Fred Miller is a California writer and an author of two books. His latest is “My L.A., Poems by Fred Miller”, is available on Amazon. Over one hundred of his poems and stories have appeared in publications around the world over the past ten years. Many are available on his blog: https://pookah1943.wordpress.com

IN N OUT

Parked on a bench near the corner, 
she sat with one hand clutching a purse,
the other one rocking a stroller. 
In the gentle mist, I came to a stop 
and eased out of the car. With an umbrella, 
I moved to her side as a downpour ensued.

With her narrowed eyes locked onto mine, 
she said, “It took you long enough to get here.” 
“Ma’am?” I said. “Aren’t you from the studio?” 
she said. “Um, no, I just stopped to offer 
you cover from the rain,” I said. 
Well… Cecil is taking his sweet time, you know.”

“Are you sure you’re not from the studio?”
 “I’m sure.” It was becoming harder 
to hear her voice in the thumping rain. 
I looked down the street at a red and 
white awning. “Perhaps I could offer 
you some lunch.” “I could eat,” she said.

“And we can get your baby out of the rain.”
She laughed and looked under the sunshade 
of the baby carriage. “You hear that, Marcus?
You’re a baby.” She cackled as I peered 
into the carriage and saw a small dog standing,
his tail in vigorous motion.

At the door of the fast-food eatery, 
she parked the buggy by the door
and pulled a tarp up over the sunshade 
to prevent the rain from reaching the dog. 
“You behave, Marcus. I’ll be back 
with something good for you,” she said.

As we stepped into the restaurant, 
she paused and looked up at me. 
“You recognize me?” she said. I gazed 
at the short, plump gray-haired woman, 
her tattered sweater held together with safety pins. 
“Um, no, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” I said.

“I’m Miriam, Miriam McKinney. I was in Cleo’s entourage 
in the movie Cleopatra. That was my debut film. Cecil said 
my work was splendid and he’d call when he needed me next. 
Damn him, he’s taking his sweet time. I’m a star. My time is coming
though, I know it is,” she said. She was looking at a compact mirror 
and wiping away heavy eyebrow liner that had run in the rain.

We moved toward the counter where an associate 
in a paper cadet hat stood beaming at us. “May I 
help you?” he said with a big toothy grin. “What 
will you have, Miriam?” I asked. She never broke 
eye contact with the young man at the counter. She barked,
“Gimme a cheeseburger, animal style and a side of fries.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “and you, sir?” he said, 
his eyes widening. I gazed up at the wall menu. 
This was a new experience for me, but before I 
could say anything, Miriam barked, “Give him a 
Double-Double with fries and give us two pink lemonades,”  
she said as she shuffled away toward a table.

My billfold in hand, I asked, “What do I owe you?”
The associate, his smile unwavering, said, “The guest 
ahead of you has paid for your order.” I looked around. 
No one was there. Though puzzled, I said, “Thank you, 
thank you very much.” “A name for the order, sir?”  
he said. Miriam shouted across the room, “Cleo.”

When I arrived at the table, she pulled 
a faded newspaper from her purse, and 
unfolded it. Her finger moved 
to a photo on a page. “That’s me to the right 
of Cleopatra. Claudette got it right. Liz overplayed  
the part.” She shook her head. “What a disaster.”

With almost no delay, I heard the paper hat associate
shout, “Cleo.” I stepped up to the counter and took
the sack and two drinks. When I returned to the table,
Miriam had replaced the newspaper in her purse
and was looking at her fingernails. I sat down and 
handed the sack to her so she could retrieve her sandwich. 

She stood, grabbed the sack and one of the drinks and looked 
down at me. “Are you sure you aren’t with the studio?” 
“I’m sure,” I said. “Well, I thank you and Marcus thanks you,” 
she said. She quickly turned and was gone. Flummoxed, 
I peered down at the red palm motif on the cup 
and drummed my fingers in rhythm with the rain.