Dan and Becky: A man and his mannequin

Becky OSVALDO PADILLA / FLORIDA WEEKLY Becky’s lips are a succulent albeit sloppy crimson and her hair is ragged and unkempt. She calls to mind Kim Cattrall, circa 1987, but with a Dolly Parton chest. Nevertheless, her shapely figure and often-accentuated bosom is enough to attract the eyeballs of motorists who might not otherwise see the sign next to her that reads, “Yummy. $4.99. 3 Cakes 3 Eggs 3 Bacon.”

Becky the mannequin has become somewhat of a celebrity at the Fowler Street Grill and throughout Fort Myers.

“I prefer her in a bikini,” a departing customer tells the manager, Dan Peranich.

“Best $150 I ever spent,” said Mr. Peranich. “I hired a blonde girl at about eight bucks an hour and we got full from the sign she was holding. But the mannequin is cheaper and she drives just as much attention.”

The doll’s scant outfits have generated some controversy. Code enforcement officers have been out several times responding to complaints or news reports. It has all been great for business.

“We had what was like a week of season in July,” said Mr.Peranich. The middle of summer, particularly this summer, has been difficult for small mom and pops. A swarm of local news coverage on TV in July helped pack the Fowler Street Grill for days.

“People will come out and take pictures with her.”

Mr. Peranich won’t have his photo taken with the doll. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s “weird.” The relationship with Becky is all business, nothing more. And Becky notwithstanding, business has been hard.

He’d rather be a marine biologist, Mr. Peranich said wistfully. When he’s reminded that marine biologists probably make less than a restaurant owner, he ignores the statement. He’s staring off, remembering.

He recalled the days when his restaurants. There used to be another Fowler Street Grill in Cape Coral, brought in loads of money.

“That location alone I could count on for $5,000 a month. I used to go diving at Stuart Cove’s in the Bahamas. You ever been there? They do these shark feedings, and you can go in the water with them…” He keeps talking about the diving, calling attention to the two collages hanging out in the restaurant. They feature pictures of a man whose face is obscured by bubbles and a diving mask. Sharks and blowfish and barracuda surround him.

“I haven’t been able to go on vacation now for five years.”

Mr. Peranich blames the beginning of the end of the good life not on the current recession, but on the smoking ban the state passed in 2002. He explained that his Cape Coral location, which featured a full bar, was the hangout for early morning drinkers.

“All the people who worked the late shift, they’d get off at seven in the morning, they’d come over. It was 7:30 in the morning and the place would be packed with people smoking, drinking, eating. After the smoking ban, that was it. They all preferred to go buy a 12-pack and drink at home.”

He sold the location in 2006 and now relies solely on the original spot, which he opened in 1997. The man who employed more than 60 people at one time now watches over a staff of four.

The diner on the corner of Fowler Street and Carrell Road continues to survive because Mr. Peranich knows how to provide consistently good food. Prior to setting off on his own, he managed the kitchen at the now-defunct The Bridge on Fort Myers Beach. He was general manager for the old Bubba’s in south Cape Coral.

Aside from balancing the books, ordering food, juggling a thriving catering business and keeping his small staff happy, Mr. Peranich himself spends a lot of time at the grill. It is that part of the job that keeps him sane.

“I like cooking. It makes me feel good. There are some customers who come in and I get their food out in two minutes and 30 seconds. We have regulars who we know are coming in and we start cooking as soon as the car pulls in.” said Mr. Peranich.

On this morning, the smell of fat and butter on hot metal wafts up past Mr. Peranich’s face to fill the small dining room. Meanwhile, 25 yards away, rank carbon monoxide floats up and around Becky’s hollow noggin. She stares out blankly, looking at the cars driving past, looking past them, not looking at all. Within that vacuous head, she too carries dreams of returning to Stuart Cove’s. 