The Fontaines of Hollywood series: The Mystery of You

"Did you hear?" Cynthia says as she reaches down into the dessert case. "Penny and George say they've had some big-shot Hollywood types shooting out at their ranch all week."

I smile as I pull three fresh coffee mugs from beneath the counter. "There's been a rumor or two." News travels fast in our town, but Cynthia usually manages to get the best dirt - if there's gossip about anything, she's the one with the full scoop. She hears everything. Our late-night shifts together are rarely dull.

She pulls a lemon meringue pie from the case and sets it on the counter. The kitchen here at Dandelion Diner is open twenty-four hours, but after eleven o'clock or so all anybody really wants is soda, coffee, and dessert. Occasionally you'll have a group of teenagers stumble in well after curfew and order chili fries and onion rings, and a few local cops will stop by after their shifts for bacon cheeseburgers, but most people out at this hour end up at Chief's Tavern down the road. At least until they begin hankering for some damn good dessert. Louis makes the best pie and cookies this side of the Continental Divide, and his cobbler isn't bad, either. We have people coming from two towns over every fall when he starts making his seasonal pumpkin pies.

"Penny says they're shooting some sort of ad campaign for cologne or menswear or something," Cynthia continues. She brushes a loose honey-colored curl out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. "They've got an entire crew out there - cameras, lights, trailers, the whole deal. Apparently it was only supposed to take a day or two, but there were some complications with one of the models and it's been nearly a week. George is starting to get annoyed." Her red-orange lips tip up into a smile. "It was Penny who agreed to it in the first place, you see. She thought it might be fun to see their ranch in a commercial or some fancy magazine. George was just happy about the extra money, but now he's upset that an entire quarter of their land has been blocked off for a whole week."

She slices a generous piece of pie and then serves it onto an aqua ceramic plate, lowering her voice before continuing. "She told me how much they paid her, Edie. It definitely sounds worth it to me. They probably could've offered half as much, but you know those Californians have no real concept of money. Not like us real folks, anyway."

"Why'd they come all the way out here?" I ask. "Seems like a long way to travel for just a commercial. Especially when there are plenty of ranches in California."

Cynthia smiles. "Edie, honey, everyone knows that Montana has the most beautiful scenery in the country. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar." She winks at me. "I, for one, am happy for a little excitement around here - as long as we don't get overrun by Californians."

I laugh as I finish pouring the coffee. "I don't think that'll be a problem." Heck, our town doesn't even get cell service half the time. I doubt we'll see a mass invasion of Hollywooders anytime soon. And I'm perfectly okay with that.

"You know, though," Cynthia adds casually. "It wouldn't hurt us to have some fresh blood around here. A few more eligible young bachelors."

"We have enough men already," I reply. Too many, if you ask me.

"Oh, Edie. Is Peter still giving you trouble?"

"Not trouble, exactly." Him leaving flowers on my doorstep can't exactly be described as trouble. Some might just call it persistence. Or gentlemanliness. But considering I told him three months ago - and many, many times since - that I'm not interested, I'd prefer it if he'd just stop already.

"We'll find you someone," Cynthia says. "Just you wait." She gives me another wink before sweeping off to her table with the pie.

And what if I don't want to find someone? I think. What if I like being alone? Part of the reason I moved out here in the first place was because I wanted to start fresh, on my own, without anyone else. In fact, tomorrow marks ten years since the first time I set foot in this town. Back then, only twenty years old, I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but the first time I laid eyes on this little corner of the world, I knew in my gut that I'd found it.

I smile to myself as I carry the tray of coffee over to my table. The locals were initially wary of me, the strange young girl who just showed up in their town one day with little more than a backpack and a plastic bag full of money. But over time - once they realized I wasn't trying to con them or open a prostitution ring - they accepted me as one of their own. I'm practically a local myself now. I know everyone's name - plus the names of their kids, pets, and cousins out in Missoula. Not to mention how they take their coffee, how they like their burgers cooked, and their favorite desserts.

And my neighbors know as much about me as I do about them - which is to say, we all know a lot of trivial, everyday, meaningless things about each other. The real things - like the fact that tomorrow is the anniversary of my mom's death, or the fact that I got my pale blond hair from her but my green eyes from the horrible man who called himself my biological father - stay buried. Where they should be.

"Here you go," I say, delivering the coffee to the group of three men sitting next to the window. Bill Davies and his brother Steven are in here every other night, and their friend Chuck Sinclair joins them sometimes, too. All three men are old enough to be my father, and all three have found themselves single in their sixties - Bill is a widower, Steven never married, and Chuck and his wife divorced four years ago - which means their favorite pastime is to come into the Dandelion and flirt with the waitresses.

"Hey, boys," I say with a smile, lowering my tray. "I've got your coffees for you. Just as you like 'em."

"Hey, there, sweetheart," says Bill, wiggling his salt-and-pepper eyebrows at me. "I don't suppose you've got a little extra sugar for me tonight, do you?"

"Not tonight," I tease. "Unless you're talking about some dessert. We've got some good flavors of pie this week - lemon meringue, apple crisp, and peanut butter banana. We also have some mixed berry cobbler. I recommend getting it with the scoop of vanilla ice cream on top."

"I'll have a cobbler," Chuck jumps in immediately.

"I think I'll do some onion rings tonight," Steven says.

"Just coffee for me," Bill says with a smile. "But about that extra sugar..."

"Keep it in your pants, Grandpa," I tease.

"Yeah, you know she only has eyes for ol' Petey," Chuck says, smiling up at me. "I wouldn't be surprised if we heard the chimin' of wedding bells in the near future."

"For me and Peter? No, no, you've got it all wrong," I say quickly. "We're not... Peter is great, but we don't have that sort of relationship."

"Why not?" Chuck dumps a packet of sugar substitute into his mug. "You're not getting any younger, you know."

Thanks for the reminder.

Bill comes to my rescue. "Leave the poor girl alone, Chuck. You're not exactly the expert on marriage over here."

Chuck's sun-roughened cheeks get a touch redder than usual. "I'm just sayin' - seems like most girls are married by her age. And poor Pete's got it bad - "

"That don't mean she has to marry him," Bill says. "Let the girl decide for herself who she marries, and when."

My own cheeks are starting to feel warm.

"Let me take these orders back to the kitchen," I say, still smiling. Let the three of them keep debating about my love life amongst themselves - I don't have to listen to it.

I scurry off behind the counter before they can rope me back into their discussion. After passing the ticket to Ellen through the window, I make a beeline for the back door. It feels like the perfect time for a break.

The air outside is crisp and cool. I take a deep breath of relief as it bites at my skin. I don't know what it is about the air here, but it's magical. It's clean and sharp and always seems to clear my head.

I take a seat on the curb, happy to be off my feet for a few minutes. I stretch my legs out, wiggling my toes inside the ugly black shoes Louis makes all his waitresses wear.

Honestly, I should be used to everyone in this town trying to play matchmaker by now. If anything, a part of me finds it flattering - they like me enough to want me to marry one of their own, to settle down here once and for all. And deep down, I know most of them just want me to be happy, and they see marriage and family as the way to get there.

Some nights it feels like it's all in good fun. Other nights, though, it's just...terrifying.

No one knows much about my life before I came here. Somewhere along the way, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between me and the rest of the town - I wouldn't bring my past into my life here, and they wouldn't ask about it. That arrangement has worked well enough so far.

Sooner or later, though, I may have to explain to them that I promised myself I'd never get married. I don't want any of it - not the husband, not the kids, none of it. I watched my mom struggle through four marriages, watched her work three jobs just so she could feed me. She was trapped, and I refuse to ever let that happen to me.

And in the meantime, I've found a home that's peaceful and beautiful and magical. Some nights, I look down the quiet main street and wonder how I ever got so lucky as to find a place like this. While the rest of the world is full of chaos and bad memories, I've found my own quiet piece of heaven.

Even if it comes with sore feet and meddling customers.

With a smile, I climb back to my feet, stretching my arms over my head and giving a satisfied groan when my back cracks. Sometimes, when I'm feeling crazy, I let myself imagine what it might be like to indulge people like Bill and Cynthia - to marry some nice boy, have a baby or two. I imagine a life where I wake up every morning and make breakfast for my family, one where I end each evening sitting on the porch with my husband, watching our children play on the grass in front of our house as the sun sets behind the trees. It's like an image from a dream - something completely removed from the realities of life.

All the better, I think, tilting my head back to look up at the sky. It still takes my breath away sometimes, the sky here. I never imagined you could see this many stars anywhere on earth. You certainly could never see this many in Kansas City. The sky here makes me feel so blessed - and at the same time so small and lonely I wonder why I was put on this earth at all. Nights like this, when the memory of my mom feels so fresh, I feel so lonely my whole body aches. Will that feeling ever fully go away?

That's a question for another night, I tell myself. Tonight, the question is which type of pie I'm going to have on my next break. And wiping the back of my hand across my eyes, I turn around and head back inside - with no inkling, in my sad and lonely heart, of just how drastically my life is about to change.