging around the walls advertising sodas and milkshakes, each one complete with some sickly-sweet slogan like ‘Put a cherry on top of your day’. The smells left behind from the cooking of hot dogs, omelettes, grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries all lingered, creating their own unique, sweaty perfume. Yep, the place was just how Esther had described it alright. Well, according to the parts of her letters I could understand. Truth be told, she was a bit of a walking dictionary. Even with a college education, I only understood eight out of every ten words she said.
‘What can I get for you, honey?’ The waitress, who according to her name tag was called Mona, leaned on the counter with her notebook in hand. She looked weary, as would anyone who was still at work past eleven the day after Christmas, and was wearing quite a bit of make-up to cover up the fact she was beat. She’d glazed her lips with a cherry-coloured lip gloss and lightning bolts of silver powder zigzagged across her eyelids in sharp contrast to her black skin.
I opened my mouth to place an order but then hesitated. I had about seven dollars left in the world. No point ordering big if Esther wasn’t even around.
‘Matter of fact, I’m looking for Esther Knight. She still work here?’ My question came out casual enough, which was a miracle considering how desperate I was.
‘Oh, you’re a friend of Esther’s?’ said Mona.
Neat. How do I answer that one honestly?
Am I a friend of Esther’s?
I think so. I think she forgave me for what I did. It was months ago now and she’d written me a couple of letters like she promised so she couldn’t be that sore about it.
‘Uh, yeah,’ I said.
Oh, nice going, Bonnie. Just spectacular. A commendation to you on delivering the least convincing declaration of friendship ever.
‘Well, she’s over in England, visiting her mom for Christmas. Not back till late tomorrow,’ the waitress explained.
‘Oh.’ I heard the crack in my voice but Mona didn’t seem to notice. Hearing that news was like being shot through the heart. Esther really wasn’t here. Not even in this country, let alone the city. I had no money, no place to go and it was glacial outside. What the hell was I going to do? Ride the subway all night? That seemed to be about my only option. It was that or freeze to death on a park bench.
‘Want something to drink while you’re here?’ asked Mona.
‘I’ll get a cuppa coffee. Thanks,’ I said, trying to ignore the empty churn of my stomach. I had to save what money I could. Tomorrow, people would be out shopping again and I could busk for a few more bucks. Probably scrape together enough for a decent-sized pizza and a night in a cheap motel in case things didn’t work out with Esther.
‘Not a problem, just gotta run out back