There was one spot by the side of Mike's Cafe where you could stand and look out and, if it was a quiet time like late morning, think you'd lost your way; that, or about a hundred years. The view to the horizon was perfectly open, bright and blue and white, the only motion a bird circling lazily in the distance, the only sound the rustle of wild grass in the breeze. But eventually the moment would be broken by the distant rumble of a motor, the whoosh of tires on concrete, and you'd turn around to see what was coming and find yourself staring down the road at Johnston, an outpost at the edge of the modern world.
Inside, Mike and his wife Madeleine were finishing up what passed for the breakfast rush these days, clearing the booths of clutter, wiping down the L-shaped counter, pouring refills of coffee for the stragglers. Mike was roaming the perimeter, coffee pot in hand, when he saw Ted Leblanc's kid and his girlfriend, waving a check at him from one of the back booths.
"Don't tell me you found out I've been cheating you, Jamie," he cracked.
"The check's fine, Mike," said Jamie. "I just wanted to get your attention. Tell you thanks."
Mike shrugged. "Same old French toast as always."
"No, I mean thanks for everything. Linda and I are moving. Out of town." He let out a sigh, cast his eyes down at the table. "Out of state, actually."
"To Las Vegas," said Linda, more enthusiastically. "There are two new hospitals that need to fill their nursing staffs. And Jamie will have an easier time finding something . . . "
"The casinos are always hiring," said Jamie, sounding unsure of this as he said it. But he looked up at Linda and smiled, then back at Mike. "We'll be fine," he said.
"I know you will," said Mike, trying to smile himself. He reached out and slipped the check from Jamie's fingers. "This one's on the house, okay?"
Back behind the counter, he tried to remember how many people, most of them young, had left town in the past year. Of course, it wasn't a vast number, Johnston being a small town, but it was already difficult; he could remember a certain number of departures, and reacting to them with the usual mixture of sadness and frustration, but he couldn't summon enough names and faces to fit all the events. They were just losses, in the purest sense of the word.
"I can't believe Jamie's leaving, Mad," he said, for about the fourth time.
"He's got to live, honey."
"I know. I mean I can't believe how it goes on and on." He pounded a fist on the counter. "Goddamn this dead-ass town. Before long, it's going to be you and me and the grill."
"Don't forget Roy," said Madeleine, nodding toward the tall man who'd just appeared in the doorway, wearing a baseball cap and well-worn denim. Mike looked up, smiled for real, poured a mug of black coffee and slid it toward a waiting place at the counter.
"'Lo, Mike, 'Lo, Mad," he said, raising the bill of his cap slightly in greeting. He eased himself onto the stool in front of the coffee, cradled the mug in his hands, and took a long, almost grateful sip. "What a morning."
"So how's business?" asked Mike.
"Business is fine if you leave out the money part, I suppose."
"Tell me about it," said Mike; Madeleine chose the moment to grab the ledger and head in back; and he and Roy were off in their own conversational world. That old line about not getting to choose your in-laws to the contrary, Mike got along with Roy about as well as with anyone, always had; they could sit and trade stories or town gossip all day if given the chance. And in the three years since Carrie -Ñ Mike's sister and Roy's wife -Ñ had died, Mike could feel how something else had crept into those bull sessions, each finding in the other a taste of what was now gone, a source of real comfort. Sometimes he'd think about Roy, raising a teenage son alone, no one to confide in at the end of the day, and feel almost guilty for having Madeleine. But all there was to do was be there for the next bull session, to just be companionable, until something intervened.
Today, something was Kyle Miller, the editor/reporter/head cheerleader for the regional daily paper, who used Mike's as sort of a Johnston branch office. Mike could gauge from Miller's driving speed whether there was any real news that day or whether the publisher would fill space with another anti-government screed. When he heard the approach of Miller's old Monte Carlo, growing from a distant rumble to a full-blown carbureted banshee shriek, he knew there was real news.
"They want Johnston," shouted Miller, before he was halfway inside.
"They? They who?" Mike shot back.
"UAE," said Miller, taking a place beside them at the counter. As they drank their coffee, he explained the details: United Amusements and Entertainment -- "the world's biggest leisure time company," as its corporate literature boasted -- was looking to build a massive theme park called SouthWestWorld -- rides, pavilions, concessions, monorail, hotel, the works -- and had chosen Johnston as its primary target site.
"Sounds like they're gonna bomb us," snorted Roy.
"Well, they are, in a way. They're talking thousands of acres, hundreds of millions of dollars, years of construction. It'll totally transform the landscape around here."
"There won't be a landscape around here."
"That's if it goes through," said Miller. "They can't just come out and start pouring concrete. They don't have anyone's permission toÑ-"
"Oh, they'll get it. Companies that big get whatever the hell they want." Roy shook his head. "But why Johnston?"
"Why not Johnston?" asked Mike. "Hell, this could be the best thing that happened to Johnston in my lifetime."
"For crying out loud, Mike." Roy looked stunned. "We all know about you and 'revitalization.' But you want to live next door to Disney?"
"UAE," said Miller, slurping down his coffee and rising. "I'll see you folks later. The official release should be out this afternoon."
"UAE, whatever," said Roy, but Miller was already gone. "What could possibly make this the 'best thing that's happened'?" he said, turning back to Mike.
"C'mere, Roy." Mike waved him down to the end of the counter, where he rang open the register and gestured to draw Roy's attention to its contents.
"That's not bad for a morning," offered Roy.
"That's this whole week so far. But then again, that's life in Johnston these days. Hell, you said so yourself."
"But what has that got to do with this park thing?"
"It's got everything to do with it. The way I see it, there's two things in short supply around here. Money and jobs. And this would bring plenty of both."
"But we're not big enough to support an operation like that. It's too massive."
"What's wrong with massive? We're getting clobbered, Roy. People, business, everything, is just draining out of towns like this and into places like Phoenix, Tucson, Vegas. Maybe something like this'll give us the critical mass we need."
"I still say no," said Roy. "Besides, Fontaine will never let it happen. He didn't like your idea to build on a single block downtown, so why should he like this?"
"It's not a matter of what he likes. He's mayor, not dictator." Mike shook his head and frowned. "If only we'd tried harder with that . . ."
"Who you calling 'we,' kemo sabe?" Roy was grinning now, but Mike wasn't in a laughing mood.
"Just wondering what might've happened," he said. "Just wondering." Three years earlier, Mike had headed an effort to tear down an antiquated block of shops opposite City Hall and build, in its place, a complex of offices and retail space attached to a bus terminal that might attract Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam traffic. In the end, he'd been afraid of what Ed Fontaine had up his sleeve, and so he agreed to a "compromise" that amounted to little more than a few new benches and trees and a couple of coats of paint. There wasn't a week that went by that he didn't wonder what might have happened if he'd rallied the right support, if he hadn't backed down. Now, with another, better chance in the town's grasp, he thought back to this and found himself more wary than hopeful. He clicked the register shut, patted Roy on the shoulder, and went to check on supplies for lunch.
Miller was right; UAE's press release officially announcing its plans hit the media early that afternoon. By two o'clock, every single person who walked into Mike's started to announce "You'll never believeÑ-," prompting him to hang a sign reading "We know already"; by four, broadcast crews from Flagstaff and Phoenix were swarming the center of town, thrusting microphones in the faces of Pay 'n' Save shoppers and trying to track down the mayor.
But none of the big-time reporters were to find the mayor that day, because they made the mistake of looking in City Hall. The only member of the media corps to find him was Miller, who was by happenstance standing outside Mike's having a smoke when a big blue Cadillac rolled up.
"Any comment, Ed?" said Miller, tossing the butt away and following the mayor into the vestibule.
"Off the record, Kyle?"
"Off the record? Since when have I been--"
"No comment, then." Ed brushed him aside and stepped into the cafe, where little knots of diners were excitedly discussing the announcement. He scanned the room, smiled and nodded when he saw that Mike and Madeleine recognized him, then made a beeline for the front corner where a table of old ladies was waving to him.
"What's he doing here," grumbled Mike.
"He comes here all the time," said Madeleine. "This is where to find people."
"I mean today. Hasn't he got business to tend to, with the announcement?"
"Well, there's one way to find out. Hey, Ed!" she called, and in an instant the mayor was giving good-bye hand squeezes and making his way toward the counter, smiling broadly in a way that Mike thought so disarming, sincerity was almost beside the point. Ed Fontaine was one of those people whom it was just hard to dislike, which went a long way toward explaining why he was cruising toward a fourth straight two-year term with no discernible opposition. But Ed was also one of those people who could take you apart with a word or a look, who made you feel a power without his actually wielding it, as Mike knew better than anyone.
"So we were wondering," said Madeleine. "What happens now with this proposal?"
"Well, it's not even a formal proposal yet," said the mayor. "But UAE has been in contact with us, and there'll be something on the table by the end of the week, I'd guess."
"And you plan to 86 it, of course," said Mike.
"Well, I can't comment on something that technically doesn't exist yet. . . . But you know, my position on development in Johnston is--"
"Yes. I do."
Mike thought he saw a hint of annoyance, a flash of darkness in Ed's eyes, but in another instant it was gone, replaced again by characteristic brightness and warmth. "You're a fixture in this town, Mike," said Ed. "I hope to hear from you on this one." Without waiting for an answer, he turned around, spotted another group of well wishers at the far end of the cafe, and wandered off to greet them.
Madeleine waited till he'd made it all the way over, then slipped around behind Mike. "I hope so, too," she whispered. "I think you can make a difference."
"Like hell I can. Look at that." He pointed to the back corner, where Ed sat holding court, pounding one hand into the other a la JFK. "How does this thing stand a chance, even with UAE's money, if the local power is against it?"
"So do something about the local power," said Madeleine. "If you're so sure this is a good thing, you should be able to convince people. Hell, convince me." She circled her arms around his waist. "I'd love to believe you."
Mike took her hands in his, looked around his restaurant, tried to imagine this future he'd been talking up: he couldn't, not in any concrete form. What did have a form, what he could see, was the scene before him, in parties of two or three, pieces of the present-day town: schoolteachers, road workers, ranchers like Roy, all trying to hang on for dear life. And he might have too, except for whatever reason he knew that just hanging on would ensure the town died with them. He'd never organized anything bigger than a game of bridge, but maybe it was time to try. I'd love to believe you. . . .
"Ed," he yelled into the back corner. "Hey, Ed." "Mike?" the mayor called back.
"I just wanted to let you know. You will hear from me on this one. So get ready."
Ed snapped his head up, looking bewildered; clearly this was the last thing he'd expected to hear. But he caught himself quickly and answered, "That's great, Mike. I welcome your input."
I welcome your input. Mike knew this really meant "I plan to ignore you completely," but he didn't care. In one moment, finding his voice and calling across his diner, he'd rejoined a battle that he thought had been lost for good three years ago. How often did you get a real chance to redeem yourself?
"Good," he bellowed. "Because you're going to get plenty of it."