A.G. Trimes
Reality and Television

<< continued from Part 2

Calmly, confidently, she continued, "Tish, Anna, they were good ones. You cling to the woman that a made-up swim champ kissed once. The episode wasn't even that good. She's drowning, you save her. It's all too much a damsel-in-distress tale."

"I do not cling ." The episode had been poor. He frowned at his glass, then looked up to the television. "You see this? This is what Clark was talking about the other day."

On the television was a commercial for a show where interior designers compete in a weight loss challenge. In an upcoming special the designers would reimagine Charlie's room in Hyannis Port. Then, on a live broadcast, Charlie would sniff around life-sized mockups and choose the winner. There was pre-recorded footage of the contestants rowing on the Nantucket Sound.

"It's a good show."

"They're whoring out Charlie," Kostas said.

"It's uplifting. Do you know how many millions of people watch? People like to watch positive shows," said Eleni, drinking her wine. "It's been on for over a decade. And this season's cast does a nice job. Oh, they have this one designer who always consults her kid; she had him when she was only nineteen, on a different show. He's got great taste for an eight-year-old."

"I'll check in with Clark tomorrow," Kostas said. He swiveled on his stool and finished his glass of wine.

* * *

Kostas sat, staring at the brushed metal door of the bathroom stall. He preferred to use the men's room up front, the same one that customers used, and made a habit of going during the dinner rush. If it seemed at all unsanitary, he would direct a busser to clean it immediately.

He tore a square of toilet paper and thought about his visit with Clark. Wrapped in a flimsy hospital gown, Clark recited his diagnosis in the same jargon the doctors and nurses had used. It meant nothing to Kostas. "But," Clark concluded, adjusting the incline of his hospital bed, "they say I'm stable. They want to keep me here for monitoring one more night. I'm of advanced age." He picked up the newspaper. "They don't like all the bacon," he said, flipping past the op-eds, the business section, all the way to the arts. He clicked his pen and looked at the crossword. "Sausage, either. Don't worry, though, I'll be back. I need my dose of showbiz history."

Kostas left relieved. He would miss Clark's amiability, he told himself, had Clark actually died. He liked Clark for the man's willingness to engage. Not because he was an audience. Kostas would not have just visited any viewer in the hospital.

The men's room door swung open and voices flooded in.

"You know who owns this place, yeah?"

A second person made a crude, guttural sound, then said, "He's an ass, the Don't Tell Daddy kid. But the food's alright."

Kostas flushed and stepped out of the stall. In the mirror above the sink he could see them at the urinals, their backs to him.

"So you like the food?" Kostas spoke loudly over the crush of water from the faucet.

He watched them glance over their shoulders. Then he dried his hands and repeated the question. The men turned and, slowly, as they registered who Kostas was, their expressions changed.

"Oh, boy," one of them said.

"You know, how many places like this still exist?" Kostas lifted his hands, encompassing not just the immaculate bathroom but the diner as a whole. "This place is a relic. This place is Americana. If I hadn't bailed it out when it was going under, it wouldn't be here. It'd be some sort of chain."

"Yes, we like the food," said one, casually.

The other laughed. "When I saw how slow Lauretta was, I was sure she'd be eliminated. But this guy's performance-" He turned from his friend to Kostas. "It looked like you were drowning. It was unforgettable."

"We also watched you dump broken glass all over someone's bedroom. On national television," added the first.

"Not everything on TV's what it looks like," Kostas snapped. "It was an accident. If you have a problem with me, you can get out. Otherwise-" He didn't know what else to say. "Otherwise, enjoy your meals."

At the counter, Kostas called over his aunt. She was loading a large, cork-lined tray with glasses of soda and beer.

"Eleni, what do people say about me?"

"Please, Kostas, I want to get these out before the commercials're over." She nodded toward the television, where the Redesign YOU special was airing.

"I mean it. Do you hear people saying things about me? I've come a long way."

"I know," she said, setting two more glasses on the tray. "The staff, the regulars, they all know you're good. Collectively, we're indebted to you." Eleni waved to one of the waiters, pointed down at the tray, then inverted her hand to flash a thumbs up. "What's most important is that you know you're a good person. What other people say-" Eleni threw up her hands.

"This place is an institution."

She told Kostas to be quiet. "This is the live part. Charlie's picking the winner." She kept her eyes on the screen while her hands replaced the coffee filter, poured fresh grounds, and slid the pot beneath the funnel. She flipped a switch on the Bunn and stepped back.

Onscreen, the showroom of a sponsor. Six different staging areas flashed into view, accompanied by dramatic music. The contestants wore branded athletic gear and looked sweaty under the studio lights.

Then sounded the national anthem. Two people, small and taut and impeccably dressed in designer suits, strutted down an aisle of the showroom. Between the hosts limped Charlie. The contestants stood and applauded; one, perhaps a veteran, saluted.

"This place is an institution. Everyone who walks through those doors," Kostas said, pointing over his shoulder, "we welcome and we treat with respect. Every write-up praises our service."

Some of the diners glanced at Kostas.

"Kostas, we're a diner. We're in the service industry. Now, stop harping on it."

The child of one of the contestants sat on the floor of a staging area, leaning up against a midcentury modern credenza. The inside had been gutted and fitted with a leather dog bed and a console that housed food and water bowls. On top was a record player and, at the edge, a brass sculpture of a spry mutt, poised on its hindlegs, as if leaping into the air. The whole sideboard shook as the boy clapped. Charlie turned his head, his good eye facing the boy.

"Eleni," Kostas grumbled. "People in the bathroom were talking about me."

"Well, you were on TV. Some people are going to remember you. Truth is, though, there have been other shows since yours."

Slowly, Charlie hobbled toward the boy. The child fidgeted with excitement, bumping into the credenza.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, yes, the people that remember you will say something-you might like what they say or you might not." Eleni spoke low and quickly. "But the vast majority of people who walk through those doors you were pointing at, they do not recognize you. Their tastes have changed, they watch different shows. You're too young not to understand that. Too young to be a curmudgeon, too. I am sensitive to how you were portrayed, Kostas, but that doesn't make an entire genre morally corrupt."

Kostas sat quietly for a moment, nodding. He looked over to Clark's empty stool. "History," Clark had said at the hospital.

"Old news, you're saying?"

"Old news, I'm saying again."

Charlie moved across the screen.

"That dog's seen better days."

"This is cruelty to animals," Eleni joked. "People love holding onto their idea of him."

"The poor thing's shot to shit," Kostas said, watching Charlie near the boy.

Through the lens of the HD camera Charlie's hair looked matted and tangled. When the boy reached out to pet him the dog lurched forward. Charlie nipped. The child scuttled away screaming, rolling from the staging area. Through the space where he had sat tumbled the brass mutt, striking Charlie on the head. The dog collapsed and the contestants stopped applauding.

Cut to commercial.

>> click to read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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>> Back to Issue 23, 2020