The Dreamers
By LU KELLA
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories Winter 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Bathed in moonlight pouring between scudding black clouds is a toastybrown bun that is only twenty-five feet, six inches long, eight feet,three inches high and ten feet, four inches thick. Stretched invitinglyin the bun is the pièce of resistance—the dog—and not the tastelessmongrel type, but the juicy Great Dane breed. There's also blueelectric signs that say:
FRANKIE'S FRANKIE
Link One
A roadside diner that takes the eye, eh? Now come in and give the eyeto the guy who dreamed it up. Light brown hair parted neatly on theside. Slightly unstraight nose. Round pink face usually having a grinthat's geared to friendly brown eyes.
Okay, so you'd rather look at what's wearing the white sandals, yellowblouse and a green skirt that don't hide too much of tanned legs. Don'tforget there's also sunny hair that sweeps up from small ears and turnsto curls on which sets a sassy white thingamajig that reads: FRANKIE'SFRANKIE, Link One.
Also take a gander at them lake-cool blue eyes, the set of that noseand those red lips. No, buster, you aren't the only guy wonders justwho's boss of who and what, especially when she takes that thingamajigoff her head at the end of her shift and says, "Frankie, honey, did youlatch the counter window?"
He knows the sweet-talk covers a bitter pill. "Sure," he says, shuckingoff his white jacket, which also has FRANKIE'S FRANKIE, Link One, onit, and reaches for his old Air Force jacket. "Well, Mary—"
"Well, you'd better make sure." She's looking into her compact andtouching her hair here and there. "The other night you forgot and inwalked some old crows."
"Owls." So Frankie looks at the counter window. And clears his throatto cover up the sound of turning a latch lever. "It's locked."
"It wasn't." She's applying lipstick just-so now.
"So I've lost my mind." He looks hopefully at who he's lost more thanhis mind to. "So how's about us taking in Vera Verina in "Love Me" atthe Rivoli?"
She even lets him help her with her coat before telling him. "Jake'spicking me up."
"That back-stabbing pop peddler again!"
"Jake doesn't talk that way about you."
"Oh, no."
"Jake's always telling me how he's afraid you won't get enough sleepevery night to be on the job all day so you'll make good here."
"Ha, ha. I'm laughing."
"Oh, is that what that is?"
Frankie struggles manfully for the dignity befitting an employer andcapitalist. But there's a swish of tires on gravel and headlights flashthrough the window. A customer, perchance?
Oh-lee, oh-lay, too-loo! A so-called musical horn tootles.
And by the interior brightness of Link One fanning into the nightFrankie watches his employee skip into the long convertible and parkherself beside the character at the wheel.
"Be seeing you with a load of pop, pappy!" And the District GeneralManager of National Carbonated Beverages, Inc., guns his buggy around,rear wheels spraying gravel at Frankie and Link One.
"Dames!" Frankie says. "Bah."
The night has no answer for that, so Frankie climbs into his roadsterbehind Link One. He steps on the starter. Things whimper under the hoodand finally the motor churns like it's got asthma. Also now, differentsections of the car begin sounding like somebody's shaking a string oftin cans. Yeah, the buggy's ready to go, but where's there to go now?Frankie shuts th