Where the Forest Meets the Stars(67)

“Arthur did. Too bad he isn’t here. He loved this place at night.”
“It looks a little rough.”
“You see, that’s the problem with people now. They glimpse a little color in their gray fast-food world and they panic. Places like this are too real for them. But this is the kind of place where the really interesting stories of humanity play out.”
“I think I’m getting one of Dr. Nash’s lit lectures.”
“You are, and I completely agree with him. Imagine this place described in a book you’re reading and try to put McDonald’s in its place.”
“I think those two restaurants would be used for very different purposes in a book.”
“Exactly. No comparison. One would be a metaphor for all that’s dreary in our lives and the other for what little unpredictability still exists.”
“As long as the unpredictability doesn’t include a biker knife fight, I’m up for it.”
“A biker knife fight—now that would be excellent!”
“You know, the Arthur side of you is a little scary,” she said.
“Ursa, are you planning to come out of the car anytime this century?” he said.
“I don’t want to eat here,” she said.
“Not you, too!”
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I want to go home.”
“This place is perfectly safe.”
“It’s not that. I’m just not hungry.”
“What’s with her tonight?” he asked Jo.
“She’s in Tabby withdrawal—it can be rough. Go inside and get a table and let me talk to her.”
“Should I give you the tire iron for protection first?”
She swatted his shoulder. “Go. Make sure there’s a table before I expend a lot of energy out here.”
Jo leaned into the open door and said, “Gabe really wants to do this. Can you cooperate, please, just for him? Even if you’re not hungry?”
“This place looks stupid,” she said.
“Bring your pencils and paper and don’t look at it.”
She didn’t move.
“You heard what Gabe said—his dad loved this place. His father died two years ago, and this is a way for Gabe to connect with him. Do you understand how that would be?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then come on. Do it for Gabe. He’s in there waiting at a table.”
Ursa reluctantly slid out of the car. Jo reached in and got her box of colored pencils and pad of paper. She looked at the purple people eater on the top of the pad. “That’s great,” she said. “I love how you did his mouth.”
“It has to be that big because he can eat people whole.”
“The teeth are pretty scary.”
“He doesn’t actually eat people anymore. He went to the magic forest where Juliet and Hamlet live, and they taught him to be nice.”
“He’ll be in your play about Juliet and Hamlet?”
“I don’t know. I only pretended he was in the magic forest while I drew him.”
They mounted a worn plank porch lit with colored bulbs. Jo pulled back the heavy wooden door, and as soon as she stepped inside, she understood Arthur’s fascination with the place. The interior was mostly made of timber—plank floors, paneled walls, and wooden booths and tables—and the scoured wood seemed imbued with the smell of time, of people’s stories, as Gabe had said. The place was redolent of pine and pizza grease, and of sweat, whiskey, and tobacco, the mingled smells aging like wine in an old oak barrel. Nancy Sinatra’s sixties hit “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” was playing on the flashing jukebox. It perfectly suited the vibe, but the song was nearly drowned out by laughter and voices. The atmosphere was dark, mostly lit with colored lights, except for billiard lamps over three pool tables at the rear of the room. Around the tables, a group of tattooed men and women drank beers and gabbed as they watched the pool balls roll.
Many eyes followed Jo and Ursa to Gabe, seated at a table in the middle of the room. The patrons—mostly locals from what Jo could tell—probably knew she and Gabe were tourists. Their jeans and T-shirts blended in, but Jo’s AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGICAL SOCIETY shirt certainly outed her.
Jo sat opposite Gabe, and Ursa took the chair between them at the little square table. “Great, isn’t it?” Gabe said.
“I have to admit, I feel like I’ve gone back to another era. But I think they all know we’re time travelers.”
“They don’t care. We’re supporting the local economy.” He picked up Ursa’s hand and looked at her lavender fingernails. “That’s a nice color. Did Tabby do your toenails, too?”
Ursa nodded. “They’re dark purple.” Pencil in hand, she bent over her purple people eater again, her face hovering close to the paper so she could see in the dim light.
Gabe opened the menu. “What do you want on your pizza, Ursa?”
She didn’t lift her head. “Whatever you want.”
Because Jo ate little red meat, especially cured meat, they ordered a large pizza that was half vegetarian and half sausage and pepperoni.
“What to drink, darlin’?” asked a fortyish waitress with heavy makeup and burgundy pigtails.
Ursa kept drawing.
“How about a kiddie cocktail?” Gabe asked. “I used to get those here.”
“Okay,” Ursa said without looking up.
Jo looked at what had her thoroughly focused. She was drawing plants and trees around the purple people eater. “Is that the magic forest?” Jo asked.