I picture my father, peering through the window of the coffee shop making sure his dream girl was working her shift. Yes! There she was, Merilee Miller, taking orders from a medley of male customers who, like Sidney, came to sit at the salmon-and-gray-speckled Formica counter not for the food but for the service. Merilee was a “stone fox.” A for-real California blond kissed by God and the sun and blessed by nature in all ways physical. Unfortunately (as my father would soon discover and as is often true of those blessed with extraordinary physical attributes), foxy Merilee was sorely lacking in other areas.

The Colony Coffee Shop was built in the 1950s in that Googie architectural style. Half the building housed a pharmacy that sold candy and cosmetics. For her twenty-first birthday, Merilee had dropped by the makeup counter that morning and stolen a new shade of Mary Quant “Frosty Moon Glow,” which now shone on her moist and luscious lips.

I imagine my father slid onto a stool at the crescent counter and signaled my mother.

“The usual, Sidney?” Her voice had a breathless quality as if she’d been climbing stairs.

“No, uh, just coffee and a bagel,” Sidney coughed out. “I have a meeting at Universal in an hour.”

Merilee would have flashed him an impressed look, making my father feel taller and more handsome. Was she aware of just how much power he had? Especially for such a young man of only twenty-nine. As she popped his onion bagel into the toaster, I imagine him sighing at the thought of her performing these same duties in his own kitchen, wearing a bathing suit, ponytail swinging.

“Gotta eat!” a voice boomed from behind.

Hank Palmer, clad in shorts and a tank top, swung his strong, long limbs over a stool next to Sidney. Poor Daddy. He became conscious of the V-shaped patch of white skin and black hairs that climbed up his neck in contrast to Hank’s smooth-chested, tanned, cocoa-buttered physique. I imagine my father buttoned his top button, rattled his business pages, and focused on my mother, who was busy spooning just the right amount of cream cheese into a little, ridged paper cup.

Hank pulled himself over the counter, biceps bursting, blocking Merilee from Sidney’s view. “Hey there, Merry Meri, never contrary.”

“Hey, Hanky Panky,” I imagine my mother said.

“Merilee,” my father interrupted, eager to earn back her attention, “you ever thought about acting?”

Merilee and Hank turned to him, startled.

“I mean, I know some people, if you’re ever interested,” Sidney stammered.

“I don’t have any talent,” she said, speaking to both of them but keeping her eyes on Hank. “I went on one audition when I was a kid, but I froze up, you know. Choked. I was fine in the waiting room, but when I went in…well!”

I imagine Merilee imitated a deer caught in the headlights.