Chapter 1

Tom broke into a run from his leisurely stride as he approached his campsite. He caught the smell of burning wood and canvas. Fear began to filter through his mind. At first he thought that he had failed to completely put out his campfire—that he just smelled the smoldering wood and brush. But, when he came upon the campsite, he could see that the tent, along with everything else, had been burned to ashes.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted. “What kind of son-of-a-bitch would do something like this? Father God, asshole, Father God. Your work? Your love for one who walks with care for everything and all? If not you, who? How would anybody ever get here?”

Tom collapsed on his hands and knees and began sobbing. He couldn’t think. All he could do was rage and rage and rage. He looked down over his short, stocky body to see what it might be able to do for him. Pulling himself to his feet he went staggering off into the woods trying to get his head back on his shoulders. He walked through woods and meadows for a long, long time not allowing himself to think, shutting his eyes for brief periods in an effort to re-center himself. From time to time he would come to a dead halt, slouched over in shame.

Then he'd catch himself and start thinking of his daughter, of how much he wanted Lisa to come and stay with him, of their wonderful love for one another. His thinking would turn into obsession and then, as he continued through the woods, his mind would flip to the silence of his own spirit, to the peace he had developed over the lonely nights of meditation before his fire. But like a chameleon slipping through the underbrush in time his rage would return spewing abusive punishment against his fellow man, his God, and, most brutally, against himself.

His wandering took him to the beaver pond deep in the woods of maple and oak settled in a floor of moss and fern. Shedding his clothes he went for a long, cool swim and afterward lay in the noon sun to dry himself. He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t stop cursing himself for his stupidity that jeopardized his campsite—recalling how careful he had been to make absolutely certain that nobody knew of the site.

Saw the sunrise every day since I’ve been here. Always put the campfire out before daylight. All the effort I put into finding this site I’d never take a chance of showing someone else the way.

Tom dozed fitfully, but eventually was awakened by the heat of the afternoon. Slowly he began to remember drinking and drugging the previous night and waking to find the fire still smoldering. It was late in the morning—maybe around nine. Somebody must have seen the smoke from the camp and come to see what was up. Somebody, maybe teenagers, had found the campsite and trashed the place. He decided to get up and have a closer look.

Looks like they took what they wanted then burned the rest. No sign of my knife, my utensils, my tools—all I’ve owned here’s now gone or burned. I know if I’d been here, particularly passed out and still in the bag, I’d be gone too. The wrong guys would have had no problem including me in the trashing.

Chapter 2

Looking at the wreckage of his camp Tom realized that he’d have to start all over. And starting over not only meant finding a new location, but a resolve never again to have alcohol or other drugs in the next camp.

Not in my own home. No, sir. If I want to get high, I’ll have to go somewhere safe--like the Boston Common. That’s a place you’re free to do just about whatever you want to. Bunch of conniving thieves down there, but they respect your choice. Oh, there’s nothing I love more than to sit around a fire here in my cozy home and have a few beers with a bit of coke or hash. But, I can’t afford a repeat of this here. I’ve taken this pledge of abstinence more than once, and sooner or later something has always gone haywire, but this time it’ll be different. It’s come down to a matter of life or death. And I’m just not yet ready to die.

Over the years Tom had scouted out the area that fell within state land and had identified a few spots where he might relocate his camp should he ever decide to move. He revisited these areas on the afternoon of the fire and chose one located near the railroad tracks that run from Boston to points west and about a mile from the nearest road; an unattractive enough area to keep walkers and explorers away. The main barrier to intrusion was the camp’s location in an area of dense underbrush well populated by prickly stems of inedible bramble. There was an underground stream that emerged within about a quarter of a mile and the general area was rich in water and plants suitable for food.

Tom could survive in this isolated environment because he knew a lot about life in the woods. He had been an outdoorsman from his earliest days, learning from experienced men in his family--his Uncle Jim, his cousin Jerry, and Davy, his lifelong friend until he decided to put an end to his own life after his wife lost her bout with the bottle. His skills were all the more useful because a gradual change in attitude allowed him to get what he needed and to accept whatever was available to him.

That first night Tom made a midnight visit to the town dump that lay about four miles from his new campsite. The dump was in a little hollow surrounded by a chain link fence designed more to keep the junk contained than to keep out would be intruders. There was some effort to sort items into categories, but town residents had the habit of driving up and heaving plastic bags full of trash over the fence. Tom was witness to this when a pickup truck drove by slowing only enough to allow the kids in the truck bed to jettison several bags right over Tom’s head.

“Die, die, asshole,” they shouted as the driver roared off.

“Hey, maybe there’s something to this,” Tom muttered as he began rummaging through the bags. “Haven’t eaten all day.”

Tom opened one of the bags and quickly came upon some boxes. The moon was bright enough to allow him to see that Colonel Saunders was inside and, upon opening one of the boxes, to see that someone had big eyes and a small stomach. Eventually he managed to scrounge enough chicken and pizza to last several days and all the partly full bottles of Coke and Pepsi he could carry.

“Fuck the mashed potatoes,” he muttered. “Leave them for the rats.”

Another bag contained a pink coat with a fur fringed hood. “Oh, God, Lisa’d love this. Yeah, she really would, but Mary’d fry my ass if she found out where I got it. Let’s see. Wow. This p-coat looks OK—a little big, but I know it’ll be warm enough all winter.”

He didn’t have far to look before he felt a bag that had to be rugs or blankets. “Get out of there, you dirty little son-of-a-bitch,” he snarled at a brown rat hiding in the bundle.

“Hot dog. Blankets. Heavy woolen blankets. Hot diggity dog. A few tools for building my camp and I’ll kiss this place goodbye.”

Tom walked from bag to bag giving each on a solid kick looking for the clank of metal objects. “Here we go—let’s see what’s in this one—Hot shit—kitchen stuff—Good God—somebody really cleaned out—skillets, pans, knives and forks—evening a hunting knife in fair shape. This is going to be easy.

Now for the tools." It took Tom more than another hour to locate the tools he’d need—hammer, hand saw, screw driver…”

Returning toward his new campsite he located an area of tall grass and reeds near the railroad track and bedded down for the night.

To provide warmth and shelter Tom cleared a 20’ circular area for his new camp and used the trunks of the young trees as framing for his living quarters. He constructed a lean-to with pine branches for a roof. Afterward he wove mats from cattails for a more weatherproof roof and for a mattress in the lean-to.

Tom had a month’s supply of beef jerky and soy protein powder that had been hidden in the woods near his previous camp and undiscovered by his intruders. He also had the few things that were in his pockets—like a few dollars in change and some matches. Fortunately it was springtime and many of the plants that he commonly used for food were sending forth new growth. He was always able to add something new to his diet because he knew that it was safe to take a very small taste of any animal or plant. "If it tastes bitter, it ain't no good for you," was the rule his Uncle Jim had taught him many years ago when they would go deer hunting together.

For the most part Tom supplemented his ‘store bought’ diet with the bounty of the late spring woods and meadows -- roots of burdock and cattail, fiddleheads, dandelion greens, and skunk cabbage -- and fresh road kill. Squirrel was one of his favorites since, he discovered, they did a credible job of processing the tannic acid of acorns to a form much more easily digestible by the human than the acorns themselves. Woodchuck, rabbit and opossum were quite good, but raccoons and the like could best be left for some other scavenger.

He’d become quite expert at assessing the age of 'kill. He first checked for any bloating or signs of chewing by other animals. Then, with his knife, he would cut off an ear or a lower limb and smell the flesh for any sign of deterioration. If the kill passed all of these tests, he would carry it to the brush by the side of the road and gut it, keeping the heart, liver, kidney and lungs. Once back at camp he would skin the animal and hang the skin in the sun for drying. When the animal was fresh enough, he would prepare it for drying. If it had the slightest odor of age he would keep it protected in cool spring water and cook it for his evening meal.

Tom discovered ways to get the things that he needed to support his life style. Not all of these were consistent with the sense of right and wrong that his parents tried to pass onto him as a boy. When Tom was alone at night watching the dying embers of his meditation fire, he often mused about his father’s efforts to get him to try harder in school and do something after school besides goofing off with the neighborhood clowns.

Chapter 3

Sometimes Tom would sit before the embers and ponder the better parts of his youthful lessons. Honesty and respect for elders were tops, and it would be beneath Mom and Dad’s sense of dignity to take advantage of another. They taught him to be content with what he had. Tom had long since outgrown these ideas. When he needed something, he found a way to get it, often spending hours staking out and stalking a solution. He was always on the lookout for something he might use. If he saw it and he could use it, it would be his in due time.

Tom had come to spend hot afternoons in the town library. The general appearances of many other young men of the day put him at home and above suspicion. He was always respectably dressed in faded Navy dungarees and shirt. He had a ragged beard and long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and tied with a leather thong. His bare feet supported a pair of well-worn moccasins and he sported a red kerchief tied around his forehead.

One afternoon Tom was looking through the shelves for something new in poetry when he noticed a pair of eyeglasses on a windowsill near the library stacks. This aroused a need in him as he had been noticing some deterioration in his eyesight to the point that he found it difficult to read in the light of his fire. He picked a book from the stack located near the glasses and leafed through the pages. He was standing near the window and, while at his 5’7” he could not see over the stacks, he could always tell instinctively whether anyone was near or watching. He tried the glasses on. He could see far better than he had for months. He quickly put the book back on the shelf and with one motion ducked between the stacks and took the glasses off and put them in his pocket. Noticing a number of other people in the library he walked casually past the circulation desk waving to the librarian.

“Find what you wanted?” She asked.

Tom winked a light gray eye at her as he headed to the door.

The destruction of Tom’s camp had left him bare of the necessities to support his way of life. He had neither needle nor thread to mend his clothes or fashion his animal skins into something useful to him. He had no mirror to trim his beard or hair, no scissors. He had not enough matches for starting his fire on a blustery night, no knife to prepare his road kill or to apply to whittling through the long cold nights. Most of what he needed could be found around town, but this required cash and the trashmen had collected what he didn’t have in his pockets. He knew he could find an odd job or two and get some money that way, but he was in a hurry and he had developed a quicker, easier way.

Tom made a list of the things he needed and brought it along on a trip to the local grocery store. He had enough money to buy a few cheap items in order to deflect any suspicion of his being a shoplifter. With his shopping cart in tow he quickly and deftly cased the store layout finding the location of the items he needed, and the habits of other customers and the store clerks. He avoided eye contact with anyone, simply appearing focused on his list and his shopping. Once he had memorized the locations of all his needs he ditched the shopping cart and purchased one of the cheap items taking care to be very polite with the checkout clerk to show his appreciation. Back in the woods he recorded and rehearsed his information about the store and planned a further visit to help himself to the items he needed. That evening he went back to the store, quickly stuffed the items he needed inside his clothing and purchased another cheap item with all the cordiality and grace of a grateful shopper. No one ever suspected Tom or detected him in action.

Tom’s other material needs were met by carefully orchestrated visits to the town in pre-dawn hours, being extremely careful not to be seen--especially by the police. On these excursions he would seek out homes or businesses undergoing remodeling or repair. These sites became his hardware and building supply stores. He was always amazed at the carelessness of people when it came to safeguarding their personal possessions. There were exceptions, however. Tom needed a wide chisel to build a low table for his meals. One night he was scouting one of the back streets of the town when he came upon a new house that was about half completed. He spotted a toolbox at the side of the house and sat in a nearby field to observe what was going on. After some time he decided that no one was around and he began to approach the house. Instinct told him that something was not right. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a large German Shepherd gazing in his direction from behind the edge of the fence. Tom stood still and stared at the dog. The dog stared back at Tom. Both were mesmerized for a long time. Normally Tom would win. But in this case the Shepherd was insisting that Tom come no nearer. Tom bet that the dog didn’t do much work for the builder, but, on the other hand, the builder never lost any tools.

Tom didn’t need much money to get by—a few dollars here and there—more if he was planning one of his occasional trips to the cape to visit Lisa. He’d pick up the extra as a carpenter’s helper or an odd-jobber in a nearby town. Lisa was Tom’s only child and he wanted her to spend time with him—to teach her about the woods and his way of life. But, he knew it couldn’t be. Not until he was willing to give up the teepee for something with indoor plumbing and a heating stove. That’s the only way Mary would allow it. Like it or not, Mary was still his wife and Mary had Lisa under her control. Tom never did figure out a way to get around Mary. She was the only one who really knew him and her iron will was always one up on his connivery. But, Lisa. Her name had become a mantra for Tom. And so he began, or maybe continued, thinking of her.

Chapter 4

Things were different with her back then, or were they? Christmas time of 1958—about 17 years ago—home on leave—just back for the first time in years and actually glad to see Mom and Dad. Most of my brothers and sisters had split the place by then. Not that it really mattered. I was the last of a series of ten kids—little more than another dirty diaper on the bathroom floor, a baby-sitting chore that is still talked about with resentment, a toy to bounce around until the telephone rang. Not much of a family, I guess, but anything was better than what had just gone on out there at sea.

Oh, that goddamn Captain—not only like Dad, but worse, a lot worse. Maybe I’ll kill the bastard when I get back to the ship. I could hide from the old man, but not the Captain.

The old man tried to corner me that weekend, but I just slipped away. “Gotta go now, gotta go now.” Didn’t even give him a chance. He was still drinking and Mom was still hoping he’d quit. He’d be in the bag by the time I got home, and we wouldn’t be able to talk anyway. He wanted to know what I did with my money, when I was going to get some honest work, how many times I’d been to the VD clinic—just on and on.

Suzie, my next sister, was still living at home and she was ga-ga to see me.

“Can’t wait to show you the old town. Come on, grab your coat and we’ll go for a ride.”

“Good God, Suzie, where’d you get this boat. It’s bigger than the whole house. And those fins. Anybody get near you and they’d have hell to pay.”

“Neat-o rean-o,” she said as she turned the corner and screeched down Market St. Let’s go over to Islay’s for a milk shake. They haven’t changed a thing.”

“I could go for a chip-chop ham and a double malt. What are you up for?"

“Not sure. Remember all this Tommy Boy--The Palace, the Warner, the Paramount—all still there.”

“There’s Chris's Pool Hall. Let’s go in. I’ll take your ass till Sunday morning.”

“Like shit. Can’t though. We got a party to go to later on. Everybody’s gonna be there. Remember The Brass Rail. How many nights did I sober you up in there—coffee and bacon and eggs?”

“Who sobered who up, Suzie Q? You’re no slouch.”

The old gang at the party was glad to see me, but nobody wanted to talk about what I was doing or why I just up and joined the navy without so much as a goodbye. No problemo, senor. When I walked into the kitchen, she saw me at the same time I saw her—that pretty red dress and whitened smile—a trim brunette who looked at me like I looked at her. San Jose. What a tamale. That part hasn’t changed even today, but, oh, what she had to say to me. I cut way back on the booze that night because I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression. She wanted to know all about me and told me how wonderful I was and how exciting I was. Man, if I ever caught her in port, she’d be spending the night looking at the stars. I got good and loaded after she went home.

And there we were the next evening holding hands, swinging on the Richards’ front porch. Colder than a cat’s ass, with snow hugging the branches of the pine tree in the front yard and smoke from the neighbors’ chimneys making it a good old-fashioned winter night.

“I was wondering, Tom, when do you have to go back to LA?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it was that soon?”

“Yeah, the ship’s set to leave Friday, and we have to get the bakery going again. Takes a couple of days.”

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Even if you do have to go, I’m glad I met you last night. Maybe, maybe sometime when you’re not too far away, I can come and see you. Daddy wouldn’t like that, but…”

“Hey, what’s this ‘Daddy wouldn’t like that?’ Don’t ask him, tell him.”

“Oh, Tom, you’re so brave. But Daddy’s old-fashioned. He doesn’t think nice girls do things like that.”

“Well, have him talk to my Mom. She can get anybody to say yes to anything.”

“I’ll do it, Tom. I’ll do it all. And, Tom, I’ve never felt…I’ve never felt this way with anybody. You know, the way I feel about you. It’s the way I felt from the time you walked in our door.”

Then she kissed me gently on the lips, and just then the screen door was thrown open, and Mr. Richards called out onto the porch.

“Oh, hi, Daddy. Tom’s leaving tomorrow. We’re just out here on the swing, Talking about how nice the party was. ”

“Well, you better get on in here. Church, tomorrow, and you got to sing in the choir. So you can’t be late. Goodnight, Tom”

“Goodnight, Mr. Richards. I’ll see you in August,” I said scurrying down the porch steps.

Chapter 5

That first night back on board sitting in the galley waiting for the Captain’s final inspection. I couldn’t concentrate on the bakery.

Where was it? Damn it, I had to figure out where it was. Down there somewhere beyond the hundreds of bags of flour, of sugar, cans of lard, raisins, raspberries, cherries, yeast, mixers, blenders, ovens, rolling pins, knives, cutters, boards, spoons; beyond all the provisions and implements that made up the ship’s bakery lay the one thing that absolutely had to go undetected by the constant inspection and prying eyes of officers and non-coms—the home-brew that kept us alive and sane during the months at sea. But I couldn’t remember where I had stashed it. The men had their booze and the bosses knew they had it, but no officer ever found a drop of my home-brew. They all called me “Tom the master of deceit, Houdini in blues.” I could thank Dad for this, as I needed to be Houdini to survive his rage. Now it’s my rage. I could feel it inside, but at least it didn’t hurt anybody the way his did. Or did it? It was hidden beneath a calm veneer of apparent detachment. Hidden there because those childhood tantrums had always been met with cruelty and derision by my father and my brothers. This rage had survived long hours of meditation and reflection—remembering Captain Father and the Mad Bulldogs back in Youngstown, Ohio. What was he really like?

There was that time when I wanted the puppy, but knew that Dad would never allow it. One steamy afternoon I approached him as he rocked in his favorite back porch chair. It was around noon, and he was wheezing and mopping his brow with a railroader’s kerchief.

“Did you see those pups over there at Jake’s?” I said. “Must be six or eight of them, just a few days old. Haven’t even opened their eyes yet.”

“No sense in you even talking about that. There’s no way there’s going to be one of them around here. Just forget about it. You got trash to clean out of the cellar. Get moving on that one and keep your nose over on this side of the fence. Get.”

I knew better than to go any further with him, but I could work Mom—and Jake. I headed off toward the cellar, but as soon as I was around the corner of the house I sneaked around to the front, down below the bank and off to Jake’s.

“They sure are pretty, Jake. How long before you start giving them away?”

“Just about a week, as soon as they open their eyes.” Jake’s sentence was punctuated with a carelessly aimed splat of tobacco juice. Jake let go whenever necessary, whether indoors or out. He was an old man, a widower, who lived alone and never cleaned himself, his clothes, dishes, or house. He blamed all the horrible smells in and around the house on Duchess, the puppy’s mother.

“Wonder who you’re going to give them to?”

“Whoever comes by.”

After some time I asked, “Why don’t you give one to Mom?”

“Didn’t know she wanted one.”

“Well ask her.”

Some days later Jake spotted Mom and me out at the clothesline and he came over.

“Dad off at work?” he asked haltingly.

“Yes, he is. How are you Jake?”

“Say, Mom, you don’t suppose you’d be willing to take one of the pups for the boy here, do you?”

“Why Dad would never hear of it. There’s no way.”

“Well maybe there is. Maybe you could talk to him. Tell him how a dog around here would keep those rabbits from chewing up his garden. Tell him how I just can’t get rid of this one last pup. How Duchess is so unhappy not being alone with me. I’d sure appreciate it and I know it would mean the world to Tom. Couldn’t you try?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Mom hesitated. “I suppose I could think of a way of asking him. But don’t expect an answer very soon and don’t anybody get their hopes up. I’ve been watching Tom over there playing with that one. What’s his name? “Rocky.” I can see he’s taken with it, and he shouldn’t be. Just don’t go getting him too high or we’ll never get him down if it doesn’t work out.”

Dad was out on the porch that afternoon having an after work beer. I was sitting on the top step with my chin in my hands wishing that I could figure out someway to escape, to disappear, or even evaporate. I hated these Saturday afternoons waiting for the truck to deliver my papers. I guess my customers hated the waiting even worse.

Didn’t Dad have some other place to go? Give him time and he’d think of some bullshit job for me. Mom was the first one to speak up. She had just come out on the porch with a glass of cold water and sat down on the glider.

“Sure is a scorcher today,” she flung the words at Dad.

“Yup, sure is,” he said as he glanced off toward the garden.

“Looks like those tomatoes are going to be ready any day now. I picked a few peppers today. Things are really coming along,” she said.

After a long silence between the two she said, “Have you noticed how big Jake’s pups are getting?”

“Holy shit,” I thought. “She’s doing it. Go, Mom, Go. Let’s see him wiggle his way out of this one.”

She cast a glance in Dad’s direction and continued, “Why, I noticed that he’s gotten rid of all but one of them. I know that Duchess will be glad to see the last one go. She needs all of Jake and there’s no way she can have it with that one last pup around.”

Mom was trying, but Dad sat silent surveying the garden.

Finally Dad took his pipe from his mouth and using the heel of his shoe knocked the ashes from it. “You know, Mom, I got your message somewhere between the tomatoes and the peppers, but I wasn’t buying. I’ve told you before if you want something—ask. Don’t try to butter me up with a bunch of bullshit. I know you better than you think I do. If you want to ask me whether there could be a pup here, you’re going to have to ask me straight out and the answer is going to be “No.”

In the end the answer was, “but it’s never going to be in this house, and I’m not going to have dog shit all over the porch. It’s his dog, and he goddamn well better take care of it. You hear that knucklehead?” The last being cast toward where I had been before I tried to sneak off around the corner of the house.

“Where’s that goddamn kid. Tom, Tom. Get your ass back here. The first problem and out it goes, and I’ll make sure it goes where it never comes back.”

“Oh, Dad, I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong. You won’t have one thing to worry about,” Mom said,

“Ok, Tom. Your mother wants you to have this goddamn dog.” Dad began his standard abuse that he called forth whenever he had given in by so much as an inch.

“Now let me tell you plain and clear that she wants you to have it. I do not want you to have it. I’m giving into her this once. Now you listen to me. The dog is never to be in any part of the house, including the cellar. It is never to be on the front porch or the back porch. You figure it out from there. You take care of it, you clean up after it, you earn the money to buy the food. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get out of here.”

I went bounding over to Jake’s.

Oh, my God, a puppy all my own. Suzie’s going to wet her panties. I’ll let her touch him. She’s the only one I trust. But how am I ever going to keep the rest of them away? ‘Obey your elders,’ the old man always says ‘And that means anybody older than you—including all your brothers and sisters. But they can’t have Rocky. Suzie will be OK, but the rest of those big bastards will want their own way whenever they want it. If only there weren’t so many of them—ten kids sitting on the same pot at the same time. Maybe Jake can help?

“Jake, Jake, I can have Rocky, I can have him. Where is he”?

“I know, I know. I know, Tom. He’s under the porch. Seems that’s what he likes. Here, I got a bag of some dog food for you. Let’s take him over tomorrow before Dad gets home from work. Be better that way.”

When I got home from school the next afternoon, Jake and Suzie were there with Rocky and the bag of dog food. Duchess was at his side, seeming to be happy to see her last pup in a new home. Mom was getting an old army blanket from the attic to prepare a home for Rocky under the porch. She told me to get an old bowl and dish from the cold cellar for water and food.

“Watch out for the rats,” Suzie called after me. “They’re up behind the jelly jars.”

“Quit that, Suzie,” mom said. “You know there’re no rats down there. They’re just little field mice once in a while.””

“Pretty big field mice if you ask me.”

“Go on, get out of here, the both of you.”

When I returned, Jake told me about the food and water. “Always keep fresh cool water for him. Not too cold. Give him half a bowlful of this food every day. Best in the morning. When you have to buy some more, get Canine brand. Don’t change.”

“What do you think Dad will say when he comes home, Mom?”

“Let me take care of that. You take care of Rocky. And don’t hog him all to yourself. You always want Suzie to share with you. Well, now’s the time to pay a little back. ”

I picked Rocky up by the front paws and kissed him and kissed him all over his face. “Rocky, Rocky, you’re mine now, all mine. You ever want anything, just let me know. Give me a big ‘bow-wow’—not too loud,” I whispered. “You wouldn’t want to wake up the chief, his bite’s worse than his bark. You’re going to be nice and cozy here, rock-a-bye my baby.”

Well, I followed Jake’s instructions to the letter. Mom had to pry me away for school, meals, and bedtime. Dad stayed clear.

One morning, a couple of weeks later, when I came to spend some time with Rocky and get him his breakfast, I found him lying on his side with his eyes fixed right at me. He wasn’t moving at all and he was whining on and on. This was so different from the bouncy Rocky that I had been used to.

“No, no, no, no, no, no—you wouldn’t, not after all this, you wouldn’t. Do and I’ll never speak to you again. Oh, please don’t do this to me. It’s all I ever had.”

I ran over to Jake to see if he knew anything.

“Jake, Jake! Something’s wrong with Rocky. He’s crying and he won’t eat. Come on, come on over. Do something, Jake. Do something.”

“Hold on there, young feller. He’s probably just got a sour stomach. You get on to school, and I’ll go over and take a look after Dad’s gone to work. No need to upset him over this. Go on now.”

“But, Jake, I can’t go to school with Rocky sick like this. Come on.”

“Lookie here, fella, I don’t know what’s wrong. Is Dad gone to work?”

“Yeah,” I said, but I really didn’t know—or care.

“Well let’s go over and see. You go get Mom.”

“What’s wrong Jake? Dad said he heard the dog crying all night and he’s not about to put up with any more of it. He’s told me to take care of it or he’d do it his own way.”

“I don’t know Mom. It doesn’t look good. He’s hurting awfully bad about something. Got any iodine and water? Let’s try that and see if it helps. If not, I don’t know what to do. Nobody’s got the money to get a doc, even if we knew one. It breaks my heart to see this.”

“I’ll get the iodine. Oh, I don’t know what Dad will do if he comes home and Rocky’s still whining. Whatever will this do to you, Tom. You’re such a brooder already. I just hope you don’t go all to pieces over this. You get along to school now. We’ll take care of this. I’ll be back, Jake.”

When Dad came home from work. Mom and I were out on the back porch where she was trying to make me feel better. We could still hear Rocky whining.

Dad came out looking at Mom. “Jake’s talking about money for this goddamn dog, and we can’t even have three decent meals some days? Doc Milbourne? I’ll take care of this. I should have done it the first night. I could hear him all along. That kid’s been worthless ever since he got the dog. You two go take care of your chores and I’ll take care of this. Go on.”

Dad came back into the house just as Mom was getting out some milk for after school snacks. It was 4:00, I remember. “How is he, Dad?” Mom said.

“He’s dead.”

“Dad, Dad, you didn’t…” Mom’s voice trailed off as she sensed the explosion about to occur in Dad.

“Dad, Dad? To hell with ‘Dad, Dad’. I said he’s dead and that’s the end of it. I don’t ever want to hear another word about that dog or any other dog, ever. I’m going down to the corner for a beer. And you can take care of the rest of it, kid. I don’t want you moping and whining around here. You’ve got chores to do, and they’d better be done by the time I get back.”

I went out to look at Rocky. It had only been about two weeks since I had first prepared his bed and told him how much I loved him—how much I hated those fucking bastards.

Bullshit fucking assholes. I’m coming with ya, Rocky. Just as soon as I find a way. Kiss my ass, Captain Kangaroo—Mr. Masked Man. Give me a kiss, Rocky. Like you did the first time.

I took him up in my arms and carried him into the house. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes.

”He is dead. Mom. He’s really dead.” My mind was full of things I never said before, of things I couldn’t say. I asked, I begged, I pleaded. I got teased, I got ‘No.’ That’s the only answer I ever heard. ‘Don’t ask anymore, don’t beg, don’t plead—just shut up. And if you don’t like that, I’ll give you something that’ll make you wish you had.’

“Oh, Tom. We can’t talk about that around here. I’m sorry. It’s just one of those things. Jake and I tried to help him, but I guess we we’re just too late. I don’t think there’s anything anybody could do.”

Sorry—yeah, sorry you ever had me. Fucking too much trouble. No money, no time—just don’t care. Get up on the cross, lady. Up there with that asshole you think so much of.

“Here, have a glass of milk and a cookie. It’ll make you feel better.”

Shove the glass of milk along with the fucking cookies. Shove them where the sun don’t shine and where you and Doo-Dad put Rocky.

“Put Rocky over there on the floor—on the newspapers. Wash your hands before you touch those cookies.”

Yeah, put him out with the trash. Shit, nobody ever cared—nobody ever tried. Wash your own hands and wash Captain Blood’s hands while you’re at it.”

“Your father means well, Tom. It’s just that these are tough times and it’s hard enough to put food on the table without worrying about a sick dog.

Who’s worrying? Who? Nobody cares if Rocky lived or died—if I live or die. I don’t give a shit. I’ll feel better when you’re all with Rocky.

“Maybe I made a mistake in the first place. I don’t know. You’ll have another dog some day. Some day you’ll have a place of your own and you’ll have a big yard where your dog can grow to be a healthy, vigorous pal. You’ll see, Tom. Finish your milk, Tom.”

Horseshit. Big deal, someday. Fuck the milk. I ain’t hungry.

I picked up Rocky and dragged myself back out the door and over to Jake’s. Jake saw the tears.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Happens all the time. You’ll get another one someday. For now Dad just didn’t want him around. I think Rocky knew that. He’s happy where he is. Let’s find a place he’d like.” Jake got a shovel from the house and we dug a hole out by the garden.

“Get over here and get started on those chores. You’re not going to shirk things again.” Dad had returned from the bar and was glaring over at Jake and me burying the dog. “Damn fools, don’t have the brains they were born with,” he muttered. “Just throw the damn thing in the garbage can.”

Chapter 6

“The old man’s coming down, Tom. The old man’s coming.”

Sheinwold’s shouts jarred me back to the ship’s galley where the Captain’s white glove would soon pass over every tray, bowl, and pan during the final inspection before castoff.

“At ease, men. What smells so good in here?” “Tom?”

“Don’t know, sir.”

The captain moved around the bakery, back behind where I was leaning on the mixing table. He opened the door to the cooling oven and peered inside. He picked up a few of the empty raspberry cans, took a handful from one of the opened flour bags and took a deep whiff.

“What’s this? Supposed to be flour. Smells more like yeast. Ensign, here, you take a whiff of this. Smells like yeast, doesn’t it? Give this place a thorough shakedown, Scotty. I know just what the hell these guys are up to. You find out, and if I hear ‘nothing’ from you, Scotty, then it’s your ass. Got me?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the captain hurried out of the galley Ensign Scott began his role as captain junior. “All right men, you heard it. Now where’s the hooch?” The ensign’s query was met with silence.

“OK, boys. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you.”

Not a whimper from anybody.

“Well if there are no volunteers, it’ll be the hard way.”

“Joe, you and Sheinwold get the hell out of here. I think I know who has the answer.”

Scotty called the captain on the ship’s phone. “I know what you said, Captain, and you’re going to have to trust me on this one. I had this little bastard tear the whole bakery apart. Then I looked every place he hadn’t. All I came up with was a big, fat zero. I’m going to have him on guard duty all night. Right now he’s standing here just like a statue. I think he should be on restrictions—no movies, no mail. You can be sure I’ll catch him someday, but we’ll have to let him go for now.”

Scotty paused for what must have been the Captain’s reaction. “Yes, sir, I’ll be right up.”

“The captain says he’s tired of your bullshit, Schultz. One-week restriction and you’re not getting out of my sight from now on. Do you hear me, seaman?”

“Yes, sir.”

So I spent my restriction in and around my bunk drawing upon books from my locker to pass the many hours.

Toward the end of my restriction, one of the other bakers came over to my bunk and handed me my mail. “The ensign told me to give this to you.” Bill said. “Guess your time’s up a little early. See you next shift.”

“Mary! It’s a letter from Mary. God, she didn’t forget. Where the hell’s she been? It’s stamped January 18! Chrissake, that’s about the time I left Youngstown. Shit!”

Let’s see what it says here at the end 'Love and kisses, Mary.' Not bad. Not enough to get a hard-on over, but not bad. '…have missed you, think a lot about the party and meeting you… sitting on the swing a lot…wonder how long before you’ll be in Norfolk so you can call me. Maybe I can come and see you.’ Pretty damn good, but something’s missing. Like I’ve been cheated. She owes me more than this. There’s no ‘when I can come to see you and we can get a hotel room’ or ‘we’ll make love all night.’ Don’t see anything like that…shit, who the fuck does she think she’s talking to. Take this letter and shove it. Rather read the goddamn newspaper than this piece of shit. Hold on a second, though. Maybe I missed something. Don’t burn it up yet.

I got off the ship in Norfolk and couldn’t wait to get to my favorite watering hole anticipating the arms of Ginny, a local who had no time for friendship, but who provided me with comfort and enjoyment. The bar occupied the first floor of a corner two-story building in a row of assorted small businesses and unknown enterprises. The second floor was divided into bedrooms that were rented by the half-hour allowing a generous reward for efficient operation.

I made sure to hide a fifty-dollar bill down inside my sock below the shoe line. I’d have to have something left over to call Mary the following morning and I knew Ginny—more, I knew myself around booze.

“Give me a couple of extra dry martini’s with a twist of lemon, Make it two kings—bombs.”

“Looks like you just got in, sailor. No morning after look about you. Make it five even,” the bartender said shoving the tall frosted martini glasses across the bar.

My kinda drink—much too long since I tasted anything like this—smooth, tingles all the way down. Man, spirits for the spirit. My kinda place, too-- dark brown veneer tables dimly lit by the rays of sun playing on the isinglass squares along the wall. Sawdust on the floor covering last night’s accidents and incidents. Odors from the bar mixing with those coming from the men’s room just beyond the jukebox. Music. Hot damn, gotta have music. Music brings the chicks. Then comes Tom. Then Tom comes. Hee-hee.

I strolled over to the jukebox, one martini in each hand. Barely had a chance to check out the latest Country and Western when this well-built brunette came by.

“Gonna play one for the girl back home, sailor? Or do you want to try one for me?”

“Don’t know. Maybe I’ll just play something I like and see what happens next.”

“Anybody going to drink that other bomb except me?” she asked with a wide lipped smile.

“Not too sure yet, Ginny been in this morning?”

“Ginny who?”

“You must be new around here. Everybody knows Ginny.”

“Beats the hell out of me. Look sailor, if you’re already fucking someone else, don’t waste my time,” she screeched as she turned toward the sailors at the pool table.

Back at the bar I asked the bartender if he had seen Ginny yet.

“Not this morning. She was in here last night--all night. Don’t expect to see her too early today. Who’s asking?”

“Tom. Tell her Tom’s in town. She’ll want to know. Give me a hot sausage and keep the rest of this five for yourself.”

“Tom it is.”

I was working on the second martini and the hot sausage when I felt somebody playing with my ass. I knew from the shape of the hands that Ginny had found me. As the hands reached around my hips and down into my groin I began to get so excited that I thought I was going to explode in my pants. I whipped around and grabbed Ginny like a bear thrashing around with a mess of salmon.

“Ginny, Ginny, I told you I’d be back.”

“Tom, my little Tommy. It’s party time in Norfolk tonight.”

I handed Ginny the whole wad of bills I had in my pocket. “Here, take it all. Get us the best hotel suite in town and set it up with the best booze and grub you can find. Get a couple of dozen rubbers too. Call…What’s your name?” I shouted to the bartender.

“Yeah, call Fred here and give him the details. I’ll be there before you know it. The best, Ginny, get the best. Wait, give me a ten just in case.”

“Now look Fred I want you to let me know as soon as you hear from Ginny. No screw-ups. Now listen, you get me another bomb and another hot sausage and the rest of this ten-spot is for you.”

I woke up the next morning with a head that felt like it was still on sea duty. Ginny was beside me, bare-assed as a newborn. The bed and the room were strewn with dirty condoms, dirty plates, dirty glasses and empty bottles.

“Ginny, Goddamit, Ginny. Up, bitch. What the fuck did you do with my shoes and socks? Asshole. If you don’t get your sorry ass the fuck up, you’re going to be wishing you never saw me. Up, up,”

Ginny turned over and I pounced on her and tore into her with an erection that had lost its power to ejaculate. I pounded at her face and shoulders as I pounded her with my groin. I couldn’t come, but the urge would not subside. I jumped out of her and started to trash the room in an effort to find my shoes and socks.

Ginny got out of the bed and went into the bathroom snatching pieces of her clothing along the way. She locked the door behind her. When she came back into the room, I was clutching a pillow and crying.

“What’s wrong with you?

“It’s all gone. My money’s all gone. All I have is this--ten dollars. What happened to the rest?”

“Well, all you see here. And the nightclub. We really painted the town red. It took all the money you gave me in the bar.”

“Isn’t there anything left? Ginny, I put $50 in my shoe, but I can’t even find my shoes.”

“You threw them out the window last night. Said you were going native from now on. Doesn’t matter, though. You used the fifty so we could get a ride in that horse and buggy. The driver thought you were a prince with the big tip you gave him.”

“All gone, all gone.”

Ginny began straightening up the room. She looked around after she had finished. “I think we’re OK,” she said. “Don’t think the manager will come after us.”

She looked out the window. “I see your shoes and socks down there on the lawn. I’ll go get them.”

“Listen, Tom,” she said putting my shoes and socks on the bed. You need to get cleaned up and get yourself together. Give me another minute in the bathroom, and I’ll be gone by the time you’re finished.”

Gotta have a drink, gotta have a drink, gotta have a drink. No, no, never again. A promise is a promise. But, what else is this ten-spot good for? Nobody can get messed up on ten bucks. Just a couple of beers. Besides, I was talking about tomorrow, not today. I’ll go down stairs and check things out. Mary? Mary can wait. Tom’s first. Gotta take care of Tom first. Hold on. I want Mary, I really do. She’s the good life, the way. I need her, never make it without her. She’ll keep that promise for me. With Mary it’ll be somebody to walk in the woods with--somebody to come home to at the end of an honest day’s work--to kick my shoes off and sip on an ice-cold beer. Well, the promise was to never drink again like I did last night, beer was not the topic. We’d have that puppy I always wanted. See, I can have all of that and the beer as well. Matter of fact I’ll have the beer and then call Mary. If she asks any questions, I’ll tell her I just got off the ship. No problemo.

I made a collect call to Mom and had the bad luck of getting Dad.

“What the hell are you doing calling collect. Don’t those goddamn yeomen pay you anything?”

“I couldn’t find any place that would give me change for a fifty so I thought I would call collect and pay later.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What’d you do, spend it all on some goddamn whore? I suppose you want to talk to your mother. Listen, now, I want you to straighten up and fly right. You’re never going to make anything out of yourself unless you get some sense into that thick skull of yours. Here she is.”

“Hi, Mom. Tom. How are you?” -- “Oh, I just got into Norfolk and I’m doing fine. Listen, I want to talk to Mary, but I can’t find anyone to change a…a hundred around here. You know Norfolk. Can you have Suzie go over and get Mary while we talk? OK?” -- “Mom! Hey, Mom. Good. Listen, when Mary comes, could everybody leave the kitchen so we can talk? Good! How are you doing?” -- “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Did Mr. Richards ever talk to you about Mary coming to see me sometime?” -- “He did! What do you think?” -- “You sure are some talker, Mom. Do you really think it will be all right?” -- “She is? Put her on.”

“Mary. Hi, Mary. Good to hear you. Listen, I’m going to be in New York City in May. Can you come? Mom says she talked to your dad, and it’ll be OK? What do you think?”

“Tom, it’s so good to hear your voice. Did you get my letters? I got two from you. I don’t know where the rest are. Daddy says it’ll be OK for me to meet you in New York City, but I’ll have to stay with my aunt in Brooklyn. We can still spend a lot of time together. I’ll write you about it. Be sure to write lots of letters, Tom. I feel so much better when I hear from you. I know this is costing you an awful lot of money. So, listen, let me know when you will be getting to New York City just as soon as you can. I’ll give you all the details about my aunt. I’ll write tonight. I love you, Tom. You take care of yourself. I love you.”

“Love you too. I promise I’ll write lots. I’ll let you know about New York just as soon as the captain lets us know. Bye now.”

“Bye, Tom. Here’s a kiss for you.”

“Aunt in Brooklyn,” my ass. There’ll be one less Virgin Mary after I get through with her. You can take the girl out of Youngstown, but… But, if there’s a way, the Magician will find it

Chapter 7

I thought it was going to be all fun and games when Mary and I got together in New York City, but Mary had other ideas. We had hardly kissed at Penn Central before she started in on me.

“You know, Tom, you’re going to have to do a better job about writing.”

“But, Mary, you don’t understand,” Tom tried to defend.

“I don’t understand? Well, let me tell you something. I don’t think you have any idea how it feels to be spending lots of time writing to the guy who says he loves you, and then hear nothing in return.”

“But, Mary…”

“No if, ands, or buts. Things just can’t continue this way.”

“Give me a chance. You’ll see.”

“I’ve seen about all I care to see. You know, if I hadn’t had the ticket already and Aunt Dora wasn’t so excited about all of this, I really don’t think I would have come at all.”

“You’re upset, Mary. You know I love you.”

“Don’t go thinking you can take me for granted. I have too many other things to do than to be sucking hind teat to some spaceman.”

“Mary, this isn’t fair. Here, sit down over here and let me tell you how it really is. Come on, Mary.”

“Well I’ll sit down, but it doesn’t change anything. You’ve got some choices to make and some changes to make.”

“Listen to me, Mary, try to see it my way. You’ve never been a ship’s baker. Why, every time I tried to get a minute to myself to write to you somebody else was saying 'gimme this and gimme that.”

“Look it, Tom, you can just take all those “gimme’s” and stuff them under your hat because this is Mary telling you you’d better straighten out or you’ll be out on that boat reading Time Magazine.”

“Mary, please. Please, Mary.”

“OK, Tom, OK. Let’s cut this foolishness and enjoy what we have. Tom, I love you. Let’s start all over. I’ll go over there by the ticket counter and you come up behind me.”

“OK. I’ll give you a second,” Tom said as he turned his back and counted to ten. He then approached Mary who was at the ticket counter with her back to him.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you know where the train comes in from Youngstown.”

“Why, I think they’ve cancelled all trains for the day. Can I help you in some way?”

“I don’t know. I’m looking for Mary from Youngstown.”

“Well, I could be Mary from Youngstown. If you wanted me to be.”

“I would. Really, I would. I’m Tom. Just look around at the beauty of where we are. Think of it. Two kids from Youngstown, Ohio here in New York City. This huge train station with thousands of people rushing around under arches below a hundred-foot ceiling—maybe two hundred-foot. ‘Train 653 for Chicago boarding at Track 7.’ ‘422 to San Francisco leaving on time.’ The noise. The music. The smells.”

“Oh, Tom, I’m so excited. I know there are wonderful things in store for us in the next few days.”

“We need to freshen up first. I got a room in a hotel just up the street. Let’s go there first.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I told Daddy I’d go right over to Aunt Dora’s. But, if it’s just to freshen up, I could call her and tell her I’m here and we’re having a cup of coffee. We will have a cup of coffee, won’t we?”

Things changed when I got back on the job. Another sea duty. I kept getting all these letters from Mary. Mostly I’d just toss them in my locker. Didn’t even read some of them. I tried to write, but it was just too boring. Every time I started I’d get to thinking about being in her panties and my pen would just go limp.

“Ten minutes to port,” the coxswain shouted. “Pensacola in ten minutes.”

From Pensacola I was going to chefs’ school in Atlanta—a whole month out of the long arm of the old man up in Youngstown and the prying eyes of his reincarnation.

“Mail call, mail call. Here’s one for you, Tom. Looks red hot.”

“Dear Tom,” it read. “I have the most wonderful news for you. It must have happened that first afternoon in New York because the doctor said I should expect our baby in about seven months. You’re going to be a father.

“I guess we’d better tell the folks about our wedding in New York City because I’m beginning to show. I’m worried because Daddy always told me how very disappointed he’d be if we ever did anything like this and I can’t imagine what your father will say.

“Write or call as soon as you get this because I’m worried what other people might think. I’m not sure where you are and I simply can’t believe I haven’t heard from you this past two months.

”Tom, It’s time to grow up. We need to work this out together. This is not something to be left to me alone. I love you, Tom, and I send you all the kisses in town – Mary.”

I surer than hell wasn’t ready for that one. I had enough to worry about. I’d been trying to remember what I knew about Atlanta and dreaming of what I’d do once I got there. But, I had to do something about Mary. I got out a pen and paper and managed to write, “My dearest Mary.” After that I was stuck.

“Dear Mary” I began again, “I wanted to write you before we ship out on a cruise whose destination is being kept from us by the captain. All he will tell us is that we had better write our families because this is the last mail –in or out- that this ship will have for about a month. He told us to tell everyone not to worry, but that our mission must be accomplished in absolute secrecy. I wish I could be with you. All my love to you and the folks, Tom.”

I figured I’d deal with her baby once I got back from Atlanta.

When the ship docked at Pensacola, I was the first one off. I’d stuffed all my belongings into my duffel bag and hailed a cab for the airport. I was planning to meet an old buddy from boot camp who was going to join me on the flight to Atlanta.

“Hop in, sailor,” the cabbie hollered through the open front window. “Toss the duffel bag in the back seat.”

“Airport, please—Eastern.”

“Sure is a scorcher—you just pull in?”

“Yeah, heading up to Atlanta.”

“Up to see the folks?”

“Nah, going up to chef’s school.”

“Sounds like a good deal. My nephew’s a baker over at the base. He loves it.” The cabbie tuned the radio to soft rock and tapped out the beat on the steering wheel. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Say, don’t suppose you’d like to see a little of Pensacola on the way. Maybe relax a little bit. I know a couple of nice girls over by the park.”

“Actually there’s nothing I’d like more, but I got other plans. What time is it anyway?”

“Just about 9:30. What time’s your plane?”

“Noon.”

“Noon to Atlanta on Eastern, huh? You know there’s another plane at 4:30. Why don’t I call Eastern and see if I can get you on that?”

“Can’t. I’m meeting a buddy for the same flight.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get in touch with him--tell him your ship’s having a docking problem. Happens all the time. You’re gonna be busy in school in Atlanta—you need this chance to relax. I’ll pull up right over there at that drug store and make all the arrangements. Be back in a jiffy.”

“What’s your buddy’s name?” He called back through the window as he got out of the cab.

“Bill, Bill Thompson.”

Owie, wet my pants. This is going to be the balls. No more than 18 years old and trim and smooth and athletic. Dark skinned and not too much on top—tall. One on each side, one on the bottom and one on the top.

“All set,” the cabbie said. “I’ll have you to the airport by noon.”

The driver pulled up on the ragged edge of what looked like the main park in town. The houses were set close together—one-story stucco buildings in various pastels. The small lawns were well kept—everything neat, but with a carnival atmosphere—ankle high white picket fences with little colored windmills and artificial flowers, palm trees decked with cellophane garlands of various colors and tiny white lights.

“It’s the dark green one, right here. I’ll pick you up at 11:30 sharp. Just pay me for everything when we get to the airport. Don’t give nothing to the girls.” Someone was waiting for me, looking through the window with a drape pulled to one side. I could see the slim figure of a young woman—long black hair-- Spanish, perhaps. The door opened and the young woman called to me.

“Come in, Tommy,” she said.

As I entered the small living room and reached out a hand another woman, even younger and prettier and darker, came into the room.

“I am Juanita; my sister is Socorro. You are a handsome young man,” she cupped my cheeks in her hands as she kissed me on the lips.”

At exactly 11:30 the taxi pulled up in front of the girls’ house, and the driver started on the horn with little relief. I jumped up from between the nude forms of Juanita and Socorro and dressed instinctively checking my wallet. I had exhausted myself with the two girls and was not sure if I had dozed off or just nodded from time to time. I had everything I came with.

The girls sat up and blew me kisses as I headed out the door. “Bye, bye, Tommy. See you again,”

“That’ll be one-fifty in all. No tips,” the cabbie said. “Looks like you enjoyed your little siesta. Here,” he said handing me his card. “Give me a ring the next time you’re in town. I’ll have the girls all warmed up for you.”

It was dark in the airport cocktail lounge. Couldn’t see anything. I was getting anxious looking for Bill, and all I could see were some colored lights playing in a mirror. Before long I saw a gal holding up a bottle and a glass—even made out some forms of people seated in front of her. Then I spotted Bill, a tall, rather handsome young man with prematurely balding dark hair and sharp, friendly features. He was sitting at the far end of the bar rapping with the bartender.

“Hey buddy. What do we have here, old boy?” I laughed at Bill as I put one arm around his neck and tussled his hair with the other hand.

“Son-of-a-bitch. What the hell are you doing here? I thought your ship was still somewhere halfway to Jamaica.” Bill turned to the bartender shouting, “Hey, Suzie, give my old asshole buddy here a king sized extra dry martini. Suzie, this is better-late-than-never Tommy. Tommy Boy the storyteller. Tom--Suzie, the cutest chick this side of God-knows-where.”

“Hi, Tom.”

“Suzie.”

Suzie set the drinks on the bar. “I got some work to do on the books, guys,” she said turning away from us. “I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Don’t go too far,” Bill chuckled. “These things don’t last very long.”

“So, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Schultz. Well I’ll be goddamned. That’s fifty bucks I owe you. Here. I can’t believe Nelly is still saying ‘later.’ We were half way to the altar before you even met Mary and here you are hitched, and I’m still hanging. How’s it feel?”

“Oh, Ok--I guess?”

“’You guess?’ What the hell do you mean ‘OK, you guess?’ Just six months since you first met her, and you haven’t seen that much of her. ‘You guess?’ Come on, boy. What the hell’s going on here?”

“I don’t know. It’s the way she talks to me, like she owns me or something. I mean we have a hell of a time together and she’s great in the sack. But it’s the way she talks. ‘Oh, Tommy, it’s going to be so wonderful when you get out of the Navy and you get your GED. After college you’ll be a great success in your suit and tie. We’ll have the two brightest and most beautiful children and we’ll spend all our time together. Just think a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood where we get together on Sunday afternoons and have coffee and cookies. Little League on Saturday mornings.’

Shit! When she talks that way, I want to puke. How about going out with the boys and getting smashed over at the pool hall. Or going to the strip joint and getting a king sized hard on down by the runway. Golf on Saturday mornings and fastball on Sunday afternoons. I tell you Bill, she’s serious. She has this idea of marriage and family like you never heard of. It scares the shit out of me. Makes me want to sign on for another eternity.”

“Sounds pretty spooky to me, Tom. Looks like you got yourself a life sentence, but we’ll see. She may get over it. Then again, she may not. Whatever, you’re in it now, and the clock only ticks one way.”

“Fuck. I’m fucked. Hey, Bill, check out that broad over there in the white short shorts. If I had the time, she’d be fucked too. Hee-hee.”

“Got ya. So you’re off to Atlanta, huh? I got out last month.”

“Yeah, what are you doing in Atlanta?”

“Got a job with a small aircraft repair company up there. Things I learned troubleshooting Navy jets. But, what the hell are you doing off the water?”

“Going to chefs’ school. Been baking for over five years and now with only six months left in the Navy they decide to send me to a one-month school.”

“No shit? Sounds like Navy logic.”

“Don’t make no sense to me, but those are the orders. Maybe I can use it later, but the Navy won’t get much from it.”

“Hey, Suzie. Where the hell’s that girl. Suzie, Suzie. Get us another round over here. Sounds like they’re setting you up for another tour. Is Mary going to be with you in Atlanta?”

“She doesn’t even know I’m going. I can’t face that right now.”

“Aren’t you going to call Mary? Won’t she wonder where you are?”

“Nah, I took care of that. You know, I feel like a complete disappointment when she gets going – like a mistake.”

“You’ll figure it out, Tom. You’ll figure it out. Ever been married, Suzie?” Bill called to the bartender.

“Not me,” she said setting the drinks on the bar. “I thought about it once, but it scared me half to death. Got my wits about me and took off for Florida. Haven’t stopped since--not even long enough to get my panties off.”

“Some guy'll get into those some day,” Bill laughed.

“There’s been a mess of them trying, but nobody’s ever got even a whiff. You can pay the cashier on the way out. Nice meeting you two.”

With that, and a stay-away smile, Suzie turned and headed back to the office.

“Time for me to get to the gate, Bill. You just saw how somebody like Mary reacts when she doesn’t like what you say.”

Chefs’ school turned out to be all work and no play–early morning preps for breakfast and late night classes after cleanup from the evening meal. It was a working school and not a campus stroll leaving no room for featherbedding or nighttime shenanigans. The post was typical Army—rows of long yellow barracks with long concrete walk ways and short patches of grass. The mess hall was in a long yellow building with classrooms in an attached gray-green Quonset hut.

There was one free weekend during the entire month’s stint, which I spent catching up on my sleep and doing some research at the base library. I knew most of the stuff, but I wanted to check out the reference material to see what might be useful in case I decided to go into business after the Navy. Mary and I had kicked around the idea of opening up a little deli in downtown Youngstown. We talked about it in New York just after we were married. She was all go-go-go spending hours dragging me around to every deli she could find.

“Oh, look, Tom, there’s a real nice deli over there across the street. It looks super authentic. Come on, let’s go check it out. See how it’s done.”

Before I had a chance to stop her she was dragging me across the crowded street with no regard for traffic and up to the counter with no regard for other customers.

“Hi, I’m Mary and this is Tom, my husband. Is the owner around?”

“Maybe,” the clerk, a tall aging blonde with too much makeup and too many rings, said as she finished adding up the check for the customer that Mary had eased out of her way. “Hang loose.”

I never saw anything like it. Acres of wrought iron chairs and tables covered with dishes and bowls of blintzes and sausage and knockwurst and eggs—rye bread with seeds, wheat bread and muffins—dumplings and pickles—cheesecake. Glasses with seltzer and wine—coffee, espresso in cups. People from Asia, England and France—Africans, Indians, Turks. Everything take-out or in.

Turning to Mary the clerk said, “Now, young lady-in-a-hurry, what can I do for you?”

“Well, you see, my husband’s in the deli business in Youngstown, and we just wanted to get an idea of how you do things in New York City. I thought we might talk with the owner.”

“I’ll see if he isn’t busy. Your name again?”

“Mary. Mary and Tom Schultz.”

After some minutes a rather tall, heavy set, dark complexioned man with glasses and ponytail appeared at the cash register. “Hi, folks. I’m Jacob, the owner. How can I help you?”

“Oh, we’re opening a little deli in Youngstown and we just want to get some New York City ideas for our place. Any thoughts?”

“I’d be happy to show you around. Where’s Youngstown?

Mary had an hour’s worth of questions--where they got their recipes, their supplies. How did they find reliable help? Were the customers difficult to deal with? On and on.

Jacob had to interrupt. “Look, miss, I’m going to have to get back to work now. Let me give you a couple of other address. Tell them I sent you.”

“Jacob, you’ve really been a great help and I want you to know how much we appreciate your time. Oh, It’s in Ohio. Take care now.”

“Yes, have a good day, Mary. And your husband, what was his name? Anyway, have a good day.”

Mary gave the second owner similar treatment, and by the third I’d had it. I had to get out of there. I just eased over to the bar and ordered a tall draught—Schlitz.

That’s the way Mary is. Jesus it gets my head spinning just thinking about it—can’t even breathe anymore. I can’t figure out why she has to do things like this, but what the hell am I supposed to do? I mean she’s always trying to help me and I really appreciate it. I just wish I could say something, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings or make her think I’m ungrateful. But, shit, I need to think things through my own way and in my own time. She’s always pushing and rushing. I got to think of something—of someway to tell her.

“Want another one, sailor?” The bartender, a matronly woman with a plain face, asked. “There’s a menu up on the wall.”

“I’ll take another Schlitz. How’s the Hungarian goulash?”

“I don’t like it, myself. Too watery. You’d like the blintzes.”

“Yeah, OK, I’ll try that.”

“Where you from?”

“Youngstown. See that young woman over there with your boss? She’s my wife. She asks all the questions, I just look stupid. What are you going to do?”

“Where’s Youngstown? You don’t have to tell me. I was married to someone just like your wife for 35 years. The day I buried that guy was the day I started to live.”

“Hey, this is pretty good. I’m a navy chef. Have to try this for the boys sometime. But, you know, I’ve thought of that—bury her, but I understand it’s illegal in New York State.”

“Not if you don’t get caught.”

“Maybe a good shaking would bring some light. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great kid and I really love her, but she has to take charge of everything and it’s driving me nuts. Know what I mean?”

“I used to tell Henry, I’d say, ‘Henry, why can’t you mind your own business. Let me lead my life and you lead yours.’”

“Now there’s an idea worth consideration.”

“I can’t stay away from them myself--the blintzes. I’m sure she’s getting the recipe. Want another one? But I’d say, ‘Henry, don’t think I’m not grateful for all the help you’ve been. You’re such a sweet guy that I’d die before I’d hurt you, but, Henry, I can’t breathe. Do you hear me, Henry?’ Here, let me take that plate. Give you some room. Well, guess what? He never heard me because he never listened.”

“The only thing I can think of is hide—don’t tell her anything,” Tom said.

“Nah, you’ll go crazy trying to hide from one of those. They got eyes in the back of their heads, sixth sense that tells them exactly what’s going on all the time. You got the answer there in front of you.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“It helps you ignore them. And if you get enough in you, you’ll find yourself saying things to her that’ll shut her up. She won’t want to be around you when you’re drinking and she’ll have no intention of joining you.”

“Yeah. Give me another one of these,” I said just as Mary found me.

“I figured you’d be taking a break, Tom. I know I need one. It is rather exhausting work talking with all these people. Let’s try one more place and call it quits for the day. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

“It is, Tom. And I know we’re going to have a wonderful time. But, don’t you think we ought to be going?”

“Slow down, Mary. We need to psyche out some of the sights and sounds for this evening. I want you to remember this for a long, long time.”

“OK, Tom, but let’s get going. I want to see Times Square. Let’s get out of here. I’ll race you.”

“Mary, you’ve got to quit pulling me around. Watch out for that cabbie. Those little lighted men up there on the poles aren’t to amuse the kids. You go with them and stop on the red hand. Let’s forget the deli business. Let’s go over to the hotel and rest up. We can build Rome tomorrow.”

They gave me a certificate of superior achievement at the school and encouraged me to make a career of the Navy. Captain Simpson, the officer in charge of Navy Personnel at the school, was most impressed.

“You’ve been assigned to the Naval Air Station at Pensacola under Lt. Jim Gordon,” he told me at my exit interview. “Jim is the finest food officer in the entire Navy. Listen to him and learn. Bring Mary down to Pensacola to talk with him. She’ll help you make the right choice about your navy career. Check in with the clerk on your way out.”

Mary was first on my ‘must do’ list at Pensacola so I called her.

“Oh, Tom. I’m so excited. I’ve been wondering where you were. Are you OK? Are you safe?”

“Yes, Mary, but…”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, but I couldn't figure out how to get in touch with you. I was going to call the Red Cross, but Mom said you were at sea and I’d just upset everybody over nothing. Did you get my letters?

“Yes, Mary, but…”

Anyway, Tom, I can’t wait to tell you. Tom! Are you there, Tom?

“Yes, Mary, and…”

“I wanted to tell you—to tell you—we’re going to have a baby—in about five months. Oh, Tom. I know you must be so happy to hear this.”

“Yes…”

“How proud you’ll be to tell your Mom and Dad. And I know you’ll want to be here when the baby’s born. Where are you? When will you be home? Tom?”

"Ah, Mary, that’s great. Listen, Mary, I’m in Pensacola—at the Naval Air Station. I’ll be here ‘till I’m discharged. About five months. Listen, it’s going to be close. You figure the date and I’ll try to get discharged in time. How do you feel?”

“Oh, Tom. It’s so wonderful. What do you want to name him? Mom says it’s going to be a boy because, well, because she knows we got together before we were married.”

“Well…”

“Daddy thinks we got married first. He’s happier that way. Anyway it must have happened the first night in New York because the doctor says it was four months ago. So, if it’s a boy do you want to name him Patrick or David?”

“Let’s see…”

“Oh, Tom, we’re going to be so happy. I know you’ll want to show him to all the neighbors and we’ll all get together for coffee and we’ll have so much fun talking about the wonderful plans we have for Patrick. Tom, Tom, are you there?”

“Mary, listen, Mary, the chief’s calling me. I know how excited you are and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. But, I do have to get things ready for lunch. I promise I’ll write and let you know my address. You figure out your date. I’ll talk to you soon. Mary, I love you.”

“I love you, Tom. One more thing, if it’s a girl…”

“Good bye, Mary, Goodbye.”

Oh, God, my head. Migraine, Marygraine. Dear Jesus, take this cross from me. ‘’Patrick,’ ‘David?’ How about ‘When can we get together and talk about a name?’ How about ‘Tom, what would YOU like to do?’ How about ‘Captain Simpson, sir, are you sure my wife isn’t in my life to TELL me what’s RIGHT rather than to HELP me make the RIGHT choice?’ Shit, I need a drink. No, I need a whole fucking case of drinks. Let me sleep. Dear, merciful saints in heaven let me sleep.

“Tom,” a voice called into my agony. “Tom, it’s Doug from the mess hall. Lt. Gordon wants to see you. Right away.”

“What’s he want? Tell him I’m writing a letter to my wife.”

“I don’t know. He just said to get you down there before he leaves for the day. He usually leaves about two and it’s one-thirty.”

“OK, OK. I’m coming. Tell him I’m on my way.”

“So where’s the man, Doug?”

“Out there near the back door. That little cubicle on the left is his office.”

“Thanks.”

Lt. Gordon looked up from the stack of papers before him as I knocked on the glass upper panel of the gray colored cubicle and peered in.

“Seaman Schultz reporting, Lieutenant,” I said tossing him a half-salute.

“Come on in, Tom,” Lt. Gordon said tossing his glasses on the desk and rising from his chair. His salute was somewhat more formal, but not stiff. Gordon was a tall, burly man with a red face and short blonde hair. He gave me a big smile as he extended a hand.

“Welcome, Tom. It’s going to be in this mess hall that you have an opportunity to make a lot of men happy or a lot of men sad. We prefer the former. Sit down there and let’s see how you can help us.”

“It’s sure good to be here. I’m used to seeing a bunch of happy guys when they get a sample of my baking, but I’m not too sure how they’re going to react to my cooking.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I’m going to start you off as the assistant to Chief Swanson--one of the best the Navy has to offer. He’s been our On-the-Job Training boss for almost three years. I’ll get him in here.”

Gordon continued, “I see you have about five months left on your current tour. Given any thoughts to signing up for another?”

“No, sir.”

“Want to see me, Lieutenant?”

A short, dark haired man with hawk-like features dressed in white pants and T-shirt stuck his head in the doorway. Chief Swanson was somewhat over weight with a pronounced beer belly. He hung onto the doorframe and appeared to be more going than coming.

“Oh, come in chief. This is Seaman Schultz. He’s the baker from chefs’ school who’s going to be your new assistant. He’ll be taking your place when you leave so show him everything you know. Any questions?”

That guy, Swanson was something else. Nobody every had the patience and care with me that he had. I was some lost puppy. Jesus, was I dumb? Think I never saw a soup ladle before. Thumbs and elbows. Everything on the floor and nothing in the pot. Didn’t matter, though, no matter what the question or how many times I had to ask he’d just say, ”Easy does it, boy. Just take one thing at a time and we’ll have it all on the table at chow time.”

And still he’d go on and on about me whenever Lt. Gordon came around. I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, but he must have seen something in me. It’s still a mystery to me, but I did make it. Swenson did leave and I did take his place and the men continued to be happy and that made Lt. Gordon a happy man.

Too happy for me. The Lieutenant kept wanting to know when I’d be ready to sign those papers for another tour. I knew I never would. I was going back to Youngstown to start a life with Mary and the baby. She’d have it no other way and she had me convinced. But, after all the lieutenant and the navy had done for me I just couldn’t bring myself to tell them of our decision. I just let it drag on and on. Mary forced the issue for me.

“You got a phone call from the wife in Gordon’ office, Tom,” Doug said.

“Hi, Mary. What a surprise! No, he’s not here. What’s up. Nothing about the baby, I hope.”

“No, Tom. The baby’s fine. I got this letter from Lt. Gordon telling me what a great job you’re doing down there in Pensacola. He’d like me to come down to get a taste of the ‘Navy family.’ What’s going on down there? Haven’t you told them you’re finished in a few months? Haven’t you told them about the baby and your hope to be here when the baby’s born?”

“Well, look, Mary. You can’t imagine how busy it is here running a mess for 400 hungry sailors.”

“Answers, Tom. I want answers, not excuses. Understand?”

“I’ve been working day and night to learn all I need, and, now, with Swenson gone, I’m up to my ears just about every minute of the day.”

“I don’t doubt that, Tom. Now just take five minutes to tell the man ‘No.’ Tell him to get those fucking papers started. You know me, Tom. If you don’t do it, I will.”

“Tom, are you there? Tom?”

“Ah, yeah. Listen, Mary, I have a day off sometime next week. Suppose I see if he’ll be around then?”

“No, Tom. Today. You do it or I will.”

“I got to go, Mary. Doug’s calling me to the mess hall. OK, you do it. Love you, Mary.”

Lt. Gordon brought Mary’s letter to me one day when I was going over a menu with Doug.

“Doug, draft a letter to the commandant. Explain to him that Chief Schultz and his wife are expecting their first baby on October 18 in Youngstown, Ohio. Schultz is due to be discharged on October 28^th. Request discharge on October 17 so Schultz can be with his wife by the 18^th. Make sure he doesn’t lose any benefits by moving the date. Let me see the letter before you send it. Tom, take a look at this letter from Mary.”

“Dear Lt. Gordon,” it read. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciated hearing from you and your most generous offer of a visit to Pensacola. It would mean so much to me to see Tom at this point and sunny Florida sounds so inviting from up here in the north. However, it would be most dishonest of me to do anything that would have you assume that we are interested in having Tom extend his naval career beyond his current tour. In fact we are hoping that you will be able to arrange for Tom to be discharged a week or so early so that he can be in Youngstown for the birth of our first child. The due date is October 18, and I have every reason to believe that this will be the date of birth. With this in mind I must refuse your kind offer. Tom speaks so highly of you that I hope there will be an opportunity to meet you at some future date. Yours truly.”

“Well, who’s the civilian here? Don’t you look like the cat’s meow dressed in those duds?” Doug kidded me as I arrived in the mess hall with my bags packed for Youngstown. “Lieutenant Gordon says to be sure you talk with him before you leave.“

It sounded like an order so I knew I’d have to stop by to see the old man. I’d figure out something good to say.

“Come on in, Tom. Grab a chair,” Lieutenant Gordon said. “You’ve done a great job here. I’m truly going to miss you and I know the other guys feel the same way.”

“Well, sir, that’s something good to hear. It’s going to give me confidence down the road. I’m sure I’m going to be cooking somewhere and I’ll always be grateful for the opportunities you gave me.”

“You know, Tom, I’ve got two more years here and then I’m going to be looking for promotion to a more sophisticated kind of arrangement. Officers’ mess of some kind. Something with a little more generosity in the budget and more challenge in the menu. I’m going to need somebody like you.”

“Not me, sir. No, I’ve had enough Navy.”

“Not as Navy, but as a civilian employee of the Navy. A civilian career. Think about that Tom. Good benefits. Free golf. Good education for your kids. Just keep that in mind.”

“Well, I can’t say right now, sir. If you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, I’ve got a plane waiting at the airport, a wife waiting in Ohio, and a baby waiting to be born. It’s not easy for me to say goodbye. To tell you how much this has meant to me. Anyway, Lieutenant...anyway…”

I had to get up to the Pensacola airport in time to get a few stiff drinks before boarding. It was impossible to fly without a little reinforcement, but too much could lead to another donnybrook and a missed birth day.

That goddamn flight to LaGuardia was something else. The pilot couldn’t get above, below, or around the weather and most of the trip was spent with my head between my legs. By the time we landed—and I’m not too sure we actually did—I was a shambles. Head stuffed and throbbing, stomach in a turmoil, and my heart in my throat. No lunch, and in that condition—food had no appeal.

“Give me a draught.”

“Miller’s or Bud?” The bartender, a young blonde with a face that could have been improved by a smile, said.

“Make it a Miller’s.”

“Want another?” The bartender asked pointing to the empty mug.

“Yeah. That’s beginning to get me back together. That was one hell of a fly we had from Pensacola.”

“It’s rough all over today,” she said, pouring another mug. “Where’re you going?”

“Youngstown.”

“Yeah? I grew up around there—Ravenna?”

“Yeah, Ravenna—Kent State. How long you’ve been away from there.”

“Just a few weeks.”

“I never thought I’d be going back to Youngstown. Saw so many great places in the navy.”

“So, why Youngstown.”

“This really hits the spot. My wife—Mary—wants us there—to be near our parents when the baby comes.”

“When’s that?”

“Any minute now. Just hope the damn weather clears so I can make it.”

“Say, ah…”

“Tom.”

“Listen, Tom, I want to ask you something, but it’s too busy until the other bartender comes. Stick around. I’ll pour you another. My name’s Jane.”

“I’ll be here.”

When Jane returned, she was sporting two mugs of beer and a basket of pizza. “Try these on for size.”

“Um! My stomach’s laid down its arms.”

“You look like you’ve been starving on someone else’s cooking,” she said as she raised the hinged break in the bar and slid through the opening to join me. “Enough bartender for one day.”

“You look like you deserve a break.”

“Whew, it just gets too busy around here. I work my ass off behind that bar all day and then when I go home, my guy wants his share too.”

“Not the life I had in mind.”

“So what’d you do in the Navy, Tom?”

“Baker, chef. Don’t know what’s next. How about you?”

“I just ran away from home. Met this guy at a country dance one night and I never looked back. That’s what I want to ask you.”

She fumbled in her pants’ pocket and handed me a slip of paper.

“Here, that’s my father’s phone number in Ravenna. Would you mind giving him a call when you get to Youngstown? Maybe go to see him some time?”

“I’d be happy to. Why, I’ll have plenty of time while I’m knocking around trying to figure out what to do. What’s the story anyway? You in some kind of trouble?”

“Nah, nothing like that. You see, Daddy’s really a fine gentleman when he’s not drinking. It couldn’t be very far from you. I’d just like him to know that you saw me here in New York. That I’m OK. Just tell him that. That I’m OK. That I’m working at the airport. You can make up the rest.”

“I think I get the picture. I’ll do what I can. Guess I’d better check to see where my plane’s at.”

“Tom, you’re a nice guy. I can tell that. If you want to come home with me for a while now—just to relax. I could fix us a real meal. There’s nobody there right now. What time is it anyway? When’s your plane?”

“This guy next to me tells me I just missed it. I never heard the call and I thought it was delayed by this weather.”

“May as well come with me then. It’s not far.”

Jane’s place was a modest sized trailer just across the highway from the airport.

“Make yourself at home,” she said picking up items of clothing from around the room.

The room was a combination kitchen and living room with two small, but comfortable armchairs and three or four TV tables. The light green Formica wall paneling reflected a somewhat deathly glow from the bare-bulb overhead light.

“This place’s Jim’s. He’s a baggage handler over at the airport. I got some chili and mashed potatoes and some good garlic bread. It’ll have to be French dressing for the salad. What’s it like in Youngstown?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t think about it that much. How about you?”

“My ma died a long time ago. Got two older brothers and the old man. Never knew a woman I could trust—not that I could trust the three of them.”

“My old man’s one severe dude. Shows you that cute little smile when he gets one over on you. My ma will do anything for us—me and the nine older kids. But when it’s him or us, he’ll win hands down—every time,” Tom said.

“Chow time. Set those TV tables in front of the chairs. This beer’s yours. My old man’s a sweetheart, but give him a few drinks and he’s pure animal. The boys are carbon copies. Thank God the Marines got them overseas.”

“Thanks. Like I said, the old man’s severe and when he’s drunk, double that. When he comes in drunk it’s like a dog running through a pack of nibbling pigeons. Everyone disappears in a flutter,” Tom said.

“Watch out, that chili’s hot and hot—both ways—um!”

“Won’t bother me. He has no use for me and I have none for him. Don’t want nothing, don’t need nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound too good. Must feel kinda—well, empty,” Jane said.

“This is great. I don’t know. Doesn’t feel like much of anything to me—usually. Except one time when he killed my dog and mom wouldn’t do anything. If I’d of said anything, he’d a killed me. Never gave him another chance after that.”

“Same here. Pa’d like to have me if he thought it’d work. He’s seen me use that big meet clever cutting up them chickens. Made him think twice. Eat up. You don’t want to miss this plane on top of the other.”

“No way. Of course, Mary, she’s a lot like my dad ‘cept she don’t drink—maybe that makes a difference.”

“Maybe. Seems I spent my whole life with somebody’s hands all over me. Then they’d get pissed if I said anything. ‘Slut, bitch, think your ass’ a gold mine.’ This guy here wants his meat and potatoes on the table when he comes home and he wants to get laid twice a day. But he’s no drinker. Don’t got much to say, but he’s no drinker,” Jane said.

Chapter 9

“Mr. Richards. Hi, uh, Pappy. It’s Tom.”

“Why, Tom. We were expecting you hours ago. What in the world happened? You’ve missed the grand event and Mary’s beside herself with disappointment. I think she’s a little upset to say the least. Everybody’s been worried sick.”

“Why? What happened? Is it Mary?”

“Sure it’s Mary. But, more important, it’s your daughter. You’re a father, Tom. It happened eight hours ago. We expected you in plenty of time. I simply don’t know what to say. Where are you?”

“At the Youngstown airport. A girl, huh? What’s her, I mean, how big is she? Is she, ah, normal?”

“She’s fine Tom, six pounds, seven ounces. All systems are go. Listen, let me figure out the best way to get somebody over there to get you. Call me back in fifteen minutes. Don’t you worry. “

Mary was nursing Lisa in her room at St. Elizabeth’s. She looked up at me and gave me a big smile. “She’s been asking for you, Tom. She wants to know what her name is. Any ideas?”

“Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry. The damn weather. It was frustrating. Let me say ‘Hi’ to darling baby. What a wonderful joy.”

“Easy, Tom, don’t knock her off my breast. She’ll start crying and it’s hell to get her calmed down once she starts. What would you like to name her, Lisa or Julie? I think Lisa sounds nice. Don’t you? She’s so petite. What do you think, really?”

“Yeah, Lisa sounds real nice. Sure. Why not? Mary, how are you? You look like you could use some rest. Do they keep the baby with you all the time? Do they get you something to eat? Mary, what can I do?”

“Well, Tom. I’ve been thinking about that. First of all, you need to get rid of that horrible smell from your little celebration. Get settled in my room at Mom and Dad’s—get comfortable with the house and the family. Ask Dad what you can do around the place—mow the lawn or something like that. And more important than anything else—get a job. No horsing around. We’re not going to mooch off my parents and we can’t afford any post-discharge vacations. No time to think it over or figure it out. I can’t work right now, so it’s up to you. How much money do we have right now?”

“Gee, Mary, I don’t know.”

“Take a guess. Do you have checking, savings, back pay due, anything? Tell me to the nearest hundred. How much do you have?”

“Looks like five or six hundred here in my pockets.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Any debts? Owe anybody anything?”

“No.”

“Eight years in the Navy, and you have a grand total of, let’s say, six hundred dollars. That’s it? We’ll talk about that later. Let me have it. Now, I have a checking account with $1,200. This makes it eighteen hundred. The Navy will cover all our medical expenses. This eighteen hundred gets us an apartment and furnishings along with a little emergency reserve. Your job will support us. We can stay at Mom’s for two months. No longer. Just until Lisa gets stabilized. Today’s Friday. You should have a job by Monday morning. I’m tired, Tom. Ask the nurse to take Lisa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I got settled in at the Richards’ and went over to see Mom and Dad. My brother Joe was home all alone. Joey was six years older than me and twice the size. He had a fleshy, pockmarked face and a short haired, balding head. He was considerably overweight with a very pronounced belly. Joey was seated at the kitchen table eating a sausage sandwich washing it down with a can of Schlitz.

“Hey, asshole, buddy. Where the fuck did you come from. Grab yourself a Schlitz and join in. Don’t be no goddamn stranger. How’s Mary? How’s the kid? Get some of that hot sausage in the fry pan. Here, take one of these rolls and make yourself a sandwich. Jesus Christ, you look like you’ve been fucking a whole Wave squadron. You got bags under the bags under your eyes.”

“The last time you had any was so long ago you can’t even remember. I’m sober as a judge and straight as the Eire Canal. Everybody’s fine, you big tub of shit. Everything’s fine. How the hell are you, honkie?”

“No problemo. No problemo. I got to get to work. I just got up a few minutes ago. This breakfast’ll put hair on your chest. Lookie here, Tommy boy, do you want to drive me to work? You can have the car. No drinking and no pussy. You’re a father now. No more fucking around. Come on, let’s go. Finish that sausage in the car.”

Joey pulled the battered ’58 Chevy sedan out of the driveway between Dad’s and the neighbor’s houses barely avoiding the side of the house. The battered side of the car could attest to previous failures. He turned up the street and headed off toward the tube mill where he had been working for the past 17 years.

“Mary’s all over my ass to get a job – not tomorrow, but today. How the hell am I going to do that? Got any ideas, Joey?”

“What can you do?”

“Well, I was a baker and a chef in the Navy, but I’m strong and I’m willing to do just about anything.”

“Try ‘anything’ instead of ‘just about anything’ and you’ve got a chance. Times are tough and jobs are tight. We don’t have too many bakers on the line and chefs are going hungry ‘cause nobody’s got money to go out to restaurants. I can’t think of anything, but I’ll talk to Jeff. He’s the foreman.”

“Dad? Our Dad? He wouldn’t give me shit. I’d have to starve to death before he’d do anything.”

“You always talk like that. You don’t know jack shit. He’s done more for you than you’ll ever know. If you weren’t such a goddamn smart-ass, know-it-all prick, you’d be able to ask him in a way that he’d be glad to help you. There’s the mill up ahead. Remember this entrance? You used to drop me off here when you were in high school. I’d slide out from behind the wheel, and you’d slide in. Every time I’d let you borrow the car I’d wonder if I’d ever see it, or you, again. Hope you’ve grown up. Pick me up at eleven thirty, kid. And no…”

“I know. No drinking and no pussy. I’m just using the car to go to church and if it has the smell of woman when I pick you up, it’s just because I gave a couple of nuns a ride to the convent. Get your ass the hell out of here and get to work. And don’t forget to talk to the foreman.”

They hired me on as a janitor on the midnight shift. When Joey told me about the job, I was a little less than grateful. My attitude wasn’t helped by the way Joey chose to present me to his fellow workers.

“Hey, Sam, this is my kid brother, Tom. He’s just spent eight years in the Navy as head chef and now he’s going to be ‘head’ man here at the mill on midnight turn. Get it, Sam? ‘Head-man.’ Tom’s going to make everything cleaner and brighter for us.”

“Hey, Joey, can it,” I hollered. “Enough’s enough. See you, Sam. Look, Joey, can’t we forget the humor?”

“What’s the matter, kid? Can’t take a little joke? All kidding aside. I had to do a lot of fast talking to get you this job. Even had to get the old man to speak up for you.”

“Dad, you got Dad to speak up for me? What are you now some kind of fucking wizard?”

“Like you say that wasn’t easy considering your record. So you be here on time and you do your job and no goofing off. These guys are rough and they’ll find a soft spot and they’ll ride the shit out of you. But you got to humor them. You can’t let it get to you. If you do, they’ll ride you right out of here. Won’t matter that Carl Schultz is you father or not. Keep your nose clean. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open. If you have a problem, come to me. Got it? OK. Get out of here, honky.”

Things weren’t bad for the first few months. I could handle the job and the Richards had this nice two-story house not too far from the center of town. It had a big yard with lots of trees and there just wasn’t too much that had to be done. Pappy suggested that I mow the lawn once a week and trim around the flowerbeds. I did it a few times, but it began to interfere with my gym time and whatever was going on around the pool hall. I really thought I had everything working until I started to get the feeling that Mary and the old man were keeping pretty close tabs on me.

I think it all started coming apart that early spring morning when I walked into the kitchen. I’d just gotten home from work—about 10. Mary was having her coffee. I was happy as a pig in shit—whistling in the back door, ‘goo-goo’ to Lisa in her bassinet, a peck on the cheek for Mary.

“Hi, hon,” Mary said. “Get yourself a cup of coffee. You can freshen this one up too.”

“No thanks, I think I’ll just have a beer—tough night at the mill. They’ve been asking me to work overtime.”

“Is that where you’ve been?”

“It’s just beginning. I’m going to have to get some more regular sleep if I’m going to do that. Pappy at work?”

“And Mom’s at the hairdresser,” Mary said. “Oh, Lisa, what are you fussing about now? I can’t ever imagine. You’re clean and I just fed you.”

“You know, I was wondering if you couldn’t do something about all this crying? Jeez, it drives me nuts. Does she have to be in our bedroom? Sometimes I think I could k…”

“You could what, Tom? What are you saying?” Mary was screaming now. “You could ‘kill’ her? Kill your own child so you could sleep? She’s in the bedroom because this isn’t our house and it’s where my parents have told us to keep her. Why don’t you get a real job so we can buy a house of our own?”

Mary took a sip of her coffee and was silent for a long time, and I couldn’t think of any way to improve the situation.

. Finally, she said: “Tom, I went to the bank yesterday afternoon to take out money for the dentist for my crowns and I discovered that our ‘apartment money’ is no longer there. Six hundred dollars was gone. Withdrawn last week. Withdrawn by you. Tom, what happened? What’s going on?”

“Look, Mary, you’re getting all upset over nothing. Yeah I took the money, but it’s all for you and Lisa. Trust me. You’ll see.

“I’m trying to trust you, Tom, but you’re not making it very easy for me. You’re going to have to do better than ‘trust me’. Show me something real.”

“Couldn’t we go talk in bed the way we used to before Lisa came along?”

“No, Tom. I don’t want her to see us doing that. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Leave her out here. Come on. She’s too young to know what’s going on. Let’s go.”

“No, Tom. Careful with those hands. Don’t try to get me going. I couldn’t enjoy it anyway. If you have to do something, you can go into the bedroom. Then we can to talk.”

“Come on, Mary. Can’t we get someone to take Lisa out in the carriage or something? Then we could talk things over in bed.”

“You know she’s too young to go out—it’s too cold. Go jerk off and we’ll talk right here. Right now.”

“No, no way. No jerk job for me. It’s getting laid with you or no talk. Your choice. I’m out of here.”

“Tom, get back here, Tom.”

I found Joey sitting in the kitchen sucking on a Kholers. Mom and Dad were gone for the day.

“What’s up, asshole buddy?” Joey greeted me.

“Shit, I don’t know. Fuck it. I just can’t figure it out. No matter what I do, it’s wrong. I’m trying to figure out a good life for Mary and Lisa and me, but all Mary sees is what she doesn’t like.”

“So when the hell did you try to show her something she might like?”

“She just doesn’t appreciate my style. I work hard and I try to take care of myself.”

“Bullshit!”

“Gym, golf, keep my eye on the cue stick.”

“Kid shit,” Joey laughed. “You got a wife and a kid. It’s grow up time. Leave the diapers for Lisa.”

“I’m a bright guy. I’ll figure things out. You’ll see.”

“Sure, Tommy boy, tell that to that midnight broom and see if it salutes.”

“Kiss my ass, you big tub of shit. And you know what gets her more than all the rest?”

“It’d strain my hernia to guess.”

“It’s the fucking beer. She just can’t see that I need a beer once in a while to relax from all this horseshit.”

“Once in a while? You goddamn alkie. If the breweries ever went on strike, they’d have to put you in a straightjacket. Once in a while, my ass.”

“I ain’t no alkie, Goddamit. I’m way too smart for that. Sure, I like the sauce. Might say I have a knack for drinking. But I ain’t no alkie.”

“Come on, Piper Man. You’re just like me and the old man. Shit, if it weren’t for this stuff, they could poke me out there in the back yard. And I’d go with a smile. A lot of times I’d like to go anyway. You’re the same. Don’t shit yourself.”

“Whatever. Anyway I got this idea. Stuff that sausage in your mouth for ten seconds and listen.”

“I’m all ears, Tommy boy.”

“Remember that gal I met at the airport in New York—Jane. Remember she asked me to call her old man. Well, I did. Turns out he works in our other mill—over in Akron. We got to talking about work and things. He and his old lady own a little deli on the South Side. They’re going to sell it, and I’m going to buy it. I even gave them a sort of down payment to hold while I get things together. I don’t want to tell Mary until it’s a deal.”

“See there you go. Why the fuck not show her you’re trying to do something for yourself? Where’d you get the money?”

“I took it from our bank account.”

“What’d Mary say?”

“I didn’t tell her, but she...”

“Didn’t tell her. Sweet Jesus hung on the cross in the loving arms of the Virgin Mary. Tom, you are so hopeless that even I am about to bail out.”

“Come on, give me a break. She’d just get all excited and screw everything up.”

“So if you’re going to buy the fucking deli, buy it. What’s the hold up?”

“Well, I did give the guy the six hundred dollars. They want ten grand for the place. I got to figure out how to do that and what to do about my job. What do I tell Mary?”

“You tell Mary you’re going to do what you’re going to do and you do it. Dumb ass. You got to make everything sound like a Harvard Business School class. Just do it, for Chrissake.”

“Fuck Joey.”

I went into my Houdini act after that little tête-à-tête with Mary. Avoidance is the essence of survival. I’d get home before Mr. Richards left for work. Mary and Lisa would be having breakfast. Sam would drop me off, I’d slip in through the front door, and hustle up the stairs to the bedroom. I’d wake up late in the afternoon and hang out in the bedroom until Mr. Richards came home from work at about 4:30. Then it’d be TV and dinner with Mom and Dad Richards until Sam picked me up at 7:30 for the athletic club. Mary and Lisa would sometimes join us, but Dad Richards’ firm no-noise-rule meant Mary had to take Lisa elsewhere if she started fussing or crying.

But one day things took a turn for the worse. I came rumbling downstairs for my evening séance with Pappy, but was surprised to see Mary sitting in her Dad’s armchair listening to some weird music on her Dad’s radio.

“What’s up? Where is everybody? Where’s your father? Where’s Lisa?”

Just then Mary’s Mom and Dad came in carrying Lisa—everyone dressed to go somewhere.

“We’re all ready to get going, Mary. I’m so excited. I’m sure everyone at the church supper is going to be thrilled to meet this young lady.”

“Just be sure to keep Lisa away from anyone with a cold, or flu, or from anyone who doesn’t ‘look right.’”

“Oh don’t worry dear,” her mother said. “I think I did a pretty good job of raising you. Didn’t I?”

“Well, time’s have changed. Give me a call when you get to church. And be sure to have all her things when you leave the church. Should I give you a list of what she’s wearing?”

“Really, Mary. Where do you get such notions? Come on, Dad. We’re going to be late.”

“What the hell’s going on here?” I asked. “Where’s my TV show? What’s that on the radio?”

“Sit down, Tom. That’s Bach, ‘B-A-C-H.”—music. We’re going to have a talk. Then maybe we’re going to get laid. No talk, no get laid. Talk—maybe get laid. Kapish, mein herr?”

“Okay, Okay, but let me get a beer first. I busted my ass last…”

“No, Tom!” Mary said with a sudden firmness. “Let’s talk, then we’ll have playtime, maybe some new fun and games, but first we talk. No bullshit, Tom, straight talk. That’s how Tom gets laid. Not with little girl bullshit, but with big girl straight talk. OK?” Mary fought to restrain her voice and her temper.

“OK, Mary, OK. What’s up?”

“Are you happy here, Tom?” Mary gave Tom no chance to respond. “This house, your job, me, Lisa—are you happy here? Tom, I’m not happy. If you are happy here, then why are you three sheets to the wind every time I see you? Why do you sneak around here like some second story artist? Why do you shut me out and scream at Lisa every time she so much as farts? Why do you spend most of your waking hours somewhere else? Where’s the money you’re supposed to be earning to support your family? Where’s the rent money? Daddy hasn’t seen any in six weeks. Where’s the money for food? Lisa and I are living off handouts from Mom. Where’s the money for the down payment for an apartment of our own? Where’s the love, honor and obey you promised to me in front of that man in New York City, Tom? Where’s the love, Tom? That’s what I want most of all—love for Lisa and for me. Do you know what love is, Tom? Do you think that love is some suck-fuck kind of game that’s played between the sheets in the middle of the night? Tom, this marriage isn’t making a man of you. It’s turning you back to the cradle. You ought to ask Lisa to slide on over to make room for you. Maybe she’ll stand up some day so you can crawl in. Tom, I’m sick. I’m heartsick.”

Mary broke the long silence, “Look, Tom, I have better things to do than sit here watching you look at that rug. If you hear me, and I think you do, now is the time to speak up—to try to turn things around. If you’ve already said all you’re going to say, then I’ll just see you later. I’m going over to the church to see how Lisa’s making out.”

Chapter 11

When I heard the door close, I got up from the couch, pulled a beer from the refrig, made a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and heated the left over kielbasa and garlic bread. I called Sam and asked for an early ride to work.

I’d known Sam since grade school, and we always helped each other through tough times. Sam lived over in the Italian section of town and came from a very close family where you could talk if you wanted to. I’d been over there a few times—met his parents a couple of times.

“Nice tomatoes you got there, Mr. Fazio.”

“Yeah, Tommy boy. You lika da one? Make you grow big and strong. Lika Joe Louise.”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Go aska Momma for da salt. Gotta hava da salt.”

“Here, Mr. Fazio. You have some too.”

“Oh, thanka you, Tommy. You such a nica boy. Here, taka dese to your mama.”

“What’s up?” Sam asked as he opened the door of his gray Plymouth coupe. “Never thought I’d see you wanting to be early for this job.”

“Just drive. Let’s go down by the river. I want to sit down there and watch the water rush by. Maybe I’ll even jump in and see if I know how to swim.”

“Must be real bad. Real bad. Talk when and if you want to. I’ve got all night and then some.”

Sam picked a back road that went up a knoll overlooking the swift running water. He stopped the car at the crest and we got out to look down at the river.

I tossed stone after stone into the water.

“I’m just a kid to her. I can’t do anything right. I can’t say anything that makes her respond with some feeling of trust or respect. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“In the Navy I was something, somebody. Now I’m shit and she takes advantage of every opportunity to remind me of it. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. She’s on my ass all the time. She wants me to be some kind of Sunday School teacher. ‘Let’s take a stroll downtown with Lisa.’ ‘Do you want a cup of tea or a cup of coffee?’ ‘Let’s go out for ice cream.’ Fuck that shit. ‘Let’s go out and have a few. Relax.’ ‘Let your mom take care of Lisa.’ Come home and pump iron. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“I work hard and I need some relaxation. Money isn’t everything. What’s wrong with living with her parents for a few years? I don’t know, Sam, I just can’t figure it out. Let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”

Chapter 12

I went over to see Jane’s father, Bob, to try to figure out how to go about buying the deli. He told me that my next step would be to get in touch with his banker, a Mr. Chantz.

Mr. Chantz had an office down by town hall. It was located in one of those fancy new brick buildings with lots of glass and imported lawn and trees. Chantz’ practice supported a receptionist in a small room outside his office. I was asked to take a seat until he was ready for me. I grabbed a copy of golf digest over in a corner and just stared at the cover trying to figure out how to evaporate.

Chantz had all the facts and figures on Bob’s business so it didn’t take him very long to analyze the situation and come up with a plan.

“The business should yield a very good living for you and your family and allow you to repay an $8,000 loan from the bank over a period of seven years. That would require you to place $2,000 down and pay $150 a month for principle, interest, taxes and insurance. You would be moving in with the business in tact. Bob suggests a transfer in three weeks—that would be the first of September. You could be in business the next day.”

“Wow! That’s a whole lot for me to digest all of a sudden. I’m going to have to talk with my wife, Mary, about this—she’s the accountant. I’m strictly on the food end.”

“Of course you need to talk this over with your wife. We wouldn’t expect anything else. Take a couple of days.”

“Can I get back to you on Tuesday?”

“Sure. We have your $600 deposit so the amount due on September 1 will be $1,400. The first payment after that is due on October 1. Here, I’ve put it all in writing so you can go over it with, ah, Mary. All I need to know now is the name of the business. What would that be?”

“Let’s see. I think we should call it Lisa’s Deli. That’s it, Lisa’s Deli.”

“Fine. Fine. Just call me if there’s anything else you need to know, Tom.”

“Shit, maybe I can get by without this Goddamn deli shit. Just put my hand up between Mary’s legs and start rowing. Once I get her warmed up she’ll be all over me. She won’t care whether I sweep floors or just play golf all day. Once I get it up in her she’ll be screaming for more. Nice dream, Tommy Boy, nice dream. What else? What else has to happen? Oh, boy. I’m going to get my ass kicked when I tell Mary what I’ve done. I should have told her before I ever got in so deep. There’s no going back now. There’s no way I’m going to disappoint Bob. That Chantz sounds like a nice guy, but I bet he’d have me behind bars if I ever tried to back out of this. Goddamn Sam and his ‘just do it.’ Well I ‘just did it’ and it feels like I put myself in a meat grinder and they’re all ready to serve me up with lettuce and tomato. You can kiss that $600 goodbye—and where the fuck am I going to come up with another $1,400? Mary’ll shit when she hears this one. Rent—food—I can’t even scrape two nickels together to make a dent in our bills. Tom Schultz, you got to be the dumbest fuck since the blizzard of whenever the hell it was. And how in the hell am I going to get from the Richards to the deli—back and forth every day? It took me an hour and a half to get over to Bob’s and it’ll take another hour and a half to get back. I ain’t got no car and I don’t know how in the hell I’d ever get one. Hell, forget the ‘just do it.’ Try ‘think it through’ for a change. Dumb bastard—creepy fucking idiot.

Nobody’s going to lend me a car for a month—a night at the outside. Of course Joey’s Chevy is parked in the back yard most of the time. I could get Sam to give him a ride back and forth to work and I’d pick up the beer at the distributors on Friday nights. Oh, he’d vent himself of a good portion of abuse, but he just might spring for the wheels once he sees this is a real thing. If I can get Mary behind me…I’ll take her and Lisa along. He’ll give in—Mary’ll see to that.

Mary was in the kitchen finishing up her lunch and playing with Lisa who was dressed in a bright yellow sun suit in her brand new carryall. Mary was in her light blue pajamas with her hair flopping every which way.

“Want me to warm up that coffee, hon? Looks like there’s enough for both of us. Hi, hi, Lisa baby—most famous Lisa baby in the whole universe.”

“Sure, get the cream out of the fridge. What’s this most famous in the universe all about?”

“Maybe Lisa’d like a taste of this coffee. Give her a change of diet from all that milk. Ha! Say, Mary, remember those delis we went around to in New York City last year?”

“Yeah, I guess I set quite a pace, didn’t I? You should do something like that—open a deli of your own. You could do it. Get us out of this rut.”

“Well, what would you say if I told you I am doing it? What would you say then?”

“You can’t be serious, Tom, can you? How? I mean, we don’t have the money to do something like that.”

I told Mary the whole story—of meeting Jane (the short version), of Bob and the current status of the deal.

“So what do you think? You like it? Any ideas?”

“Tom, it’s real scary. Can we really do it? Will your father do it? Daddy might help some. Maybe fifty-fifty with your Dad. He’d be easy. What can he lose? I mean everything would be insured. Let me talk it over with him. See what he says. Oh, Tom, it’s scary. What happens if we start and then it doesn’t work? Can we afford the deli and an apartment at the same time? I don’t know, Tom. Oh, fuck...I mean...oh, what the hell. Oh, fuck, let’s do it. Let’s fuck and then we’ll buy the deli.”

“Yeah, but we got to give Dad a chance. We can keep your dad in the chute. Let’s sit down and talk with Papa Carl. I’ll call Mom and see if we can come over now. OK?”

Mary reached for the phone before I even had a chance to think. And before I knew it we were out the door and on our way over to Dad’s.

“Well, look at the two of you with that little one all wrapped up like a Christmas present. Come on in here—there’s still a chill in the air despite that warm sun. You’ll catch your death of p-neumonia,” Mom hollered as she opened the back door. “Dad’s in the front room with his newspaper. Go on in, I’ll get the bunch of us some coffee.”

“Want to hold her, Dad?” Mary gestured to Carl as she entered the front room. “You know how much she likes that. Here, Tom, take his newspaper so Dad can have Lisa.”

“Hi, Dad. How’s it going,” I said not looking at him.

“Well, what brings you two over here? I know it ain’t Christmas, and I had a birthday last month. Must be something real good. About the only time I see this guy over here is when he wants something.”

“We just wanted to talk with you about something, Dad,” Mary said. “How’s the knee doing?”

“Not so good in this weather,” he said rubbing his right knee. Carl was a tall, bony man with angular features. His bald head and wire rimmed glasses gave him a rather stern and unyielding look and the pipe in his mouth masked whatever feelings he might have.

“Say, how’s that job going over at the mill? Hear you’re keeping your nose clean. Going to have to or you’ll be out on your ear slicker than a whistle.”

“Oh, come on, Dad. Don’t be so hard on him,” Mary said. “You know he’s trying. And he just adores Lisa. We don’t have any complaints. You’re about to be really proud of your son. Just like I am,” Mary said getting up to move close to Tom and take his hand.

“Well, I ain’t holding my breath, honey. But, go on. You’re trying to get at something.”

“I’m sure you remember what a great job Tom did in the Navy as a baker. How he got those certificates at chefs’ school and was a great hit at Pensacola. Well, now he has a chance to use his talent in a business of his own and that’s why we’re here. To ask you for you’re help.”

“Yeah? What help is that? I can’t even cook water. Let’s hear it from you, Tom. You’re the one that’s going to do this whatever it is.”

“Well, see, sir, I mean, Dad, there’s this deli over in Youngstown on the South Side, Lisa’s Deli…I mean it’s going to be Lisa’s Deli. I’m going to buy it, rather, I’d like to buy it, but I just don’t have the money.”

“What kind of money ain’t you got,” Dad said.

“Well, I, I mean we’ve put down $600 and we’re going to need another $1,400 to start the deal and then there’d be a loan for eight, no, I mean $6,000. Let’s see, that’d be for seven years, I think. Yeah, seven. So, that’s about it. I guess I could use some coffee or something.

After all this Dad relit his pipe and took a deep drag. “So you want me to be a co-signer in this business idea of yours and you want me to loan you two-thousand dollars. “Mom, Mom get on in here. Bring that coffee and come in and sit down. I want you to hear this one.”

Mom came into the room and sat down on the couch beside Mary. “What is it, Dad?”

“This son of yours wants to start a food business on the South Side and he wants me to loan him $2,000 and to be a co-signer for his business loan of $6,000 dollars. Ever hear of anything like that? All his life he said ‘left’ whenever I said ‘right,’ and he said ‘up’ every time I said ‘down,’ and now he wants me to dance to his tune. Well, what do you think of that?”

“Is it a solid business? What are the risks for you if you say yes? Is there somebody we can talk to?” Mom said.

“Sure, there is. Mr. Chantz at the First Bank is handling the whole matter. He says he’d be happy to answer any questions and explain the entire situation,” Mary said.

“So, shouldn’t we talk with this Mr. Chantz, Dad? At least find out what this is all about. It can’t hurt to do that much. You know you’ve helped all the other kids with their cars and their college. This is the first thing Tom has asked for. I think we owe him a chance.”

“Ok, Mom. OK, I hear you. But I’m not saying anything. I’ll try to figure out what this is all about, but no promises. Mary, you set up an appointment with this Chantz or whoever it is. Let me know when it is. In the meantime you’d better do something about this kid. I think she’s in some trouble.”

Chapter13

Goddamn Mary. I worked my balls off getting that goddamn deli going. She tried to help, but she couldn’t get past the idea that it was hers, and that without her I never would have gotten Dad to cough up the dough, and without her I never would have gotten this far.

“Just don’t forget what side your bread is buttered on, Tom. You never have been able to make it on your own and you never will.”

“How’d I ever live all those years without you? Must have been your shadow watching over me.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Tom. I’m much too busy for that crap. You’d better get going, hon.”

“Look, Mary. I do appreciate all you’ve done and I do need you. But make no mistake, this is a family business, our family. You have a say in what goes on…just that—a say. Kapish?”

“Well, sometimes, to hear you talk I wonder if you truly appreciate that. Look, darling, I’m trying to help. We just have different styles.”

“Don’t I know. But, let’s try to get things straight here. I run the business; you are the business manager and advisor to the business. I bake the rolls and I decide what to put into the rolls. You decide which rolls make money and which don’t. You keep your fingers out of the dough, and I’ll keep my fingers off the dough. Kapish, meine Freulein?”

“Kapish, Adolph, Kapish. You’re beginning to sound like your father. Now get on over to the store and get moving. You’ve just got one week before our grand opening and you’ll be lucky enough to make that.”

Well, I did get moving and we had the grand opening and it was some success. Of all the customers I can remember I’ll never forget one very special person--Sal. Sal the barber—a good barber specializing in hair pieces. Had a line of shit longer than Fifth Avenue.

“What have we here? My goodness, what have we here? New to the block and a miracle before my own eyes. Sal’s the name—and making hair’s the game. Give me five and you’ll come alive.”

“I’m Tom. What can I get for you?”

“You’d better take care of all those ladies, first. Mrs. Latremona. Good day, Mrs. Simone. And what would you like, Mrs. Cantrell? Let’s go, Tom. Hustle, hustle, hustle.”

“They’re all taken care of. Mary—that’s my wife back there—she’s just ringing them up. Your turn,” I said.

“Hot dog…just an expression, Tommy boy. I want something for lunch. Something hot—hot and hot.”

“These spicy meatballs with noodles are just what you want. Rolls come with it? Here, take a taste.”

“Um! You make these or the little lady back there?”

“All mine, I said.”

“Genius, Tommy. Pure genius. I’ll take some.”

“Something to drink, Sal?”

“What’s the name of this place? he asked. “Lisa’s Deli?”

“That’s it. My daughter. Mary. Mary, come up front here when you’re finished. I want you to meet a new friend. This is Sal—owns the barbershop just up the street. Sal, this is Mary.”

“Well, howdy do. Tom’s got himself a pretty missy. Miss Mary—care to dance?”

“I only do one partner at a time. But if you leave your business card, I’ll keep you on standby.” Mary turned back to the back room.

“Oh, a sassy lassie. I do like that. Well, I’ve got to cut out if you know what I mean. Here’s a couple of bucks for the meatballs. Later, you all.”

“Pshew!” Tom went to help Mary with the dish washing. “That was icing on the cake.”

“Looks like we’re going to get a little breather. Never let up from the opening bell. Let’s see how many signed our guest list. Oh, my goodness, Tom. There must be a hundred names here. I can’t even count them all. Why, I had no idea.”

“Well, I know I was trying to wait on two or three at a time all morning. I had to keep saying ‘Sorry, we just ran out of that.”

“We’ll have to see how many come back.” Mary put the guest list down and continued with the dishes.

“A lot, I’m sure. Bob told us to expect the loyalty of his customers. And, if that doesn’t work, the artistry and pleasant manners of Tom Schultz will.”

“To say nothing of Mary Schultz.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Oh, they did come back. At first a few and in time more than I could handle. The regulars came to outnumber the drop-ins and their favorites came to be signature for the deli.

“I was looking for the breaded veal cutlet in that special sauce, Tom,” Mrs. Latremona said one Monday morning. “I don’t see it where you usually set it out.”

“Gremlins. Mary and her mother were in over the weekend. Can’t find anything myself. Here they are over by the snitzel. I know they mean well, but they sure disrupt my routine. Like about a pound?”

“Yes, the usual. You’ve worked so hard to build this business, Tom, and it’s becoming one of the most popular spots on the block. But, you must get tired—six days a week—morning to night. Don’t you think you could use some help?”

“I do, but Mary says we can’t afford it. And she’s the financial arm. Maybe you could put a bug in her ear. She listens to you.”

“Give me some of those green beans and some of the red cabbage. About a pound each. And I’ll have a loaf of the fresh dark rye.”

“Pickled eggs are just ready. Want three or four.”

“I suppose. Four will do. And I’ll take a dozen of the almond spice cookies and a small cherry cheesecake.”

“That about it?”

“I think…no, put in a quart of the German potato salad and a quart of the raspberry seltzer. That’ll do it. I’ll talk to Mary. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Why, Sally, what a lovely dress. You look like you just stepped out of a fountain of youth,” Sal burst in just as I was handing Mrs. Latremona her bags.

“Oh, Sal. You’re so extravagant with your compliments. It’s just something I threw on at the last minute.”

“Look at her, Tom. Tell me if you ever saw anything better.”

“How much is that, Tom? Take it out of this.”

“That’ll just about do it, Mrs. Latremona. See you on Monday.“

“Got to rush now. I have an appointment. Bye, now.”

“Hey, Sally, haste makes waste. Let’s you and me go over to the hotel and have a drink—on me?” Sal called after her.

Sally hurried off without so much as a stutter in her step as Sal turned his attention to the pastry display.

“What’s wrong, Tom? Don’t tell me you never thought of throwing her a stiff one out back there among the flour sacks? Anything new here today? Let’s see—cake, pie, cookies. You bake all this stuff today?”

“Yeah, Mary takes everything left over from Friday to the missions on Sundays. We start fresh Monday mornings. Some of the stuff can be frozen and set out again, but I won’t do that with any of the breads or pastries.”

“What’s for lunch? Not just those sandwiches and salads, I hope?” Sal turned to see what else Tom had on display. “You know, Tom, a little diversion will get those creative juices flowing. Give you something to tell the guys out at the golf course.”

“Got lot’s of things for lunch. Any of these dishes—veal, beef, pork, chicken, fish. You got a couple of dozen. Take your choice.”

“Gimme some of that pork roast with beans and potato salad? Not too much. Just put it on a paper plate.” Sal sat down at the table nearest Tom. “How about Mary? When’s the last time you got her warmed up enough to be interesting?

“You’re early today, Sal. Avoiding the rush?”

“Slow day. You need to get more seating room in here. Can’t fit more than half a dozen at one time.”

“Well, Mary doesn’t want to spend the money right now.”

“Mary, Mary. All I ever hear is Mary. How about Tom? Tom. Tom-tom, tom-tom, tap out the rhythm of the old jazz band. Let’s go have a few and get laid. I’ve been working too hard; you’ve been working too hard. I’m going to finish this out on the street. See if this sorry old dick can find a resting place for the afternoon.”

Mary and Lisa’d come around every afternoon—just after lunch, about 1:30. She’d check out the register, do a quick inventory, and put in the day’s orders. Then she’d start giving me orders.

“What on earth are you doing sitting down over there, Tom. There must be a thousand things to do around here, and you loafing. Let’s go!”

“I’m tired, Mary. Started off the day tired. You should have been here earlier. Wall to wall customers. Man the place was jumping. Could have used a little help.”

“Get to bed on time. Turn the TV off. That’s the secret. Try that for a while and that’d be all the help you’d need.”

“Come on, Mary. A guy needs some time off. My golf game’s gonna go to hell if I don’t give it some attention. I need to relax.”

“Golf game? Relax? You can’t be serious, Tom. I’ve only been in this business for two years and it’s just beginning to show a profit and a steady customer base. Maybe in another year I’ll think about some extra help. For now the TV’s going off at 8:30 and you’ll be in bed by nine. Let’s go over the display cases and see if there are items I should drop from the menu. Answer that phone.”

“Hi. No. Yeah. No. I can’t. Yeah, but… OK.”

“Who’s that? Yeah, but, what?”

“Sal. Wanted to know if we could get together later.”

“Well, just tell him ‘no’. And that’s another thing—Sal. He’s no good and he’s no good for you. Just tell him to find another playmate and another place to hang out. I don’t want to see you with him. Let’s see—lasagna, meat balls, cabbage—let’s drop the eggplant…veal cutlet, chicken legs…”

“Looks like we’re in pretty good shape, Mary. Everybody loves this place—the food and the service they get. We’ve got a winner.”

“We do, Tom. And you’re doing a great job—you’re tops in the food business—and as a husband, a lover, and a father. I know I’m a little rough at times, but we’re still hanging on by a thread and we can’t let up. Lisa needs us. We’re building a future for the three of us.”

“Yeah, I know. I just get a little tired sometimes. Want to relax a little bit.”

“Later, Tom, later. You call that Sal and tell him we’re too busy to entertain him. You hear me, Tom?

“Yes, Mary. I hear you. Cuddles, Lisa. You be a good girl. Don’t keep mommy awake all afternoon. Mommy and Daddy have something they want to do this evening. Mommy needs her rest. Bye-bye, Lisa. Bye-bye, Mommy.”

“What were we going to do this evening? Tom!” Mary pushed Tom’s hand from underneath her skirt. “Not here! Maybe this evening…if Lisa gives me some rest this afternoon. Not that I don’t want you, Tom. I really do. Like we did in New York. But… Listen, Tom. We’re going to have to get Lisa familiar with her deli. Maybe she could spend the afternoon with you sometime while I check out the neighborhood. How about next Thursday?

“You’re thinking, Tom. Tom? Thursday?”

“Thursday, yeah, Thursday. Let’s see…I got…Let me think.”

“OK, Tommy. Think. Say bye-bye to Lisa. Bye for now.”

“Yeah, later.”

“Hey, Sal. She just left. Yeah, I got some in the back room. Yeah, bring her along if you can’t get rid of her. Are you crazy? OK, I’ll see you about four.”

“Hey, man, where’d all the people go? Think I’ll write that as a song,“ Sal said easing his way around to the back room.

“It’s usually pretty dead from about 3:30 till 4:30 then it starts picking up until I close.”

“You get here pretty early, don’t you?” Sal said.

“I’m here at five. Do most of the prep the day before. Have most of the baked goods out by six. Try some of this?”

“Need any help around here? Good stuff. What is it?”

“Old Thompson. Rye. Top shelf for me.”

“You’re an early bird. Myself, I’m lucky to be up by nine. Let ‘’’em wait, I say. Thought you said Mary didn’t want you drinking. She’s gonna smell it when you get home,” Sal said.

“Beer’s OK. Just the hard stuff she doesn’t like. But, she’ll never know. Nah, I just grab a beer from the fridge soon as I hit the door. She can’t tell whether she’s smelling beer or OT.”

“Tom the magician, huh? Bet you got a whole bag full of tricks. The navy must have opened you up to anything. Got a little pussy stashed somewhere out back there? Maybe in one of those flour sacks. Huh? Or maybe you’re just looking for something to rummage around with in those flour sacks.”

“No way. Mary’s enough for me.”

“How about me?” Sal said.

“What’s that mean?”

“I mean is there some left over for me?” Sal said getting up from the orange crate he was using as a chair. Then, with his drink in one hand and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth he moved slowly over toward me and cupped his hand around my neck and pulled my mouth down toward his groin. “I mean, Tommy boy, I’d like a little piece of you too.”

I jumped up from the chair next to the small table I used as a desk and took a swallow from my drink. Moving over to the freezer I began sorting through the contents looking for what might be needed for the next day. Terror left me frozen. I could feel nothing.

“Not ready yet. Not yet,” Sal said. “Give time time. Tell you what. I’ll give you a hand here in the evenings after I close the barbershop. You’ll be surprised at what I know. Take some pressure off.”

“OK, Sal. OK.” I needed time to think. Was it always going to be this way?

“Got to get going now. You know, you don’t have to ring up every sale you make. We’re going to need a little cash for the ponies.”

I guess that was the beginning of the end. Or was it the middle. Anyway my horse always came in second. Then the deli came in second. Then Mary and Lisa came in second. The end of the end came when the revenuers put the signs up in the window. Four years in this labor of love and now this. I was ready to jump and Mary was ready to push me when my old Navy boss, Lt. Gordon, gave us a call. We packed everything we owned into our pickup truck and headed for the Visiting Officers’ Mess on Cape Cod and a new life.

Chapter14

I got off to a bang-up start with Gordon. Really buckled down and cut the drinking back to the bare bones—no hard stuff, beer doesn’t count. Mustered all my talents as a baker and a cook to come up with a bunch of recipes that went over big with the men. Gordon kept insisting that I should scribble some notes with the idea of writing a cookbook for other Navy chefs.

“The guys are always looking for something new and different, and you have a lot to offer,” Gordon said.

“Come on, Jim. That’s another one of your pipe dreams. I ain’t done nothing special. Anybody can do it.”

“How about those eggs benedict with the special sauce you make and those English muffins you bake. I’ve never tasted anything like that. Your pancakes are out of this world. Just to name a few. And the beef stroganoff and sauerbraten. I’ve seen guys fighting over seconds on these. And you say nothing special? Come on, Tom, get some of this down. I’ll help you get some TDY to other bases so you can begin to show the other chefs how you do it.”

“Well, we’ll see, but no promises. I think you’ve got me way overrated. I’m not about to jump through that hoop again.”

“Why not give it a try,” his assistant called from the pantry where she had been checking the morning’s order. “If you ever did make a trip or two, I’d be happy to go along for moral support.”

“That’d go over big with Mary. She’s already suspicious. Even though I’m totally innocent and you’re too tied to that sugar daddy of yours. Bring me the recipe board for tonight’s dinner.”

“If you’re innocent, I’m the Virgin Mary. There’s nothing you’d like more than to hop in the sack with me. Maybe this could be your chance,” Jeanne said as she handed me the recipe board and headed for the door. “See you in the morning.”

I had scrounged a pencil and paper from the office and was standing at the prep table looking over the array of shinning pots and pans when George walked in.

“Hi, Tom.” George was a short, scruffy middle-aged man with an uncertain mustache and wandering hair. He would serve the lunch that Jeannie had prepared and also help with the evening meal. “That’s what we’re having for dinner?”

“What?”

“The pencil. I didn’t know you could write. What’s up?

“Oh, I’m going to try something different tonight,” I said making a few scratches on a scrap of paper. “Thought I’d try writing it out for a change. Let’s see—50 men, that’d be, make it 65…”

George returned from the back room with a notebook in his hand and threw it on the table. “Here, try this. Might be harder to lose.”

“Well, let’s not get too serious about this.”

After a few false starts and lots of prodding by Jeanne and George I began to get down one recipe a day. I included everything—pots and pans and cooking equipment, timing and coordination, support personal and their duties—everything. I convinced Jeanie to stick around afternoons so she could write things down as I prepared the meal. She offered to take the notes home with her and type them up so I could look at the draft the next day and make whatever changes were necessary. Over time we had a draft that we all were proud of. It was time to show it to the lieutenant.

Pensacola…New Orleans…Jeanne’s panties. Wait till Mary hears this. Whoa, boy. Be careful of what Mary hears. Oh, God. I’ll get her stroking it out on the golf course—back among the palms and ferns looking for her ball. The next thing you know I’ll have her on the ground…pumping iron. She’ll want it every way on every day after that. Pensacola…New Orleans…my kind of weather. Get those guys out on the course…sucker them into a few healthy bets. They’ll never know. The more they think they know, the deeper in they’ll get. Drink all night—golf all day. No drinking on the golf course—can’t handle that. “ Navy Cookin’” by Tom Schultz hits the top ten. Number one on the best sellers’ list. Tom Schultz on the Today Show on the Tonight Show. Tom of the world…Tom is the World. Fuck you, Mary. Oh, I could always use the money.

I had run into Paul at the golf course a few days earlier. Paul was the old farmer who owned the course, a converted cow pasture. I always kidded Paul that he still provided all the bullshit.

“Hey, Tom.” Paul called out in his usual laconic style.

“How goes it, Paul? Hitting them down the middle?”

“Yeah. Say, Tom. See that red Chevy convertible over there? The one with gold lined tail fins. That’d make a nice car for the missus. Give her some real class.”

“That’s just what I need to bring home. She’d fry my ass on that one.”

“Give you a real good deal,” Paul said. “Got to sell it quick.”

“How much?”

“Seven grand. Quite a deal.”

“Come on, Paul. Where the hell am I going to get seven grand? I have trouble enough handling what I got.”

“Take it and drive it for a few days. See how it fits.”

“What’ll I do with the one I got?”

“I’ll take care of that. Here, take the keys.”

“Well, Paul, it sure is pretty. Sure is big. Sure is a nice car. I always wanted a convertible. Guess it can’t do no harm to test it.”

After my round of golf I went over to the Chevy Convertible, jumped in and started her up.

“Where the hell did you get that tank?” Jeannie hollered as I got out of the car behind the mess hall.

“Thought you might like to go for a ride out in the country.”

“Yeah, down a dead end road, I bet,” she laughed. “That yours?”

“Sure. I bought it with the advance the publishers gave me on my book. Well, part of the advance. There’s lots more.”

“You’re shitting me. What publishers? You’re living in la-la land.”

“Don’t you think my book’s good enough? No faith, Jeannie baby. No faith.”

“Let’s see the contract.”

I slipped past Jeannie and went inside to start looking over the notes for the evening meal.

“Get this down. We’re going to have another 20 men tonight. Busload of new guys coming in from Boston. They’ll be here for a few days. So, make it 90 tonight to be safe. I’m going to try a variation of prime rib, baked potato, Caesar salad, fresh seasoned vegetables, English popovers—all the trimmings. We’ll have to call for a few extra servers. Let’s start with the prime rib. George, get the potatoes ready.”

After the meal Jeannie and I left George in charge of the cleanup crew bidding him goodnight as we went out into the parking lot.

“Want a test drive?” I asked as we got near the convertible.

“No thanks, I’ve got to get home. Have some things to do. Maybe some other time.”

“See ya.”

I got into the Chevy and took some time to look over the instrument panel. It was big. It was gleaming. It was overpowering. I put the key in the ignition and started the engine. It was teaming with power—I felt the urge to take it out on the highway and goose it for all it was worth. I steered it out of the parking area and headed toward town. I’d have to get some company for this test and I reckoned old man Chantee would be a likely candidate. It was barely nine o’clock when I pulled up to the hardware store and sure enough the old man was still there reading the day’s paper. He usually stayed at the store until nine because that way he could avoid much contact with the old lady. I laid on the horn and the old man gave a casual look toward the window. I got out and strode up to the door. Locked. I banged on the door and Chantee got up and let me in.

“Shut the place down. We’re going for a ride.”

“Crazy bastard. Where did you steal that?”

“It’s Paul’s—Paul Toomey. He wants me to buy it.”

“Shit, it won’t even fit in your garage. Mary’ll kill you.”

“Let’s get going. I got to get home early.”

I started up the convertible and pulled away from the curb. I reached back to the backseat floor and twisted off a can of beer from a six-pack in a brown paper bag. I pushed in the tab and took a swig.

“Want one?”

“Just drive.”

We drove out of town down Country Road 67, out past Bill’s Dairy Farm and beyond Cemetery Road. There I opened it up.

“Hang on, old man. Let’s see what it can do.”

Just past 110 mph Chantee closed his eyes and slumped down in the seat. He would have prayed, but he gave up on that long ago in favor of a litany of cuss words. “Holy Christ, Tom. Ease off. My heart, my heart.”

At 150 I figured it was time to call it quits for the night. I saw that the convertible could do everything I ever dreamed of and I knew it was what I wanted. And what did I dream of? Of Jeannie in the back of the car and me in the front of the car. Both going at 300mph.

I eased the car back into town and was nearing the hardware store when I noticed headlights from a trailing car tight up on my bumper. I jabbed my brakes, gave the car a quick jerk to the right then back to the left. I pulled up along the curb, and shut off the engine. To my surprise and consternation the other car pulled up beside me. The driver jumped out of the car and raced around his car to my side of the convertible. Seeing what was happening Chantee slid down beneath the dashboard. All of a sudden I felt fists pounding at my chest and shoulders.

“Wise son-of-a-bitch,” he screamed. “I’m a cop in this town and we’re always on the lookout for little pricks like you. Get this goddamn boat out of here and don’t come back.”

The ‘cop’ gave me a few more punches before the lights of a passing car caught Chantee crouching on the floor. At this the ‘cop’ raced back to his car and took off in one great hurry.

Despite my shock and dismay I got a good look at the guy and made note of his license plate number. I was certain that he did not see the beer squeezed between my legs—now spilled all over my upper trousers. I was in moderate pain. I took a sip of the beer and looked at Chantee. “Do you know who that was?”

“I think so. Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to stash the beer over there behind those shrubs near the church. Then I’m going to drive up to the police station. Want to come along?”

“No way. Look, Tom, I don’t want to say anything just now. Why don’t you take me home? If you’re smart you’ll go home too. You need to cool down.”

“I’ll be OK. Let me stash the beer then I’ll take you home.

I got out of the car and looked around to make sure no one was watching. We were less than a block from the police station. I finished the opened beer, tossed the bag of beer and the empty can behind the bushes, and hurried back to the car.

When I pulled up in front of Chantee’s house, I took his arm and said, “Don’t worry, man, I’ll get that bastard. I’ll call you in the morning.”

The sergeant at the desk looked only half-awake when I walked into the station. He was not unpleasant, but he did not seem interested in extending himself to me. “What’s up?” he asked.

“My name’s Tom Schultz and I’ve lived over on Oak Street for the past fifteen years. I want to file a complaint against a man who says he’s a cop in this town.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you what he looks like and I have the license plate number of the car he was driving.”

“Yeah, well, what’s the complaint?”

I related my story pretty much as it happened, but I edited it in places in an attempt to protect myself. There was no beer in my version, and I said that I was just looking for a place to park and probably stopped rather suddenly when I found a spot after a long search.

“You know this town on a Saturday night. Well, this guy behind me may have gotten excited when I stopped short and he jumped out of his car and started punching me. I was more shocked than frightened.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Yeah, a friend was in the front seat with me?”

“Where’s this friend now?”

“He’s home.

“OK, how about this guy. Let’s start with the license number. Local?”

“Yeah, 324 BZY.”

“Description?”

“I’d say about 5’7”, very burly. Dark complexion. Black hair. Big nose. Mean guy.”

“Let me check the records.”

The cop reached down underneath the desk and pulled up a large ledger and began flipping through the pages. “Nope, nobody like that works here and I don’t recognize the license plate.”

“But my witness says he knows the guy.”

“So where’s your witness? Who is he?”

“I can’t say right now.”

“So where does that leave us? I’d like to help you, but what can I do? You been drinking? I smell booze.”

“We had dinner and I had a beer.”

“One? You shouldn’t be driving if you’re drinking. Even one’s too many. See that white line over by the wall. Let’s see you walk that from one end to the other and back. And don’t touch the wall.”

I went over and casually walked the line. I had had lots of practice at this and had developed a style that guaranteed success even in the most marginal circumstances.

“OK, you look clean to me. Anything else?”

“Well, that guy that beat me up sure had more than one. I’d say he was good and loaded.”

“OK, OK. Look, fill out this report—just like you told me.”

He handed me a long white sheet with a series of questions on it and ample space for my story.

“I’ll show it to the captain in the morning. You fill it out and then you’d better get home. We don’t need any more action tonight.”

I wanted to fight for resolution, but I decided to wait for the Captain. This guy wasn’t worth the effort. I handed him the completed form, threw him a cursory thanks and headed for home, stopping on the way to retrieve the brown paper bag.

The smell and the taste of a fresh beer took my thoughts from the police station to my early morning trip to Norfolk. Gordon had it all set up. Train some of the local chefs on my new recipes and preps. Then get the cookbook into shape—add any recipes the other chefs might be willing to contribute. No room for screwups. My old buddy, Bill Thompson, was now a book editor. I hadn’t seen him since chef’s school in Atlanta. He was going down to Norfolk on the same plane as I was. He’d been up to see his bosses in Boston and was headed for a book convention. He knew books and he liked what I’d told him. He also knew lots of people in Norfolk and was going to host a couple of parties.

When I entered the house, Mary and Lisa were sound asleep. I knew it would be inviting death to wake Mary, but the drive home had intensified my pain and I just had to take a chance.

“Mary, Mary, I need your help.” Sitting on the edge of the bed I gently tugged at Mary’s shoulder.

Mary pushed me away and rolled over into her cocoon position. I pulled her back toward me.

“Get out of here, leave me alone,” she snarled. “Goddamit get the fuck out of here. Goddamit.”

“Mary, I need your help,” I said forcefully.

“Help? How about a two by four across your skull? That’s all the help you’ll get from me. What the hell’s going on, anyway? What’s wrong? What time is it?”

“Mary, I had an accident.”

“Accident. What kind of accident? You didn’t wreck our car, did you? Are you drunk?”

“No, none of that. I have a terrible pain in my chest and shoulder. I thought you could rub it with something.”

I gave Mary the same version I had given at the station.

“Wait a second. What’s this about Paul’s car? You mean you were drunk and you pissed off some cop and he beat the shit out of you? God! Anybody we know?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, we’re going to the doctor on this one. I’m not messing around with any rub down. And there’ll be no trip tomorrow. I’ll be dressed in a second—and stay away from the refrig. Who was it anyway?”

When Mary was backing out of the garage, she nearly backed into the red convertible that was parked carelessly in the driveway.

“Jesus Christ mother fuck, what in the hell is this. Is this Paul’s car? You think you’re going to park that monster around here? Oh, shit, Tom, you just get sicker every day. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“It’s not Paul’s car. It’s my car. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Your car? Whose money? Whose money is going to pay for your car?”

“My book.”

“Your book? My ass. All you ever got from that book is a few cheap feels from that so-called-assistant of yours. Show me the money.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of money and there’s plenty more on the way.”

“Well, I’ll have my accountant look into this one. Here’s the emergency room. Get out. I’ll park the car. Don’t do or say anything until I get back.”

I was sitting by the door when Mary came into the emergency ward.

“Let’s go,” Mary said.

Moving like a beaten dog I followed Mary up to the reception desk.

“Good evening. What can we do for you,” asked a white-suited young man looking up at us.

“My husband was in an accident and he’s complaining of chest and shoulder pains. I’d like to have somebody look at him.”

“If he’ll fill out these papers, somebody will see him. You’re his…?”

“Wife”

“Oh, fine.”

Mary filled out the forms and took them back to the front desk along with the insurance ID.

“Just have a seat over there and someone will see you shortly.”

“I don’t like these places, they treat you like you’re trying to get something for nothing. Maybe we should get out of here,” I leaned over to whisper to Mary.

“Maybe you should just be quiet.”

In time a young man came over to us. He was looking at Mary and the form she had filled out earlier.

“I’m the doctor on call. We’re going to use that examination table against the wall. You can both come.”

“Take your shirt off, Tom, and lie down on your back. Raise your arms above your head. Lower them to your side. Take a deep breath. Does this hurt? This? Sit up. You have severe bruising in the right shoulder. A bruised rib. Nothing broken. No dislocation. I’m going to give you a prescription that will ease the pain and reduce the swelling. You probably won’t be able to get it filled until tomorrow so I’ll give you enough to last until then. Take two of these every four hours—no alcohol. Don’t worry about what you’ve already taken. Now, let’s see—looking over the rest of this report, Tom, I want you to lie down and try to relax. The nurse is going to give you your first dose. Mrs. Schultz, you can come with me, please.”

“Hey, what is this? What the hell’s going one here,” I shouted raising on my elbow. “She’s not the patient here, I am. Just leave her the fuck alone.”

“Just lie down there and be quiet,” the doctor said firmly as he pressed me to the mattress.

“Nurse, over here. Bring a guard if you have to.”

The nurse came quickly to the table. Mary and the doctor went off up the hall to a quiet area. They chatted with lots of hand and arm motion for about ten minutes. They were still talking as they approached me, and I could hear snatches of conversation—“not without his consent”—“even if he isn’t alcoholic”—“a good psychiatrist.”

“I heard you bastards. You fucking assholes ain’t getting me to go anywhere or see anybody. Take your fucking selves, that’s who belongs there. Goddamit, I’m in a lot of fucking pain and I come into this shit hole for help and I get this son-of-a-bitching fucking creep and all he thinks about is shoving it to my wife while I lie here suffering. If you want to have anybody see a fucking psychiatrist it should be you two assholes. Fucking over there in the corner while I don’t get the help I need. Assholes.”

“Nurse,” the doctor said excitedly, “give him an injection. He’s not going to quiet down on his own.”

Shit! God, my head. My shoulder. I can’t move. I can’t even think if I can move or not. Wonder where Mary is? Goddamn! I gotta get out of here. I gotta catch that plane. But why do I feel this way? Oh, no! The car. Chantee. The cop. Where’s Paul’s car? Is it alright? God. There it is right outside the window. Taking up most of the driveway. Looks OK from here. Mary? She’s gonna kick my ass on this one. But she ain't keeping me from my trip. No siree. God. If I could only get up and take a long hot shower, I’d be OK. Fuck that asshole doctor. I need a drink. That’s all. Just a little bit of the hair and I’d be A number one.

After I got things squared away for the trip I went out into the backyard hoping to find Mary. She wasn’t sitting on the patio with the Sunday newspaper and was she wasn’t around back digging in the garden. I went back into the house and called my good neighbor Bruce. His wife, Jean, and Mary were tight as ticks on a old coon.

“Hey, Bruce. Seen Mary? Listen, Bruce, I need your help. Get your shotgun and come on down.”

“Hang on man. What’s the shotgun for? What’s this all about?” Bruce said.

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Just get the shotgun and get down here. I’ve got some serious trouble.”

I called Chantee. “Hey, old man. I’m going up to the police station and I need you to talk to them about last night.”

“Not me, no, not me. That cop was by here this morning--you know the one. He told me that I could forget about opening the door to the hardware store anymore if I didn’t keep my mouth shut. I know this guy. I know he means what he says. And he can get those other guys to go along with whatever he says. If you had any brains, you’d get your ass on that plane and just forget about all of this.”

“I can’t let them get away with this. If I give in, Mary’s next and then Lisa. I'm going to chase this till there are no more guys like that running this town—until the others stand up for what’s right. No more bully-boys in this town.”

“Well, that’s up to you, but you’d better have enough life insurance on Mary and Lisa to bury them. If you don’t stop, I guarantee they’ll stop you.”

Chantee hung up, and I went back outside to wait for Bruce. As I was standing in the yard a car went by and turned into a neighbor’s driveway. It was the same car that was driven by last night’s assailant. I recognized the driver and finally realized that he was a cop, the brother of a neighborhood lady, and that the cover-up was most likely in progress.

“What’s going on here?” I turned to acknowledge Bruce coming up behind me. I told him what had happened. With Bruce there was no need to edit the account.

“So here I am. That cop’s over there at his sister’s, undoubtedly building an alibi and a case against me. He knows that the truth would end his days on the force, especially when you put this on top of the other troubles I hear he’s had. Chantee thinks they would use Mary and Lisa to shut me up. I can’t buy that, but I do know that he would try almost anything to keep his job. I was damned scared before you got here, almost in panic. I had this vision of the Alamo--Bruce and Tom standing to the last man. Now I see it as something that happens in towns like this. You get in the wrong place at the wrong time and your trouble just begins when you get caught up in ideas of right and wrong. There’s no right, but the way they say it, and the only wrong is you. The guy with lead in his boxing gloves gets to call all the shots and the rest of us lift another beer and slap the next broad on the ass. Who’s the asshole?”

“I know what you mean, Tom. I got my gun and I got my shells. I’ll use them if you say to or if they come after me or my family. Otherwise they can do what they have to do. Don’t bother me in the least ‘cause I can’t change them and I sure didn’t ask them to come here. They’re here and they’re who they are. They’ll be here long after I’m gone. I say ‘Fuck ‘’’em; buddy, fuck ‘’’em.’ They ain’t worth the powder to blow them to hell anyway. Have a time in Virginia.”

I had just called for a cab to the airport when Mary walked in.

“Yeah, if you get here by two o’clock that should be just about right. Yeah, US Airways. Right. See you then.”

“Tom, you are not going on this trip. I thought I made that perfectly clear last night.”

I just gave her a blank stare and went back into the bedroom to finish packing. She followed me stopping near me within a few inches. “Are you hearing me and not answering or are you not hearing me because you have suddenly gone deaf?”

I ignored her as long as it felt safe doing so. Walking over to the closet to retrieve a pair of shoes I began talking to the closet floor, “Mary, this is an important trip for me, for my book. What happened last night is over, forgotten. I only wish you would forget it too. I’m going to Virginia. Don’t try to stop me. OK?”

Mary turned and left the room. “OK.” she hollered. “If you’re going to Virginia, stay there. You can forget about saying goodbye to us.”

There was nothing I could do. It wasn’t Mary. It was her anger. Her anger told her what to do and it always ended up hurting someone—most often someone she really cared about. But Mary was always going to be Mary—just as long as she lived. Lisa, now, Lisa was a different matter. Mary used Lisa to get back at me. She knew how much Lisa meant to me. How important it was for me to keep in touch with Lisa, to have her as part of my life and me as part of hers. I didn’t know what Mary would tell Lisa about me or about events in our lives—like last night. It killed me when Mary would hide Lisa from me, would get Lisa involved in activities without so much as a mention. Mary would arrange Lisa’s schedule so I’d go days without seeing her. I sure had looked forward to spending some time with Lisa before I left—explaining the book to her, talking about the trip; telling her of my hopes for real success as a chef, a teacher, and a writer. Mary knew I wanted to do this. Now the opportunity was gone.

After I finished packing I got a beer from the refrigerator and made an omelet and toast. I wrote a note to Lisa and put it in the secret hiding place in her room where we had agreed. We had to keep moving the hiding place because the notes would disappear from time to time.

When the cab pulled up, I threw my bags in the back seat and got in the front.

“How goes it? Good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

We pulled out of the driveway and headed out of town toward the airport driving in silence for quite a while.

“Say,” I finally said. “I had a real run-in with one of our local best last night. I was test-driving Paul’s big red Chevy when this goddamn guy pulled me over and reached through the window and started punching hell out of me—all over this right shoulder and my chest. I ended up going to the hospital. When I talk to the cops, they deny that it was one of their guys even though I had his description and license plate number and everything. I even know the guy; his sister lives in the neighborhood. What do you think of that?”

“Why’d he do that? What were you doing?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I don’t know why he did it. He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch.”

“You did nothing and he pulled you over? How did he do that? How did he pull you over?”

“Well, Chantee and I were looking for a parking place, up by the Unitarian Church. So I was going real slow. Pulled over as far as I could. I notice this guy following me real close, his headlights in my mirror, blinding me. All of a sudden I find a parking place and I jam on my breaks so I can get the place. He stopped right behind me and got out and started punching me. I went to the station and they say that this guy’s not a cop. Now they threaten Chantee so he’ll keep quiet.”

“Sounds like you pissed off the wrong guy and they got all the cards. You got a chance to learn to keep you mouth shut. Not a bad deal.”

“Well, thanks. What makes you so full of compassion today?”

“What do you think I get day after day as a cab owner? Those guys are always looking for me. They know I’m in a rush and I cut corners. When they get a mean streak going, they look for me. If they catch me, they'll tickle my balls. What am I going to do? Protest to the Town Manager? Tell the Captain? I keep my mouth shut and go about my business. I’m not going to change them. Just ignore them.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I’d like to ambush one of them some night. Get me a shotgun and lie in wait out in the reeds. Some night one of them is going to be coming by, taking some chick out into the weeds or something like that—BOOM. There’d be a recruiting add in the papers the next day. Nice and clean—nobody would suspect. But I don’t have a shotgun and they scare the hell out of me. So I guess I’ll have to learn how to ignore them. Thanks.”

Chapter 16

Billy was waiting at the reservation counter when I arrived. Somebody had gotten him a wheelchair and he had his crutches draped over his legs. He looked stooped, shorter than his six-foot-three frame and older than his thirty-seven years. His car accident had done a number on him—far more than the crutches and wheelchair would reveal. His blonde, bushy hair framing bright blue eyes and a brilliant smile were in sharp contrast to the seated invalid.

“Hey, asshole buddy. S’about time you got here,” Billy said. “Let’s get moving before we miss that Jack Daniels…the plane’s just gonna have to wait. Here’s a bar right there.”

“I’m not too sure they will wait. Hear that? That’s the last call for boarding right now. Down the hatch and hold on to your ass. Let’s go. Tommy’s at the controls.”

“Easy boy. This ain’t no ’49 Chevy. Tip me and you’ll be in the next bed with a broken neck.”

“Let’s go, boys,” the boarding agent said. “The captain got this damn thing in gear and he doesn’t stop for anything. You’ve got the first two seats just inside the door. Go, go.”

“Easy, pretty lady, but your wish is…”

The stewardess, a short, stock brunette with a friendly smile pointed to the first row in the first class section. Billy needed the extra room afforded by first class seating and he had been able to convince Lt. Gordon to get me a seat next to him because he needed considerable assistance.

“Here let me take your crutches, ah…”

“Billy”

“You’ll be more comfortable in the aisle seat, Billy. Your buddy can tell you what’s going on outside.”

“I’m Tom.”

“I’ll put your crutches right here in the closet. That way you’ll know where they are when you’re getting off. I’m Tammy. Would you fellows like a drink?”

“Jack Daniels on the rocks for me. Billy?”

“Scotch and soda. Join us if you’d like. We’re not going very far.” Billy said in his innocent, yet inviting, way.

“Maybe later,” Tammy laughed, “I’ve got too much work to do right now.”

“We’ll look forward to it, Billy said.

Tammy brought the drinks and announced time for takeoff.

“Let’s see, how are we going to do this,” she said. “I’ll get the seatback in the correct position and then we’ll get this seatbelt around him. OK, hand me those glasses and we’re ready to go.”

Once airborne I started to tell Billy about my experience of the previous evening. Billy listened without comment.

“Wow, that’s some tale. But, listen, Tom. By the time we get settled into the hotel suite in Norfolk you’re going to forget all about Paul and Chantee and the whole mess. “You’re going to begin the adventure of your life.”

“Yeah, but, you don’t understand. I’ve got to get that goddamn cop.”

“Drop the cop. I’m going to set you up with the most gorgeous girl south of the Mason-Dixon line. I’m going to show you the time of your life and you are going to be the king of the south. Step aside cotton, here comes Tom Schultz from beautiful downtown Youngstown, Ohio.”

“But Chantee saw everything. He’s got to talk to them. He’s my friend.”

“Look, Tom. It’s history. Now let’s see that book of yours. That’s what we came here to talk about. What happened last night is to show you where you do not belong?”

“Well, sometimes I just think I don’t belong anywhere.”

“Nonsense, Sport. That book is going to lead you to where you do belong. Are you man enough to follow? The book, please!”

“I figured you guys must be thirsty, said Tammy as she came up behind us. What’s the book? Something a lady might be interested in?”

“You bet,” Billy offered. “Tom here is a chef for the Navy and he is in the process of putting together some of the most creative and tempting recipes you’ve ever tasted. I’m getting my first look at the book. We’d be happy to show you when you have time.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that. When I’m not flying, I’m cooking. Nobody’s ever walked away hungry from my table.”

“How fascinating. I’d like to give it a try. Are you laying over in Norfolk? Perhaps we could get together for a drink, Billy said.”

“Sounds like a thought. Let’s see how things go.” Tammy said.

Billy made a careful study of the book during the next hour uttering only a casual “ooh” and “ah.” When he had finished he sat the book in his lap.

“Just as I had thought. Tom, you are a genius when it comes to things culinary. Let’s have another drink. Tammy,” he called holding his glass up as she looked toward him.

“Look, Tom, I’m giving a little reception for a number of fellow editors after the convention. I think you ought to prepare the food. I’m sure the hotel kitchen will accommodate you once I explain the situation. I anticipate a crowd of something like fifty. Not a meal, but more than hors d’oeuvre. Something in between. We’ll use the reception to introduce you and the book. We’ll get a preview of the book printed up and let people see what you’re capable of.”

“How’s the book?” Tammy asked. She was coming around to collect glasses, getting everyone ready for the approach into Norfolk.

“Ask him,” I said.

“It’s the greatest. You’re just going to have to see this, Billy said”

“Maybe I should. I’ll be coming off the plane about ten minutes after we land. See you just past the jet way.”

“It’s a deal,” Billy said.

Tammy and the other crewmembers had rooms at the same hotel where Billy and I were staying—the Los Delos. We had all gotten to know one another better on the ride from the airport and Tammy had accepted an invitation to the reception on behalf of the entire crew. Once she glanced through the book Tammy leaped at my invitation to help out in the kitchen.

The bellhop was in the room arranging things when Billy and I walked in.

“I’m exhausted. That couch looks good to me,” Billy said heading for the bedroom adjoining the living room to the left. The other bedroom was to the right. Billy went in the room and shut the door.

“He broke his leg a couple of weeks ago. He’s having a rough time. Say, what’s the name of this street the hotel is on?” I asked the bellhop.

“That’s Cameron Street, sir. I’ll be through here in a second.”

“You know, I always like to go for a walk when I’m in a new place. Get around, get to know the layout. I was in the Navy for eight years. Got all over the world. Got to know things by walking around.”

“Really? That’s what my father does. Out here at Hampton Roads. Small world, huh? I got to go. The Captain will have my head if I don’t get back down stairs.”

“I’m familiar with that,” I said. I handed the bellhop a ten spot. “What’s the bell captain’s name?”

“The one on duty now, till ten o’clock, is Tanners, Victor Tanners. Thank you, sir. See you around.”

“OK,…ah…”

“Chuck. Chuck’s the name.”

“OK, Chuck, OK.”

Billy was sound asleep so I decided to take my walk around the area to see what was up. As I walked through the lobby I spotted Chuck chatting with another employee. Chuck motioned me over.

“Tom, I’d like you to meet our bell captain, Victor Tanners. Victor, this is one of our new guests, Tom Schultz.”

“Good to meet you, Tom,” Victor said with a nod as he turned toward Chuck. “Excuse me. Listen, Chuck…”

“Motherfuckers. Motherfuckers’d walk right on your face if you’d let them. Now, what are you doing in town, Tom? Book convention?” Victor said extending his brief greeting.

“No, but I’m with somebody who is with the convention. I’m a chef with the Navy. I’m writing a cookbook and I’m looking to get it published. It’s called ‘Navy Cookin’.”

“Oh, so the book convention? How do you get the motherfuckers’ attention?”

“Well, I’m going to be preparing some of my recipes for a reception tomorrow night. That’s where I need some help,” I said fishing a twenty from my pocket and palming it to Victor.

“I reckon we can be of some help. Tell me what you have in mind.”

“All I need is some kitchen privileges here at the hotel. Anytime of day or night that doesn’t interfere with your normal preparation schedules.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t we talk about the specifics over a drink? I’ll be available here in the lobby at ten o’clock this evening. See you then, Victor said as he turned and rushed away”

“A deal,” I said heading for the exit to Cameron street.

Chapter 17

By the time I got back to the hotel room Billy had wakened, showered, and was sitting in the front room enjoying television and a scotch and soda. “Hey, man, where you been?”

“Just checking out the town. Not bad. Better than I remember six or seven years ago when I was here last. I talked with the bell captain about the kitchen and the book. I’m sure he’s going to help.”

“Great, let me know what I can do. Let me fill you in on a couple of details. The reception starts at five-thirty sharp tomorrow night. I’ve arranged with house services to turn the suite into an appropriate area. Now we got to get some more women. I figure you can work on that this evening. I know you won’t let me down. Sarah from the community college will be here tomorrow evening. Hands off. She’s going to help you with the book. She’ll be your editor. Don’t worry about money. That’s all taken care of. She has lots of experience with cookbooks and she knows all about you—the chef parts, that is. Don’t tell her about the rest. Keep it a mystery. The hotel is providing the bar as an advertising payoff to my company and they are providing a couple of wait staff to handle the food. You have to tell them where everything goes and help them get things from the kitchen. Your duties, and Tammy’s, are over at five o’clock. I want you in your Navy best at five-thirty. The rank is up to you. You’ll be rubbing elbows with the people who might be your publishers. Rub often, but not too hard. They can smell an unpublished eager beaver a mile away, and you’ll be surprised to see how fast they can run.

I’ve fixed you up with this chick for Thursday night—after I’m gone. She’ll give you everything you ever dreamed of. Don’t get serious with her. Just fun. Her name’s Julie and she’ll be in touch with you here at the hotel sometime on Wednesday. Check your messages. Other than that let’s get ready for dinner. Tammy and some of the crew will be joining us a La Scarana’s. Casual. Hop to.”

After dinner Tammy and I walked back to the hotel and discussed her role in preparing food for the reception. We parted in the lobby, and I told her I’d call with specifics after I had talked to Victor.

Victor was seated at the bar in the lounge just off the lobby. He was just finishing his shift.

“Let’s go up to the third floor lounge. Its nice and quiet there and the bartender is a friendly chap,” he said.

When we were seated at the bar, the bartender brought Victor a Heineken. “What would your friend like?”

“Same thing would be fine. I’m Tom.”

“I’m Sabrina, nice to see you. Nice to see you too, Victor. Finished for the night?”

“Yeah. You’re looking mighty fine tonight.”

“Thanks,” she smiled.

When we both had a drink and a cigarette, Victor asked me just what l needed.

“Well, I have to prepare food for the reception for fifty people in 407 tomorrow evening. The reception begins at five-thirty. Everything has been arranged except for one thing. I need kitchen space to do the preparations—kitchen space and all that goes with it.”

“Slow down, man. I’m running a hotel, not a cafeteria. We serve day and night.”

“I can do the preparation anytime that’s convenient for the hotel—middle of the night—whatever.

“How many hours? How much space, equipment?”

“OK, four hours max. Start to finish. Just a small kitchen. We’ll have all the food delivered to me personally. No hands needed.”

“What happens after that?”

“Once we’ve prepped the food we’ll need refrigerator space to store it—no freezer. At four thirty tomorrow evening we have wait staff who will get the food from the refrigerator and take it up to the suite. All arrangements for the bar, for tables, for service have already been made with the hotel.”

“It’s going to be close, Tom.”

“Listen, Victor, I’m going to be staying at the hotel for about two weeks—not in the same room because my buddy’s leaving after the convention. I’m going to be needing other arrangements—some editorial assistance and some secretarial assistance for the book. I’ll have to talk to you about these matters later. There will be other considerations,” I said slipping a ten spot underneath his hand.

“Well, let me see what I can do. Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll be right back.”

I called Tammy the following morning and told her to meet me down at the registration desk at ten o’clock. We wanted to be finished with the food preparation by three o’clock and there was no time to waste. I called Victor and he told me to meet him in the side-kitchen just after ten. I then called the supply service and told them when and where to deliver the order I had placed the previous evening. I hurriedly showered and dressed and grabbed a donut and coffee from the service that Billy had ordered—off and running.

Tammy was dressed in a light orange pants suit with white sneakers. Her hair was done up in a bun and she wore only a light pink lipstick.

“Well, hi, there, you look ready to go. Hope you’ve had some breakfast. We have no time to spare right now. Victor is waiting for us in the side kitchen.”

I took her gently by the arm and steered her in the direction of the lounge pointing with the other hand as I walked quickly away from the desk.

“This way,” I said.

When we arrived in the side kitchen behind the cocktail lounge, Victor was already there looking over the pile of food and other supplies heaped on and near the center workspace. I had surveyed the facility the previous evening and was certain that this was an adequate kitchen for us to prepare for the party.

“Hope you have what you need,” Victor said. “If you’re short, give me a call.”

By early afternoon everything was prepared and stored in the giant refrigerator at one end of the kitchen. Tammy had tagged everything so that the wait staff would have no guessing in setting up the food in the suite.

“You’ve done one hell of a job, Tammy. I have never had an assistant who has caught on so quickly and who has fit into my style as easily as you have. Big, big thanks and big, big hugs from me to you,” I said as we stood standing looking over the checklist and talking about what she had done.

When we had walked back to the hotel last night from the restaurant, we had gotten to know one another, but I had had to rush to my appointment with Victor so there was no opportunity for anything more than a casual touching.

Turning toward her I put my arms around her and drew her to me. She returned the offer.

“I feel quite honored to act as your assistant. I wonder if there might be other opportunities?”

“I would hope so. Let’s talk about it after the party. Right now I have to round up some guests for tonight. See you upstairs at four-thirty,” I said with a kiss on the cheek.

“Tom,” she said, “you are some different kind of guy. I’d like to spend some time with you somewhere down the road. I don’t mean just as an assistant.”

“We will, Tammy, we will,” I said as we turned to leave the kitchen.

I hurried up to the suit and got dressed in my best casual outfit—jeans, white turtleneck, white deck shoes without socks. I got my camera from my shoulder bag and loaded it with black and white 400 film. I got my 7-iron from my golf bag and polished it to a sparkle. I then poured myself a sizeable Jack Daniels on the rocks and sat down to make out a dozen cards with my name and room number and the details of tonight’s party. By the time I had finished making out the cards I had also finished the drink. I was ready to go—camera and 7-iron in tow.

I went down to the lobby and took a seat over in a corner where I could observe pretty much all of what was going on. There was a huge fountain surrounded by a winding stairway leading up to several levels of huge balconies. The entire area was bedecked with hundreds of bouquets of flowers—roses, dahlias, carnations, fern, and baby’s breath. Lighting from all sources highlighted the beauty of the scene. There were bridal parties on a number of the balconies and at the floor level was a group of some of the most beautiful young women that I had ever seen. Scattered around the remainder of the huge lobby was a vast array of seating areas, chairs, and tables of every description and for every imaginable function. There were hundreds of people sitting around, milling around, and rushing through. At the far end the lobby became a mall with dozens of shops and hundreds of more shoppers. People were busy—chatting, sipping cocktails, making deals, and comforting one another. It was a community within a hotel. It was a myriad of opportunities for Tom the procurer.

My first move was over to the group of young women at the base of the fountain. Several photographers were busy setting them up in various poses and snapping pictures.

“What a beautiful, beautiful scene,” I said approaching one of the photographers. I wouldn’t mind being one of you guys.”

“Lucky, lucky.”

“By the way I am a photographer here at the hotel. I’m wondering if you’d mind if I took a few shots—just for me. Of course, I’d stay out of your way.”

“I don’t see why not. These girls are going to be part of a show here at the hotel tonight. They’re all professional models. Go ahead. You can stand over there.”

I went over to where I had been directed and took several shots. Before long the young women were released from the session and they stood around in small groups talking. I went over to a group of three women and introduced myself.

“Hi, girls. I’m Tom Schultz, a photographer here at the hotel. I got some real nice shots of the three of you. I think you’re by far the most beautiful of the entire bunch.”

“Well, thank you,” they said almost in unison.

“What time is your show tonight?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“I think it’s on my schedule, but I don’t have the schedule with me.”

“It’s in the grand ballroom,” one of the girls offered.

“I’ll be there. By the way, there’s a reception upstairs earlier this evening—book editors from New York. All the hotel staff will be there. One of my books is being featured and you’re probably talking with the next author to make the New York Times top ten. Never know who might be there.”

“Sounds exciting. What time?” Another asked.

“Here, this card will give you the details. Gotta run.”

I proceeded to several of the other groups of young women using much the same approach, and hoping that a few of them would bite. My tour ended when they were all told that they had to move on to their interview with the local press.

I continued around the lobby with my camera and 7-iron. Several young women, responding to my warm greeting, asked me why I was carrying the 7-iron in a hotel lobby.

“Where’s the golf course?” One of them joked.

“Actually,” I explained, “there is no golf course at this hotel. It’s across town. However, there is a reason for the golf club. I’m associated with the PGA and one of their leading tournament champions is appearing here this evening. I’m going to be interviewing him and this club is the club that he used when he won his first amateur event. He doesn’t know I have it and this is going to be the surprise of his life. I didn’t want it to get lost so I’ve been carrying it with me all day.”

“Who is he?” asked one of the women.

“Oh, that’s something you’ll have to discover for yourselves. He’s going to be at the reception they’re having to introduce my new book. Here, this card gives the details. I’ll hope to see you all there this evening.”

“What’s the book about?”

“Well, I’m a Navy chef and it’s my latest cookbook. Shows all the recipes those Navy flyboys are so fond of. I’m sure they’ll be looking forward to seeing you tonight. I gotta run now.”

I turned on one heal and was off to the next conquest and then the next. As I proceeded down the lobby I spotted a cocktail lounge over in the corner.

“Time for a little relaxation,” I told myself as I took a seat near the entrance. I didn’t have to wait long before a cocktail waitress appeared.

“What’ll it be, Seven-iron Sam?” she smiled.

“Hey, you’re pretty sharp,” I returned the smile. “Want to join me for a round after work?”

“I’d love to, but my husband’s expecting me for dinner.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll just have a Jack Daniels on the rocks.”

She was a young and slender woman with a very come hither look. While she was getting my drink I went over to the cashier and asked the waitress’s name.

“Which one?”

“The young slender woman—the black woman.“

“That’s Rose. You’re wasting your time with that one, honey. She goes right home to mamma after work.”

“Rose, wow, what a wonderful name. Time is all I got. Thanks.”

“Find a partner yet?” Rose chided as she returned with my drink.

“Never want for asking,” I said, “Never want for asking. Thanks.”

As I sipped my drink I noticed a small flower vendor across the way and went over and asked for a single red rose.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a small vase for this, would you?”

“Sure do.”

“And a little water.”

“Put the rose in the water in the vase, huh?”

“Yeah. Hey, thanks. Here, keep the change,” I said slipping the guy a five-dollar bill.

“Thanks, mighty appreciative.”

I set the rose on the table near where Rose had stood when she took the order. I then finished my drink and signaled to the bartender. Rose soon appeared.

“Another Jack Daniels?” she asked. Her eyes were on me, but she could not help looking at the beautiful red rose.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll have another.”

After she brought the drink she started to turn abruptly back toward the bar. But she stopped suddenly and turned back toward me.

“What’s this?” She said pointing to the rose.

“A rose.”

“That isn’t what I mean. You know what I mean. What’s it here for.”

“It’s a rose for Rose. You know anybody named Rose?”

“I told you I’m married.”

“But you don’t wear a wedding ring.”

“I don’t wear it at work. It gets in the way.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t be allowed to show me how it’s done down here in New Jersey?”

“Allowed? Honey, you’ve got the wrong number.”

“So how about tomorrow afternoon?”

“What time?”

“Anytime you’re free. Listen, I’m working here as an instructor in the kitchen. I’ve written another of my fabulous cookbooks and I’m training some of the night staff in some of my specialties. You can always reach me through Victor, the bell captain. Here, if you’re free this evening, you’re welcome to come to the reception some of the book editors are having as a tribute to the books I’ve published. Some of the hotel people will be there so I’m sure you’ll feel right at home. Rose, I am truly looking forward to tomorrow afternoon.”

As I got up to leave she whispered softly in my ear, “Sam, I am too, honey.”

I arrived back at the suite at four-thirty and Tammy and Bill were sitting on a couch in the main reception area. The food had all arrived and the wait staff had arranged everything according to my instructions.

“Hi, Tom.”

“Hi, Tammy, Billy.”

I made a careful inspection of the layout and made some minor adjustments to the hors d’oeuvre and pastries.

“Everything looks just great,” I said to no one in particular. “I think we’re ready for the guests.”

I woke up early the next morning and called room service, “Just something light.” I said in a casual voice. “We had a heavy night last night. How about orange juice, cheese Danish, and coffee? For two. Tell the boy to let himself in and put it on the coffee table. Charge it to the room.”

I headed toward the shower and gave Billy a shove on the way by. “Drop your cock and grab your sock. You got air time in two hours.”

“Get laid,” Billy said as he rolled over.

“I have every intention—every.”

I showered, shaved, and got dressed for my golf date with Rose. By this time Billy was sitting up in bed.

“Here,” I said setting some orange juice on the night stand by Billy’s bed, “I’ll get the coffee and Danish while you drink that.”

I returned with the rest of the breakfast and sat on the bed near Billy’s feet. I was ready for one of Billy’s lectures promising myself that I’d bite my tongue and sit there in silence.

“Where in the hell did you get all those girls?” Billy asked. “What the hell did you tell them, anyway? They were all over your ass. And that Rose? Wow! Where in Christ’s name did she come from? I thought she was going to jump you right there in front of all the book editors. You’d better call Mary and tell her to get the divorce papers ready. Jesus, Tom, you’d of thought you were Julia Childs or Stephen King. Those girls consumed everything you fixed and they wouldn’t leave until you promised to send them copies of your books. Christ, Tom, ‘your books.’ What books? You had the editors scratching their heads. Here I’m telling them you are trying to get a first in circulation and their hearing about the famous much-published author, Tom Schultz. Where the hell did you disappear to anyway? You had that model so confused she just up and left without so much as a ‘goodnight.’ Are you of this world or did the spaceman come down and give you a shot of stardust? Tom, Tom, my lad, you got me thinking I’m crazy or something. Speak, my boy.”

“Well, to begin, I was extremely disappointed that none of those guys offered me a contract. At least they might have given me an offer to consider. But nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“Whoa, down boy. That ain’t the way it works. Listen to me…”

“No, Billy, it’s my turn. You listen to me.”

“OK, OK. I’m all ears.”

“Oh, they loved the food. Ate like food was on the way out. And they said things like ‘lovely,’ ‘never tasted better pate,’ ‘delicious finger food,’ ‘exquisite chocolate,’ and on and on and on. But no contracts, no offers, and no ‘We’ll call you in the morning.’ Not jack shit.

And who were all those other assholes waving their menus all over the place? I thought this was supposed to be MY coming out. I took a look a some of those other so called menus—they were so goddamn juvenile I’d liked to have puked—Lisa could have done a better job. Not that I give a shit—understand—but it did detract from the MAIN event—ME in case you have any doubts.

So, what did I tell the girls? Well you wanted them here. I got you what you wanted, and your friends loved them. What difference does it make what I told them. What difference does it make if I am going to be a famous author or if I am a famous author? It’s all a matter of time, of perspective. Rose is a rose, just like Gertrude Stein said. You don’t have to get a divorce to play golf with another women. Billy, you and Queen Victoria should get together some night. As far as my mental condition is concerned I just don’t have time to discuss it. I am who I am, just like Saint John said. Just because I’m a fun person with lots and lots of talent does not make me crazy. But don’t get in my way or you may get run over and you probably won’t enjoy it.”

“No more questions. No more questions. I got you lined up with Julie for Thursday night. Her number’s on the bureau there in case she doesn’t get you.”

“Baited breath.”

“Give her a call sometime today. She’s a fun person too, and a little crazier than you are. The two of you should make music.”

“Tra-la, tra-la, tra-la.”

“Sarah, the editor from the university is eager to help you with the next step for your book. She’s a real pro. Her number is there too. Give her a call sometime later in the week. She’s strictly business and not your type anyway.”

“If I have a dick left by Friday, it won’t be my fault. Your Madame Professora is safe with me.”

“As for the editors you have to be realistic. No matter what you might like to think some of those guys showed considerable interest in the other presentations. You’re good—among the best—but AMONG not ALONE. These publishers see hundreds and hundreds of would-be authors every month. They don’t make snap decisions even if they’re truly moved by a person. They have to see where you might fit into the larger picture.”

“Sire, I AM the larger picture. Next time let the armatures have their armature night. Don’t try to mix pearls with pasties.”

“Give it time. Talk to Sarah. Talk to your other chefs. We’ll get together next month and see where you are then. In the meantime take it easy with the booze and the women. You got a long time to live if you don’t get carried away.”

“All kidding aside, Billy, I hear you. I’m going to go for a walk. I have to talk to the desk about changing my room and I want to set a definite time with Rose. Get you ass out of bed. You’ve got to be at the airport in an hour. I’ll see you in about a month. Hugs.”

The hotel lobby was a lot quieter than it had been the previous afternoon and I had little difficulty getting the attention of one of the desk clerks.

“Good morning, sir, and how are you this morning. Is there some way I can be of assistance?”

“Yes, my name is Tom Schultz. I’m a guest here at the hotel. My friend and I have been occupying suite 407 for the past couple of days, and he’s leaving town today so I would like to move to a single room. I’ve been assured that this will not be a problem.”

“Certainly, sir. I’m sure that will be no problem. Just let me check to see what we have available. How many nights longer will you be staying?”

“Let’s see. Today is Tuesday. I’ll be here through Monday of next week. That would be seven nights. Is that right?”

“Yes, seven nights. Let’s see. We have a lovely accommodation in room 487. King-sized bed and a small sitting alcove. That would be $59 per night. Shall I have the bell boy move you’re bags?”

“Oh, I’m afraid you don’t understand. You see, I’m a rather well known photographer and author.”

“Pardon, but I didn’t recognize you.”

“Happens all the time. We had a reception up in the suite last night for a group of editors—they’re competing for publishing rights to my book.”

“I see. Well…”

“Let me finish. They intend to have the publication party here at the hotel sometime later in the year and they asked me to take some photographs of the scenic areas around the hotel for the cover.”

“We have postcards in the gift shop.”

“No. They want my photographs. My interpretation of the area. It’s very important to the promotion of the book. In order to do this I would have to have the best view possible from the highest vantage point.”

“I see. Well, the only thing we have that would satisfy your requirements would be on the top floor. But it is a suite and would be considerably more expensive.”

“Well, that is somewhat of a problem. You see, my work is sponsored by the federal government. We do everything we can to contain our expenses so that taxpayers, like you and me, are not handing out all our money to support unnecessary frills. Perhaps, if I could speak to the manager. I’m sure Victor would be able to explain all of this.”

“Victor. You mean Mr. Tanners?”

“Right, Jack.”

“It’s Ralph. If you insist, I’ll be happy to give him a call.”

“Do that, Jack.”

“Be right back. It’s Ralph.”

Ralph returned promptly. “There is a very nice room, 2409, just one floor down from the top floor that I can let you have for just a little more, $75 per night. This room provides the best possible view of the area and it is available for the seven nights.”

“That sounds great, but couldn’t you stay with the $59 instead or $75? It’s more your money than mine.”

“But Victor told me…”

“Get me Victor on the phone…”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mr. Schultz. He told me not to bother him again about this. Can we split the difference? Make it $70 a night?”

“Give me the phone, Jack!”

“OK. OK. I’ll do it for $62.50. No tax, free phone. Just one thing I ask…please call me Ralph.

“Right, Ralph. Just remember, you benefit personally by giving a price break to a federal authority like myself. Look at the difference between $59 and $62.50--$3.50 a night or about $25 for the seven nights. If you take the square root of this and multiply it by the fair market price of $59, you’ll get a rough approximation of your savings when you file your taxes. Pretty neat, huh?

“Well, sir, I’m afraid I don’t quite follow all of this, but I suppose we can accept $59 a night. What’s a square root anyway?”

“Oh, that’s just something the feds came up with to confuse us all. It involves trigonometry and complex numbers. Don’t get hung up in the technicalities. Keep your eye on your personal savings. $59 is the fair market value and I would ask for no less. Have the bellboy move my bags at around eleven, Jack.”

I hope your stay is a pleasant one, sir.”

I drifted over to the cocktail lounge to check out Rose. She had customers, but she turned to me to let me know that her clubs were in her car and she’d meet me out front at three o’clock sharp.

“See you then, honey,” she said as she brushed up against me giving me a taste of her seductive perfume.

“Don’t be late.” I kissed her on the ear and whispered something that sent her laughing back to the bar. I turned with a wide grin and headed back up to the suite to pack and get ready for the move to 2409—a perfect place for roses.

When I had settled into my new room, I was ready to go into high gear—time for Billy’s friend Julie.

“Hello-o, Julie speaking,” came a most pleasant and alluring voice.

“Hi, Julie. This is Tom Schultz, friend of Billy Thompson. Billy said he talked with you about me. I’m just calling to make contact.”

“Oh, hi, Tom. Yes, Billy and I did talk about you. Nice to hear from you. I talked to Billy last night and he said he was leaving town. You’re still here, huh? Going to be around for a while?”

“Yeah, about another week. I thought you might like to get together for dinner sometime later in the week. Say Thursday or Friday? I’ll have a car by then so I can pick you up.”

“Sure. Let’s make it Thursday. Sometime around seven. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Not particularly. I thought we might go to one of your favorites?”

“Do you like Mexican?”

“Love it. Your call.”

“OK. Great. Listen, why don’t you pick me up at the emergency entrance of the hospital. I’ll be there at 7 on Thursday. You can’t miss me. Brown hair and a white jacket with light blue slacks. Best looking gal in town. It’s the Brownsville Hospital on Cedar Street. Ask anybody. You can’t miss it. Got that.”

“Got it. I’ll be there. I’ll find you no matter what.”

“Good. Good. Tom, I was just on my way out the door—afternoon turn today. Can’t keep the patients waiting. See you Thursday evening.”

“Take care, Julie. See you then.”

Rose played me even through 17 holes, but I thought I had a distinct advantage on the 18^th.

“You really play a nice game, Rose. I think either one of us could win on a given day, but I think I got you today. I see this par three has a very narrow fairway, enough to frighten anyone. With the water in front of the green and 195 for me and 165 for you, I think I got you. You’ll either put it in the woods or in the water. Me, I’m going right for the flag.”

“Oh, shut up, smart ass. How much do you want to put up? Don’t forget what I did to you at the last par three.”

“Luck, just dumb luck. Tell you what; I’ll go for gin and tonic at the 19^th.”

“As many as I want?”

“Whatever you can take. It’s a deal.”

I checked the wind and took a four iron from my bag and teed the ball down low. With great confidence I set up and swung. On the green, but as far away from the pin as one could get and a doubtful par on this undulating green.

“Not bad,” Rose said. “Now watch this.”

She took her five wood from her bag and walked up to the women’s tee. “I think I’ll put this just left of the pin.”

Left it went--left of the green and into the woods, but no more than 20 feet from the green.

“Ouch,” I said with some pain. “No water, but I’m not sure you have much of a shot.”

“I don’t think my situation is much worse than yours. I’m going to have to watch my backswing because of the tree branches, but it’s a good chance to be near the pin in two.”

Rose took out her pitching wedge and surveyed her lie. Not bad, on top of some pine needles with soft sand underneath, no stones or branches. She was about forty-five feet from the pin and her shot would have to be straight between two widely separated pine trees. She would have to keep the ball fairly low and try to stop it near the pin.

“Perfect execution, Rose. You’re no more than 10 feet beyond the pin.”

“There’s a gradual downhill slope. Not a bad chance for a par—delicate, but not difficult.”

I lined up my forty-foot put. I could feel the distance of the putt, but it was hard for me to judge the breaks. I stroked the ball just as I had wanted to, but had seriously misjudged the breaks. The ball started out to the right of the hole and then began to curve to the left. Then, as it approached the hole it broke off to the right again and ended up 12 feet from the cup on a severe downhill lie.

“Good God, what in the hell am I thinking about. I gave this goddamn thing away to you just like I never played before. I mean, you had a real nice shot coming out of the woods over there, but there’s no way I should have ended up outside you. Shit, I guess it’s my money now.”

Rose took a sip of her drink and looked me in the eyes as she rubbed my arm just below the elbow. “You are some lucky son-of-a-bitch, honey. You’d never make that putt again, not in a thousand years. It was either in the hole or gone forever. And mine, if we had waited for a good stiff wind, I know it would have dropped. Just hanging on the edge. I’ll get you another day. I’m just that good.”

“Well you know what they say, baby, talent always shows through. Just keep at it. Say, what’s the deal for this evening. I thought we could have dinner and then…”

“And then what?” she said with a smile and shining eyes.

“Well, and then we could check out the view from my new room. Maybe take some pictures.”

“Pictures of?”

“Well, the city. And maybe you and the city. I’m a great photographer, you know. Did I every tell you...”

“Tom, the answer is yes and yes and yes, but we do have to be going. I’ll drop you off at the hotel. Then I have to go home and get dinner for mother and take a shower. Let’s see, it’s seven now, let’s say ten-thirty. I’ll meet you in your room. Order dinner, something like Chateaubriand and red wine. Lot’s of Caesar salad. You’re in room 20 what?”

“2409. It’s on this card with the phone number. Let’s drink up. I have some work to do, but ten-thirty is fine. Be sure to wear some things that make exciting photographs, like...”

“Tom, I know what to do. Just get the film and don’t steam up the camera lens with anticipation.”

When she dropped me off, I went in search of Victor.

“Listen Victor. Rose, from the cocktail lounge, is having dinner with me tonight in my room, 2409, and I want to be sure that everything is right. I expect the meal to be prepared to my specification and the service to be prompt and discrete.”

“I’ll see to that personally, Tom. Please, don’t worry. Believe me. I’ve handled matters like this a thousand times.”

“I just want to be sure that I don’t get a waiter who is going to spill all about Rose to the rest of the hotel staff.”

“I have just the man, Tom. Please. By the way. You wouldn’t believe the praise I got from my bosses after you told them of my role in the reception and all the arrangements leading up to it. There’s no way to repay a wonderful letter like that.”

“Actually, Victor…I was just thinking. I plan to play a little golf later this week—somewhere with a little challenge—maybe one of the better country clubs. Any thoughts?”

“I’ll work on it, Tom. I’ll work on it.”

All of this left me assured and confident that the evening would be a success—that Rose and I would wake up the following morning with nothing but love and happiness from a truly marvelous evening. I decided that casual was the way to go—maroon pants, light gray turtleneck and sandals—no jewelry, no watch. Just me and a few pieces of clothing. I ordered flowers from downstairs--roses--what else--and a dozen tapes—Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, Sarah Vaughn. I arranged the table in the alcove to afford a feeling of spaciousness. I searched in my luggage for the bracelet I had gotten the previous day for Mary’s birthday. I could always pick up something else for her. Aroma, yes, aroma, I called the florist back and told them to include a large rose scented candle in the order. Bourbon and ice put the, ah, icing on the cake.

It was somewhat before ten when the phone rang. It was Rose.

“Just finishing up here, honey. Mother wasn’t feeling too well so I had to spend some extra time with her, but I’m just finishing ironing my dress now, so I should be along in a bit--no later than eleven. See you then. Bye.”

I knew I had to get involved in something other than my head and the bourbon. Photography would help. I got the camera from the closet and got out the 3200-speed film I had bought that morning. I was looking out the window loading the camera when I heard a loud noise from behind.

“Must be thunder,” I murmured.

It looked perfectly clear over the city and out toward the ocean, but I had no idea of what was going on to the west. Just then there was a knock on the door. It was the flowers and the other things I had ordered. I looked things over and noticed that the candle was lavender, not rose.

“What’s this?” I said. “Don’t you people ever get things right. Since when do you bring lavender candles with red roses? Get this out of here and get back here with the rose candle before my guest arrives. I’ll give you fifteen minutes—max.”

“I’m very sorry sir, I don’t know how this mistake was made, but I assure you we will make things the way you want them, and in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, you’d better. And bring another bottle of gin. We’ll need more ice too.”

“I’m sorry sir, but you’d have to get that from the bar. We only deal with gifts and flowers.”

“The bar? Do you know who I am?”

“One of our valued guests, sir.”

“I am the personal friend of the owners of this hotel and they have assured me that everything would be perfect tonight. If this is an example...´

I headed for the phone and began to dial the front desk when he interrupted.

“Sir, don’t worry. I’ll arrange to have the gin sent up immediately. I assure you it will be here just as soon as I return with the candle. Is there anything else? Is everything else to your satisfaction? Would you like me to draw your drapes, sir? We have warnings of severe thunderstorms in the city and you might be more comfortable with the drapes drawn.”

“Thunderstorms, what thunderstorms? When? Turn the TV on. Get the weather reports. Leave the drapes alone.”

“Yes sir, there you are. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry. Everything will be perfect.”

“And hold the dinner until midnight.”

I turned up the volume so I could hear all the details about the storms.

“There is a severe thunderstorm warning for the city and surrounding areas. Reports of power outages have already been reported in the western suburbs and the maximum impact is expected to reach the city within the next half-hour. Motorists are urged to stay off the roads and all citizens are cautioned to remain under cover. Heavy lightening, rain, and winds, accompanied by hail, are expected to last through most of the evening. Tornado funnels have been reported in some of the northwestern suburbs. We will bring updates every ten minutes while dangerous conditions persist.”

I took another sip of my drink and took several shots of the city and the area.

“Thunderstorms, my ass,” I muttered. “It’s as clear as a bell here. Those assholes don’t know what end’s up.”

Just then a roaring crash from above shook the floor I was standing on and the room fell dark and silent. I looked out the window where I had just photographed the beauty of a blazing city, and all was dark. I found my drink and took a deep swallow. I searched out the bottle on the desktop and poured another healthy slug. I went to the door and opened it onto the balcony that ran around the courtyard down 20 or more floors below. All was darkness--quiet. Suddenly the emergency lights came on, then off as another tremendous crash came from above and back beyond the building. More crashes followed making it sound as though the entire hotel was under siege from wartime bombers. The emergency lights flickered and came on. Now I could see the tragic circumstance of some of the guests and visitors. Scores of people were trapped in the glass elevators running up and down the open area above the courtyard. All elevators were between floors and going nowhere. I grew frantic. Where was my gin, my vermouth, my ice? Where was my rose candle? More important, where the hell was Rose? In one of the elevators? Crashed on the highway? I ran to the phone—dead. I looked around for help—nobody in sight. I thought of going down the stairwell, but what good would that do? Maybe Rose was but a few feet away expecting me to be in my room only to find me MIA. Finally I decided to get a chair and a bottle and sit out on the balcony and enjoy the scene. Where was Rose? Rose was not where she was supposed to be. Beyond that I could not stand to think. Gin, gin, it’s all up to you. I surrender.

I awoke on the balcony--sprawled out on the chair with broken glass at my feet and the contents of the gin bottle spilled all over my beautiful maroon slacks. My socks were stained with dried blood.

The lights had come back on, and the first sprigs of dawn were filtering through the skylight.

“Where is Rose,” I wailed. “Where in the fuck is Rose.”

“Rose, Rose,” I shouted, but there was no answer. I staggered into the room, slammed the door shut, and tumbled over onto the bed.

“OK, I’ll leave the door ajar. Tell him to come in and put it on the table. Room 2409.”

I drew a deep, hot bath and soaked for a good hour. The juice and the coffee revived my spirit. I dressed and grabbed my wad of phone numbers from the table and sat down for some serious telephone work. Mary had to be first. She would be simply bullshit, but there was no way of avoiding her any longer.

“Hi, Mary. Tom. How are you and Lisa getting along?”

“Where in the hell have you been, Tom? For Chrissake I’ve been trying to run this show alone up here and you’re off farting around God-knows-where. Lisa is simply out of control without you to center her, and my mother’s sick and Dad’s on the brink again. Where are you? What’s going on? Are you on your way back?”

“Now listen, Mary, don’t get upset.”

“Who’s upset? Just tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

“Mary, you know I’m in Norfolk working on the cookbook. I’ve met dozens of the most influential people in the publishing business.”

“Names, give me some names.”

“Victor, Ralph. Believe me; they’re lined up outside the door with the some of the most fabulous offers you ever heard of.”

“Like?”

“How about Eisenhower?”

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah, but it’s a great name.”

“Don’t get funny with me, Tom. I need help, not bullshit.”

“Wait, wait. Somebody’s knocking at the door right now.”

I got up and knocked at the door.

“I got to go, but just tell Lisa to hang tight until I get back.”

“No, Tom, you stay right on this line until I’m finished. I need some money to give to Mom. She’s desperate. I can’t find the checkbook. I want to give her $100. I’m going to have to get it out of savings. Where’s the passbook? Do you have it?”

“No, Mary, don’t do that. I used that money for printing costs. Listen, just hang on for a few days until I get home. Everything will be all right. I got to go now. Bye.”

“Hi, Jimmy? This is Tom Schultz.”

“Oh, Tom. I was expecting to hear from you yesterday. What’s happening?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that Jimmy. It’s those damn publishers. Ever since they saw the book and sampled some of my recipes they won’t let me be. Tell you what. I’m staying over at the Hyatt on Cameron Street, downtown. Can we meet in the coffee shop in about an hour? Let’s see…”

I knew I had a wristwatch somewhere, but I came up blank.

“Well, what time is it, Jimmy? I loaned my watch to a friend. These fancy hotels don’t have clocks.”

“It’s 2:30—in the afternoon.”

“I see.” I did get the message, but I wasn’t buying.

“Well, why don’t we meet in the lobby coffee shop at, say, three-thirty. I have to call a couple of the editors, but I’m sure I can keep them focused on the book and make short business of things. See you at three-thirty then?”

“OK, three-thirty sharp. Coffee shop in the Hyatt lobby. I’ll be the guy with black hair wearing a bright red sports coat. You’ll be the guy carrying a copy of a brand new cookbook. See you then.”

It was three o’clock by the time I had located my wristwatch. It was neatly tucked behind a large urn on the balcony just beside the chair. This set me fully ready for action and I proceeded to the lobby bar.

“Sam.” I called to the bartender who was polishing glasses in the alcove at the end of the bar. “Sam, have you seen Rose today?”

“Hey, Tom, how the hell are you. Have a hot one last night?”

“Don’t I wish. I was supposed to get together with Rose last night, but just as she called me to say she was on the way the world collapsed with all that thunder and lightening.”

“Wow, that was some show, wasn’t it. But, man, that’s not all that collapsed,” he poured me a bourbon on the rocks as he continued. “Rose called this morning. Said her Daddy was in a real bad automobile accident up in Detroit.”

“No. Oh, my God. That’s terrible. Where’s Rose?”

“He’s bad, in the hospital. She had to fly up. Left about noontime.”

“Shit. How can I get in touch with her? What’s the family name?”

“Hang on. Problem is, she ain’t got money for the tickets. Had to borrow it from a shark and he wants it back tonight.”

“Now how in the hell can she do that if she’s in Detroit? Makes no sense.”

“That’s the thing of it. She thought you’d be willing to help,” Sam said as he slipped me a piece of paper. “Guy’s name is Al, number’s there. He’ll expect to hear from you before seven.”

“How much are we talking about?” I asked taking a swig from the glass as I tucked the number into the pocket where I had my ‘appointment book.’

“I’m hearing two-fifty, three. That includes Al’s fee. Rose said she’d make it up to you when she gets back. Just a loan.”

“What’s her full name? What’s her father’s name? I want to make sure Al knows what I’m talking about.”

“Rose Simpson. The father’s Richard. Detroit.”

“Thanks, Sam. I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”

I finished my drink and turned out of the bar and to the registration desk.

“Not today, sir. No, Victor won’t be back until Friday. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I’m supposed to get together with him about a banquet we’re giving next week for some Navy brass. Is there any way I can reach him right now?”

“I’m sorry. No. But, I’m sure I’ll be able to help you.”

“I need to make a couple of very confidential calls and I don’t have time to go to my room because the reporters from the Detroit Free Press are due any moment. Victor might have told you about me. Tom Schultz. Anyway, I’ve used the kitchen behind the lounge to prepare meals for our Navy officers and I’d like to use the phone in there if I might. Won’t be but a few minutes.”

“Why, yes, Mr. Schultz. As a matter of fact Victor did mention your name to me. Let me show you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I said rushing past the clerk. “Thanks.”

I looked at my watch, and it was already four o’clock. I was trying to decide whether to call Sarah before Julie or Julie before Sarah when I realized that I was going to be a little late for my meeting with Jimmy T. l went out to the bartender and got the number for the coffee shop.

“Coffee shop.”

“Hi, this is Tom Schultz, Secret Service. Listen, I’m supposed to meet one of my agents in your coffee shop at four o’clock. It’s a little after four now so I’m sure he’s there. He’d be alone sitting at the counter. Bright red sports coat, black hair. See him?”

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“OK, could you tell him that Mr. Schultz is being held up at the front desk. Tell him I’ll be there no later than four thirty…and put his check on room 2409. Put a nice tip on for yourself. Got it?”

“Sure do, chief. Not a problem.”

I sorted through the papers in my pocket for Sarah’s number and dialed.

“Hi, this is Tom Schultz, Billy Thompson’s friend. Is this Sarah?”

”Sorry, Tom. You got the wrong number, this is Julie. Sarah must be your piece for tomorrow night. I’m tonight.”

“Julie, I’m so sorry. Billy wrote all these numbers down and he must have got them mixed up. Actually Sarah is the editor for my latest cookbook. I was going to be a good boy and get all of this business out of the way before our date tonight. How are you, Julie? I am looking forward to meeting you”

By the time I got off the phone with Julie it was already 4:45 and I had yet to call Sarah.

“Jimmy, oh God, Jimmy!” I raced back to the bar to get the coffee shop number again. This time I asked to speak to Jimmy directly.

“Yeah?”

”Jimmy, glad you’re there. It’s been terrible here. The editors crowding around the registration desk. You’d never believe it. All over one cookbook.”

“You wouldn’t want to know what I believe. Tell you what; give Captain Jones a call when you’re ready to get serious. I’ve got other things to do.”

“Listen, Jimmy, listen. There’s been a serious accident and we have to do all we can to help. One of our publishers, Rose Simpson from Detroit, well, her father, Richard, was in a very bad automobile accident last night and is in a Detroit hospital.”

“So?”

“She’s the leading contender for book publisher so we have to do whatever we can to show our concern. I’d like you to find out which hospital her father’s in and his condition so that we can send flowers.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“He might even be dead. Do whatever you have to do to find him or her—Rose, that is.”

“I don’t know, Tom. Look, I’ll do what I can, but after that it’s the book. Understand. Detroit, hmm?”

“Can we use the military network?”

“Yeah, I’ve got an ID. But, I don’t know. Listen Tom, I didn’t know it was going to be like this…”

“War’s hell, Jimmy. War’s hell. Just hang in.”

“The cookbook, Tom, the cookbook.”

“We’ll get to the cookbook in time. We got to take care of business whatever it might be.”

“Listen, Tom…”

“I’m having a car delivered here at five-thirty. I’ve got one more editor to talk with and then I’ll pick you up out front at five-thirty sharp. Have your report ready.”

“And you have a copy of that damn cookbook.”

I hung up and went out to the bar for a bourbon. I spent the next hour bullshitting with the bartender and one of the waitresses. I called Sarah and made an appointment with her for three-thirty the following day. I picked up the white convertible in front of the hotel and called to a tall man with black hair wearing a bright red coat standing near by.

“Hop in Jimmy, we’re late. It’s great meeting you. How about Rose?”

“No Rose, no Richard, no accident…not anywhere in Detroit. Where’s the cookbook?”

“Cookbook? Oh, yeah, the cookbook. Listen, Jimmy, you find Rose—no holds barred. I’m meeting a client for dinner. She has my last copy of the cookbook. I’ll make sure she returns it. Where can I drop you off along the way?”

“Right here would be fine.”

“We’ve just got to get a schedule set up for these officers’ messes and we have to sit down and go over the cookbook. We’ll do it all tomorrow, by God, tomorrow.”

“Now we’re cooking.”

“Let’s see. How about we plan on ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I’m in Room 2409. You be there, and I’ll be there.”

“Sounds like a meeting.”

“You can count on this one, Jimmy. I’ll take the phone off the hook. No more interruptions, no more delays. OK, Jimmy?”

“Alright, Tom. I’ll get Rose if I can, but you’d better be there in the morning. I can take a bus from here.”

“Swell.”

I sure didn’t want to be late for Julie. Nothing cools down a pair of hot thighs like neglect. I hadn’t the foggiest idea of where I was or how to get to the hospital. I spotted a patrol car parked a few blocks ahead and got out the sen-sen and cigarettes. I pulled the convertible up alongside the cruiser and hollered to the cop through the open window of the cruiser.

“Excuse me, officer. I’m visiting my grandmother, she’s a patient at the Brownsville Hospital on Cedar Street here in Norfolk. I’m supposed to meet her brother at the emergency room. He’s been spending all of his time with her in the hospital and I want to get him a decent meal. Can you guide me to the emergency room entrance? Hope it’s not too difficult.”

“Just take a right at the red light and it’s two blocks on the left. Be careful making that right turn. The traffic comes from all directions at the light. Hope all goes well.”

“Many thanks, officer. Guess I’m pretty lucky this time. Wouldn’t want to keep Julie waiting.”

The officer gave me a puzzled look and murmured, “Julie? Who the hell’s Julie? Damn kids!”

I got to the hospital emergency entrance just a minute after seven, and my eye was drawn to one particularly striking brunette. The dress code checked out as Julie had described.

“This has to be the one,” I muttered to myself. “Billy has done himself brown this time.”

“I don’t lie, do I Tom. Billy isn’t such a bad judge of his male friends either. Any trouble finding the place?”

“Nah.” I said softly as I opened the door for Julie. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I had trouble getting rid of one of the publishers. I never thought this business would be so damn tough.”

“No worry, you’re right on time. Billy told me some about your cookbook. I’d like to hear all about it, but let’s get over to the restaurant,” Julie said getting into the convertible.

When we entered the restaurant, we were warmly greeted by Hector, the maitre d’ who quite obviously knew Julie intimately. He seated us at a cozy table in the rear corner of the restaurant. The waiter came over and greeted Julie as eagerly as the maitre d’ had.

“So, Julie, this is your friend. Tom, isn’t it? Something to drink?”

“Tom, this is Jose. You’ve got to try the Marguerite here—super—out of this world. One for me.”

“Well, Julie, you were right,” I said. “It was easy to spot you. You are one of a kind.”

“Thanks, Tom. Forgive me if I agree.”

“I’m speechless, and that’s an unheard of event.”

“Patience. It’ll come.”

“You know, Julie. I can’t decide whether to dive in deep or stay silently on the edges. I know no middle so maybe you can help me.”

“Let’s stay on the edges for now. I’m hoping deep, but I always go too fast. So tell me about the book.”

“Well, it’s the best of Tom the chef. I’m getting together with some other Navy chefs this week. They’re going to try my recipes to see if they can add anything or suggest some editing.”

“I’d like to see it some time. I bet I could give you some ideas.”

“We’ll have to get together on that. I’m also getting together with an editor from one of the local colleges who is going to give my cookbook the old once over, but hopefully not the heave-ho.”

“You gotta be kidding. You got nothing to worry about. Not from what Billy told me.”

“We had a reception the other night and I showed the book to a bunch of publishing executives, and they had a chance to sample some of my recipes. “

“Well, there you go. I bet they’re still licking their lips from that one.”

“Lots of ‘nice job, Tom,’ but no name cards or invitations. So, it’s wait and see.”

Jose brought the Marguerites—super was an understatement. I had never seen glasses so large—thick stems and frosted and rimmed with salt. It took two hands to lift the drink to my lips and only the heartiest would ask for seconds so it seemed.

Julie lifted her glass and, saying “salute,” took down about a quarter of the drink. My eyes opened wide as the strength of the drink was obvious from the first sip.

“Just give me the sign when you want to order,” I said.

“Hits the spot, I’d say. But, Tom. What kinds of things do you like? I’m familiar with most of the menu, and Jose can help where I leave off.”

“I’d like something wet and spicy—beef or chicken, no fish. Rice is ok, and I love tomato. Any thoughts?”

“This Carmensita is really good. You’ll love it. It’s beef. Very spicy with rice, tomatoes and various kinds of peppers--some mild some hot.”

“Go no further, that’s the one for me.”

Just as Julie started to tell me some of the items that appealed to her Hector came over to the table to ask if everything was satisfactory.

“Absolutely, Hector, absolut. Listen, Hector, there’s a gentleman named Al who’s coming in to see me. We just have a very brief, ah, business matter to conduct. Could you make sure to let me know? It’s extremely important.”

“Certainly, Tom, I’ll let you know. Is there anything else?“

“Tell Jose I’ll have another Marguerite.” Julie said. “How about you Tom?”

I tried to conceal my dismay as I looked at my glass three-quarters full and hers almost empty.

“Not just yet.”

“Book business? This guy is coming here about book business?” Julie asked.

“Yeah, book business,” I said without commitment. “So tell me, Julie, what do you do here in Norfolk when you’re not at the hospital?”

“I’m an artist. I have my own studio over on Morris Boulevard. Right now I make a living. But it’s day to day. I work at the hospital one or two days a week to keep my nursing career in tow. At times I think about a steady job. But, I do love my freedom, if that’s what you call it.”

As she finished I looked up toward the front desk and noticed the maitre d’ talking with a short man wearing a trench coat, derby and sunglasses. Both of them were looking toward our table and the maitre d’ was talking to the other man and pointing him in our direction.

“That must be Al. Hang in a minute. I’ll be right back, Julie.”

I hurried to the front of the restaurant and grabbed the man gently by the arm and ushered him toward the door.

“Let’s step outside so we can take care of this little matter. I guarantee no problem, Al.”

“Ok, but hands off. This is expensive merchandise and it damages easy. When it damages, it breaks—and then.”

“Ok, Al, OK. Sorry.” I said as I followed Al out the door.

“The loan was $400 dollars, the interest is $200. Total is $600,” Al said in a flat monotone.

“Holy shit. I was told $300--$350 max. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“We had to send her first class. We never mention the interest charges up front. $600.”

I rummaged in my pants pocket for the roll of bills tucked in among the wad of phone numbers. I couldn’t pay—not $600. But, I could think of no other choice. I counted out six one hundred-dollar bills as I thought of Lisa’s ever-shrinking college tuition fund. OK, $600, but I want a receipt.”

Al counted the money and lit the cigarette he had taken from his pocket. He flipped the wooden match at my feet.

“You’re receipt is that your name won’t be in tomorrow’s paper,” he said as he turned to walk toward a waiting car.

“What’s that guy? An editor for the Mafia Press? When is the book signing? Hey, Jose, bring me another one. I ordered while you were talking. Jose says it’ll be right out. They don’t screw around here, Tom.”

I sat there—dejected, looking at my food. I took a long drink from my Marguerite and spread the napkin on my lap. I lifted the fork while looking at Julie.

“No book signing. If we’re going to stay on the edge, we’d better forget about Al.”

“Oh, God, this is great. Um. How in the hell can you do it? You’re on your third and you’re still smiling. I’m not sure I’ll finish this one. Maybe the food will help,” I said.

“Practice--it takes practice.”

We were both hungry and ate with gusto sipping from the frosted glasses along the way. I ate most of my Carmensita and thoroughly enjoyed it. Julie finished every bit of her orio and finished her third Marguerite. She appeared to be sober as a judge.

“Excuse me Tom,” she said rising from her chair, “I have to go to the potty. Be right back.”

As she passed Jose standing by the kitchen entrance she paused to say something to him. I was vaguely looking in their direction and noticed Jose glancing over at me as he reached in his pocket and handed something to Julie.

“Something personal,” I thought. “A woman’s thing. They seemed to be very good friends. Maybe it was an antacid.”

After a long time, perhaps fifteen minutes, Julie burst from the Ladies room and charged over to our table.

“Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” she hollered. “I’m going home. Give me the fucking keys. I’m driving. Who the hell is this goddamn Billy to set me up with a fucking jerk like you?”

I was in shock. The Julie that went into the Ladies room was a reasonably sane and vaguely sober, pleasant dinner companion with the promise of a long evening and a continuing relationship. The Julie who emerged was a spaced out, raging bitch. Whatever caused the transition was a mystery to me, but the key would seem to be Jose. I looked over to where Jose had been standing, but he was no longer in sight. I decided that my best choice was to take Julie home and deal with the rest of it at another time.

“OK, OK, here, take the keys, but be careful. Let’s go.”

“Shut the fuck up. Where’s the car.”

I was barely in the passenger side of the car when Julie put the car in gear and screeched away from the restaurant. She made a U-turn without looking to see what was coming toward her and forced two cars to slam on their brakes on the wide street. Horns blazing she took off up Seventh Street in the direction opposite to the one-way arrows along the edges.

“You’re going the wrong way. It’s a one-way street, I shouted.”

“It’s my town and I drive the way I want. They can kiss my whorish ass if they don’t like it, and you can just get the hell out if you have anything more to say.”

I shrunk down in the car and looked over at the speedometer—75mph against oncoming traffic and swerving all over the street. Red lights, stop signs, yellow lights—none of these mattered. I prayed and kept my mouth shut.

As abruptly as the drive had started it ended after about ten minutes. Julie screamed the convertible to a stop right in the middle of an intersection, got out, slammed the door, and raced off down the cross street. I shook off my dismay, headed the car in the proper direction on the cross street, parked it, and got out to search for Julie. She was nowhere to be found. Evaporated. The most beautiful girl in town, turned werewolf, had vanished.

“Never to be seen again? Who in the world would know?” I said aloud. “Jose would. Perhaps Billy would, but where was Billy? Where was Rose?”

I went back to the car and drove until I found a phone booth. I called Julie. Busy, busy, busy. Off the hook? I called the El Hombre.

“El Hombre.”

“Jose, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Friend of his, Tom. He’ll know.”

“Jose’s not here,” the female said sounding increasingly unfriendly.

“Jose is there, and I want to talk to him or do I have to come down there in person?”

“Ok, hang on.”

“Jose.”

“Jose, Tom. Listen I want to straighten out something about Julie and I want you to help me—whether you want to or not.”

“I know nothing about Julie. Ask her. I got customers.”

“Hang on, Jose. This is only going to take a minute. Now don’t hang up or I’ll come over there and we’ll have this talk face to face. How do you know Julie?

”We’re friends.”

“Jose--please.”

“OK, she was my girlfriend for a long time. Now we’re just friends. I help her, she helps me.”

“How do you help her?”

“I don’t want no trouble. She likes to drink. When she drinks a lot she likes cocaine. I help her.”

“So that’s what you slipped to her. Huh?”

“Usually she just gets silly. Tonight, I don’t know what happened. Too much Marguerite maybe. She likes you. She wanted to get silly. She got crazy instead. Not my fault.”

“So where is she now? Is she OK?”

“I don’t know. She stays with her mother sometimes.”

“No, her phone is always busy. Off the hook?”

“Maybe. Listen, I’ll call her. Call me back in five minutes.”

I did some window-shopping to relieve my anxiety and called Jose back just after five minutes.

“Hi, this is Jose. Tom?

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“They’ve called an ambulance. They’re going to take her to the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“They’re not sure. The landlord found her passed out in the bathroom. The phone was off the hook. Looks like she took an overdose of something. Give me a call in the morning. I’ll be here by ten. Bye.”

I hung up and headed to my car. I thought of checking out all the hospitals in town. Maybe I could get Jimmy T. to help. I thought of flying to Detroit or maybe Cape Cod. I knew I was needed, but where I didn’t know. I did know I needed a drink and I knew where to go for that.

I pulled up to the Hyatt and gave the car over to the valet. I went into the lounge and sat at the bar.

“Jack Daniels on the rocks,” I said to the exotic young woman behind the bar.”

The lounge was dead—zero.

“Pretty exciting around here tonight. What time’s the funeral?”

“What do you mean, sir. What is the funeral? Your friends they are dead or something?”

I looked at the smile behind her seriousness and got the hint of a good time despite the lack of action. When she set down my drink, I started in on her.

“Bet you haven’t been around town very long. Bet you haven’t even been in the states for long. You have a name?”

“Yes, I do, sir,” she said with a faint smile.

“But you don’t want to tell me, right?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

“I’m betting it isn’t Rose or Julie or Mary, is it?”

“You are right. It is not one of those. But you will never guess that way. Why don’t you make it more interesting? Say, ten dollars or twenty dollars?”

“OK. Here’s the deal. Do you know how to play twenty questions?”

“What is this twenty questions?”

“OK. I’ll say ‘is the first letter of your name ‘R?’ You say ‘yes’ if it is and ‘no’ if it is not. Got it?”

“OK. No.”

“Wait a minute. First write down your name and put it in the cash drawer—on top of the twenties. Now tell me how many letters in your name.”

“Is that all the rules? You make them up as we go along?”

“No, that’s all. Just be honest. Understand?”

“OK, seven letters. My name has seven letters.”

“Now if I guess your name with no more than twenty questions, you pay me twenty dollars. If I do not, I pay you twenty. Kapish?”

“What is this kapish?”

“Do you understand.”

“Yes, I kapish, but you pay me twenty—I’ll pay you only ten. My little girl, my daughter…”

“OK, OK. Twenty-ten.”

She wrote on a bar tab and put it on top of the twenties in the cash drawer.

“OK, your name is…?” She asked.

“Tom”

“OK, Tom, my name is in there. Your first question is does my name begin with ‘R.’ My answer is ‘No.’ You have nineteen questions to go. Good luck, Tom. Your guess.”

“Smart chick.”

I looked her over. I stood up on the bar rail and gave her a good once over from head to foot. I thought of asking her to change the terms of the bet, but decided to get serious about this.

“She is from somewhere in the middle east,” I said to myself. I looked her in the eyes.

“I bet you’re from Egypt or maybe Morocco—maybe even Turkey.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, just an observation.” I looked around the lounge. I could see large pictures of many of the movie stars of the 50’s—some of my favorites. Humphrey Bogart and Peter Lorie from ‘Casablanca’. Sidney Greenstreet, Ingrid Bergman, and many others.

I went over to face the life-sized poster of Bogart.

“Rick, Rick, you’d better help me on this one. She’s a tough nut. If I get her name, there’s no telling what else I might be in for.”

I was off to a cold start. I had exhausted five of my questions in establishing that her name began with an ‘N,’ and by twelve I knew that it was ‘Nat.’ I had no idea what might come next since I had the merest idea what a middle eastern name might be. We were, however, having a great deal of fun. She had warmed up considerably and I was getting more and more eager to get her someplace beyond the bar.

At this point another customer entered the lounge. I recognized him as Emir, the bell captain from the Hilton down the street. Victor had introduced us one day when I was working in the kitchen and Emir and I had had a good time joshing about the Hilton’s need for a pastry chef and how I looked like a good candidate

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything. Looks like you two are engaged in some serious discussion. She must be new here. Give me a Bud. What’s her name?”

“That’s the serious discussion. I’m trying to figure it out in twenty questions. Got any ideas?”

“Hey, wait,” she said. “Forty for me if I win--still ten for you? Good sport, huh?”

“OK. OK. Emir, I need your help. Want to be my coach. I’ve used twelve questions and the first three letters are ‘Nat.’”

“Sure. Count me in. Here’s my twenty.”

“Your guess, Tom,” she said.

“OK, Emir. I think she’s Egyptian or Moroccan. What do you think?”

“No question in my mind. She’s from Lebanon, just like me. The most beautiful ones are always Lebanese. Bet she’s Christian—like me. Let’s see. ‘Nat.’ Has to be a vowel. It’s an ‘o’ or an ‘a.’ Try ‘o.’

“Ok, how about ‘o’?’”

“No, sir.”

“‘A’”

“No, sir.”

“Shit. Fourteen down. This could be getting serious. I think it must be something like ‘Natyala’ or ‘Nateula’. I think the next letters are a diphthong of some sort.”

I had just turned to Emir for advice when I noticed a fairly attractive woman entering the lounge. As she approached the bar she started to greet the bartender. “Hi, Hi, Na…..”

“Shh! Suzan, Suzan, don’t say anything. Come over here. Come down to the end of the bar.”

The two of them went away whispering to one another in increasing excitement. Finally they came back.

“Well, I understand you think you can figure out her name. I hear you’re already in trouble and I’d like to cement the deal. I’ll put up forty if you put up sixty. Fair.”

“No, not fair. Now that you’re here it’s all even. You two against us two.”

“OK. I’ll put up the thirty. My name’s Suzan.”

“I’m Tom and this is Emir. We got six questions to go. Let’s have a drink all around while I have a little consultation with Rick.

“Man, this is serious business now. Eighty bucks in the pot, and only six questions to go. What can we do?” I said looking at Bogie in all his fearlessness.

I felt inspired. “OK, girls. You know what a diphthong is. Is what comes next--a diphthong?”

“Diphthong? Of course we know. No. Not a diphthong,” said Suzan.

“Not a diphthong, it has to be a diphthong. You sure you know what it means? Emir, what should we do? It has to be a vowel. Must be a ‘u,’ ‘U?’”

“Yes.”

“Natu….and the next letter is a consonant. Three more letters, Emir. This is our money.”

The next three guesses came and went. The prayers, the pleading to Rick and all the other characters in Casablanca—all to no avail. Her name remained a secret until it rolled from her lips—‘Natuija’ – ‘Na-too-zha.’

“Natuija gets the money.”

“Hold it!” I shouted. “Just one goddamn minute. That’s a diphthong. ‘ui’ is a diphthong. You lied, you cheated. Give me back the money. Money. I’ll call the police. I’ll call the sheriff. Police!”

“Tom, Tom,” Suzan said as she came over to me and rubbed my back with both hands.

She swung me around to face her and got crouch to crouch with me in a loving embrace.

“Tom, we wouldn’t cheat you. It was a little misunderstanding. We would never take advantage of you. You know you never would have guessed anyway.”

“Well, a rule’s a rule. You never know. I was really inspired.”

“Tom, love. Poor Natuija needs the money for her children’s’ lunches. You were finished after the first fifteen guesses. Let it go, Tom. Let it go,” Suzan said.

“Tom, I think she’s right,” Emir joined in. “It was a good game and lots of fun, but we didn’t have a chance. Come on, let’s all have a drink and go on to something else. Natuija, another round for all of us.”

“OK, OK, but I bet I would have guessed it. If only they had really known about diphthongs. What the hell do you think it is anyway? Hey, Suzan, what’s a diphthong?”

“It’s a double consonant, isn’t it? I’m sure whatever it is it’s an honest mistake. I got to drink up and go. See you guys later. Bye, Natuija.”

I finished my drink and went on up to my room. It was past midnight and Jimmy was coming at ten the next morning. I watched a little television and got ready for bed. As I was about to turn the lights out there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” a rather timid female voice said.

I got up and as I opened the door said, “Who’s me?”

It was Suzan.

“Why, well, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in.”

I was standing in my underwear as I closed the door behind Suzan.

“Let me get some clothes on.”

“Don’t bother. I was feeling a little guilty about the way we treated you in the lounge and I thought I’d like to make it up to you. If you don’t mind, I’ll just get my clothes off and join you. I told the desk to call here if somebody wanted me. OK?”

“Fine, uh, fine.”

I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been too long before the phone rang.

“Is Suzan there? I want to speak to Suzan,” the very gruff male voice shouted.

“Ah, yes, yes, she’s here. Just a minute.”

I held my hand over the phone and pushed at Suzan.

“Suzan, Suzan, wake up. It’s the phone. It’s for you.”

“Go away, go away.”

“Some guy. He sounds very angry. Wake up.”

Suzan rolled over toward me and took the phone.

“Suzan here. Who’s this… Bendix, oh, Bendix. What time is it… Four in the morning? What the hell are you doing calling me at this hour… No, it wasn’t my husband answering the phone. He’s in Egypt with you… Miami? What the hell are you doing in Miami… Llamas? Two llamas? Bendix! Why do you have to bring llamas into the country at this hour of the morning? Can’t you just leave them at the airport until tomorrow or something… OK, OK. I’ll get in touch with customs right away. See you in the office at 9. What’s their number… Oh, shit. He hung up.”

Suzan threw the phone on the floor and put her arms around my neck.

“And I had plans for us this morning. Now I have to go deal with Bendy. Fuck Bendy. I did once, you know. He wasn’t very good. I wonder how a llama would be?”

When I awoke there was only a faint scent of Suzan. But, no, Suzan.

Chapter 19

“Ten thirty. “No, not ten thirty already. Wasn’t I supposed to meet someone somewhere at ten? Ten? Jimmy. Where was Jimmy T?”

There was a loud knock at the door.

“Rose, is that you, Rose? Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy T. Come in. I thought we were to get together at ten.”

“I’ve been pounding at this goddamn door for the last half hour. If I’d knocked any louder they’d have had the police after me. Let’s go!”

“Not quite ready yet, Jimmy, not quite. I’ll order us some breakfast and you can look over the cookbook while I finish up.”

“Let’s have the book.”

“Won’t take but a minute. Here, I know I put that damn book somewhere. Well, listen, why don’t you turn on the TV while I find it.”

“I can wait.”

I picked up the phone. “Room service?” Good. Get us something good like two-eggs and so forth. Make it for two. Room 2409. Somebody’ll be here.”

I turned back to Jimmy, “I’ll just take a quick shower while they bring breakfast. You know how to work the TV?”

“Like a radio?”

By the time I finished a nice long hot bath and got dressed breakfast was waiting on the coffee table.

“Hey, looks great. Maybe a bit on the cool side, but I like it that way. Dig in Jimmy. Hope you like this.”

“It’s better than last night.”

“Now, Jimmy, tell me about Rose.”

“No Rose. No, Richard. Give it up, Tom. I think you’ve been had.”

“No, no. Not me. I’ll get to the bottom of this. Later. Right now we got work to do. This stuff’s good. They do a pretty good job here. Could improve with some of my recipes, but not bad for a hotel. What do you think? Now listen, Jimmy, I had that damn book around here somewhere. Let’s see I took it with me the other night to show to Sarah, but she didn’t want to get together until we involve some of the other chefs. Then last night I went to dinner with Julie and…Oh, my God, what happened to Julie? Jimmy, call the Brownsville Hospital and see if they have a Julie there. A Julie Jackson. I stopped here at the Hyatt for a drink with Emir and I got together with one of the girls. Somebody stole that fucking book, Jimmy. There was this guy and his wife…they invited me to the country club…for a drink, and…Oh shit, I’m supposed to call them about golf this afternoon. Remind me. What time are we supposed to meet Captain Jones? Anyway, I told them I’d meet them for golf at the club at three o’clock. Where’s the fucking book? What time do we meet with Jones?”

“For christsake, Tom, you have to find the book before we can meet with the captain, and we meet with the captain at two-thirty.”

“Well, call him and make it one-thirty. What time is it?”

“It’s 11:30 and he’s a captain and I don’t tell him one-thirty or anything else.”

“Well ask him. Tell him my wife’s in labor. Tell him anything. Just make it 1:30”

“Captain Jones, please. This is Chief LaTramma.”

“Hi, Captain. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but there’s something I need to ask you about our 2:30 appointment. You see, Tom’s mother is being operated on this afternoon, and Tom’s sister is coming to see Tom about 4. Is it at all possible to move our meeting up to 1:30 so the family can be together as planned?”

“OK, Captain. We appreciate your consideration. See you at 1:30 sharp.”

“You know, Tom, Captain Jones is a very easy going guy and is always willing to cooperate in any way that doesn’t get him into trouble, but he will not tolerate disrespect and not being on time for an appointment with him is the ultimate.”

“Look here, Jimmy, it’s just noon—plenty of time.”

“Just don’t forget we’ve got to get the car, drive out to the base, get cleared by security, find a parking place, and hike the mile or so over to headquarters. Visitors are not a priority in the scheme of Navy business and they can park wherever they can find a non-official space.”

“OK. OK. I’m ready. Oh, shit. Julie. I completely forgot about Julie. I got to call Jose.”

“I called the hospital. Came up blank.”

“Oh, God. I’ll call Jose. I hope he’s there.”

“Hello. Tom Schultz here. Calling for Jose.”

“Jose? Tom.”

“All we know is that they took her from the hospital to some drying out place,” Jose said.

“Which one? I gotta find her. She might need me.”

“I’m sure she needs you…and a lot of other things. Listen, Tom, take my word for it. You’re better off without her. I should know. I suffered enough.”

“Well, I’m different, Jose. But, thanks anyway.”

“Billy, I gotta find Billy. He’ll know. Jimmy, get Billy on the line.”

“Come on, Tom. I don’t even have a number for this guy. You got it?”

“Don’t bother me with details. Just get him. Oh, Jimmy, what’s wrong with me? Why do these things always happen to me? I need a drink. No, I need a drinks.”

“The Captain, Tom. The Captain.”

“Just let me finish this drink. OK, let’s go.”

As we were passing through the lobby I saw Victor hurrying toward the lounge.

“Victor,” I called, “Victor, I’d like to see you for a minute.”

“I’ve been looking for you, Tom. Got you set up for a round of golf tomorrow. I’ve written down all the details. Here, take this. Be right back,” Victor said as he turned into the lounge.

“Say, Jimmy. I’m going to go get a coke at the stand-up bar down around the corner. When Victor comes back, tell him that we’re embarrassed to admit it, but we’ve been passing the cookbook from hand to hand and we just lost track of it. Here he comes. Tell him I had to take a real bad piss.”

I turned and rushed off toward the lobby entrance and ducked into the men’s room. The side exit from the men’s room led to the stand-up bar out of sight of Victor and Jimmy.

“Give me a bourbon on the rocks,” I shouted at the bartender. “Sorry, but I’ve got a taxi waiting,” I said as I gulped the drink. “Give me another.”

Jimmy came rushing into the bar as I was finishing a second drink. “I got it, Tom, one of the girls in the kitchen had it. She was working at the country club the other night, and you gave it to her when you were demonstrating some of your recipes for the kitchen crew out there. She said you asked her to go with us today. I told her you’d call her tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her later. What’s her name anyway? Let’s get going. Here, barkeep, keep the change. We gotta go.”

“Say, Jimmy, there’s one more thing I have to do. You get the car and meet me out front. Here’s, take the key.”

“Hey, Tom,” Jimmy called after me. “Where’s the car. Where did you park it?”

“It’s out there, Jimmy, out there in the parking lot.”

While I was watching Jimmy go out to the parking lot, it came to me that I had no idea where the car was. “Christ. Hope he finds it.”

I was beginning to worry that Jimmy never would find the car and that our scheduled appointment with Captain Jones would end in disaster. Just then the white convertible pulled up to the curve. I rushed out and opened the door to the driver's side.

“Move over, pal, this is going to take some expert maneuvering. What time is it?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“Balls, get your head down. You’re not going to want to see this.” I pulled a page from Julie’s book and literally took off in the general direction of the Naval Base.

“Which way?” I shouted to Jimmy over the roar of the powerful engine. Jimmy had taken my advice and had crouched down with his head between his legs.

“Go left on Rt. 1A1, east.”

“Rt. 1A1 was back there. Watch out!” I yelled as I made a U-ie in the face of on coming traffic and took 1A1 to the east. I didn’t have much time for red lights and had to constantly jockey for position.

“Now what? We’re on Rt. 1A1 going east.”

“Stay on this road for 30 miles until you see the Naval Base turn-off. Take your left there. You got to stop at the gate.”

“I’m not sure I know how to stop this thing.”

“No bullshit, Tom, or they’ll toss both of us in the brig. Just do your best ‘Yes, sir’ ‘No, sir’ and don’t try to push them.”

“Oh, yes sweet, kind, darling sir.”

“You’ll have plenty of time at the rate you’re going—that is if we’re still alive and the cops don’t bag us. Christ, Tom, ease up a little. This fucking thing’s going to bust apart.”

“Don’t worry, Jimmy, everything’s under control.”

I throttled back as I made the turnoff onto the Naval Base road. I could see the guard post not too far up the road.

“Time?”

“One-ten. We’ll make it if you don’t try to give the guard a hard time. Get pushy with him and he’ll pull you out of line and we’ll be here forever.”

“OK. OK. Just leave it to me. Here we go now.”

“Good afternoon, sir. We’re personal friends of Captain Jones and he told us you’d be able to give us a good parking place right near his office. He’s expecting us and he’s eager to hear our report from his father. You may know his father’s in the hospital up in Cleveland. That’s where we’re from.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about this. We have visitor parking down there by the barracks. You’ll have about a fifteen-minute walk to the Captain’s office. That’s the best we can do. Security, sir. May I see your license?”

I handed the guard my license and continued, “I don’t think you understand. The Captain…”

“Here’s your license, sir,” the guard interrupted. “You’re all cleared.”

“But the Captain said…”

“All right, sir. If you’d like me to call the Captain, I will. Just pull right over there to the side and I’ll take care of you right after I finish with these other people behind you. We’ve got a long line of cars, Sir.”

“Oh, well. I guess we’ll do as you say. I will talk to Captain Jones about this.”

“Pull over there, Sir. Right behind that white van.”

I eased the convertible away from the guard post, but when the guard turned to attend to the following car, I headed off toward the parking lot. “What time is it?”

“We’re going to make it with 17 seconds to spare. That is, unless the Shore Patrol comes after you. I think that guy is going to get you eventually, but he’s too busy now. Park over there and let’s hike it up to Jonsey's office.”

A secretary showed us into the captain’s office.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can Sharon get you some coffee?” Captain Jones said as he extended a handshake first to me and then Jimmy.

Captain Jones was within two years of retirement. A tall good-looking man with bright blue eyes and graying black hair, he had spent most of his life at sea—destroyers--but was now finishing off a distinguished career as chief of operations at the base.

“I’m Tom Schultz, spent 8 years as a navy baker and chef. Now I’m working for the navy as a civilian chef up on Cape Cod. This is Jimmy LaTramma, chief--retired. Been assigned to show me around while I introduce my cookbook and cooking strategies to chefs throughout the navy.”

“Well sit down gentlemen. Here, Sharon, set that tray on the table. Help yourselves gentlemen. Tom, tell me some more about your book, about your plans here at the base.”

“Okay, Captain,” I said as I poured myself half a cup of coffee. “Thanks, Sharon,” I said with a broad smile,” as she turned to go back to her desk.

“This book… Jimmy, show the captain the book.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. I’m not sure how much Lieutenant Gordon has told you about our project, but I can tell you that this book has been the, uh, darling, of editors up and down the coast. Just the other night we had a big reception downtown. I catered, using the recipes in this book, and the editors just went wild. They would have published it there on the spot, but Lieutenant Gordon insisted that we stick to the plan. We want other navy chefs to look it over, to give their comments and suggestions, to make contributions of their own, recipes that they have developed, that have been a hit with their own men. That’s what we’re doing here, sir. We want permission to talk with, maybe a half dozen, head chefs on your base. Jimmy can set it up once we get the go ahead. We want the best, the top chefs. We figure it will take a guy a couple of hours to give the book a thorough going over, then we can spend another couple of hours talking with the guy, getting his ideas and contributions.”

Captain Jones had been studying the book while I had been talking. When I finished, he leaned over to the intercom and said, “Sharon, send Lieutenant Kramer in here, will you?”

Within moments a short blonde lieutenant with rough features and broad face entered the office.

“Lieutenant, this is Tom Schultz and Chief LaTramma. Lieutenant Kramer is my assistant and in charge of all mess on the base. Lieutenant, these guys are writing a navy cookbook and they want some help from us. See what you can do for them. Just keep it out of our day-to-day operations.”

Captain Jones stood abruptly saying, “Good day, gentlemen. I’m sure Lieutenant Kramer will take care of you.”

“Well, thank you, sir. I’m sure the admiral will be pleased to hear of your cooperation. Why just the other day we were playing golf and he was saying how much he admired you and your career. He was sad to hear of your plans to retire, and just a captain.”

“Just a Captain,” Captain Jones exploded. “Who said “just a Captain”? What are you talking about?” Sharon, Sharon,” he screamed through the intercom. “Get me the admiral this instance. Get me the admiral.”

“Admiral Strayhorn, good afternoon. Fine, sir, and how are you? I have this young man in my office. He’s asking our help with a naval cookbook.”

“Yes, sir, you have heard of this?”

“Well, this young man is saying that ‘the admiral’ is saying that I am retiring as ‘just a Captain.’ Sir, we all know why I am retiring and the fact that I am captain and not admiral has nothing to do with my record or my accomplishments.”

“Sir, it pains me to hear myself spoken of as ‘just a Captain.’”

“Yes, sir. I know you never said anything like that. Just a little misunderstanding. Yes, sir. It is an outstanding book. We’ll cooperate fully.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night.”

“Lieutenant, that will be all now. Show the gentlemen to the base mess. Mr. Schultz, Chief.”

“What do you think, Jimmy,” I said as I started the car. “What time is it?”

”I think we better find a different gate than the one we came in.”

“You’re thinking, Jimmy.”

“You’ve got time. If you hurry, which won’t be a problem for you, you’ll be at the golf course at two-fifty-nine.”

“Enough time for me to warm up before we t-off at three.”

“I think you should stay away from here and let me handle the rest of this. We got things set up pretty well with Kramer.”

“What? You think Captain Jones might waste my time asking me for tea?”

“Take a left here and go out the other gate. Just wave to the guard. He won’t stop you. But, goddamn it, Tom, slow down. This is a naval base not Indianapolis.”

“This thing only has one speed—all speed ahead.”

“Get on 301 and you’ll see the golf course about 25 miles up on the right. Want me to take the car and pick you up?”

“Yeah, make it seven-thirty. Call before you come?”

“Who in the hell should I call? Arnie Palmer?”

“Jimmy, Jimmy, you know I’ll be on time.”

I was quite a hit with the country club crowd—more invitations for golf and parties than I ever heard of. My golf game was good enough to fit right in with my new friends, and my confidence and my constant palaver entertained both men and women. They felt I was full of a harmless kind of “bullshit” that made good cocktail party chatter. One thing, I no doubt enjoyed the cocktails a little more than most, and men kept a cautious eye on their women when I was around. I never paid for anything at the club. I was a guest and in most instances somebody offered to pay for the round or the drink or the dinner. When nobody was around to pick up the tab, I simply signed saying that I was the son of somebody I had just met on the golf course or at a party. Nobody questioned this and nothing ever happened that might create a problem.

It was after midnight when I left the cocktail lounge at the club. More sober than usual, but with enough booze in me to float a battleship. Jimmy was waiting asleep at the wheel of the white convertible.

“Got tied up with some business people in there. I think we found a publisher,” I said as I got in the car. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, what was her name?”

“To the hotel, James?”

“I’ve got some good news. Krammer set me up with a guy whose gung-ho about the cookbook. And, he is one crackerjack of a chef. He loves it and he spent the whole afternoon reading and re-reading it. He has some great suggestions and he’s willing to talk to some of the other, more reluctant, chefs. He can’t wait to meet you. I think we’ve got it made.”

“What time does he want to get together? I’ve got a T-time at 11:08 in the morning. Some very important people. I think I’ll be tied up all day. How about Saturday at, say, uh, let’s have dinner with him on Saturday night. Six o’clock. How’s that?”

“Gee, I don’t know. I thought it might be in the morning. He’s real eager to get going?”

“Maybe too eager. What’s his bag? Is he angling for co-authorship? Must watch out for yourself in this business. Let him cool his heels for a while. See what he does next. In the meantime let him introduce you to some other guys. Tell him I’m tied up with the editors. Let him think of me as the boss. Not available right now.”

“OK, Tom. Oh, another thing,” Jimmy said as we turned down 301 toward the hotel, “I got that autovon permission for you. Here, here’s your code number and the number you dial to get access. You can call anywhere in the world on the military network—free. You’ll have better luck after six in the evening, but you can use it at any time. I had to get Captain Jones to approve, and he was a little reluctant. I just told him that it would allow you to get in touch with the people you needed to without constantly asking him for permission. When I said that, he signed it in a flash.”

When we pulled up to the hotel, I started to get out of the car, but then leaned over to Jimmy and took his arm. “Hang on, Jimmy. I’ve changed my mind. Take yourself to wherever it is you’re going and I’ll take over from there. I’ll meet you here at the hotel at five on Saturday night. Bring that guy, Fewstools. Is he married? Bring her too if he is.”

“Fjelstul, Kurt Fjelstul.”

“One hell of a name—Kurt what? The hell with it. Just mine contacts. Get some good guys like Kurt. Get them in some exciting places like San Diego, San Francisco. Know what I mean. I want this wrapped up by tomorrow night. I don’t want to be fucking around with this on the weekend. I’ve got other plans and I have to get back to Cape Cod on Monday morning. Let’s find something different for dinner on Saturday night. Maybe Italian—Mafia if you can handle it.

When Jimmy got out of the car, I decided to take a drive out in the suburbs. I needed a breath of fresh air to try to think about things. After about a half-hour I was completely lost and had to stop at a roadside bar to ask directions. While asking for directions, I started to listen to the background jazz. The bartender, a young black man with a friendly smile and athletic build noted my interest and betrayed a knowledge about jazz greater than I had ever known. Jazz was one of my passions, but I was just a listener, not a student. This guy, Jiorg, was a student and could talk for hours and hours and hours. When the bar closed the two of us ended up continuing the conversation in the parking lot.

As Jiorg was opening his car door he mentioned to me that he also had an import business and wondered if I might be interested. Jiorg opened the trunk of his car and showed me some of his wares.

“Look at these suits, man, why you’d be the talk of Cape Cod in these—pure silk, imported from Japan and tailored by the finest seamstress on the islands. You know what you’d pay for these up in Manhattan? You have any idea? Look at this one—fits you to a T. How much do you think you’d pay for this in Boston? Take a guess?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe three, four hundred?”

“Three, four hundred? Man, you’re kidding me. Three, four thousand’d be more like it. Look at this one—pure silk, finest work. Both of these, the bright green and the rust-orange are yours for three hundred. Not three thousand—just three hundred. But, that’s only right now. Not tomorrow, not even later tonight. Just now.”

Jiorg put the suits back into the trunk as he repeated, “just right now.”

My head was buzzing. ‘Three tries for a quarter—put one in the hoop—get a big prize.’—‘Come on, Hank. See how easy it is? We can’t lose.’—‘Put a nickel in the pot, put a dime in the pot. Round she goes and winner takes all.’--‘Come on, Dad. Just lend me a buck. You know you’ll get it right back.’—‘Right in here, boy. You’ll have the time of your life. Ten bucks’ll get ya twenty.’—‘Come on, Mom. Come on, Dad. Come on, Billy. Come on, Mary. Come on, come on, come on. Please. I’m not missing out on the big time again. I’ll get the money. The deal of my life. Nobody’s ever rooking me again. I’m no sucker. I can see the gifts from God and I’m in. Count me in, don’t leave without me, don’t forget to wake me, just get me to the church on time. Roll ‘’’em, Jiorg, roll ‘’’em.’

Just as Jiorg was closing the trunk lid I grabbed his arm. “Wait, I’ll take them. Are you sure they’re the right size?”

“Here, try this jacket on. See, nice and snug. That’s the way you’re supposed to wear these. The pants, you always have to get the pants adjusted a little. See here.”

Jiorg held the pants at the belt and placed them near my midriff. “See here, your tailor will have to let these out just a bit. Tell you what, I’ll even give you an extra break to cover the tailor’s fee. Give me two-seventy-five and we’ll be all square.”

“But don’t you think the jackets are a little…well…short.”

“Where’ve you been, Tom? Out to sea? That’s the new style. The ladies like to see your shirt…cufflinks, maybe. Get with the time. Jive.”

“OK, two-seventy-five it is. It’s a real pleasure to talk with you, Jiorg, and to do business with somebody who’s up on the trends. I gotta get going now or I’ll never make my golf date in the morning. Which way is the Hyatt?”

I thought I was following Jiorg’s directions, but I could not find the side roads he had told me about. Off to the right through the trees I could see the lights of a small building and could just make out a ‘Budweiser’ sign in the front window. I parked a good distance from the other cars to insure a quick getaway just in case I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I headed for the door just to the right of the ‘Budweiser’ sign and entered the one room that made up the place—it was blue with smoke. Two big mountain boys were seated at the bar and another four guys were seated at a table over in the corner. The table was lit by a green shaded lamp suspended from the ceiling and the guys were playing some kind of card game. All eyes were on me as I entered and went up to the bar.

“Little late to be out here abouts, sonny. What’ll it be?”

“Make it a Bud. I was trying to get to the Hyatt in town and I got a little lost.”

“The Hyatt? In town? You sure’n hell did get yourself lost, sonny. We’ll get you straight. Just wait ‘till the card game’s over.”

“I just love to play cards. I’ve played ‘’’em all. Be OK if I watch?”

“Long’s you keep your mouth shut, sonny. Not a sound.”

I went over to the table and pulled up a chair near one corner and at a respectable distance. While sitting down I stepped in one of the guy’s ashtray and broke his cigarette in half. I just looked dumb and nobody said a word or even recognized me.

“Euchre!” I said. “I’m the best damn Euchre player east of the Mississippi. How much are you playing for?”

The bartender bolted from behind the bar and raced over to me. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the bar.

“I told you not one word. You just pissed off the entire crowd here. Drink up and get out. Just take a right and keep going.”

The two ‘mountain men’ at the far end of the bar swung into action. They moved over beside where I was standing at the bar—one squeezing me on the right and the other on the left.

“Alright, sonny, what’s the deal. Just what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m with the navy in Norfolk. I was playing golf out in the country and I got lost trying to get back to the hotel?”

“Golf? In the middle of the night? Bullshit. What ship are you on?” The one on my left said.

“No ship. I’m a chef. Actually I’m retired.”

“Look it, sonny. Are you in the navy or not,” the other one said.

“Well, I was. Not now.”

“Just what the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night snooping around here? I think you’re some kind of navy police. Out here to see if one of yours is up to something illegal,” the right wing said.

“I have a good mind to bust your head,” the left wing said.

“I have more than a good mind. I’m going to,” from the right.

Just then the card game broke up and the four guys joined the discussion.

“Just run his ass out the door and let him alone. We don’t want any trouble,” one of them said.

“OK, sonny. Out you go and don’t ever show your face around here again,” the bartender said.

“I’ll give you a five minute head start. If I catch you, I’ll smash you to pieces,” the right wing said.

“I’ll be right behind him,” the left wing said.

“Come on, sonny. Out you go,” the bartender said as he took me by the arm and threw me out the door.

I stumbled to my car and raced out of the parking lot and down the road keeping an eye through the rearview mirror for any trailing headlights.

I was aware of a blinking blue light before the bright light shinning in my eyes jarred me awake.

“What’s ya doing here, sonny boy. Looks like you got a little trouble.”

I was now awake enough to see that the light was coming from a flashlight being held by a uniformed man and that I was sitting in my convertible with the driver’s door open with one foot in the car and one foot in a parking lot. I could see the hotel. I knew I was home.

“I, I was just having a little trouble getting out of the car. Leg cramps, you know.”

“I see. Doesn’t smell like leg cramps to me. Would you mind showing me your driver’s license and the registration for this car.”

I fumbled in my sport’s coat pocket for my wallet and produced the driver’s license. “It’s a rental car. The stuff’s here in the glove compartment. I’m a guest here at the hotel,” I said retrieving the room key from my pants pocket. I was out at the country club with some Navy brass-- playing tennis. I hadn’t played for a while and my legs went a little stiff. Is everything in order?”

“Ok, this checks out. I suggest you lock up and get up to your room. You know, our drunk driving laws apply even when you’re in a parked car. You don’t have to be driving or on the road. I suggest you take it easy in the future.”

I sat in the convertible, fighting sleep, until the police car pulled out of the parking lot and down the street. When I felt it was safe, I got out of the car and staggered into the hotel and up to my room.

I emptied my pockets on the coffee table at the foot of the bed and came across the number Jimmy had given me. I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my shirt.

“Access code,” a sleepy female voice said.

“Oh, yeah. That’s this other number, ‘5039721.”

“And where are you calling?”

“Santa Fe—232-7754.”

“And the name of the party?”

“Jeanne Schultz, Colonel Jeanne Schultz, US Air Force.” Tom put the phone in his pocket. “Maybe I should have said ‘General.’ Nah, Colonel’s good enough.

“I’ll connect you.”

“Jeanne, Jeanne, Tom here. How the hell are you doing.”

“Tom, I was just thinking of you.”

“I’m always thinking of you. What are you up to?

“Just having a little brandy to get me in the mood. Your brother’s due home any minute and he’s always super-romantic after one of his long trips.”

“It runs in the family.”

“What grand occasion are you celebrating that graces me with a phone call?”

“Oh, I’ve been on a trip to Atlantic City for the past week and it’s been the most exciting time of my life. Just wanted to unwind a bit with a receptive ear.”

“You’ve got it, Tom. Let’s hear it—spare none.”

“Christ, Jeanne, I thought I was going to get laid a thousand times, but something always went wrong. Then out of the blue there was this knock on the door. I thought she was going to keep going all night. I swear she was some kind of nymph.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“I got more ass lined up at the country club than I’ve ever imagined, and there’s no end in sight. Seems every chick I meet wants to spread her legs. Never seen anything like it.”

“Sounds to me like you’re in one of your high moods where you don’t stop long enough to think what all this means to Mary and Lisa. I’m not preaching, Tom, I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“How would Mary ever know about all of this? I’m not hurting anyone, Jeanne. I’m just out doing my thing.”

“Things end, you know.”

“When I get back home, this will all be a dream, an illusion. Nobody will know, nobody will even suspect. I don’t get away from home that often so I got to enjoy it while I can.”

“I know, Tom. I understand. Just be careful. Uh-oh. I hear a car pulling up. Must be Jack. Tom, it’s great hearing from you. Call me again sometime. This must be costing you a fortune.”

“Not me. It’s all on the military. I’m trying to figure out how to call Saigon. I got a real hot one there.”

“Gotta run.”

“So Jeanne, I’d talk to Jack, but I don’t think he’d like to hear from me right now. So tell him I said ‘Hi’ and I’ll see you at Chico’s one of these nights. Remember the Marguerita.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it. Night, Hon. Love you.”

“Love you.”

I hung up and continued undressing. I must have been asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I called Jimmy in the morning and told him the plan had been changed. He could have the car for the next few days because I would be playing golf and working with some contacts at the country club until our date with Kurt. I left the keys at the front desk for Jimmy and got Victor to find me a ride. I intended to play it by ear the rest of the way.

By Saturday afternoon I was getting tired of my newfound friends and got up from the breakfast table announcing that I was going to the men’s room. I ducked out a side entrance, retrieved my golf clubs from the locker room, and looked around for a ride into town. I noticed an elderly gentleman putting on his dress shoes down at one end of the room.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said as I approached the man, “I’m a new member here. My wife was supposed to pick me up, but I just got a call from the desk that she’s been rushed to the hospital. Premature delivery. I wonder, if you’re going that way, could you drop me off at the Hyatt. I can get my car there and go to the hospital.”

“Why certainly. I was just going in for a quick drink. Why don’t you join me and we can go right away?”

“Oh, I’d love to, sir. But I’m so anxious I’m afraid to think what a drink might do to me just now. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here for you.”

“OK, I’ll just be a minute.”

I looked around the locker room checking to see if anybody had forgotten to lock up. I found one open locker and gave a cursory look at the contents. I took the dozen golf balls on the top shelf and stuffed them into my bag along with the two new gloves that were on the shelf behind the balls. I closed the door to the locker and continued checking around the room. When the gentleman who offered the ride came in, I was sitting near the door examining my golfing shoes.

“Ready? By the way, my name’s Archer, Cyrus Archer.”

“Billy Samuelson, from Albuquerque,” I said.

We drove most of the way in silence until Archer finally said, “How do you like our course? That seventh hole in particular.”

“Oh, the 227 par three with the lake in front of the green?”

“Yes.”

“The first time I played that I laid up and managed a bogey with a 25-foot putt. Then I started to think about it. I know I can hit my five wood that far and I’m damned accurate with it.”

“Darn kids. They’ll run you right off the road. Sorry. Go on.”

“The first time with the five wood I went to the left and into the sand trap. Another bogey. But after that I was on the green every time—two pars and then today a birdie.”

“I wish I had your confidence, young man. I always lay up and I’m lucky if I’m ever on the green in two. I think it’s always going to be a problem for me. Well, there’s the Hyatt up ahead. Where do you want off?”

I went into the lobby and took my clubs into the side kitchen and poured myself a drink from the bottle I kept in the refrigerator. There were many other goodies in the refrig that could come in handy after a midnight smooze. I made a mental list that just might entice some little someone to join me later on. I remembered that I was supposed to call Commander Likeness on Cape Cod and figured this would be a good time to try my autovon privileges for official business.

“One moment, please,” the operator said in a somewhat excited voice when I gave her my ID.

I waited for what seemed a long time when a very austere female voice addressed me.

“You gave the operator ‘5039721’ as your authorization number. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct. Is something wrong.”

“Is something wrong? I’m going to tell you exactly what is wrong if you’ll be quiet and listen to me. First of all, what is your name?”

I didn’t like this at all, but I thought I’d better hear her through before I made a move. “Tom Schultz.”

“Rank?”

“Civilian, working for the Navy. I was a Seaman III.”

“And just how did you get this authorization number?”

“Through Captain Jones at the base here.”

“Captain William Jones?”

“Yes, Captain William Jones.”

“And what was the purpose of this? Why did Captain Jones give you the authorization?”

“I’m a chef for the Navy and I need to get in contact with other Navy chefs to help improve the quality of food in the Navy. I’ve been designated by Washington to head this effort.”

“Well, Mr. Schultz, I am the shift supervisor here at the base. When I came to work this morning, the girls were playing a tape that had been recorded early in the morning. That tape, sir, was a conversation between you and a ‘Jeanne’ in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The girls were laughing so hard that no work was being done. The conversation was not a business conversation in any sense of the word. I ordered our operators to deny access for the authorization number you just used and to contact the shift supervisor should anyone attempt to gain access with that number. Now I am denying you access permanently. I will issue a report to Captain Jones detailing this incident. Should you wish to appeal my decision, you should contact Captain Jones. Goodday, Mr. Schultz.”

Before I could mount a defense in my behalf the connection was broken at the other end. “Was that Mary?“ I wondered. I hung up and took a good healthy slug from my glass.

I went out into the lobby and scanned the board to see what was happening around town. I was surprised to find the lounge dark and without the usual crowd of buzzing tourists.

“Anything interesting?” Someone behind me said. I turned to see Victor standing over my shoulder. “Better duck that drink before the fuzz walks in here and takes you off for a quiet afternoon.”

“What are you talking about? How come there’s nobody in the lounge? It’s all dark. What’s going on anyway?”

“It’s election day, Tom. We don’t serve any booze until five o’clock. Not anywhere.”

I took a sip of bourbon and turned toward the board. “I see Elvis Presley’s in town. Up at the arena. Says here they’re getting $35 for tickets. Can you imagine paying $35 to see that guy? I wouldn’t even pay $35 to see God and they’re asking that much to see somebody who can’t even sing. He’s a fraud, a phony. They’d do better putting me on stage.”

I was really winding up and by the end of my tirade I was about shouting in rage. Just then three of God’s most beautiful young women, dressed in iridescent short-short dresses of lavender, quartz and gold and sporting white cowboy boots and hats approached. One of them came toe-to-toe with me and spoke in a soft, but quite certain, voice. “Excuse me sir, but we have been sitting over there listening to your monologue,” she pointed to an alcove no more than twenty-five feet from where we were standing.

“We hear what you’re saying and we want you to know that we do not appreciate it. You are, sir, certainly entitled to your opinion, but we, as members of Elvis’ entourage, prefer not to hear it. We request, therefore, sir, that you take your conversation somewhere else. Should you decide not to do that, sir, then you may wish to direct your attention to the adjoining alcove and to the four tall young men dressed similar to what we wear. Those, sir, are Mr. Presley’s bodyguards and they too have heard you. They are prepared to address you personally should you decide to continue. Oh, and by the way, there is no drinking today. It is Election Day. Perhaps you ought to consider that.”

Chapter 20

Just by accident I was standing out in front of the hotel at five o’clock when Jimmy pulled up with Kurt and his wife.

“Tom, Tom,” Jimmy called. “Hop in. This is Kurt and his wife Anna. We're going out to Emilio’s. You’ll love it.”

“Kurt. Anna. Hey, Jimmy, how goes it?”

“Hi, Tom,” said Anna most pleasantly.

“Hi, Tom. A pleasure to meet the author of such a superb work of art,” Kurt said.

With that Jimmy spun the convertible away from the curb and off in the direction of New York City.

Emilio’s was the restaurant I wanted to own someday. Little nooks filled with bottles of Chianti, Chardonnay, Zinfandel—garlic, rosemary, basil, thyme, oregano in green pots and dried hanging from low wooden beams and crushed in bottles of vinegar—Romano, mozzarella, parmesan in baskets on shelves in alcoves—lush booths and oak tables dotted with red and white checkered clothes—tables for two set by windows overlooking a moon tinted lake.

Our table overlooked the ocean and the near full moon made for an idyllic setting. The waiter took drink orders and Jimmy told us what he knew about the menu.

“I’ve been here a number of times and I have three favorites—the lasagna, the veal Parmesan, and the strip steak Italiana. I don’t know about the other things, but these three are grand.

“We could try one of each plus something new and split each of them among all of us,” Anna offered.

“Not me” I said. “I got to try that strip steak. All mine. Let’s start off with a huge antipasto. And Chianti, loads of Chianti.”

“I’ll go for that,” Kurt said.

“I’m in,” Jimmy said.

When the waiter had brought the antipasto and everyone had filled a plate, I went into action. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you and Anna, Kurt. Jimmy has told me some of your reactions to the cookbook. If Anna doesn’t mind, I’d like to discuss that some.”

Anna nodded to Kurt who was all too eager to discuss the book. “Tom, I was so happy when Jimmy told me about this evening. Lieutenant Krammer and I are golfing buddies and he happened to mention the project to me one day. It sounded like the right idea to me and I jumped right in. When Jimmy showed me the book and I had a chance to look it over, I knew it was a project that I could both contribute to and enjoy. I spent one whole afternoon looking it over.”

“Yeah, Kurt, Jimmy told me all of this. What’s in it for you, Kurt? That’s what I want to know.”

“Just an interesting project. I think I can help.”

Anna put her hand on Kurt’s arm and looked at me. She seemed puzzled by my reaction.

“But what do you hope to get out of it? What does Kurt get from doing this?”

“Look here, I’ve got 28 years—two to go before I retire. I’m a Master Sergeant and I’ll retire as a Master Sergeant. I can spend my time shoveling shit or I can spend it doing something I enjoy. I prefer the latter. It’s that simple. I’m a good cook and I’ve tried my hand at writing about things that interest me. I see you offering a chance to write about cooking. I don’t expect anything more than that. Take it or leave it.”

I sensed a growing irritation in Kurt and decided that it was time to trust a little—go with the flow. “I can buy that Kurt. So tell me, what do you think we have to do? Is the stuff in there pretty much on target?”

“Pretty much. I’ve tested several of the recipes and the food is delicious. But I do have two concerns. One is the cost of ingredients—meaning when and where we can afford to prepare these items. The second is whether the recipes are ones that the current crop of chefs is comfortable with.”

“The second we find out. The first-- I don’t see it that way. If the men want it, there’ll be a way. Let’s stick to what we’re trying to do right now.”

“OK, Tom, OK. Look, I’ve been over the entire book. I’ve made some changes and noted some questions for you. I think you’ll want to have a couple of more experts examine things carefully. As for additions--I think you should stop asking the question. It serves as a come on, but I really don’t think you need it at this point. Let it stand on its own.”

I was impressed with Kurt’s efforts and I wanted to let him know this without getting any nearer. “You’ve put a lot of time and effort into this, and I’ll take your comments seriously. Do you have some leads for other experts? Any ideas?”

Kurt handed me an envelope. “Here are some suggestions. Most of these guys are around this sprawling area somewhere. Not all are Navy, some are Air Force, but I don’t think it much matters. They’re all pretty much the same. I’ve given you letters of introduction and directions on how to find them. With your permission Jimmy and I will set up an itinerary for next month.”

“You’re very efficient. Perhaps I could learn something from you along those lines. I think I’m proficient even though I kid around a lot and get myself into some hot water. I need guys like you and Jimmy. Maybe I don’t want to show it, but I do know it. Thanks to both of you. I’ll look this all over in the morning.”

The waiter brought the dinners and all agreed that Jimmy had selected quite wisely. After several bottles of Chianti and coffee to wash down the spumoni, I suggested that we retire to the bar for a nightcap.

I took a seat at the end of the bar and motioned Anna to sit beside me with Kurt to her left and then Jimmy. “Brandy all the way around,” I said to the bartender.

“You do like brandy, I trust. It goes well with that great meal that Jimmy fixed us up with. Of course, it’s nothing like I would have prepared, but we can’t always have the best. Speaking of the best, Kurt, where did you ever latch onto someone as wonderful as Anna here? I know you’re a great guy, but she is the cream of the cream, here’s to the most wonderful woman this side of God knows where.”

Anna blushed as she raised her glass to join the toast. “Don’t get him started. He’ll tell you all about it in endless detail. Let’s just say we’re both lucky. Maybe me more so than him.”

“I’m not too sure how much more I can handle,” Kurt muttered, “but if it’s to Anna, I’m always ready to drink to that. And let no man come between,” he laughed with an eye of possession cast toward Anna and an eye of danger cast toward Tom. Jimmy got up to move between Tom and Kurt.

“All I can say,” I countered, “is I wish I had someone like her. I thought I did once. You two are good friends. My wife and I, we’re, well, good enemies.”

Jimmy pulled at my sleeve, but I was talking to my brandy glass at that point and Kurt and Anna were looking at one another in some puzzlement. They had no indication of this turn in the conversation. Up to this point it had been business mixed with laughs.

“Yes, siree, you got something there, Kurt. Don’t let it get away. When I met Mary, I thought we were going to have a blast. We loved to laugh, go for long walks, spend a lot of time in bed--all the good things. Once we got married it was her telling me what to do and how I was going to live my life. She'd go to bed and I’d get all heated up and I’d find her reading a book. The next thing she’d be turning off the light and turning her back on me. I’d try reading in bed, and she’d tell me to turn the light off. It was bothering her.”

“Hey, barkeeps, another brandy for all of us.”

Jimmy motioned to the bartender to hold off on the drinks.

“Then the kid came,” Tom continued. “Lisa, a cute little girl. Now it was no more sex because Lisa might hear us. No more sex because she was tired. No more sex. Then she started in on me. Why didn’t I get up with Lisa and change her diapers. Why didn’t I get home right after work and take care of Lisa so she could take a nap? I’d spend all day thinking of whether to go home or not. Where to go. Then I started to go for a drink with the boys. Sometimes I’d come home late and she’d bitch and moan about how she had to do everything. So then sometimes I wouldn’t come home at all and she’d start digging to find the other woman. Someday I’m just not ever coming home. Someday soon.

“You’re a lucky guy, Kurt. Hang onto this gem.” I put my head next to the empty brandy glasses and started to sob. Anna reached over and rubbed my head and shoulders.

“Now, Tom, things are never what they seem. We’ve had tough times too, but we’ve worked them out. Things will look better in the morning. You wait and see.”

Jimmy went to get the car.

“He said we should meet him out front,” Anna said.

I looked up and took Anna’s mostly full brandy glass and gulped it down. When I went to get up, I had to steady myself on the bar. Kurt, not much more sober than I was, got up and took me by the arm and led me to the door. Anna stumbled along behind us.

I awoke the next morning to a room that was spinning and a head that was pounding—and a door that was pounding, pounding, pounding.

“Jimmy? Come on in. What time is it? What’s up?”

“Anna called me. Said she’s been trying to reach you all morning. She asked me to come by and check on you."

“Oh, fuck. I can’t get up. All this spinning and pounding won’t stop. Eyes opened. Eyes closed. It’s all the same.”

“You’d better get out of those clothes before you ruin them. Looks like you found the bed just in time.”

“I know what I need,” I said rolling out of the bed and crawling into the bathroom. I used the sink to pull myself up so I could get my Valium from the cabinet. I took four of them—two that the doctor had ordered and two more that I had discovered did the trick.

“Bring me a double—bourbon. No questions.”

“Here. But, Chrissake, take it easy, Tom. Just an eye opener. Not another binge.”

“Ah, Breakfast on the moon. Nothing like it, Jimmy. Go down and get us some breakfast. I can’t wait for room service. I’ll be cleaned up by the time you get back.”

“Tom, Tom, are you alright?” It was Jimmy. Jimmy brought me out of the spiral.

“I’m OK. I’m OK. But, Jimmy, don’t leave me. An old war wound.”

“Here, Tom, have some bacon and eggs—good home fries, too.”

“No thanks. Let’s go. I’m late,” I said as I headed for the door and out onto the street.

“Buttermilk, sausage, pancakes” I heard myself saying--over and over again as I got into the elevator. “Buttermilk, sausage, pancakes.”

“Wait here,” I said as I ducked into a corner deli to get some sausage and pancakes with some buttermilk.

“Here, hold this buttermilk,” I said as I started in on the sausage and pancakes. I ate part of it and, dropping the rest on the sidewalk, I broke from Jimmy and began running down the street dodging in and out of oncoming pedestrians.

“They’re killing me, they’re trying to kill me.”

I made a sudden turn to cross the street while screaming, “they’re going to run me down. Somebody help me. Somebody help me.”

When I got to the other side, I found a park bench and calmly sat down. Some passersby came over to see what was going on, and one lady hailed a cab asking the driver to call an ambulance.

Jimmy caught up with me and waited with me for the ambulance.

“What’s wrong, buddy? Been having a bad dream? Let’s go for a ride. You need to talk with somebody.”

I looked the ambulance driver in the eyes and glanced at the other attendant beside him. “No fucking psychiatrist. You ain’t taking me to no fucking psychiatrist.”

“Now calm down buddy. Come along. Everything’ll be alright.”

“It’s not me your after. She’s up in Massachusetts. She’s the one you want. Leave me alone or I’ll jump. Goddamn it I’ll jump. You crazy bastards.”

“OK, OK. You can tell them all about Massachusetts later. That’s what they want to talk to you about.”

“Just lie down here. We’ll get somebody to listen to you real soon. We’re going to put a loose strap on you so you don’t roll off.”

“Where’re you taking him? I’ll get the car,” Jimmy said.

“Brownsville.”

When the ambulance was moving rapidly down the boulevard, I was able to wriggle out of the strap. I lurched to the back of the ambulance and tried to open the doors. They were locked.

“Hey, he’s trying to jump out. He’s trying to kill himself. Pull over and I’ll give him something to quiet him down. I’ll stay back there with him.”

I woke up in what had become a familiar setting for me—a bay in an emergency room. I looked up to see a nurse standing over me. As my eyes began to focus I realized that I had seen this nurse somewhere before. Margaruitaville.

“Julie,” I said. “I thought they had you in tow.”

“I escaped. I’m an artist. Didn’t I tell you? So I see they have you in tow.”

“Food poisoning.”

“So the psychiatrist tells me. Better lay off the spaghetti sauce for a while.”

“You’re no slouch.”

“Let’s start over, Tom. I’m your nurse and I like you--that’s as far as I can go.”

The hospital was willing to release me after a thorough examination. Jimmy was to pick me up. The psychiatrist warned me that I must stop drinking and I was to get back up to Massachusetts and get in touch with my family doctor.

Jimmy was waiting for me in the main lobby. “Jeez, Tom, what’s this all about? I thought you’d be right in and out. What’s going on anyway?” Jimmy said.

“They’re not sure. They think it might be food poisoning. Did you have any trouble from last night?”

“Not a bit.”

“Must have been something I had that you didn’t. I feel fine now. They gave me a shot of some kind. Let’s stop for a drink.”

I felt much better than I had the day before. It was early Sunday afternoon and I would be heading home on Monday. Jimmy and I had stopped at a local pub. I had a few drinks and ordered steak and eggs with home fries. I washed all of this down with a couple of beers and let it go at that. That was as close as I’d ever get to ‘stop drinking.’

I said goodbye to Jimmy wanting to be sure that he and Kurt had a straight story.

“Listen, Jimmy, I’ll give you a call every few days to check on progress. I’ll get together with Sarah, and Billy and I will consult about approaching a publisher.”

“OK, Tom, whatever I can do. But you got to take it easy. I know how you feel about psychiatrists—it’s his opinion against yours. Just like assholes—everybody got an opinion.”

“I got to go pack now, buddy. Swing loose.”

“Hang in there.”

Chapter 21

I did some packing and got ready for my appointment with Sarah at three-thirty. I’d kill the intervening time around the area. I didn’t want to get involved with anything else.

I got a bourbon and ice at the lounge in the Hilton and went out into the lobby to see what all the fuss was about. There were hundreds of people milling about and talking in the most animated manner--men in suits and women in expensive dresses. As I walked about I noticed a very attractive woman in a gray woolen suit sitting alone on a sofa. She had dark brown hair and sharp features with little makeup on.

I approached her and, leaning down, spoke to her, “Excuse me, miss, I’m a chef here at the hotel, and I wasn’t aware of any special function today, but I see so many people gathered here in the lobby. Are you part of this group?”

“Yes, I am,” she answered with a faint smile and a not unpleasant voice. “The Democratic caucus is having its first of a series of meetings working toward the presidential election in two years. Have we had the pleasure of some of your cooking? We have rooms here at the Hilton.”

“Why I’m not sure--if you don’t mind?” I said as I sat down next to her. “My name’s Jimmy LaTramma and I do hope you have had an opportunity to partake of my humble efforts. Did you by any chance try the Hungarian Goulash last night? It’s a house favorite.”

“Why, no. I didn’t notice it on the menu. My name is Ruth Sanbornton, Senator Sanbornton’s wife. Will they have it again tonight?”

“No, my day off. We never carry anything over—goes to the food pantry. I just stopped by to pick up my girl friend. She’s one of the showgirls here. So you say the Democratic caucus. Now what would that be?”

“Well it’s in the caucus that they determine what the issues are for the candidate and how these issues are to be presented.”

“I see. Well, listen, I have an issue and I wonder how it might be presented. If you have a minute, I’d like to tell you what happened to me up in Massachusetts. I was out one evening, as innocent as a new born lamb…”

I began without waiting for a reply and launched into my encounter with the abusive policeman. Ruth, at first reluctant, became quite interested saying she could see the relationship of what I was telling her to the need to sell a southern candidate to northern voters.

“We’re not so different after all,” she said.

When I had finished my tale, Ruth sat back in some amazement. “Well, that is some story. I think you may have something there. Let me talk to my husband. Oh, wait, I see him over there with a group of his constituents. Let me see if he’ll come over here for a bit.”

When Ruth came back with a tall, slender, silver-haired man, Tom was beside himself with anxiety. “This guy was the real thing--rugged features, but sporting a kindly smile. Suppose he suggests I run for president,” Tom thought. “Am I really ready?”

“Jimmy, this is my husband, Senator Sanbornton. Russ, this is Jimmy LaTramma. Russ, do you have about fifteen minutes? I think it is important. It might help to answer that question everybody raises when we suggest a southern candidate.”

“Well, if you say so Ruth, but it will have to be fifteen minutes and no more. What’s this about, Jimmy?”

I related my story to the senator just as I had to Ruth being careful to keep the blame where it belonged. As I was finishing a young man rushed up to the senator and spoke in the most excited manner. “Senator, Senator, we’ve been looking all over for you. You have a committee meeting this very minute. It is most important, Senator. You must come right away.”

“Terry, what I’m doing here is the most important thing right now. The committee meeting will have to wait. Go ahead, Jimmy. Let’s hear the rest of this.”

“Jimmy, this is astounding,” the senator said when I had finished.

I want everyone to hear this story. Can you come down to my headquarters on Tuesday morning? I want you to meet one of the leading contenders for our next president. For now come with me. You won’t have even the slightest chance to speak, but it will give you an idea of what we’re looking for. Ruth, I don’t know how you found this young man, but you’ve found something truly valuable. Let’s go Jimmy.”

When I got back to my room, there was a message light. It was a call from Mary—urgent. “Lisa? God, is something wrong with Lisa?”

“Hi, Mary. Tom.”

“Tom, Tom, just what the hell are you doing down there? You’ve scared the living daylights out of us. You can’t imagine what this is doing to Lisa. I can’t get her out of bed to go to school. Calls from the hospital. Psychiatrists, running around wild, suicide, drinking. Just what the hell is going on? I want you to get up here right away. We’re going to go see somebody and get this straightened out once and for all. If you’re not here by tonight I’ll have you arrested and declared unsafe. I can do that, you know. I’ve got all the papers and Daddy has friends down there.”

“Mary, Mary, it’s all a big mistake. It was food poisoning and the doctors got things all screwed up. I had to throw up in the ambulance. That’s why I tried to open the door. They got the records from up there and they jumped to conclusions. Listen, Mary, I’ve got some important meetings, one with the president on Tuesday. I’ll be home on Friday.”

“President? President of what? The local pub? Tomorrow morning. If you are not on a plane by tomorrow morning, it will be the sheriff. If you think I’m kidding, just try me. You said you had a ticket for ten-thirty. I’m calling the airlines to verify this and tell them to call me when you check in. I have the papers. Don’t try me. Goodbye.”

I made my appointment with Sarah and she agreed to act as editor for the cookbook. I promised her a first draft in six weeks. I had dinner in my room while I packed. In the morning I took a cab to the airport and got my ten-thirty flight to Boston.

Chapter 22

“Looks like we’re about to land,” I said turning to the young lady sitting next to me. “My name’s Tom.”

“Yeah,” she said not bothering to look up from the airline magazine she had taken from the seat pocket. She looked to be about 30—brown hair with glasses on a quite attractive face.

“Looks like it’s going to be a nice day. Can’t wait to see my wife and daughter again.”

“Uh-ha,” she said still buried in the magazine.

I turned to the window to watch the ocean going by on our descent into Boston.

“Hi, Daddy. Hi,” Lisa shouted jumping into my arms and knocking my bag and jacket to the ground. She sure was a good sight. Pretty as ever with that light brown pony tail and hazel eyes. Just like yesterday I remember her orange jeans and her warm white jacket.

“Lisa, oh baby. How are you, my darling? Give Daddy a big Lisa kiss. Where’s Mommy?”

“She’s right over there in the car. She’s been watching me all the time while I was waiting for you. Where’s my present? The one you told me about on the telephone.”

“The present? Oh, yeah, the present. They’re looking for it.”

“Who’s looking for it? I want it.”

“I gave it to the stewardess so it wouldn’t get wrecked. When I got off the plane, she couldn’t find it.”

“Oh, can’t you go get it? Please, Daddy.”

“Well, yeah. But look. Mommy’s calling us over to the car now. We’d better go. I’ll get the present later. You’ll see.”

“Promise me you won’t forget. Promise?”

“Of course, Lisa. Of course. Hey, Mary. Hi. How are you?”

“Get in the front seat with me, Lisa. Tom, you can put you’re stuff in the back seat and crawl in there.”

“Well, hello, Miss Mary. Sounding good.”

“Don’t Miss Mary me, Tom. We’ll talk soon enough. In the meantime you might want to show me what you have for Lisa.”

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow. The stewardess is holding it for safekeeping.”

“I bet. What else was she holding? Forget that. Ask Lisa what she’s been up to.”

“Lisa?” I inquired.

“It wasn’t my fault Daddy. Honest, it really wasn’t.”

“What’s this that wasn’t your fault? Turn around here and tell me.”

“Well, there’s this boy—Benjy’s his name. He sits behind me in school and he’s always bothering me—whispering stupid things in my ear and pulling on my ponytail. Things like that.”

“He shouldn’t do that, Lisa. Where’s this guy live? I’ll take care of him.”

“It’s not like that. I told him to leave me alone. I tell him every day to just leave me alone.”

“And what’s he say?”

“He says he will, but he won’t. So—so last week when we were out at recess I went up to him and I said ‘Benjy Wallace, you are one big jerk.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t give him a chance. I just stepped back and gave him a punch in the nose.”

“Good for you. Good for you. That’ll teach the little jerk. I bet he’s sorry.”

“Well, maybe so. But he started crying and his nose started bleeding and…”

“Ah, he’ll get over that.”

“There’s more. He has a broken nose and everybody’s saying it’s all my fault.”

“Go on. Let me talk to them. I’ll straighten this out. It’s clear it’s the other kid’s fault. Is he OK?”

“Well, they say he will be, but he’s not back in school yet. And neither am I. They want to talk with you and mom first.”

“I see. Well, I’ll take care of this. Just leave it to me. No daughter of mine is going to be punished for standing up for herself.”

“Well, mommy says…”

“Hey, wait a minute, Mary. What’s the idea of pulling up here? What’s going on?” We had driven over to a residential area near the airport.

“I’m dropping Lisa off at my friend’s so you and I can go have a nice long talk--off somewhere where you won’t have any choice but to listen to me. Out Lisa, out. There’s Suzzie at the door. You behave. Understand?”

“Don’t worry, mommy. Bye, daddy.”

We drove over to a coffee shop a few blocks away. It was an area that had seen better days. ‘Space available’ was the most popular storefront sign and the shops still in business had large hand-printed signs offering ‘Great Bargains for Ridiculous Prices.’ What had once been very attractive brick sidewalks lined with maple and beech were now a hobble of broken clay pieces dotted with fallen limbs and torn branches—even the pigeons seemed reluctant to participate.

“I’ll have black coffee and a cheese Danish,” Mary addressed the waiter who came over to our booth. “It’s on me, Tom. What’ll you have?”

“Make it two over easy with rye and coffee. Oh, toss in a large orange juice, will ya?”

“Two over and Danish—got ya. Anything else? Got some nice blueberry pancakes this morning. Fresh blueberries.”

“Thanks, but no. We’re all set. You can bring the coffee and the orange juice now,” Mary said.

“Good to be back home, Mary. Good to be with you,” I said as the waiter turned away.

“Well, all that’s nice for you, Tom, but it can’t come in front of the fact that we have some serious business to discuss. So let’s leave the sentimentality for another day. I have some things that need to be set straight and I’d like you to try to be honest with me. Can you do that, Tom?”

“Sure, Mary. You bet. So what’s the deal? What needs to be set straight?”

“This, to begin with.” Mary tossed some folded papers on the table.

“What’s this?” I unfolded the papers.

“It’s a restraining order. You won’t be alone with Lisa again until the psychiatrist can make certain definite assurances concerning your mental condition.”

“I’m not sure you’ll get away with this, but let’s hear the rest of it before we try to settle the order.”

Our savings accounts, for one. Your mental health—what they decide to do with you, for two. And for three, I need to hear your interpretation of the marriage vows we took some eight years ago.”

“Well, the money’s easy. I’ve made some invest…”

“One large oj and two coffee. Cream and sugar on the side. Be back in a jiff with the rest.”

“Thanks. No, Tom. Nothing’s going to be easy. This is no time for bullshit and rubbing my thighs. Tom, this is life or death. Now you listen to me. I went to the bank last week and found to my utter horror that all the money in our savings account and all the money in Lisa’s college tuition fund were gone. Four thousand dollars, Tom. Tom, four thousand dollars—gone, vanished, evaporated. And, hear this, Tom--the money from Lisa’s tuition fund required two signatures—yours and mine. I never signed anything. I think they call this forgery and maybe theft. Where’s the money?”

“Listen, Mary, you’re going to have to understand…”

“I understand English. In plain English where’s the money.”

“Well, I made certain investments. In us. In our future.”

“Investments? What kind of investments? Do you have some contracts to show? Some stock certificates?”

“Well, no. I invested in my, or our, book. The navy cookbook.”

“OK, so you invested in the cookbook. Let’s see the receipts so we can keep track of expenditures. Where are the receipts?”

“Well, I have the hotel bills somewhere. The car. Meals. Plane fare.”

“Two over and a cheese Danish. Enjoy. More coffee?”

“Go ahead. So where are the receipts? In your bag there. It’s the only thing you got.”

“Actually I didn’t keep them. Didn’t think it mattered.”

“Tom, you didn’t think it mattered. Oh, shit, Tom. Shit, shit, shit. OK, Tom, OK. I don’t know what to do about all of this right now, but let’s talk about your mental condition. That’s what…”

“Hold on. Hold back. Don’t go there. Don’t do this to me. There’s nothing wrong with me. I got to get a drink. Waitress, waitress. Get me a double, quick. I’m outta here. They’re not going to get me. Get them off of me.”

“Tom, Tom. Settle down. Here, have some of this orange juice. You can’t get a drink in here. Now, calm down. Let’s not talk anymore.”

“OK, OK. But I’m OK. Just give me a chance. All I need is a little time to get re-adjusted. I’ll make it all up to you. I promise. Give me a chance. You’ll see.”

“Alright, Tom. Let’s eat up and get out of here. Promise me one thing. OK? Make an appointment with Dr. Spawn for a checkup. You look like you’re losing too much weight. Is that OK, Tom? Please.”

“Look at me. Healthy as a horse. No reason for any sawbones to poke around here. But, you’re the little missus, and if it will suit your mental health, I’ll do it. I’ll make that appointment this afternoon. How’s that?”

“Good, Tom. Let’s eat up and get on home.”

I got back to work at the naval base. Kept my nose straight to the task. After a while I began stopping by the pool hall with the guys from work. When I’d win and somebody would buy beers, I’d join in the celebration. Some times I’d buy everybody a second round and once I told the guys to go along home without me because Mary was going to stop by after she finished shopping. I called Mary and told her the boss wanted me to work a double turn and that I’d just sleep over at the barracks because I’d most likely miss the last bus. I found help for my problems that night, but the next morning’s guilt, magnified by the pounding head and the nausea--oh God, the wrenching nausea, brought back memories I’d long stuffed somewhere behind my love for Mary. I remembered how I treated this on the ship. Just go to work, hide wherever you could, sweat it out, and suffer. You had to love suffering to live like this.

I went home that afternoon at my usual time. Mary was in the backyard of the duplex we rented on Otis Street. Lisa was playing in the plastic pool beside her mother. I walked over to Lisa and gave her a hug and kiss.

“Hi, daddy. Wanna get in the pool with me? I’ll let you splash me.”

“Darling, I’d love to, but daddy’s been working all night. Maybe after I take a nap,”

“Did you get my present, daddy? Where’s my present.”

“You’ll get your fu… your present when I get it. Just don’t bug me. You hear me? For Chrissake don’t bug me.”

“Tom! She’s just excited about the present you promised her. She’s not bugging you, and I don’t like your tone or your language. You better get to bed.”

I walked behind Mary and rubbed her shoulders and arms.

“Hi, love. Good to see you and Lisa relaxing here in this beautiful sunshine.”

“Hi, Tom. You must be tired. All those hours. Don’t they have anybody else?”

“Just one of those things. One guy sick and another on vacation. You know how those things are. I’m sure it won’t happen again for a long, long time. I’m beat Mary. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Well, you don’t sound very good--like you have a bad cold—a sinus cold. And that smell. You’d better do something about that smell. Don’t get too close to Lisa with that. Just go on to bed, and we’ll forget all of this.”

I fell into a deep, easy sleep, but was rudely awakened by the ringing phone.

"Why don't you answer that Goddamn phone, Mary--Mary."

I rolled over and jammed my head beneath the pillow, "Oh, where the fuck is she."

"Hello, oh, hello, Gerry. No, that’s alright, I was just taking a nap. I guess Mary and Lisa went out somewhere. What's up?"

Gerry was the mess supervisor for the entire base and one person that I had to listen to, and I did listen as best I could through the haze of my fading hangover.

“Tom, some of the boys stopped by to see me a few hours ago. They’re concerned about you, and I’m concerned. They’re beginning to see some old patterns and they want to nip it in the bud—before it takes off the way it did on your trip to Norfolk. They said that the men were upset this morning because there were no rolls or fresh bread. When the went looking for you to see what was up, they found you passed out behind the flour and sugar sacks. Tom, just what the hell is going on here? I thought we were beyond problems like this. You gave us your word, and we believed you.”

"Who said this? Me sleeping behind the flour sacks? I think there’s some mistake here. Maybe I was rearranging the supplies and I slipped and fell. Yeah, I remember that. I fell and hit my head on the floor and I was knocked out for a few minutes. I guess that’s when these guys came along. That’s why there was no bread, no rolls. I couldn’t find the right flour. I was trying."

I got out a cigarette and lit it as I listened to what the mess supervisor was saying,

“I’m sorry Tom, but you’ve got things a little screwed up. The men were complaining to you at breakfast. You didn’t have rolls or bread ready for breakfast. The entire mess knows about this. The guys found you sleeping before lunch. Look, Tom. I want to see you in my office tomorrow at eight hundred hours, sharp. Got that?”

"OK, OK, I'll be there, but no one ever complained to me about the rolls or the bread. Or anything else for that matter. Never.”

I hung up the phone and lay on my back finishing my cigarette.

"Mary, Mary,” I shouted. There was no response.

I got up and checked the house and the yard. The car was gone. I sat at the kitchen table with my head in my hands.

I wonder where they’ve gone. I bet they’ve gone to see that fucking social worker bitch. She knows I’ve been drinking. I bet Gerry talked to her. Those two got it in for me. I wonder if he’s got it into her. I wouldn’t be surprised. Every time I see the two of them together they’re looking at each other like they’re waiting for me to disappear. When I was in Norfolk, they were in the thick of it about what I was up to. Oh, she knows alright. You bet they’re going to get me this time. Nip it in the bud, your ass. You ain’t catching me this time. Lisa, oh, God, my dear Lisa. What’s going to become of you? I’ll come and get you later. Just as soon as I figure out how to do this I’ll come for you.

I got up and went into the bedroom. I threw a change of clothes and a warm jacket into my old Navy duffel bag that I had kept in the hallway closet. I grabbed some rolls and a package of bologna from the freezer and collected my items from the bathroom shelf and added these to the duffel bag. On my way out the door I removed the wedding ring from my finger and tossed it on the hallway table.

Chapter 23

A tug on his line brought Tom back from his excursion into the past. When he began reeling in the line, he realized there was nothing there. This brought him to full attention on his need to catch something for dinner. But, there was something else—Tom became aware of a splashing in a pool upstream from his favorite spot. He looked up in that direction and, to his amazement, saw a guy fly-fishing up around the bend. Tom had not been aware of anybody else in the stream until this moment, so involved had he been in thinking about his past. He had never come upon anybody else in “his” territory and was shocked and frozen with a fear he had not known since his days on the Cape. It took him a little time to think about the best plan. It did not seem that the intruder had noticed him, or, if he did, had chosen to ignore him. They were far enough from Tom’s campsite that it was unlikely that the site had been detected. Tom wondered who this person was and was it somebody that he might run into again. Tom decided to move downstream to his next preferred spot. This would place him out of sight of the stranger and give him a chance to collect himself.

He no sooner positioned himself at the new spot that a nice-sized brown trout took his lure and lay on the ground beside him. This would be plenty for supper so he decided to pack it in for the day. In getting up he looked back upstream through the trees and noticed that the stranger was gone or had moved elsewhere out of sight. Tom had a feeling that he would see this guy again and made a mental image of him—a dark burly man of medium height. He would have to decide what to do about him later on. It was unlikely that anybody would accidentally stumble upon this spot. More likely the person knew the area and knew that this stream and this spot in particular were fertile grounds. For now he could go back home and go about his normal routine.

Tom cleaned and gutted the trout and wrapped it in wild grape leaves. It had become dark enough to light a campfire and Tom smothered the fish with red-hot embers. He cut some fresh dandelion greens and chopped the roots from the catkin he had lying near the tent. He poured water from his gourd into a #12 tin can and placed in on the rock grill he had fashioned within the fire. He slightly rinsed the catkin roots and tossed them into the heating water. He would add the dandelion greens later. He got out a couple of books of poetry he had borrowed from the library and sat down before the fire to read something by Robert Bly and wait on his supper to cook.

His poetry reading was interrupted by a recurring image of the stranger he had seen at the pond earlier in the day. He couldn’t forget, but he didn’t know what to do. Something he was reading was calling to him, asking him to take advantage of the gift he had been given. The stranger was the gift and in the stranger lay opportunity. Opportunity to get what he wanted? What he wanted was Lisa, but how was the stranger an opportunity? He couldn’t see it, but as he read on he was being asked to be more open. To stop being so afraid. Still he didn’t know what to do. He’d just have to forget it for the time being.

Tom ate his supper staring into the fire and continued this meditation far into the night. Eventually the fire grew dim and Tom grew cold. He got up to throw a couple of logs on the fire and stretch his weary bones. A cold wind had come across from the west suggesting to him to fetch a blanket from the lean-to. When he sat down again, he noticed the other book of poetry he had brought out earlier. He came upon “For Tess” by Raymond Carver. “Tess and Ray.”

Tom tried to visualize Mary--asking himself what he knew about her that he could use to get her to change her mind. He was beginning to see that he would have to get Mary to see something in him that she could be proud of. Lisa had told her mother how much she missed her father and how much she wanted to go to Concord and spend time with him, but Mary would simply say, “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

Years ago Tom had thought he could just live peacefully in the woods, in the hills, any place where nobody would bother me. Now, he realized, he wanted more—Lisa, for one. A woman, for another. God, how he wanted a woman. “Life isn’t worth a tinker’s dam without someone to snuggle up to and share with,” he thought. “But I can’t have that the way I’m living now. I’m the only one that could take this sober. I could get a thousand whacked out bitches out here for a couple of nights. But no sane woman would have any part of this. I gotta change something.

Tom knew it would have to be between him and Mary. Fourteen-year-old Lisa had little if any power when it came to Mary.

Tom recalled how getting to see Lisa at all had been an uphill battle. There were the first several years after he ran away from Cape Cod when he wanted nothing to do with Mary, and he could figure no way of getting to Lisa without involving Mary. He could only work through the courts and the restraining order. As a result he just didn’t have any contact with Lisa. When Lisa reached 13, Tom figured she could speak for herself and began storming the courthouse demanding to be heard. It took Tom some time to learn the fundamentals, to understand that tramping into the courthouse from the backwoods with a demand to exercise his constitutional right to visit with his daughter would get him nowhere. Tom borrowed books from the library; he occasionally talked with other estranged men, all with the goal of trying to find the best way to approach the court. Eventually he worked out an approach.

Tom petitioned the court on a number of occasions, but the answers were always all too similar-- “Your wife has requested a postponement due to family circumstances”—“Lisa has the flu.” “Lisa has an exam at school. “Lisa is having trouble with her grades.” There was always one excuse or another.

“But your honor,” Tom pleaded on one occasion. It’s been years since I have seen or heard from my daughter. Doesn’t the court give any consideration for the need of a child to have a relationship with her father?”

“You should have thought of that when you walked out on you wife seven years ago. It’s about time you begin to mend your ways. You tell me you’re living with friends out in the country—address unknown. You say you have no steady job, no real income, no plans. Young man, you get yourself straightened out and then we’ll see if the court might not be somewhat more sympathetic to your request. Request denied. Next case.”

“See you next month.”

Then one month, for some reason, there had been a different story. When Tom walked into the courthouse, the clerk handed him an envelope containing a court order. Permission was granted to Tom Schultz to visit Lisa Schultz under the supervision and direction of Mary Schultz. One one-hour visit on June 27 and, subject to the discretion of said Mary Schultz, one visit on June 28 for a maximum of two hours.

Before leaving on his journey Tom took a long bath in the warm waters of his pond. He’d been saving soap and cologne for many months and he found his little scissors that he used to trim his hair and beard. He was ready for his journey. Along the way he rehearsed what he would say to Lisa and tried to foster a positive attitude toward Mary.

When Tom started up the steps of the porch, Lisa, a picture of beauty in Tom’s eye--beauty dressed in light blue shorts and a white blouse, rose from the swing.

“Daddy? Daddy? Is that you? With that beard and moustache and the ponytail I can’t be sure. But it must be. Daddy, oh, Daddy,” she shouted and came to the edge of the porch to greet him.

“Lisa, Lisa,” Tom said softly as he took her in his arms while standing on the top step of the porch. “You’re more beautiful than I remember—all that light brown hair. Where do you get those green-green eyes—that shining smile? You’re almost as tall as I am. A grown up young lady of 14, I’d say. I’ve been waiting for this moment. Forever, it seems.”

“Come on and sit down, Daddy. Over here on the swing,” Lisa took him by the hand and led him to sit down beside her.

“Remember how we used to come out here in the spring and listen to the peepers, watch the leaves fall off the trees in autumn, and rest after a game of badminton in the summer time. Close your eyes, Daddy, close your eyes. Here ‘’’em, hear the peepers. They’re telling you you’re where you belong. If you don’t open your eyes, you’ll never find those steps again.” Lisa reached her hand over to her father and took his hand in hers. “Seems like light years ago to me. You can’t guess how much I’ve missed you. How much I have to talk about with you.”

Lisa got up and brushed the tears from her eyes. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted this to be a fun, happy time. She straightened herself up and said in a more even voice, “Let me get you some iced tea, Daddy. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Tom settled into a comfortable position at one end of the swing and contemplated his joy and good luck. He never doubted that Lisa would warm to him over time, but her instant enthusiasm surpassed all expectations.

“Still take yours with lemon?” Lisa asked as she came back out onto the porch carrying a tray with a dish of oatmeal cookies and two tall glasses of iced tea. “No sugar in the tea, and oatmeal cookies on the side as I recall—right?

“What a memory. You must be a real whiz in school. What’s your favorite subject? I bet it’s cooking.”`

“Silly, we don’t even take cooking. Nobody takes cooking these days. We study art and music and English. And, oh yes, that terrible math. They call it the new math. They ought to call it the worst-idea-anybody-ever-had math. What did you study when you were my age?”

“Well, let’s see—I studied geometry and English and civics. I took typing and shop and cooking.”

“Cooking? Oh, Daddy, you didn’t take cooking, did you? Say, you didn’t take cooking?”

“Sure, I took cooking. I was the best cook in the whole high school. I was also the best golfer. Captain of the golf team.”

“And captain of the cooking team, I bet?” Lisa laughed at her own joke as she took a sip of her iced tea. “Try one of my oatmeal cookies. I made them myself. Found some old recipes in a notebook I dug up in my room. They’re pretty good if I do have to say so myself. I’m so vain, Daddy. Don’t you know, Daddy, I’m so vain. Did you ever bake cookies as captain of the high school cooking team?”

“Once or twice, but nothing as good as yours,” Tom said in a spirit of keeping it on the light side. It was pretty easy to go along with Lisa and stay with her. But now she was inadvertently beginning to explore territory that touched on the more serious side and Tom was tempted to jump in and lasso Lisa to his side. His better part told him to slow down. Mary was listening and she could pull the curtain down at any minute. Tom turned the subject back to Lisa’s schoolwork.

“So what do you like best in school? Are you in any after school activities like band or sports?”

“I play soccer, that is, when I’m not restricted because of my math grades. I’m not allowed to play unless I keep at least a “C” in math.”

Lisa cuffed one hand toward the house and pointed into it with a finger of the other hand. “Right now I’m on restriction, but after my last exam I might be back on the team. I just love soccer. If they’d trash everything but soccer, I’d graduate at the top of the class. As it is now I’ll be lucky to ever graduate. I don’t understand why we have to go to school. It’s a great place to meet boys, but other than that it’s a real drag. Boring with a capital “B.”

“But you find boys interesting. Any particular boy or just plain boys.”

“Oh, I like Scott Trembly. He’s the captain of the football team. But he hardly speaks to me. He’s stuck on himself.”

“That’s enough of that talk,” Mary hollered in from the front room. “You keep that up and it’ll be time for your father to go. Lisa, get your book of sketches and show that to your father. Let him see what a wonderful artist you are becoming.”

“Yuck, he doesn’t want to see that. It’s too boring. Can’t you think of anything else but Lisa’s art?"

“Lisa!” Mary called.

“Do get the sketches. I’d really like to see what you’ve been doing. Maybe next time I could bring some of mine to show you.”

“Well, OK, but I haven’t taken that many lessons and I don’t have that much time to spend on drawing because of that dumb old math.”

Lisa got up and went into the house. She returned after what seemed to Tom to be a very long time.

“Here, Daddy. I’ll open the book on the swing next to you. I’ll sit here on the floor so both of us can look at the drawings.”

Tom looked through the sketches uttering a few words of appreciation. Tom was trying to keep on the light side without making light of Lisa’s efforts. “These are very nice, young lady. You have a real talent, and I hope you will keep at this. There were a couple here that really got to me. Let me see if I can find them. Ah, yes, this one of the ballerina. Is this a sketch of somebody you saw dance, or is this from imagination?

“Mommy took me to see the ‘Nutcracker’ at school once and I was trying to draw one of the dancers. I don’t think I did very good”

“It’s very good, darling. Then this other one, of the woods surrounding a pond. Where’s that from?”

“Let’s see. Oh, that’s behind the school. I think we used to go for picnics there. I like it better.”

Lisa pointed out a few of her favorites, and Tom and Lisa spent the remainder of their hour talking about some of Lisa’s favorite scenes and how much more she had in mind for further drawings.

Their conversation was interrupted by Mary—“Time for you two to say goodbye. See you back here tomorrow at the same time.”

Tom’s second day with Lisa lasted most of the two-hours, and they managed to keep it light and focused on Lisa’s soccer and Tom’s days as high school golfing champ. Lisa made sandwiches and lemonade and topped this off with a big dish of vanilla ice cream with butterscotch sauce.

“You sure do know how to please your Daddy, Lisa,” Tom said as he settled back after refusing seconds on the ice cream.

“That chicken salad sandwich is one of my favorites and it’s going to last me the rest of the day. I know it must be nearing the end of my visit and I don’t want to get maudlin about this, but I am deeply touched.”

He took Lisa’s hand. “Deeply touched to be treated so graciously by such a fine young lady. I know I’ll be back real soon. I hope we’re going to be seeing a lot of one another.”

Tom got up still holding Lisa’s hand. “Lisa, I’m going to be going now. My heart wants to stay to the very end, but I want to make this my choice. My choice is to be back real soon. Good-bye, Lisa.”

Tom turned and hurried down the steps leaving his tears to go where they chose. He turned at the bottom of the steps to see Lisa getting up to offer her own emotions. He blew her a kiss and turned up the path and on toward the center of town.

Yeah, on toward the center of town and onto the bus that carried him to Concord. Then off the bus and onto his feet that carried him to his camp. Just reverse all of this and he was back on the swing with Lisa. So simple. Yet so complex because all of it had to filter through a mind that he could never come close to understanding. Mary, dear Mary, you are so quite contrary. How does your poor mind work?

Tom felt the cold northwest wind again reminding him that it was time to bury the remains of the fish and the remains of the fire and get into the tent. Tomorrow might be an interesting day.

Tom woke with a feeling of dread and the memory of his Belmont camp returned. Was the fisherman going to be the trasher? Did he have friends, children, neighbors who would seek out the ‘man in the woods’ and make sure he would get his ass the hell out of there? Tom had to know who this guy was. Where did he come from?

After a breakfast of dried squirrel and berries Tom headed out to see what had been happening around him in the past six months. He had not found it necessary to go anywhere except town since early spring and now that it was getting to be the end of summer it would make sense to check things out anyway. He first headed into town by his normal direct route, a distance of five miles. At Tom’s normal rate this would take about two hours, but he wanted to hasten the pace to a time of about ninety minutes. He wanted to exchange some books at the library and look up Don-the-carpenter to see if he could get some odd jobs for winter. It was important to have a place to go when the weather got too cold and Tom had always been able to get a small job where he could stay overnight in severe weather. He also had a list of things he wanted to check out at the grocery store and he needed to find a construction site where he could borrow some supplies.

When Tom went into the library, he was met by a thin, young blonde woman with glasses, dressed in a plaid skirt and denim shirt.

“Are you a member here?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s up? I didn’t know it mattered.”

“Well, we’ve had all too many books missing lately and so we’re trying to do something about it. We just want to know who comes in here. We’ll give you a membership if you don’t have one.”

“I’m a member. Just forgot something. That’s all.”

“Are you returning those books?”

“These? No. I just checked them out. Like I said I forgot something. Be right back.”

Tom hurried off and disappeared in the stacks. He replaced the books he had brought with him into their appropriate places and took a like number from the mental list he had garnered from what he had just read. Then he rushed past the blonde before she really knew what was happening. Tom had been using the library like a book exchange for years and nobody ever got a hint about what was going on. As he was going out the front door he noticed a giant sign with a warning pasted across the top. The message read that the library was installing a scanning system and that in the future anybody exiting the library with books that had not been appropriately checked out would set off an alarm system. Persons leaving the library with unchecked books would be turned over to the local police for theft and dealt with in accordance. Having read this Tom realized that he would have to come up with a modified scheme. He turned up the street in search of Don.

It was not at all difficult to find Don. As was his habit on a Saturday afternoon he was gracing one of the chairs at Tweed’s hardware store. Tweed himself was up on a ladder looking for some piping for one of his customers cussing and cursing because he couldn’t quit reach the corner where he thought the pipe to be.

“Goddamn, son-of-a-bitch. Why the hell can’t anything ever work out right? You’d think you’d get a break once in a while.”

“Try moving the ladder,” Don said.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you old bastard? Who the hell is that just come in?” Tweed said turning to look in Tom’s direction. “Tom. Why, goddamn Tom. I thought the squirrels got you. Where the hell have you been? Move this ladder over to the right. Don’t knock the goddamn thing over. Just move the bottom about a foot. I’ll take care of the top.”

Tom lifted Tweed and the ladder and moved it as Tweed had directed. “That a boy. You ain’t so dumb as they say you are. Where you been?”

“Just enjoying the spring…and the summer. How are you Don?”

“Just resting a few. But as you can plainly see I’ve been better. This here white thing on my leg is called a cast. They put these things on you when you’ve broken your leg. I suppose you know all this and you may have figured that there won’t be any work for you this winter because I won’t be working.”

Tweed turned on the ladder to join the conversation. “Ask him how he broke that leg of his. Go on, Tom, ask him.”

“Alright, smart ass, I’ll tell him because I know if I don’t you will. I broke this damn leg because I fell off a ladder.”

“Did you hear that Tom. The expert fell off a ladder. Hear him directing me. Who do you suppose was directing him?”

“Too bad, too bad, Don,” Tom said.

“Well, I suppose you’re thinking about how cold it can get up here in the winter, ain’t you Tom. Well there’s plenty of work around here. You’ll just have to dig a little to figure out who can use you. Let me think about it. I’ll come up with a couple of ideas. When do you think you’ll be ready?”

“Oh, Thanksgiving, I guess. Nothing steady, you know. Small jobs I can finish in a few days. Yeah?”

Tom sat down in a chair by Don’s side and thought for a few minutes. “Say, Don, been any new houses built out by the highway lately? I met a guy said he lived out near the railroad tracks. I didn’t know there were any houses out that way.”

“Was one. Finished it up about July, I’m told. You know where that dirt road crosses the tracks just down beyond Dairy Road. It’s right in there. Set off from everything by about half a mile. Gus, oh, Gus Travers’ the fellow. Right nice gent. Works out to the air base somewhere. Quiet fellow who likes the woods. He and his wife live there. Don’t know if they have kids or not. What’d he have to say?”

“Nothing really. Saw him fishing. Didn’t have a chance to talk much. I just had a hunch I’d be seeing him again. Didn’t really know who he was.”

“Well, that’s all I know. I gotta be getting home now. The missus will be hollering for me if I don’t get going. Be seeing you, Tom. Tweed get down off that goddamn ladder before you kill yourself.”

Tom went out from the hardware store and headed down toward the more affluent section of town. He was in search of any house that was being remodeled and the wealthy folk were the most likely source because they were always up to something. He didn’t have far to go before spotting a likely candidate on Forsythia Terrace. It looked like half the house had been torn down and someone was in the process of constructing a huge greenhouse with a swimming pool and several rooms beyond that. Most of the framing was complete and the greenhouse and swimming pool were well underway. This was a prime candidate for the tools and other supplies that Tom was after. As Tom walked by the house he observed that there were no dogs barking making it seemingly safe for a midnight visit.

Continuing down Forsythia Tom could access the supermarket by taking the next left and walking several blocks down past the pond and then left on Sylvan Road. When he entered the store, he came up short in complete surprise.

“What the hell,” he murmured. “What happened here? Did I take the wrong turn?” He spotted the produce section in the far corner of the store and went over to look for a banana. A young man was sorting through the vine-ripened tomatoes culling out the ones that were apparently damaged. Tom approached him with some puzzlement on his face.

“What gives here? I haven’t been in for a while. I don’t even recognize the place.”

“Remodeled, sir. Changed everything from A to Z. Even got a new section on over there by the meat counter. What do you think of it? Like it?”

“Sure is different. I’ll have to take a minute to get used to it.”

“Yeah, we got everything as before and then some. What are you looking for?”

“Well, a banana for now. I’ll just look around.”

“Bananas right over there,” the clerk said pointing to his right. “Just let me know if there’s anything else.”

“Thanks.”

Tom went over to the produce section and got a banana – not too ripe, but not too green. He wanted to eat it on the way home and he wanted it just right. He got out his list and found the items he wanted, making notes for his future visit. Then he proceeded to the Express Checkout.

“Sure is a scorcher out there today,” Tom said to the young woman at the counter. She looked about sixteen with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her braces and glasses masked a very pretty face and her smile spoke of a pleasant demeanor.

“The banana is all, I just need a little pick-me-up to get me back home.

“I love bananas myself. I’m so happy they’re so inexpensive. This one’s only a dime. Where’s home?”

“Oh, out the road about five miles. Then off toward the woods. Not too many folks live out that way. How about you?”

“Oh, I live over on Forsythia. Not where all the fancy homes are, but beyond that toward the river. My name’s Sherry.”

“I’m Tom. I was just out there today. Noticed the big remodeling job with the greenhouse and all. That’s really something.”

“Oh, the Millburn’s. That’s going to cost them a million. Oops, got another customer behind you. See you again, Tom.”

“See you, Sherry.”

Tom walked at a brisk pace down Sylvan Road until he reached his cutoff. He enjoyed his banana and did not mind the heat too much because he was busy thinking about Gus Travers and what he was going to do the next time they met. His head was spinning about all the changes at the library and the store.

Tom’s litany of self-pity was rudely interrupted when he heard someone coming up ahead around a bend in the path. His instinct was to cut off into the woods and just keep going, but his obsessing clouded his natural inclination and he just kept walking. When he looked up, he noticed the fisherman approaching, accompanied by a dog. Tom could stonewall the fisherman, but he could not ignore the dog, a black lab of a few years. It was too close to home—it evoked strong memories of an earlier life--the life he used to have when Lisa was a little girl.

Tom got down on one knee and patted his leg.

“Come girl, come on here. Oh, what a beauty. You must be the prize of the litter.”

The lab smothered and consumed Tom. Tom rubbed her shoulders and head and they kissed as Tom caressed her sides and back.

The fisherman looked on in appreciation. Finally he said, “That’s Sissy. She’s just three years old and still a pup. She loves attention as I guess you’ve noticed. But she is well trained and stays pretty much on our property when I tell her to.”

“Sissy, huh?” Tom conjectured. “She have a brother?”

“She did. She sure did. Bud. He could do everything and Sissy would try to keep up, but she never could. Bud was the finest, purest black Lab that God ever made. The kids loved them both, but Bud was their champion. They all loved the snow. Went sledding down the hill in front of the house whenever they could. Bud was always in front of the sleds romping and barking and kicking up a cloud. Then this past winter we had that blizzard and they were having one hell of a time and the snowplow was coming back and forth on the road up beyond the hill. Well, I guess Bud got to thinking the snowplow was just another sled and he chased up in front on the plow. Nicked him on the head and killed him. Right in front of the kids. They were heartbroken. We all were. Maybe Bruce, the driver of the plow, more than anybody. He used to stop by and play with Bud and Sissy all the time. His pa bred them. So we buried Bud down in the corner of the back lot and marked his grave with a white cross. I still want to almost cry every time I think of him. But…”

“Here, Sissy,” Tom reached out and gave her a big hug and a back rub. “Don’t let anybody tell you that there ever was anybody any better than you.”

“Say,” the fisherman began standing over Tom and Sissy, “my name’s Travers, Gus Travers. We just built a house over there beyond the railroad tracks.” He pointed in the direction where Tom had come from. “And you must be Tom. I just came from town and I ran into Don the builder. He mentioned a gentleman that lives around here. Said you were into carpentry. Speaks very highly of you. You are Tom?”

“Yeah. Guess we met out at the stream the other day.”

“Oh, yeah. Did you get anything?”

“A nice brown. You?”

“Nah, I had a few bites, but couldn’t pull anything in. Say, I got a lot of small jobs on the house that have to be done this winter. Inside work. Don said you might be interested. My wife and I both work so Sissy’s the only one home all day. Let me know if you want to talk about it. We gotta be going now. Come on Sissy. See you later, Tom.”

“Hey Sissy, take care of yourself. See ya, Gus.”

Tom continued on toward his campsite cutting off the path at a point that obscured his intention. He also continued his raving adding to his list his new neighbors and the possibility that they would become close neighbors.

When he arrived home he immediately searched out the bottle that had been hidden by the stream since ice out. He had little trouble finding it and took a deep drag. This was the quickest way he knew to stop the rattling in his brain. It allowed him to sort through the jumble and think through the options. He became aware of his promise never to trap himself in his camp with alcohol or other drugs, but this only compounded and confounded his problems.

Tom got what little money he had and hiked out to Route 2 and started thumbing into town. He had taken a few minutes to be sure he looked respectable, not dangerous that is. He didn’t have long to wait before a rather ancient Dodge with a rather ancient geezer at the wheel pulled over with that “you’ve got a ride here” slowdown. Tom got into the front seat beside the driver and gave him a casual look, “Thanks.”

“Where you going son,” the driver said as he adjusted his hearing aid?

“Wilbur Theater in Boston.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” the driver said as he turned down his hearing aid and pulled out into the roadway without bothering to look at oncoming traffic. This resulted in a barrage of horns and screeching and swerving. The driver blissfully ignored all of this as he very slowly got up to his maximum speed of 40MPH.

“I’m not too sure,” Tom muttered.

“I turn the hearing aid down because all this noise gives me a headache. If I had my way, I’d put on blinders too. Don’t want to see all this crap that’s going on around me. Talk if you want to. Won’t bother me one bit. Just don’t expect me to respond because I won’t hear a word you say. If there’s anything important just poke me in the ribs. This here thing’s adjustable. I can hear when I want to.”

Tom slouched down in the seat and gave the driver a long hard look. It was like looking in a mirror. He reached in his back pocket and took a nip from his bottle and offered it to the driver.

“Want some?” He asked poking him in the ribs.

“Nope, I never touch the stuff, and you shouldn’t either. It’ll shrivel up your pecker. I know, wanta see? I used to be on the stage. Couldn’t get out there without a drink. Too damn nervous. Then I started drinking hard, real hard. Then one day the little woman said to me, she said, ‘Sam, you drink too much. You stink. You scare the shit out of the kids and you’re no fun in bed anymore. You drag your ass in here at two or three in the morning and you can’t even get it up. You can’t remember your lines anymore and you make a fool out of yourself on the stage. You embarrass the other members of the cast. Sam, you’ve become less that worthless, you’re a drag on all of us. You gotta go. Don’t call, we’ll find you should the need arise. I love you, Sam, but it’s time to go.’ Haven’t touched a drop since that day. That was twenty years ago. Every time I think of drinking I just pick up one of Shakespeare’s plays and act out all the parts. By the time I’m finished I don’t want to drink anymore. Want to hear one? By the time I get through one of the acts the desire’s gone. You ought to try it. It’ll beat the hell outta what you’re doing. Where’re going, Son? Down to the Common with all those other bums? You’re better than that, Son. Wanna tell me about it? I’ll turn up this here squeak box.

“What about the little woman? And the kids? Seen any of them lately?

“That’s where I’m going now. It’s Sarah’s birthday. She’s the youngest. Just turned 34. Everybody’ll be there. The wife, Sam, the oldest boy, and Rebecca. She’s in the middle. They think I’m a real pisser. Want me to move back down town to be with them more. But I got the chickens and the goats out in Littleton. Besides I got my girlfriend there and she’s real country. Won’t even come to town with me. She’s afraid of all those city ways.”

“Man, how old are you? You got a wife and a girlfriend? You get it up these days?”

“Every night and every morning. The girl friend takes care of that. The wife’s like any other wife. She tells me what to do. I’m 83. How about you, Son? You look like you hit that stuff pretty hard.”

“I used to. I quit all the time. Just can’t stay quit.”

Tom took a deep swig from the bottle.

“I get confused and when I get too confused, I drink. Got to go down to the Common with all those other confused folks and get my head cleared up with weed and wine. Then I’ll see the truth. I got a 14-year-old daughter and a wife on the Cape. Can’t see them that much though. Lisa, that’s the girl—I want her to come and live with me, at least for the summer, but Mary, the wife, won’t agree to it. The courts do what Mary says and I gotta go by what the courts say. I want to find a woman and then I can get my daughter. The woman can take care of me and we’ll provide for Lisa.”

“What about Mary?”

“Nah, we’re misfits. Just the opposite of the two peas. If I never see her again it will be too soon.”

“Where do you live?”

“Acton. Out in the woods. That’s part of the problem. The judge won’t let me have Lisa until I have an address tacked to a house. I don’t have the means to get anything like that so I’m stuck. No woman wants to come live in a lean-to and squat out in the woods.”

“They still have jobs I understand.”

“Not that let you work when you want to.”

“I see. Sounds like you need the Common. I’m going to Storrow Drive and turn up Mass Avenue so I’ll just let you off up there. Maybe I’ll see you around Littleton someday. Sam Hanks. Everybody knows Sam and Rachel.”

When they got to Mass Avenue, Sam pulled over and Tom jumped out tossing Sam a casual wave. Tom took a minute to check the items he would need for the night and then headed up toward Newbury Street and Mass Avenue. He was dressed just right for the crowd he would find there and would have no difficulty doing the kind of shopping he had become accustomed to. He entered the crowded convenience store and immediately asked the clerk where he would find crackers. He selected two packages of Nabisco and one of Sunshine. Turning away from the clerk he ducked behind the end of the aisle and stuffed the two packages of Nabisco under his pullover. He went up to the clerk again and asked if the Sunshine was all they had. “Just what you see there. Usually we have Nabisco, but if that’s all you see, then that’s all we have.”

“Ok, I guess I’ll try somewhere else, thanks.”

“Not a problem.”

Tom proceeded down Boylston toward the Common and ducked in the closest doorway to retrieve the crackers from under his pullover and stuff them into his knapsack. He had brought along plenty of beef jerky, but he would like some canned sardines and, of course, booze, Wild Irish Rose and some Four Roses. He needed a package store and a small grocer. He might have to spend some of his money for the booze because those guys, those packies, were always looking for shoplifters, and anybody that wasn’t on the way home from Brooks Brothers was of suspicion.

Tom came upon a package store and observed it for about ten minutes. There seemed to be good traffic, a good half dozen customers in the store he’d guess. He went in and greeted the packie. “Where’d I find a good table wine, a Chablis?” Tom asked.

“Over there against the wall, on the left,” the packie offered.

Tom turned and took a quick look to find the blended whiskey section. As he went down the aisle where he guessed he would find Four Roses the packie called after him, “On the left, the Chablis’ on the left.”

“Oops, I thought you said right. Sorry. As Tom turned he noticed that the packie was about to be occupied with a customer who was checking out a cartful of items. Tom quickly ascertained that there was nobody in the blended whiskey aisle, and that the packie’s view was blocked by his customer. Under the pullover went a fifth of Four Roses and even quicker Tom was in the wine section with a fifth of Wild Irish Rose and out the door and disappeared into a alley and gone, out of sight. The booze was safely inside the knapsack. After this the sardines were child’s play and it was on to the Common.

The secret to life on the Common was to hide and seek—hide whatever you had so that nobody else would know or be able to get it, and seek out what somebody else had and do whatever it might take to get it. The first thing Tom did before he got anywhere near the Common was to hide his money. He knew he was going to get stoned and he was going to get loaded so it would do no good to hide his money on himself. Somebody else would find it even if it meant looking up his ass. He had figured out a couple of neat places in the Gardens and he went to check them out. There were too many people around the first one, but the second was clear. He sat underneath a tree and finished the wine he had brought with him and had some crackers and beef jerky. Now he needed to hide all but the Four Roses. He didn’t mind sharing some of this with old buddies he assumed he’d run into, but he had to save a supply for later in the day and particularly for tomorrow morning. He knew of a good hiding place over by the river and he went off in that direction. He wanted the money near where he’d be on the Common just in case of emergency.

After Tom had hidden his supplies he headed up toward the Common. He heard music from up on the hill and joined a good crowd of a few hundred listening to some folksingers. He sniffed out some kids smoking pot and bummed a reefer. It was going to be easy. So far he had not had to spend a dime and he had everything he wanted. He picked up a couple more butts and set out to the areas where his old buddies would most likely be hanging out. It was a bright warm day and there was every chance he’d run into somebody. No sooner had he had this realization than he ran into Jack over by the fountain.

“Jack,” he called. “Hey, Jack, you still hanging out around here,” he called as he approached.

Jack was deep in negotiation with a couple of other guys and paid no attention to Tom. Tom came up behind Jack and grabbed him around the waist and hefted him to his shoulder.

“Jack, you old son-of-a-bitch. Let’s go have a drink and see if we can scare up some pussy. Let’s go, man.”

Jack fought to get loose and cried out in anger, “Put me down, asshole. Put me down or I’ll tear your fucking head off. Who the fuck are you anyway.”

“It’s Tom, Jack. Old buddy, Tom. What’s the matter with you anyway?”

“Tom who? I don’t know no Tom. Just put me down and get the fuck out of here. Hey, Mack, Joe, get this guy off my ass.”

Tom put Jack down and backed off. Jack straightened himself out and went back to his negotiations. Mack took Tom by the arm and led him over toward the sidewalk.

“Look, man, Jack’s had a rough time. He’s drunk so much he don’t even know who he is anymore. Some days he’s clear as a bell. Others he don’t make no sense at all. Today’s a no sense day. Don’t even bother. Got any booze?”

Tom reluctantly gave Mack a swig of his Four Roses, then, as Tom feared, Mack called to the other guys to help themselves and, Jack, smelling the cork, came over and pigged himself. By the time Tom wrested the bottle from Jack it was half gone.

“Whatsa matter, you don’t like me any more? I thought we was buddies. Fuck you, bastard,” Jack slurred.

Tom tucked the bottle under his pullover and turned back toward the hill. The other guys marked him as a potential source for the night ahead. As Tom neared the hill he heard someone call his name. He turned around to see Dave, a tall, clean-shaven, angular man with tousled, sandy hair and a motley collection of clothes.

“Tom, Tom, where the hell have you been? They told me you had deep-sixed it. Got any hooch?”

“Dave. You look like you’re going to church or somewhere. Where’d you get those duds? Man, that’s quite a change since I saw you last. Yeah, here, have a swallow of this. It’s better than what you’re used to.”

“Four Roses, huh?” Dave said as he took a good swig. “Say, Tom, let’s take a walk down by the river. There’s something I want to get straight. It’s been bugging me all week.”

Dave put his arm around Tom’s shoulder and directed him down toward Charles Street and the river. In doing so he took another good pull from the bottle and tucked the bag under his arm.

“Look, Dave, I was offering you a drink, not a life support system. I’ll manage the bottle,” he said wresting the bag from underneath Dave’s arm.

“Touchy, touchy,” Dave said as he let go.

Dave and Tom walked in silence through the Common down toward Beacon and Charles and up to and over the Fiedler Bridge. They headed over toward the river and picked a comfortable spot away from other people. Tom took a pull from the bottle and put it back under his jersey.

“Hey, bud, how about me?” Dave said.

“You had enough the last time. Here, have a reefer. I got a whole bunch from that guy up on the hill. Enough to last for a week. We got to go easy on the booze. Got any money? Why don’t you go and get another bottle. You know the ropes. Go on. I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Wait a while. I got to get in the mood. Let this river take me right down to the packie and pick me up a quart. No, two quarts. Ever have two quarts all to yourself? The first one to let you know there’s another one coming, and the second one’s all the better because you know you had the first. Know what I mean? Booze’s like a sunset. It seems it just goes on and on, expands into a whole sky of brilliance. When it gets down to those last few puffs of purple and red, you want it to keep on going, but before you know it, it all turns to gray and then black. It’s gone. There’s nothing, no thought, no feeling—nothing. Ever think about nothing. I mean what nothing is. It’s more than just no something-- It’s nothing. There’s nothing there. You can’t pull anything into it. The hooks are gone. No more words. All the vowels, all the consonants—gone. No language—no thoughts. Don’t run away, don’t look for another drink, don’t put a coat on or take it off. Do nothing. Feel nothing. Man, that’s nothing. It’s the best there is. Gotta go get those quarts. Be back. Don’t move. Just be nothing.”

Tom lay back and let the river wash over Dave’s words. He knew if he drank enough and smoked enough, he’d be right where Dave had described. Then if he did the same thing the next day, he’d be back there again. If he continued, it would come and go on its own, and eventually would become permanent, irreversible, medically untreatable. It might be preferable to the permanent, irreversible, medically untreatable life he now found himself in out in Concord. Tom lay back and thought about nothing, but something always intruded into the nothing. He took another swig of the whiskey, and another, and finally dozed off. And the something intruded into the nothing in the form of a fantasy that disturbed his sleep and welled to an anger that had form and motion.

Then there was nothing, but not a nothing that didn’t have a hook because Tom felt something pushing at his side, something kicking at his side asking him to come back to all the things that had been. He stretched, opened his eyes to the river and the bright blue sky and white sailing boats; rolled over to see who belonged to the boot in his side and greeted Dave.

“Dave, Dave. You came back. Where the hell have I been? The next time I go out I want it to be for good. No more ‘per chances’ for me. Where’s the booze. Mine’s gone.”

The other side of nothing. Tom knew there was another side of nothing. There always was. Where he was. Where he had been. These could never be retrieved. Just get up and move somewhere. Find a drink. Find something to relieve the pounding nausea.

“Hey, buddy. Got a drink?”

“Got a drink, buddy?”

“Know where there’s a package store, friend?”

“How do I get to the Gardens, pal? The duck pond?”

Tom stumbled toward the duck pond and his secret hiding place.

“Please, man. Oh, Jesus, please, man. Let it be there. I’ll cry if it’s gone. Please.”

Tom stumbled and fumbled and felt the shape of a bottle. Of the Wild Irish Rose. He felt the cap twist in his fingers, the sweet, sickening smell in his nostrils, the warm taste moistening his lips, his tongue, his throat. What his mouth welcomed his stomach rejected, and he tried again and again until finally his nausea was quelled. He rose up from his knees and took a long deep draught and kissed the bottle, the cap. He fell down to his knees and kissed the ground and the rock, and reached under the rock for his money. Tom fell to his side in a fetal position and drank till he could stand and walk. He put the bottle in his knapsack and walked out of the Gardens, up Boylston street and on toward Concord. His 37 mile journey would take him most of the day, but this was not a problem. Tom had no more problems. He left them somewhere in Boston. Maybe down by the river. Somewhere. He didn’t know where and he didn’t care.

Chapter 25

Tom was awakened by something pushing at his head and licking at his bare shoulders. He bolted upright and thrust his arms out in a reflex that ended in an embrace. “Sissy, Sissy. What the fuck are you doing here? Chrissake, it’s the middle of the night. Hey, girl, come on. What’s wrong? Or did you just miss me. I’m not going away again. Everything’s going to be all right. Let’s get back to sleep. You can stay here if you want. I’ll take you back in the morning.”

Tom was up with the sun and Sissy was there by his side. The fire was out and Tom had some dried fish, crackers, and water. He remembered how he had felt the previous morning and felt that this morning could go either way, but was pretty steady at the moment. Sissy got up and came to rub his leg with her side, tail wagging in a plea for love and breakfast. Tom got some dried squirrel and dried bread. He soaked the bread in a mixture of water and burdock. Sissy ate lavishly. “OK, girl, we’re going home. Gus’ll be all worried up about you. It was nice to have you visit, but let’s not make a habit of it.”

Gus was standing by the door to the screen porch when Sissy came running out of the woods. Tom cut through the flower garden and went up to where Gus was standing.

“Sissy, where ya been, gal. You had the stuffings worried out of us. Who’s that with ya? Oh, Tom. Where’d you guys come from? Hope she hasn’t been bothering you. Gus held the screen door open as Sissy pushed Tom out of the way. “Come on in, Tom. Sit yourself down. Sissy, I’ll get you some water. Looks like you need it.”

Tom accepted Gus’s invitation to a table set in a corner of the kitchen and proceeded to tell Gus what had happened in the night.

“I thought maybe it was a skunk or a raccoon at first. Had me a little worried. But I could see in the moonlight that it was Sissy. I was concerned where she had come from, but I was relieved that that was who it was.”

“Well, I’ll be. I can’t explain it. She always sleeps on the floor on Martha’s side of the bed, and as far as I know there’s no way for her to get out. Surely the kids would never get up in the middle of the night and let her out. Well, we’ll know shortly. I hear Martha stirring and the kids won’t be far behind. Have a cup of coffee, Tom? Just made a pot.”

“No thanks, Gus, never touch it. If you had a spot of tea, I could do with that.”

“Tea’s on the way. I’m the only coffee drinker around here. Always got the water boiling. What’d ya like?”

“Oh, I’m not particular. Whatever’s handy.”

Gus brought a teapot and cup on a tray along with some fresh biscuits.

“Cream and sugar?”

“No thanks, just straight’ll do,” Tom said.

“Tom, I’m sure glad you found Sissy, or rather she found you and you brought her back to us. I don’t know what we’d do if we lost her. I guess you know that. How the hell did she get out of here? She’s OK in the daytime. Stays right around the house. But if we let her out at night, it’s good-bye Charlie. After a coon or skunk and she’s gone for the night. Everybody knows that and everybody’s extra careful. Somehow somebody slipped up. We’ll figure it out.”

Just then the door from the kitchen onto the screen porch opened and an attractive woman of about forty came out onto the porch.

“Martha, good morning, dear. This is Tom, the fella I mentioned to you the other day. He knows all the fellas down at Tweeds. Tom’s one of the regulars. Somehow Sissy got out last night and she found Tom. He lives up there beyond the railroad tracks. Any ideas about how she got out.”

“Not really. Tom, you’ll stay for breakfast. Gus tells me you might help us finish up our remodeling job. God knows we could use a hand. You know, Gus, you might ask Jamie if he knows anything about Sissy. I have a feeling he’s been sneaking out to the swamp after we go to bed. He’s determined to catch some of those peepers, and I have a hunch he might have enlisted Sissy as co-leader in his project. What do you usually have for breakfast, Tom? Anything special?”

“No, anything will do. Don’t go to any effort for me.”

“Anybody want more coffee. Oh, I see your drinking tea, Tom. More tea?”

“No, thanks. I’m all set.”

“I’ll wait the coffee for breakfast, Martha,” Gus said.

As Martha turned to go back into the kitchen Tom noticed that her blue slacks and white blouse revealed a slim yet full figure. She wore her auburn hair in a loose bun and her angular features were softened by a bright smile.

“How’s the fishing been?” Gus asked drawing Tom’s attention back to the screen porch. “I haven’t had much time lately, but I hope to get back up there soon.”

“Pretty good, pretty good. Manages to keep me fed.”

“Do any hunting?”

“No. Never could bring myself to hurt one of those guys. Somehow fishing’s different. Of course, I don’t like to hurt them either. Try not to. I know they die when I take them out of the water. That doesn’t seem like killing them though. I guess it depends on how you think about it. But I can’t kill a squirrel or a rabbit or the like.”

“I never could either,” Gus rejoined. “Guess I don’t mind eating ‘’’em, but when I look at one of those critters scampering or darting about, I just can’t put ‘kill’ in the same sentence. Well, Tom, let’s take a look around the place. See if there’s anything here you might be interested in.”

Gus took Tom on a tour of the house, a spacious two story cape set a good distance back from the dirt road that came down from the state highway and curved past the front of the house and on down the side toward the creek. They entered through the coatroom just off the kitchen and turned right through the den to explore the first floor.

“I’ve always been meaning to finish this den as a family room for the four of us, five including Sissy. We have a daughter just a bit more than a year older than Jamie—Cindy--she’s twelve.”

There was quite a bit of work to be done in the den—finishing up the paneling, painting, woodwork, the whole bit. Off the den was the downstairs bathroom--the most complete room in the whole house. Very little if anything was required to complete it. Next to the den was the dining room with almost as much work to do as in the den.

“The kitchen’s Martha’s castle and she likes it just the way it is. Hand’s off. The garage is just a junkyard, but it will have to be done in time. Any questions so far?”

“I’m beginning to get the picture. A lot of work. Let’s see the rest of it before we get into a question and answer session.”

“Let’s go upstairs, then.”

The upstairs was pretty simple, four bedrooms and three baths. The master bedroom and bath didn’t need very much, mainly woodwork and painting. The other bathrooms needed about the same, but the bedrooms needed the works. Only had the drywall up--never been taped or primed.

The outside of the house was in good shape, roof and siding just a few years old, and everything else had been done within the past few years.

“I was laid off for just about a year and I got my time in the sun, Gus said. Job came along and interfered with my plans to do the inside. Guess we found you in time. That is if you’d be interested in the job.”

“Nothing here I can’t handle. And I’d get some help if I needed it. What it comes down to is how much—how much time would I have to work on it and how much would you be willing to pay. I’m sure we can negotiate both.”

“The boys in town tell me you can do it all—they’ve seen you do it all. They say I’d be wise to let you set your own schedule and to let you give me an estimate, room by room, as we go along. So, I’d tell you to work on the den, say, tell you what I wanted done, and you’d give me a price. Leave it at that. All the materials are in the basement. Why not try the den?”

“OK, let’s go back there,” Tom said.

Gus got out a pad of paper and pencil and drew a few diagrams and wrote out what needed to be done in the den. Tom tossed in a few ideas and asked Gus to clarify some points. After about a half-hour they had what amounted to a contract and Tom said he'd have some numbers after breakfast. At which point Martha announced that breakfast was ready on the porch.

“Well, let’s all sit down and say grace, before we begin. Tom, this is Cindy. You’ve met Jamie. Sissy, you go sit over by the swing. God bless us and this food—through thy grace.”

“Martha, this looks fit for a king, Gus said. Tom, have some ham and eggs. These pancakes are Martha’s specialty, and the fruit comes from various places around the property. I’m sure you’ll find all of this out for yourself once you begin work, or if you begin work, on the place.”

“Let’s make it ‘when,” Tom offered. “I feel like I’ve found ‘family’ if that’s not too bold. Sissy seems to have made that connection.”

“Don’t fuck it up, Tommy Boy. You got a thousand and one ways to fuck it up. Five hundred of them begin with ‘M.’ I haven’t gotten any further than that. Keep your hands on the hammer and you eyes on the nails, Tommy Boy.”

’“You needn’t be bashful, Tom. We haven’t known you all that long,” Martha said, “but it sure feels like ‘family’ to me. As you say, Sissy made the initial overture and I doubt there’s any heading her in a different direction.

Tom was awakened by the wind dancing in the pines over his lean-to. He could feel moisture brushing his eyes and mouth. As he became more fully conscious he realized that bits of ice and snow were swirling around his sleeping bag. He jerked up and looked outside, into the woods—“winter’s coming early,” he said to himself.“ Only the first days of November and it looks like the middle of December.”

This was a sign to Tom that he had better pay more attention to Gus’ house. He had only been putting in a few hours a week and there wasn’t too much to show at all. He could hear a jay calling out over in the buckthorn and squirrels were chattering up in the walnut trees.

“Time to get up and wander over to the job, play time’s over, Tom thought.”

As Tom approached the Tavers’ house he saw smoke coming from the chimney indicating that somebody was astir. He let himself in through the sliding door to the den and set about figuring where to begin. If he worked real hard, he could finish the drywall in a week. He wasn’t sure he was up to a full week, but Thanksgiving was sneaking up and something had to be done. Just as he was pondering his situation he was interrupted by Gus entering the den.

“Want some tea, Tom?”

“Gus, hope I didn’t wake you. I saw the smoke from the chimney so I figured it was ok to come in.”

“It’s ok,” said Gus. “Martha’s getting the kids ready for school.”

“Sure, yeah, thanks. This drywall should be finished this week. Haven’t been able to get much done here lately. Been feeling a little down.”

Tom sensed that Gus was about to say something about Tom’s infrequent appearance on the job and he felt that he had better head him off at the pass. The weather lately had been ideal for wandering around the woods, and Tom hated to give up these last days of Indian summer for something that could just as handily be done when the weather turned sour.

But Gus gave Tom no space for footwork. “Not too down, I hope. Martha’s been asking me if we’re going to be in here for Thanksgiving. She has her heart set on that, you know. I’d sure hate to disappoint her.”

“No worry. I’m OK now. Have this done in no time. When’s Thanksgiving, anyway.”

“Well, today’s Monday and Thanksgiving will be two weeks from this coming Thursday. You’ll have to give us a few days to get our things where we want them in here. Say you need to be finished two weeks from tonight. How’s that sound?”

“Not a problem,” Tom said quickly calculating the number of hours he’d need and still have time for his reading, his meditation, playing with Sissy, rapping with the kids after school—all the important things would make it tight, but he knew he’d get it done somehow. He always managed to squeak by.

“No problemo.”

“We’ll count on it. You know, Tom, there’s something else that Martha’s worried about. That’s you.”

“Why would anybody worry about me? I’m fine.”

“It’s more the way Martha feels around you, Tom. She just gets the feeling that you aren’t very happy. That there’s something we could do to help you. Something we are doing or aren’t doing is making it more difficult for you and we’d like to know what that is so we can change. Know what I mean?”

“Not really. Look I’d like to get started on this ceiling. Like to get it done today.”

Tom turned to pick up his measuring tape and started to figure the length he’d need for the next piece. He was of a mind to march right out the door and never come back, but something inside him forced him to wait, to think what else he might do. He didn’t at all like the way Gus was pushing and clawing at him, but he thought of Lisa and doubted that bolting here was the way to help her.

Finally Gus said, “Martha’s about ready for breakfast. We’d like for you to join us. Her brother is here from Milwaukee, and we’d like you to meet him. He’ll be staying with us for a few weeks, and we thought he might give you a hand. See you in a few minutes.”

With that Gus turned and walked out of the den leaving Tom to his work.

Night descended on Tom like the darkness of an autumn thunderstorm. He went over to the stack of drywall and took a sheet over to where it would be needed.

Tom’s explosion satisfied him, made him feel like a man, but somehow it sounded more like a voice from the past than the Tom he had come to know living alone in his camp. Tom knew he’d have to talk with Gus, that somehow he’d have to give a little and let Gus know what was important to him. He could admit that he had been swimming and fishing more than he had intended to these past weeks. It had been unusually warm for the middle of fall, and it felt good to lie in the sun in the late morning and afternoon. He figured that it would turn cold soon enough, and that there would be lots of time to catch up. Now it was getting late and there was more work to do than he could handle.

Gus repeated his invitation to breakfast from the doorway of the den.

“Be right there. Got a couple more screws to put in.”

Tom took his good old time finishing up the piece he was working on.

By the time Tom entered the kitchen Gus and the children were seated at the breakfast table and Jamie and Jess were busily demolishing a stack of buckwheat pancakes and a heap of bacon and sausage and eggs.

“Come on and have a chair,” Gus said looking up from his morning meditation. “Martha and Buck—that’s Martha’s brother--are on the way. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. Jamie, Jess,” Tom nodded as he took a seat by the window.

“Hi, Tom. Hi, Tom,” Jamie and Jess said almost in chorus.

“Dig in before it’s all gone,” Jess teased. “Don’t wait for mom, she’s always messing around with something.”

“Don’t let it get cold. It tastes like yuck when it’s cold,” Jamie chimed in.

Gus picked up the plate of bacon and sausage and handed it to Tom.

“May as well start with this.”

“Yeah, Tom. Remember last time when Jess scoffed the last piece of chocolate cake and you went home empty. Better take care of yourself this time,” Jamie said.

“OK, you guys, eat up. The bus’ll be out front before you know it, and you’ll be sad and sorry if you miss it.”

Just then Martha came bounding into the kitchen carrying a stack of firewood for the kitchen stove. “What’s this? Is the bus out there? Jamie, Jess, get in gear.”

“It’s not there, mom. Second gear it. We got three minutes to go.”

“Well, let’s go then, you two. Get your stuff and high tail it before you’re late. Jamie, get the lunches from the fridge. Jess, put that milk out for the cat. Let’s go, go, go. I don’t know what’s wrong with Buck. He was in bed at eight-thirty last night, and it’s almost seven. That guy’s going to sleep his life away.”

“Easy, Martha. Get yourself some breakfast before you blow a gasket,” Gus said.

“OK, OK, but somebody has to get things going around here. If it weren’t for me, we’d all be lounging around here until noon,” Martha said as she set her plate of scrambled eggs and toast on the table.

“Tom, dig in, my man. You got a long day and a lot of work before lunch. Sissy’s going to get what’s left over and I don’t want her to get too chubby,” Gus said.

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “Maybe I’d better be getting back to the den. Got some catching up to do.”

Tom thought that this would give recognition to the complaint that he hadn’t been working very much during the past three weeks without sounding too much like an apology. He never apologized and he had no intention of starting now. Just because he had been enjoying the wonders of nature did not mean that he did not have every intention of finishing what he had promised. And finishing it all on time. He had no doubt that he could make the Thanksgiving deadline yet he sensed a need on their part to be reassured that this deadline would be met.

“That’s true, Tom, you do have some catching up to do, but you also need a good breakfast to build up your strength. First things first.” Martha started into her breakfast all the while looking pensively at Tom. “And in that regard,” she continued, “I have been a little worried about you. Not sleepless nights or waking at 4am worried, but wondering if there’s something wrong worried. Maybe something we could talk through.”

“Nothing wrong with me,” Tom said. “I had a cold last week, but I’m OK now.”

Tom put his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “Better get back to finishing that ceiling.”

“Hang on a second, Tom,” Martha said as gently as her sternness would permit, “You haven’t been around much at all for three weeks and now you come in here dragging yourself behind you, looking rather sad to me—depressed. Look here, I’m not trying to mind your business, but I do like you and I do want to help you, but only if you want me to help you. I hope you can understand that, Tom. I’m only telling you that you can count on us whenever and however you might need or want that. For my part I want our family, including you, to be eating our turkey before a cozy fire in our newly finished den.”

“Like I told Gus, I haven’t been feeling well, but I’m OK now and there’ll be no problem about Thanksgiving. And I will be here then. Wouldn’t miss it for a herd of wild boar.”

“Tom,” Martha said, “I’m truly glad to hear that. One other thing. I think Gus told you about Buck—my brother--giving you a hand. That is if it works out with you. He's 35 and he's fit and able. I was wondering how you feel about that?”

“Well, I got to meet him first,” Tom said as he got up and moved toward the den.

“Good,” Martha said. “Let’s leave it at that. I’m late.”

Martha got up from the table and rushed from the room calling over her shoulder. “Give what’s left over to Sissy, but be careful about her weight. See you tonight. Don’t forget to get the chickens out of the freezer before you leave.”

Tom was just ready to get another piece of drywall when Gus walked in accompanied by a sleepy eyed young blonde man.

“Tom, this is Martha’s brother, Buck. Buck this is Tom. Tom’s helping us get this den set up by Thanksgiving. Martha and I thought you might lend a hand. Of course that would have to be OK with Tom since it is his job. You two can figure that out, I’ve got to get going before the boss thinks I’ve taken another job. There’re some sandwiches for lunch, help yourselves. Don’t touch the chickens though; those are Martha’s. See you this evening. Hope you’ll stay for dinner, Tom.”

Buck took a seat on an old milk case in the far corner of the den and watched in silence as Tom set up his rigging for the next piece of drywall. The rigging consisted of a stepladder and two long poles with padded pieces of wood at their ends. The poles supported the drywall once Tom set it in place with the use of the stepladder. With skill and muscle, and a great deal of luck, Tom was able to seat and secure the ceiling pieces without loss of limb or life.

“Ever do anything like this?” Tom asked.

“Nope,” said Buck.

“What kind of work have you done?”

“Not much of anything lately.” Buck said reaching in the jacket pocket of his faded army fatigues for a cigarette.

“Hey, not in here with that. Martha’d kill you if she saw that.”

“Well, Martha ain’t here, is she? Know what I mean?” Buck said reaching in his pants’ pocket for his lighter.

“But I am, and that’ll be good enough,” Tom said moving slightly toward Buck. “Just, where the hell have you been all your life?”

“Mostly in prison.”

“Prison?” Tom said with considerable amazement. “What’d you do to get there.”

“Oh, stealing stuff—drunk and disorderly. AWOL. Nothing serious.”

“Well, did you ever paint anything or build anything at all?” Tom asked.

“Like yeah, pictures. See, I’m an artist, man. Painting, guitar and stuff.”

“But you don’t work? Is that it?” Tom asked.

“Like, yeah. I don’t like this kind of stuff.”

“But if you had to. Like if I told you to. If Martha told you to. Well, what then?”

“Why I’d do it, sure. But I wouldn’t like it.” Buck got up and moved to the window overlooking the backyard. “Any other people around here? Like girls or anything like that?”

“Just you and me. So keep your pecker in your pants and let’s talk about work. You know how to use a hammer?”

“I guess so. Show me.”

“Here, watch. Hold the nail in your left hand. Set it where you want it to go, take the hammer in your right hand. You right handed?” Buck half raised his right hand to indicate assent. “OK. Now you cock your wrist and keep you eye on the head of the nail and give a wrist action hitting the nail square on the head. Watch.”

Tom drove a couple of nails into a piece of scrap two by four as Buck watched. “Now you try,” Tom said.

“You’re a pretty good teacher, Tom. I think I might learn something yet.”

“OK, you’ll get the hang of it. Just take some nails and go over there and practice a little bit with that scarp wood. Just relax.”

“I think I’ve got the hang of it, Tom. So I’m going to go out for a smoke—just to relax.”

“Five minutes, Buck. And be sure to shut the door tight when you come back. We Don’t need no Sissy in here while we’re working.”

Tom took a meditation break and then positioned the first piece of drywall. He heard Buck come in from the backyard and shouted to him. “Got the hammer, got the nails?”

“I’m not sure where I set them. Maybe outside. I’ll go see.”

“No. No. Buck, you take this rig and hold the drywall in place. I got hammer and nails. Hold it tight against the edges. Steady as she goes.”

Tom had showed Buck how to use the homemade rig to steady the drywall into place on the ceiling while Tom got up on the ladder to begin screwing the piece into place. Just as Tom was about to set the first screw the 8x12 began to wobble, then fall hitting Tom on the head and knocking him off the ladder. The drywall crashed against the wall studs cracking in three places finally resting on top of Tom who was ass over tin cups on the floor. Sissy rushed over to lick him on the face

“What the fuck! What the fuck!” he shouted. “Jesus Christ, Buck, what the hell are you doing?”

“Just saying hello to Sissy. She came in and jumped up on my leg. Hi, Sissy, hi.”

“Shit, Buck. You can’t hold the drywall and pet no goddamn dog at the same time. Get her out of here. Make sure the goddamn door’s closed this time. Ruined, fucking ruined.”

“Yeah,” said Buck.

“Look, Buck, grab that hammer over there. I’ll hold the drywall in place and you put some nails into it to tack it in place. Just do it like you did with the pieces of scrap. Once we get it stable I’ll screw it into place. Now, look, see those straps of wood running along the ceiling joists—the joists are the big mothers and the straps are the little ones. Got that? You nail the drywall to the straps. Drive the nail in just far enough to make a small dent in the drywall. Got that?”

“I guess.”

“OK, let’s put another piece in place. You put the end against the wall. OK, I got it. Now get the ladder at the far end and get up there and start putting some nails into place.”

“Hey, Tom,” Buck called when he had got up on the ladder and was ready to begin. Where’s the nails?”

“You’re supposed to have some in your apron.”

“Apron? That's for cooking--ain't it?”

Tom shook his head watching Buck miss the strapping with the first half dozen nails and when he finally hit one he either bent the nail or drove it at an angle tearing the paper backing of the plaster drywall.

"This just won't work, Buck. Grab a piece of that drywall and bring it over here. Careful, now."

Tom retrieved the rig that would allow him to screw the ceiling drywall into place without relying on Buck. "You know I think I'll just have you hold the ladder and watch me, maybe keep Sissy out of the way. Or I could stop work and train you. I would like to do the latter, but I'm doubtful that the result would make it worthwhile."

They had finished putting up the drywall on the ceiling and Tom reckoned they wouldn’t get too much more done for the day. Tom was surveying the wreckage of an 8’x12’ piece of drywall—cracked in three places and totally useless. It wasn’t completely clear to Tom just what had happened, but he remembered that it was the first piece for Buck.

“Hope you guys are ready for some tea, I made a big bunch,” Gus said as he appeared at the doorway of the den. “Come and join me in the kitchen. We can raid Martha’s cookie jar. Saw her baking something last night. Smelled like peanut butter.”

“OK,” Tom said. “Give me a few minutes to put a couple more screws in this drywall. Buck, damn it, you’re supposed to hold the ladder, not sit on it. Hold it steady before you knock me on my ass again.”

Gus was sitting at the kitchen table when Tom and Buck came in.

“Get yourselves some of that coffee on the stove," Gus said.

Man, what the hell did you put in this stuff. Tastes like molasses. Give me that cream and sugar. I’m going to have to cut this stuff real severe before it kicks my butt. Where’re them cookies,” Buck said.

“This is my own special blend. Makes you ready for a full day's work or makes you forget what a rough day you’ve had. Sounds like you’ve had yourself some kind of day, Tom?”

“Well, Buck here’s a real greenhorn. That wouldn’t be so bad, but I really don’t think he wants to do this job,” said Tom.

“What’ve you got to say for yourself, Buck? You think Tom’s being a little hard on you.”

“Not hard, but I don’t think he understands what’s been going on here. I mean, like I’d work if I wasn’t just so tired all the time. I can hardly lift one foot in front of the other let alone lift those boards or try to hit those nails way up there on the ceiling. I’m tired; every bit of me just aches and aches. I hope this molasses or whatever it is will give me enough strength even to eat one of those there cookies. I’m not sure I have the strength to chew on one of them,” Buck said.

“What’re you so tired about?” Tom asked. “I heard you slept all night.”

“I don’t know. Ever since I quit drinking, I just have no energy to do anything. I wasn’t always that way. I used to run around all over the place. Be into everything all the time. Worked hard, played hard, drank hard, had a woman every night. Now I can’t even get it up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’ve had too much of those AA meetings and it got me so confused I can’t see straight,” Buck said.

Tom had heard from Martha that Buck had a problem with alcohol and cocaine, but this was the first mention Buck had made of it. Tom was beginning to wonder if Martha suspected that Tom had a problem and had brought this brother in to mess around with Tom’s head. The guy was making him feel uncomfortable with all this talk about AA and meetings. AA had been suggested to Tom a number of times, but he had always resisted. He might quit someday, but it would be his own way.

“So, what do you think, Tom. Are you willing to give Buck another chance tomorrow?”

“Let me sleep on that, will you? I have to think of how to do things to fit him in because Martha wants it that way. The problem is that if I take too much time to train Buck, then we’ll sure miss Thanksgiving Day. I got to find a job that he can do with minimal training. I think I have an idea, Gus. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that piece of yard outside the sliding doors landscaped by Thanksgiving? Wouldn’t Martha like to see that?”

“I think I see where you’re going, Tom,” Gus said. “Let me get the plan I drew up for that section. Buck could get started digging and leveling. I’ll get him started in the morning.”

“And I’ll take him through the day--easy,” Tom said.

Chapter 26

The turkey had been carved; Jess and Jamie had set one of their homemade favors at each place setting—favors of dried woodland berries, grasses and flowers in small hand-woven straw baskets. Gus had a roaring fire of elm and maple logs going in the fire place and Martha had brought in dishes of cranberries, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, squash, beans, bread stuffing and gravy—all was ready to receive the blessing that Tom was poised to pronounce. Buck was expected, but long overdue, and Martha had decided to go on without him.

Tom had been honored that Martha had asked him to say the Thanksgiving blessing and he wanted to be sensitive to the family while at the same time reflecting his own spirituality--a blend of eastern and western mysticism. He had sat in meditation before his campfire the previous night and thought long and hard about what to say.

“Spirit of all,” Tom began as the family rose, “we ask that all have the opportunity for a full and prosperous life in your house. May we live in peace here in our new gathering place? Keep these young ones and those throughout your world safe from harm.”

Tom sat down and Gus began to dish out food from the bounteous plates.

Just then Buck came bouncing into the den with a pot of chrysanthemums under one arm and a jug of apple cider under the other, a cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth.

“Looks like I’m just in time. Got tied up with some friends down at the meeting. You shoulda been there Tom. Ran into a guy, uh, George was his name. Said he thought he remembered you from the Naval Air Station down on the cape. Where should I put these, Martha?”

“Asshole,” Tom muttered under his breath.

“Oh, Buck, they’re beautiful. Put that cider on the table and I’ll get some glasses. Just set the plant over there by the window and get that cigarette outside."

After dinner the men arranged themselves in more comfortable chairs in the den looking out over the meadows while Martha and the kids cleared the table and did the dishes. Tom was eager to get more details about this guy “George” that Buck had met. He couldn’t believe that it could be his old assistant from the Officers’ mess on Cape Cod. But from what Buck said it sounded like it could be. Tom couldn’t be certain. He was reluctant to approach the subject because he was afraid Buck would use it as an opportunity to get him involved in one of his meetings--something Tom had been resisting ever since Buck appeared on the scene.

“You know, Tom,” Gus said, “it might not be a bad idea for you to go with Buck tonight to see if this “George” is your old buddy. It’d give you somebody to talk to and we all know those meetings aren’t going to poison your mind. Might even do you some good from what I see.”

“Yeah, come on Tom, what do you got to lose. It ain’t a lifetime, you know. Just a day at a time,” Buck said

As much as Buck was insisting Tom was resisting.

“I just don’t have a problem like you do, Buck. You’re crazy; I’m just a little nuts. As long as I keep the plug in the jug I’m OK. I don’t need a drink. I get along fine.”

“Yeah, I know. Used to be that way myself. A few beers a day, everything cool. Then whoopee, fuck the beer…give me the hard stuff. You tell me what came next. Woke up with you-know-who, I sure didn’t. Where’s the car? Oh, I didn’t have a car? Shit, I forgot Mom’s birthday again. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Dad. Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m the most sorry son-of-a-bitch in this whole goddamn world. Go get us a bottle, uh, hon. No, I don’t need anything to eat. Just get a bottle. Oh, and a pack of cigarettes. I’ll quit tomorrow. Yeah, I know, Tom. Tell me what I missed.”

Gus sat with his eyes closed rocking and puffing on his Meerschaum. Tom looked to be in a stunned pain that grew worse with every word Buck uttered. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Finally he said, “Not too much. Except it gets a whole lot worse if you keep trying. How old would you say this George is?”

“Oh, about fifty, maybe fifty-five,” Buck said.

“What time’s that meeting tonight?” Tom asked.

“That’s him over there by the coffeepot. The one with the Red Sox baseball cap,” Buck said.

“Son-of-a-bitch if that ain’t old George. Wonder what he’s doing here? Never saw him take a drink,” Tom said.

“Shit, ya don’t have to be seen to be an alky. Most of these jerks went straight home from work, church on Sunday, in bed by ten and up at the crack of dawn. Closet drinkers. It’s only the crazies that you see running around the streets with lamp shades on their heads and puke decorating their Sunday best,” Buck said. “Shh! They’re gonna begin. Get the cotton out of your ears and stuff it in your mouth.”

Tom tried to listen, but he had a hard time of it. He heard this young girl, couldn’t have been more than twenty, tell about coming home from work and breaking open a six-pack and turning on the TV—night after night after night. Just sat there sipping and flipping until she couldn’t figure out whether she was in front of the TV or on TV. Then this old geezer stood up and told how he had it all—president of his company, proud father of a football star and a beauty queen, gracious wife--all with two acres and a two car garage—everything. Then the two martini lunch became the three martini lunch and nips in the glove compartment on the way home from work. Wine with dinner and a few brandies afterward left him passing out somewhere around the house. No particular reason. One drink just led to the next and every morning’s stirring would leave him wondering when it would be time to start again. The football star and the beauty queen sought greener pastures and the house went on the market when the wife moved in with her mother. The company decided it was time for a change, and the sawdust on the floor of the downtown bar became a familiar sight. Sometimes he’d wake up in an alley behind the church and sometimes he couldn’t decide—was he awake or asleep, and then he finally knew that he just never wanted to wake up again.

And so it went, one speaker after another--all found booze, then booze found them, and then it owned them. They had no choice. It wasn’t whether to drink or not to drink. It wasn’t even how much. It came down to where to find the next one and the next one after that. Then something happened in each one of them. Something they called the “Grace of God.” Something brought them to their knees with a cry for help.

“Help me. Somebody help me. I want to quit, but I can’t do it alone.”

And the call was answered. As they came to hang around with one another and listened to one another their attitudes began to change. And as their attitudes began to change their actions began to change, and their lives began to change. Many of them had kept at it for years and years and it would be hard to know that at one time they had drunk uncontrollably and had been emotionally wrecked. They seemed to be normal, healthy people with a sense of purpose and meaning in their lives.

As Tom listened he began to wonder how he got started.

“Hey, Tom,” Buck poked Tom in the arm. “Are you with us? You look like you’re in a daze. George got up and left about five minutes ago. We’ll have to catch him next time. Come on, let’s go.”

It was the day before Christmas Eve, and Tom was watching the sun go down behind the pine trees beyond his camp. It had been a cold day with clouds gathering from the northwest and a feeling of all the ingredients for a White Christmas. It would soon be dark enough to light the fire and get some supper. Tom felt an excitement about the holiday season. An excitement he had not been aware of for a long time. He had received a letter from Lisa the day before. To his great surprise Mary had enclosed a Christmas card. He went into the tent and searched for the letter and the card among the few mementos he had saved over his years at the Concord camp. He collected the empty “Mountain Dew” cans that he had been gathering around town and assembled everything in front of the fire pit.

Tom put some dry leaves and twig shavings in the pit and struck his flint across a hand-held rock until he got a spark and then a flame. Soon he had a sustainable wood fire—enough to warm himself and cook his food. He sat down and picked up the envelope that had arrived at Gus’ a few days back. He had written to Lisa and told her all about his new friends and had asked Gus’ permission to use their address as his mailing address.

Lisa wrote:

“Daddy, your new friends sound real cool, and all that about the dog and the kids—WOW! I sure want to hear more about that. When you talk about sleeping there on really cold nights—that really is a breath of fresh air. You don’t know how worried I get about you some times. I just want to run right up there and give you a big hug and make you a cup on nice hot tea. But I know God puts you to sleep and wakes you up so I shouldn’t be such a twit. I guess I need to pray a lot more.

School’s out next week and I won’t have to get up in the morning for such a long time—over two weeks. Oh, I really do like that. I did OK in all my exams, but I may not get a very good grade in math. You’re going to have to do a lot more with me if I’m ever going to pass that stupid thing.

Basketball’s a blast. I scored six points in our last game. But, gosh darn it, we still lost—22-19. I’m quick becoming a one-girl team.

I got you something really nice for Christmas and I mailed it to Gus the other day. Hope it gets to you in time. Your package arrived last Friday. I’m so antsy to take a peek inside, but I promise I’ll wait till Christmas. Mom was thrilled to see something for her. She never expected it. I think she likes you, Daddy. I hope she does.

Well, I’ll write you more right after Christmas. We’re going to have a huge tree and grandma and grandpa will be here along with Aunt Nora and the kids. Bunches of love and bundles of hugs…Lisa”

To Tom’s great surprise the envelope also contained a smaller envelope with a greeting card from Mary.

“Tom,” it read, “Wishing you a happy holiday season. Your presence in Lisa’s life has been important to both of us. Merry Christmas, Mary.”

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what got Mary to send that card. Never heard of that before. Using an old pair of scissors Tom began cutting the Mountain Dew cans into thin strips. The colors of red, gold, and green would make festive holiday greetings, and the strips could easily be structured into whatever designs he chose. He began by making a large sleigh with the jolly old man at the reins.

The sleigh was beginning to take shape and he was rather proud of his artwork.

Tom finished his supper and got some more logs for the fire.

When the reindeer were completed, Tom lashed them together with thin strands and joined them to the sleigh. Setting the assembly near the fire he marveled on the beauty of the finished product.

Chapter 27

“Merry Christmas, Jamie” Tom called out as he emerged from the edge of the woods. “Gonna be a white one unless we get a heat wave over night.”

Jamie was underneath the back porch fussing around with something.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Tom. Yeah, Mom said I’d better get lots of wood up near the door. Give me a hand, will ya?”

“Happy to. Let me put this gunnysack up by the door and I’ll be right with you. Everybody here?”

“Buck’s on the way. Grandma and Grandpa are inside with the rest of them. What ya got in the sack? Looks like a polar bear or some such thing from the size of it,” Jamie said.

“It’s just that present I’ve been working on,” Tom said.

”Some of this wood’s frozen together. There’s an axe up there on the porch,” Jamie said.

“Let’s see here. Yeah, I’ll break it all apart. You carry it on up. What’d you get for Christmas?” Tom asked.

“Don’t know. Find out tonight when we open the presents. Mom does a pretty good job of hiding everything.”

“Hope it’s something we can play with. Maybe one of them new games. That’d be something,” Tom said.

“I always try to get a peek, but I can’t figure out what she does with things.”

“She’s a tough nut,” Tom said.

“Tell you what I got her, though. Wanna know?”

“Sure,” Tom said.

“Know those snakes down by the swamp and how she freaks out when she gets too near ‘’’em?”

“Tell me.”

”Well, I got her a stocking with a slimy, gooey, feels-like-real, snake in it,” Jamie said.

“Naw, not for Christmas! Chrissake!” Tom said

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna tell her she has to close her eyes and reach in the stocking for her own special present. Won’t she let out the best holler ya ever heard?”

“I don’t wanna be around when she does.”

“When she does, I’m gonna run like hell ‘cause she’ll sure wanna whoop me for that one. Hee-hee,” Jamie said.

“Jamie, you sure have the devil in you. What’s your pa gonna say about that one?” Tom asked.

“I already told him. He laughed as hard as I did,” Jamie said.

Just then the front door opened and Martha poked her head out.

“That’s enough, you two,” Martha said. “What are you up to, Jamie, with all that shouting and laughing?”

“Just chopping wood.”

“Come on, get on in here before you catch your death of cold. Where’s your jacket? I told you not to go out there without a jacket.”

“I’m coming,” Jamie said.

“Tom, he doesn’t have the sense he was born with.” Martha called over her shoulder as she turned to go back into the house.

“Hey, here comes Buck,” Jamie said. “You don’t have to see him. Hearing that heap of scrap is enough. Wonder who’s that with him?”

“Beats me,” said Tom giving a glance toward the driveway. “Let’s get in the house before your mother gets out the yardstick.”

“Well, let’s see. Who knows who and who doesn’t?” Martha said as she entered the den accompanied by the new arrivals.

“Tom, this is my mother and father, Sally and Bill, and this is Buck’s friend, ah, Tizzie. Is that right Buck, Tizzie?”

Tizzie was half hidden behind Buck looking like she was trying to find a way to evaporate. She could have been just recently pulled from a magician’s hat what with her black and white striped socks, black sneakers with white shoelaces, yellow mid-calf skirt, and pink wash ’n wear sweater. Her stringy yellow hair had been combed at some distant earlier date and the brown, scarred leather bag she wore around her shoulder was stuffed to the gills with God-knows-what.

“Yeah, Martha, it’s Tizzie. Tizzie was at the meeting and she had nowhere to go so I brought her along. I know you always have room for one more. Right, man?”

Buzz gave Martha a big bear hug and made a groping attempt to include Tizzie.

“Hey, Mom, Dad, I didn’t even see you there.” Buck said dragging Tizzie over to where his parents had stood to greet him.

“Bucky boy. Oh, Bucky boy” his mother said.” “Oh, it’s so good to know we’ll be together this Christmas. Say hello to Buck, Dad.”

“Hey, meet Tizzie. Tizzie, say hello,” Buck said trying to drag Tizzie from behind him. “Tizzie? She’s kinda shy. She’ll warm up once we get some of that kielbasa into her. She’s kinda new to the program. Hasn’t been around long. Right, Tizzie? Tizzie? Oh, well.”

“Come on now, folks. Let’s all sit down and relax. The snacks are almost ready,” Martha said. “Gus, see what folks want to drink. Buck, you don’t mind if Mom and Dad have a little something to warm them up, do you?”

“Not so long as they don’t ask us to join them, right, Tom? Tizzie and I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, Martha, we don’t have to have anything…” Sally started.

“Now hang on a dang minute, Sally,” Bill interrupted. “I’ve been driving all day and I need a little something to steady my nerves. Doctor’s orders. Gus, let me have two fingers of that Jack Daniels with a splash of well water.”

“How about you, Mom?” Gus asked knowing that the argument was over.

“Jamie, you get the ginger ale for the other folks and grab the crackers and cheese from the kitchen counter.”

“Just a very light one for me and make sure you measure Bill’s. I don’t want anything like last Christmas. Especially now that Buck’s…well, you know. Now that Buck’s with us.” Sally said.”

Tizzie, who looked to be about Buck's age, was sitting next to Buck on the couch and hanging on tight. Tom was sitting next to her and was feeling more and more uncomfortable sensing her growing discomfort.

“So, where do you live Tizzie? Around here?” Sally asked.

Tizzie didn’t move or make any effort to answer for a long time. Finally she turned her head toward Tom and with eyes down cast muttered, “Yeah.” Then she turned back toward Buck and whispered something to him. He got up and ushered her out of the den.

“So tell me Tom, where do you live?” Bill asked as he took a good slug from his drink.

“Just up the road a piece,” Tom said glancing over at Gus.

He could see the magic of Jack Daniels being worked in Bill and began to yearn for some of that good ole stuff himself.

“She had to use the powder room,” Buck said as he and Tizzie came back into the den.

“Just had to freshen up. No time when I got up this morning. Couldn’t be late for the meeting, you know me,” Tizzie said with a half smile on her face. Her combed hair framing a subdued makeup complimented her newfound voice.

Yet there was something more and Tom was quick to pick up on it. Tizzie had had a fix of something. The change was too pronounced to be credited to Avon. Somewhere in that brown bag were the tools of the trade and Tizzie had ducked into the john to apply them.

“Well, Tizzie. Enjoying the party?” Bill said. “You look like an artist. Is that what you are?”

“Yeah, man, that’s what I am. An artist.” Tizzie moved over to Bill’s chair gently pushing his legs to one side of the footstool and sitting toward him on the other side. “I paint.”

“Really, I’ve always been fascinated by the masters. Can’t stay away when there’s an exhibition of Renoir, or Matisse, or somebody of that caliber in town. So what do you paint?” Bill asked.

“Me.”

“Portraits, huh?” Bill asked.

“No, darling,” Tizzie said placing her hand on the inside of Bill’s thigh and rubbing her hand up and down. “I strip bare ass naked and I put different colored paints on this lovely body and then I photograph it through a bunch of different filters. Want to watch me sometime? I got tons and tons of that stuff you’re drinking—and other interesting things.”

“Well, ah, Gus,” Bill said as he got up from his chair. “Another finger or two. Well, yes, that’s very interesting Tizzie. Perhaps Sally and I can stop over sometime. Gus…”

“Why, Tizzie, that’s fascinating,” Sally said. “And even more, I think, is your name. Tizzie, I find that enchanting. Wasn’t there a famous actress by that name at one time?”

“Can’t say I know, doll, but I’ll tell you how it happened, if you’re interested,” Tizzie said.

“Of, course, my dear. I’m always interested in Buckeye’s friends. He has so many, you know,” Sally said moving over to where Bill had been sitting.

“Well, see, I was born in the back seat of the ole family Ford. The same place I was conceived, by the way. A real bucket of bolts, just like that thing of Bucky boy’s. Daddy always called it his darling ‘tin Lizzie.’ So he just shortened that a bit and called me ‘Tizzie.’ Pretty cool, huh?”

“Time for chow,” Jamie said entering the den. “Everybody’s got to go out to the kitchen and carry something in. Mom said so.”

“Come on, let’s hustle.” Gus said making haste toward the kitchen, “Get it while it’s hot.”

After the meal Tizzie excused herself to the bathroom while the others retired to the den.

“Well, Dad, why don’t you pass around some of the presents. Make sure everybody has something. There’s something there for Tizzie. She’ll be back soon,” Martha said.

Tizzie arrived back from the john to a flurry of ribbon, wrapping paper and laughter. Martha got the present she had wrapped for Tizzie and gave it to her.

“Oh, shit,” Tizzie said. “And I left mine back at the house. You’ll just have to drop over when it gets a little warmer and you can join Daddy for some mint juleps. What the fuck is this?” she said as she tore at the paper.“

"Calm down, Tizzie. They're just fun presents. Watch Gus," Buck said. “Tom, what’s that in the gunny sack you brought in?” Gus asked. “Looks like a polar bear,” he said winking at Jamie.

“No, ain’t no polar bear. It’s just something I made. Thought you’d like to use it for a centerpiece or something like that. Jamie, you can take it out of the sack, but be careful. Don’t let it come apart.”

“Why, it’s beautiful, Tom,” Martha said. “What a gorgeous work of art--a sculpture of Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer--all made from strands of soda cans--how creative. We’ll put it right on the sideboard by the dinner table.”

“Masterful, Tom. I think you’ve got a business there,” Gus said.

“Six reindeer?” Buck said. “What? The other two get lost in the woods on the way? Better get those fingers of yours out, well….”

“Now, Buck. What’s the difference? I’m sure Tom knows the right number. It’s just artistic freedom,” Martha said.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Gus. “Anyway I want to show Tom his present. Come on, everybody get your coats on and pile into the pick up truck. Everybody under sixty-five into the back.”

Gus drove the truck through the snow about two miles down the dirt road in front of the house then turned onto a logging trail and up the hill for another mile.

“Everybody out,” he called as he turned off the engine and jumped down from the truck.

“Hey, man, what is this. Some kind of kidnapping?“ Buck said.

“Yeah, we should have brought some reinforcements. You didn’t tell us we were going mountain climbing,” Tizzie said.

“Can’t drive beyond here so you’re going to have to use your imaginations. And, we’re not going to walk the rest of the way because it’s next to impossible to get through. But, if Tom follows the map I have attached here to this deed, he’ll find the five-acre plot of land that he now owns,” Gus said.

“Land? What land,” Tom said. “What’cha talking about?”

“Your land, Tom. It’s a present from all of us. It’s isolated from everybody else. Surrounded on three sides by dense underbrush on conservation land and on the fourth side by property that I own and have registered as conservation land.”

“Holy man. “Mother of heaven,” Tom said. “Gus, Martha, Cindy, Jamie--no more I can say right now. Just thanks. Yeah, thanks.”

“Tom’s new home,” Martha said. “Just as safe as he can be. And he can build himself a house or a shack or a teepee—whatever suits his fancy.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. I gotta take a whiz. My back teeth are floating,” Tizzie said.

“Well, if it takes her as long this time as it did the other two times, we’ll be here till Easter. Maybe I’d better give a rap on the door,” Buck said.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Martha said.

“I’ll go see what’s up. Be right back.”

“Gus, you’d better come here,” Buck called entering the dining room. “I can’t open the bathroom door and Tizzie doesn’t answer when I call her. Maybe something’s wrong.”

Gus pounded on the door, and Tom came up behind and shouted for Tizzie. After a few minutes of no response they decided to break in the door. Tizzie was there. Sprawled out flat on her back. She was breathing very shallowly and she had a very weak pulse. “Call 911, Buck,” Gus said, “I’ll tell the family what happened.”

Tom looked over at the brown shoulder sack tucked in between the toilet and the wall. Opening the window he tossed the bag out into the snow.

“That must be the hospital,” Gus said as he moved toward the phone. “I’ll get it.”

“Let’s hope she’s alright,” Sally said. “Whatever do you suppose happened? She seemed to be enjoying herself. Maybe a little, well, forward. But it is Christmas eve after all. It’s a gay time of year.”

“Whacked out, I’d say. She had something in that bag—some Christmas toys, I think,” Buck said.

“Where’d that bag get to anyway? I’ve been looking all over for it,” Martha said.

“I gave it to the medic. Medic’s got it,” Tom said wondering whether Martha would check this out by calling the hospital.

When Gus came back from answering the telephone, he announced that Tizzie was going to be OK. A couple of days in the hospital and then back to the detox. “Seems she got a bit too much heroin or something like that.”

“Oh, my,” Sally said. “I just don’t understand these young folk. But, I suppose we can thank God she’ll be alright.”

“Apparently she’s prone to seizures and it’s not the first time this has happened,” Gus continued. “They know her pretty well over at the hospital. Comes from a good family up by the river.”

“I thought she sounded well educated,” Bill said.

“I thought you said she was in AA, Buck. How come she’s using heroin if she’s in AA?” Bill asked.

“Happens all the time, my man. It’s the roll of the dice, the cut of the cards. Some make it, some don’t. Some walk in the door and never see the streets again. To others it’s a revolving door.”

“I guess there’s no hope for her,” Tom said.

“Tizzie, she’s a tough case. Said she had nothing with her. You don’t get that happy just from relieving yourself. She’s a fox, a sly fox,” Buck said.

“Well, she sure came on to me. Big time,” Bill said.

"I'm sure she didn't want to pick on somebody who might be able to return the overture--somebody like Tom," Sally said.

“I told her to cool it, but I ain’t no policeman,” Buck said. “She gotta do what she gotta do. Man, this could be the best day of her life. She may never have to go out again. Give time time, man.”

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? ‘Give time time?” Tom asked.

“Keep coming, Tom.”

“Old double-talk Buck. But, just so Tizzie’s OK. Me, I’ve had enough excitement for one day and that means it’s time to hit the hay before this weird mind starts turning on itself.

“Ah, come on, Tom. How about my new game,” Jamie said.

“Save it for tomorrow, Jamie. And I’ll see you folks then-- about two,” Tom said as he got up to leave.

“Merry Christmas, Tom. See you at two” everybody chimed in.

Chapter 28

Tom was wrapped in an old army blanket sitting before his campfire with a copy of Kerouac’s “On the Road.” He found his mind floating back into the tent, underneath the straw bed, beneath the plywood and canvas and plastic that shielded the bed from the cold.

He could see the piece of plywood on top of the canvas and plastic, and beneath that the lid of an old metal drum covering the hole. The hole where he hid those few things of value that he possessed.

Ain’t you learned nothing yet? All those things you heard with Buck. Just leave it alone. Tell them you just brought it back here for safekeeping. You didn’t know what to do with it so you brought it back here till you could figure out what to do with it. It belonged to Tizzie, but it didn’t seem right to give it to her. Buck? God knows what he’d do with it.

Tom awoke the next morning with a strong desire to take a more complete inventory of the purse he had so carefully hidden underneath his mattress. He was proud and elated that he had smoked just one joint.

Sissy nuzzled into the snow bank and gave a vigorous shake and barked until Gus arrived. Gus brushed away enough snow to see Tom’s nude body buried in the snow.

Tom was breathing very shallowly, and his body was stiff with cold. "Leebe me ta fug lone. Geg ou a ma ten," Tom said.

Gus rushed up to the camp and grabbed blankets and coats to wrap Tom in and carried him the mile down to the house.

“Martha, Martha,” he shouted as he neared the house. “Get an ambulance. Hurry. What’s the first aide for hypothermia? Tom’s half dead.”

“Your doing it," Martha said. “Oh, my God." She raced to the phone.

“Tom. Tom. Are you awake? Tom?” Martha said looking down on the hospital bed. The county rehab had treated Tom for hypothermia and given him a complete physical exam.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” Tom said not moving and not opening his eyes. He lay flat on his back covered by only a sheet.

“Gus wanted to come, but he had to work. The kids are still in school,” Martha said.

“I appreciate your coming,” Tom said.

Martha got up and moved over by the window. It was one of those rare warm winter days, and there was a group of patients gathered around the benches on the front lawn smoking cigarettes.

“Do you want to go outside, Tom? Are you allowed?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, shall I ask?” Martha said.

“That’d be OK,” Tom said.

“This ain’t easy, is it, Martha?” Tom said looking out toward the woods. They had managed to find a picnic table away from the other patients. The sun made comfortable what would otherwise still be a wintry day.

“I mean, I don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t either. The doctor gave me some pills. He said they should even out the way I feel. He says I’m not crazy, but I just get carried away. Real bad. Sometimes I get so carried away that I can’t get back. So when I can’t get back I just…well, you know… Then I crash. It’s all black and there’s nowhere to go.”

“I see. Well, you’re sounding like your old self. I mean your voice is strong,” Martha said.

“Yeah. And I feel like my old self in that way. Trouble is, I'm pretty confused--don’t know what to do next. Maybe Buck could help me look up George, the old navy guy from Cape Cod. I could always talk to George.

“Sure. That sounds like a fine idea. Do you want me to ask Buck to come and see you?” Martha asked.

“Well, maybe I should wait a few days. I’m not sure what they have planned for me. They say that there’s a program that will help me get back on my feet. Won’t cost me anything, but I got to do it their way. I’ll see,” Tom said.

“Just let me know. Anything we can do for you, Tom. Just let us know.” Martha said.

Wonder if anybody would ever trust again? What would Cindy and Jamie think? Would Martha trust me to spend time alone with Jamie—to take him fishing or hiking in the woods? Nobody here in Concord knew how bad it could be. Could it get worse? Is this a valley waiting for the next high and another valley—a series of highs and lows leading to the—the end? Who would want to be witness to such a life? Who would every think that their presence in such a life could do anything but get them one abuse after another? And Lisa? Would she have to know? In some way did she already know?

Chapter 29

At first Tom thought it was a fish splashing in the creek, but then he realized that he must have dozed off and missed the fact that Sissy was almost to where he had perched beneath the budding willow.

“Tom, hey, Tom. When did you get home? Good to see you.” It was Gus.

“Oh, I’ve been around a while,” Tom said.

“You OK?” Gus asked grabbing Sissy by the collar to settle her down.

“Yeah,” Tom threw his line over to the deep pool he had been stalking all afternoon.

“Well, you know, that kitchen’s still wanting some attention whenever you’re ready for it. Not to rush you, you understand,” Gus said.

Tom reeled in and threw the line again. He sat down and just looked toward the pool. His eyes betrayed a wonder that no one would think of trying to penetrate. Respecting this Gus turned upstream.

“Come on, Sissy,” he said. “We got some serious work to do before dinner.”

Son-of-a-bitch. Son-of-a-bitch. How do you figure that? Only problem is I don’t trust me. Don’t know what to do about that. Go with the flow. That’s what they told me. He’s asking me to come back and work on the kitchen, and I guess that’s what I’m supposed to do. Come back and say ‘hi’ to Jamie and Cindy. Just like that—walk in and say hi. Shit. I can’t do that. What am I supposed to say? I’m sorry cause I saw you cry when you came over to the hospital. I know you don’t know how to do this any better than I do. I just can’t do it. Shit. Go with the flow. If you look upstream, the water’s coming at you. If you look downstream, it’s going away from you. That’s your life man. Look upstream.

Tom looked around the lean-to hoping to find something interesting for dinner. He had been counting on fish, but for some reason he just hadn’t gotten a bite. As hard as this was to accept he had to swallow hard and find something else.

The sun was just setting through the cedars that edged his ‘property’ making it a good time to check the road. Most of the game was out scampering around for the last bits of chow and a drink of water to tide the night and the drivers couldn’t see too well coming round that big curve over on the highway. There’d always be enough of them that didn’t have their headlights on, and enough of them that found joy in aiming. He’d surely get a squirrel or two and most likely a groundhog or raccoon.

When he got over to the road he walked along the edge up to where the curve straightened out and then back in the other direction just as far. Nothing. Strange. There’s usually something. Even an old skunk. But, it must be one of those days.

He backed off from the road in the middle of the curve and sat in a clump of bushes hidden from traffic. He didn’t have long before the screech of brakes announced the possible arrival of dinner. When he stood up he saw a gray squirrel flopping in the middle of the road. It wasn’t going anywhere—except in a pot with some turnips and carrots. There was a good break in the traffic and Tom was set to run out and retrieve the little guy when somebody came racing out from the other side of the road, scooped up the squirrel, and darted back into the bushes.

Tom was dumbstruck. He had observed the capture, but he was too stunned to describe it to himself. Shaking his head he began to perceive exactly what had happened. It was a woman.

Tom raced across the road and searched around through the scrub pine, rose bush, and blueberry until he came upon Tizzie with a knife in her hand crouching over her prey. “Hey, Tizzie, what the fuck are you doing with my squirrel. Give me that goddamn thing before I take that knife and carve you a new tattoo.”

“Who the hell are you? Tom? Is that you, Tom?”

“Yeah, it’s Tom. And just what the hell are you doing with my dinner?”

“Dinner? Shit. I wouldn’t eat this garbage if I was starving to death,” Tizzie said.

“Well, just what the hell are you doing with it then?” Tom asked.

“It’s a piece of that fur, ah, quilt I making over there. I got a ways to go, but I won’t need it till October anyway,” Tizzie said.

“You just want the fur?” Tom said.

“Yeah. And you just want the rest of it? So quit pissing and give me a hand. I got a groundhog over there that I haven’t taken care of yet. I suppose you’d eat skunk if you could hold your nose at the same time?” Tizzie said.

“Nope, never tried that. But, groundhog. Now that’s good stuff. Sure you wouldn’t like to join me for dinner? Got some burdock and fresh skunk cabbage and fronds. Little bit of biscuit too.”

“Got any fish?” Tizzie said handing Tom the squirrel and the knife. “If you want the meat, you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

“No fish, Goddamit, no fish. You get out there and watch the road—and no goddamn skunks. You hear? They’re the one’s that look like your socks,” Tom said.

“Funny. Hold my sides,” Tizzie said as she went off in the direction of the road. She turned back to ask, “You got a place for me to sleep?”

Sunlight filtered in through the smoke hole in the teepee as Tom reached across the straw mattress hoping to continue last night’s unexpected, but not unwelcome, pleasure. What he found instead was only empty space between him and the side canvass. He sat up looking all around and then charging out of the tent.

“Tizzie, Tizzie.” Her knapsack was gone and he had seen her put the purse in the knapsack the night before.

“Damn shit, what the fuck?” he shouted.

Tom pulled on his shirt and jeans and grabbed a hunk of dried squirrel.

“So there you are?” Tom shouted to Tizzie. She was swimming down at the far end of the pond and didn’t hear Tom. Tom spotted her clothes near a birch tree on the sunlit side of the pond and moved toward them. He sat down and stroked the dress she had laid out beside her knapsack. Inside the knapsack he found the coke. He looked across the pond at Tizzie. He was fairly certain she noticed him, but she continued swimming with little apparent interest in anything other than her overhand stroke.

Tom took the bag of coke from the knapsack and waved it toward Tizzie as he slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.

Tom threw Tizzie her towel as she climbed out of the pond grasping the roots of the birch tree protruding from the bank along the water’s edge.

“Hey, thanks Tom. You ought to try it. I bet it’s all of forty-five degrees. Wake you up.” Tizzie said.

“Not me. June’s soon enough for me.”

Tizzie dried herself and stretched out beside Tom letting the sunlight play across her well-tanned body.

“Give me my knapsack so I can get my sweats, will ya? These stones are a little rough.”

She cast glances at Tom as she searched the knapsack finally pulling out the sweatpants and braced herself on her back to wiggle into them.

“That’s better.”

Tom liked her better nude, but he was cautious not to give a feeling that his only appreciation of her was sexual.

“You know,” Tizzie said, “I saw you coming down out of the trees and into the sun. You looked pretty good to me. So I was wondering, yeah just wondering, you see, if I could stay here a while.” She lifted her head to look at Tom and turned on her side.

Tom was drawing little stick figures in the dirt at his feet. Neither one said anything for a while. “Well, how do you suppose that’d work? Well, Maybe it could, but none of this shit” Tom said reaching into his pocket for the coke and tossing the bag at Tizzie.

“Where’d that come from,” Tizzie said.

“Look, Tom. I don’t want this. I was going to ditch it, honest. That’s why I brought it here. To dump it in the pond. Then I wasn’t sure. Maybe it would hurt the fish or something. Tell me what to do with it, Tom. Please.”

“Well, just give it back over here. I’ll take care of it,” Tom said.

“Here,” Tizzie said handing the sack over to Tom. “I’d be your woman, Tom, but only if you’d like that. Not forever, understand that. I don’t do forever. And I never walk in someone else’s tracks. Don’t want anyone fussing over me all the time either.”

Putting the coke back into his jeans Tom continued to draw and to inspect the figures he had drawn. Finally he looked at Tizzie and said, “That’s just about the way I’d want it too. I mean I’d want you if you wanted me. But only if you really wanted me. Make that place down on the new piece of land something we’d both enjoy. Figure out how to get along somewhat better than this here.”

Tom got up and stretched. Looking down at Tizzie he said, “I feel good being with you, Tizzie. It felt that way last night, but I thought maybe that was only having a hard-on after all this time.”

“I like you to have a hard-on when you see me. I think I’m a pretty good-looking chick. I think I’m pretty neat. Well, without the drugs. I need someone like you more than I need the drugs. I guess I think you’re pretty neat.”

Tom sat down by Tizzie and remained silent for a long time while Tizzie closed her eyes stretching out on her back with her hands behind her head.

Finally Tom said, “You know how to fix skunk?”

“Sure, boil the piss out of it,” Tizzie said

“I guess you do, ” Tom said as he shed his shirt and shorts and rolled over on top of Tizzie.

“Careful, Tom. I don’t want no babies right now.”
“What I’m supposed to do?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said.

“Anybody home?” a voice called from the bank of the pond where Tom and Tizzie had retired to clean and cool themselves.

“Buck, come on down, Buck,” Tizzie called. “It’s a mite chilly, but you’ll get used to it. Tom’s learning right fast.”

“No thanks. I keep my ice cubes in the fridge—looks like you’ve found yourself a friend, Tom. Gosh darn, I’ll be. Is this a permanent change of address, Tizzie? Or just a one night stand?” Buck said.

“About as permanent as addresses get with me,” Tizzie said. “If anybody’s looking for me, they’ll know where to look.

“Actually,” Buck said, “I was after the both of you. Thank God for double headers. Ran into George last night, Tom. He’d like to see you and Tizzie.”

Turning to walk toward Tom’s camp Buck continued, “I’d like to sit down with both of you over a nice hot cup of tea. That is after you get some clothes on. See ya.”

“Wonder what he wants?” Tom asked as he and Tizzie made their way to the camp.

“George? I’d guess he wonders where we’ve been. Beyond that your guess is as good as mine.

“Where’s the tea,” Buck shouted to Tom who had just made his way through the bramble bushes with Tizzie. “If you light the fire I’ll get the rest of it.”

“No fire, not in daylight.” Tom said.

“Well how the fuck are we gonna sit down over a cup of hot tea if there’s no fir to heat the water. What are you, man, a magician?”

“That’s about right. Sit you ass over there by Tizzie and I’ll handle the rest.” Tom said.

He went into the tent and quickly emerged with a small tin and three well-weathered stone mugs. He set all of this in front of Tizzie and, grabbing a canvas gourd, he fetched water from the brook running alongside his clearing. He filled each cup from the gourd and dug down beneath the fire pit until he could uncover the top of a stone storage chest. Using a small pair of tongs he carefully removed three small stones from the box and dropped one stone in each cup. The water sizzled and then began to bubble. Tom dropped some tea leaves in each cup and, after replacing the stone box, joined Buck and Tizzie for tea.

“Well, I’ll be—I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch if you ain’t a magician. Have I ever—have I ever seen the likes of this,” Buck said. “Holy fuck, holy fuck. Where’s the wine? I didn’t notice. Did you walk across that stream without getting your feet wet? Man, this is real—real tea.”

“So what’s this George wants? How is he, anyway? Been a while since I talked with him. Let’s see—must be going on ten years. Cape Cod and the Officers’ mess.”

“Well, when he saw you at the meeting, he wasn’t at all surprised.” Buck said. “He’d like to come out and see the both of you. He got to know Tizzie a little when she used to go to meetings and he’d just like to catch up with the both of you. Trade war stories, I guess. What ya say?”

Tom looked at Tizzie and Tizzie looked at Tom.

“Well, I guess so,” Tom said, “but not here. See if we can do it at Gus’. Maybe sometime next week. We got some things need doing here and they can’t wait. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday—late afternoon.”

Chapter 30

Tom had made a list of the things they’d need to begin work on the cabin, and, waiting for dark, he and Tizzie walked around Concord looking at small houses to get some ideas of the exact nature of their cabin.

“See that yellow one over there,” Tom said. “A porch like that would make a good place to watch for game off in the edge of the woods. And a window like that one facing south would help to heat the place in winter. I like the pitch of the roof on that one—won’t give way in heavy snows, but it’d be a bitch to build. Something to keep in mind.”

“I think that one’s about the right size,” Tizzie said. “Maybe one big room for living and a smaller one for sleeping and playing. We could make a bed just about the size of the whole room—or maybe even the whole house. Just crawl in from the doorway. Do we really want windows in the small room?”

“For what?” Tom asked. “Let’s put all the windows in the big room. Looks like that’s what they’ve done in that gray house. One big window looking out over the porch and smaller ones on each side. Everything’s got to open for the warmer days. Let’s make it 20x26 with a big 10x6 bed, a 10x6 kitchen, and a 20x20 room with a fireplace for living and cooking. Make the roof face east west. The porch can go the whole 20’ of the living area. No paint—cedar shingles.”

By the time they had pretty well decided how the cabin should look it was getting dark enough for “shopping.” They had made a list of remodeling jobs that they had come upon while looking around town. When they approached the first job, they were immediately made aware of a large German Shepherd guarding the site and wisely decided to bypass this. The second one on the list offered no such impediment and they sat on the bank across the street surveying the situation. Tom estimated that they were about three miles from the camp and less than one-quarter mile from a wooded area that would provide a cache to store the items they found. It would take them several hours to move things from the cache to their campsite. They could probably leave things in the cache for days, but Tom preferred to get things to the campsite as soon as possible.

“Looks clear to me,” Tom said. “We’ll have to contend with an occasional car—just duck and hide when you see one coming. Won’t be anybody walking around outside tonight. Let’s go.”

“Jesus, Tizzie. Look at this mess of 2x10’s. Just what the good man ordered. We’ll need about a dozen of these. Let’s not be greedy. I think we can carry four of them at a time—two under each arm with you on one end and me on the other. Let’s go.

With the 2x10’s in the cache Tom and Tizzie were wondering what to do next.

“I don’t think we should take anymore from that place right now. We have enough for the footings. Let’s concentrate on concrete and nails. I already got all the tools and a good supply of odds and ends.”

It took them some time to locate sacks of cement and sand and when they did, they had a good distance to the cache. Tom could carry two twenty-five pound sacks on each shoulder, but Tizzie could only carry one. After several trips they had what they needed and were able to find ten and twenty-pound nails without much further searching.

Tom and Tizzie rested in the cache feasting on some beef jerky swilled down with spring water from the gourd Tom had brought along.

“Better sit here for about a half hour,” Tom said. “We've got plenty of time before dawn, so let’s not rush. I think we’d better move the 2x10’s tonight and hide the rest of the stuff until tomorrow night. Got about 5 miles round trip. We’ll hide the other stuff over there beyond those bushes, and then we’ll start with the 2x10’s—four at a time.

Both Tom and Tizzie were exhausted after two weeks of gathering materials for their cabin during the nights and love making during the days. They found little time for sleep and even less time to explore their new surrounds. Food and water were running low, and Tom had yet to figure just where to get what they would need in this new environment.

“Tizzie, Tizzie, wake up,” Tom said. “We’re going to stash everything here and head back to the old camp. We’ve got to get our bearings. Either that or I’m heading for the Common.”

“Why don’t we just head for the Common?” Tizzie said. “I’m beat to shit and if I don’t get a drink, I’m going to explode. Nobody’s gonna mess around out here, let’s go. I’ll be dressed in a jiff.”

“No, come on, we got to put this shit away. Then we’ll see. A drink sounds pretty good, but nothing until we hide out stash. Let’s go! Ass end up.”

As they were moving their supplies to a safe place deep in the briars Tom started to think about the next move. They were supposed to get together with George and Buck later in the evening. His remarks about the Common were just scattered thoughts born of fatigue and stress. Their midnight requisitions were exhilarating, but there was that constant fear of being detected. Even if detected they would probably get away with a slap on the wrist, but it could mean an end to their least costly source of building material.

“Looks like that’s about it, Tom,” Tizzie said. “Let’s go get that drink—I mean those drinks.”

“Hold on a second, darlin’. I think you’re forgetting something.”

“I got my panties on. What more do you expect?” Tizzie said.

“Well, first of all we haven’t eaten for a couple of days. And second we’re supposed to get together with George and Buck later on. Eating comes first so let’s go see what we can rustle up.”

“OK, OK, I’ll go for the eating, but fuck George and fuck Buck—oh, I like that—fuck Buck, Buck fuck, fuck-a-Buck—anyway it’s eat and then we’re off to the Common. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Get the fuck off me, you big son-of-a-bitch,” Tizzie screamed from the position lying flat on her back on the ground trapped beneath Tom’s full weight. “Let me up right now or I’ll kill you the next chance I get. I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you—prick--bastard.”

“Hold down, hold down,” Tom said breathing hard trying to catch his breath after the long chase.

Tom had just stashed the last of the supplies and was starting to tell Tizzie that they’d have to see George before any trip to the Common when he became aware that he was talking to himself. He looked around only to discover that she was gone. Quickly he went into the teepee and fetched a good length of rope and headed for the pond at breakneck speed. He had no idea just when she sensed his change of plan, but he knew she’d be headed toward the pond and then pick up the path leading to Rt. 2 hoping to hitch a ride into town. Just as he got in sight of the pond he spotted her rounding the opposite corner of the pond at full speed. He could sense he was gaining on her and then that she had become aware of the chase. She was all out, but no match for him and he caught up with her halfway to Rt. 2.

He called to her at no avail so he decided to stop her with a flying tackle. As the two loosely connected bodies flew through the air Tizzie turned toward him and began scratching at his face. Once on the ground he was atop her and had her under control. “Are you coming peacefully or are you going to make me do it the hard way?” he said.

“No way. No way,” she began to sob. “You promised. You promised we’d go to town just as soon as we finished. But I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll only let me up. Tom. I’ll go with you. Just let me up.”

Tom rolled off Tizzie and she jumped to her feet and immediately tried to continue down the path. Tom quickly grabbed her ankle and pulled her back down beside him. Fetching the rope from around his waist he made a loose collar around her neck and tied one end of the rope to her crossed hands.

“Now get up,” he said. “Get up or I’ll drag you up to Gus’. If you walk with me, you’ll be just like a horse in tether. If you resist, you’ll end up being dragged along the ground like a sack of potatoes and you’ll have one damned sore neck by the time we arrive.”

“Get up,” Tom said standing over Tizzie.

“Fuck off, shithead. I ain’t going nowhere with you. I’ll visit you in hell.”

Tom started off if the direction of the pond dragging Tizzie behind him.

“Stop. Stop. You’re killing me. Jesus Christ, you’re going to pay for this. Just you wait and see.”

Sitting up and in a calmer voice Tizzie said, “Ok, OK, I’ll get up. I’ll walk behind you like some Goddamn donkey ass. But, believe me if we don’t go to the Common just as soon as we see George, our ‘thing’, or whatever you want to call it, is done, finished, kaput. You can find somebody else’s panties because mine are no longer available. Understand, Fuhrer, understand, Himmler, Goebbles, Genghis Kahn?”

When they had arrived at Gus’, Tom tied Tizzie to the porch railing, “Listen now, I’m going inside to get in touch with Buck and George. I want you to stay right here like a nice little girl until I get back. Even if you wanted to get loose, I doubt you’d have much luck.”

“Yes, Daddy big balls. Don’t worry.”

Tom went around to the back of the house and rang the bell.

“Hey, Tom, Gus said. Where’ve you been? George and Buck just left. Said to call if and when you came. You know where the phone is.”

“Listen Gus. Could you call them? Tizzie and I are tied up for a few minutes. We’ll be right along. I just wanted to know what the plan was before I brought her along.”

“Of course, Tom. They’re over at Buck’s and I’m sure they can be here in about twenty minutes. That OK?”

“Sure. I’ll get Tizzie.”

Tom removed the noose from Tizzie’s neck and led her into the den.

“Sit over there,” he said motioning to the chair beside the fireplace and taking the chair nearest her for himself. He arranged a loose knot around her to allow her to be comfortable, but not loose enough so that she could get free without his becoming aware of it.

“They’ll be here in half an hour,” Gus said coming back into the den. “Tizzie, Tom?” he said. “What in the world is this? I’ve heard of tying the knot, but this is going a little far.”

“Oh, just a little private joke,” Tom said.

“Private joke, my ass,” Tizzie said. “I want the sheriff here and I want him right now. I’m charging this asshole with rape, assault, treatment unbefitting a lady, and whatever else comes to mind. He’s denied me all the basic human rights that this country was founded upon, and I want the law to come down on him with all the vengeance and fury in its power. Hanging is too good. Dissection would be more in order.”

“Tizzie, Tizzie, you’re clearly upset. Tom, what is this all about?” Gus asked.

“Well, we agreed that it is important for us to get together with George and Buck, but, at the last moment, Tizzie didn’t want to come along. So, I brought her. If she can agree to behave like a lady, I’ll remove the rope from her hands, and we’ll proceed in peace. It’s really up to her,” Tom said.

“Tizzie?” Gus asked. “What do you think? Can you calm down?”

“Well, OK, but I want everybody to know that this…this guy, Tom, isn’t to be trusted. He says one thing then does another. I’ll drop all charges, but I want him to know that I’m going to keep an extra eye on him in the future. He's my man, and I have plans for him, but he's going to have to learn to behave proper. Let's just kiss and makeup.”

Gus got up when the bell rang and welcomed Buck and George into the den.

“Tom! Tom Schultz!” George said. “You old son-of-a-gun. I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever meet again. I’m off for California in the morning, you know. Great to see you. And Tizzie. Haven’t seen you around meetings lately. Been wondering what’s happened to you.”

Tom got up and went over to embrace George.

“You know, from that first day when I saw you at the meeting I was never sure that you were the guy that used to work for me at the Officers’ Mess. Now I know. I believed what Buck was telling me, but I still had my doubts that that part of my past would ever come back home to roost. Well, here it is and it does feel weird, but here it is.”

“Let’s everybody grab a chair and I’ll get the coffee,” Gus said. “Just throw your coats over there on the table. Be right back.”

“Little hard to believe, ain’t it?” George said. “I remember the Tom with the convertible, the book, the golf clubs, and…George hesitated throwing a glance at Tizzie…and all the girls. Sure we knew you drank, but you seemed to have it under control. That is, until the trip to Atlantic City and then the problems at work and with Mary. Seems alcohol just grabbed you and took you where it wanted to. There was no more you.”

“Here you go, gang. Grab yourselves some cake or a sandwich, both if you want. There’s plenty more and there’s no end to the coffee,” Gus said as he entered the den.

Tom sat in silence watching the scene as the others dug in.

“Don’t want nothing, Hon?" Tizzie called to Tom. “Here take a bite of this,” she said reaching as far as she could with a half-eaten chicken salad sandwich. “You haven’t had anything since breakfast, and I’m going to need you later on tonight. Come on, dear.”

“Well, Tom,” George said taking a chair near the fireplace. Gus had arranged the chairs in a loose circle with end tables for the food and coffee. “I include Tizzie in what I’m about to say, and Buck is aware of all that is going on currently. Anyway, I came out here to seek you out at Mary’s request--to act as her intermediary. When I met Buck and discovered his relationship to you, I considered myself quite fortunate. To be quite direct Mary wants to divorce you and to work out visiting privileges for you to see Lisa. There are, however, certain conditions on your part that will have to be met. Unfortunately, you won’t have much say. So you might consider what I am about to say as a list of demands. Take it or leave it.”

Tom looked first over the heads of the others sitting in the den—at his fine craftsmanship in the interior finishing of the den, at the paintings he had selected, reprints of Monet and Renoir, the young ladies of Sergeant above the mantel. Then he made a quick survey of the other participants in this little execution of Tom, father and husband. First he focused on George, the chief executioner and then Gus who would pull the hood over Tom’s head. Buck, yeah, Buck, the court jester was needed to whip the crowds into a frenzy. Lastly, Tizzie, poor, sad Tizzie. Tizzie, the innocent victim, the girl left behind. Poor me, poor me, pour me a drink. Slowly he began to speak.

“Mary wants, Mary wants. That’s all I hear. That’s all I’ve ever heard. No more, no more. I’m going to tell you what Tom wants. You can take that back to Mary and tell her that that’s the way it’s going to be. First of all, no divorce. I’ve got a wife and a woman and I like it that way and it’s not going to change. Where I live is my business and my woman’s business and nobody else’s. Come looking for me and all you’ll find is ashes. Then turn around and there’ll be a resurrection. So just stay away. The ‘no visitors’ sign is a permanent part of whatever quarters I choose. Now, Lisa. Let’s just look at Lisa. Look at her letters, my visits. Who do you think Lisa would take in a free choice? Mary? Ha! Ha! Ha! Not on your ass. One night, when the moon’s behind the clouds and the wind is whipping through the shutters, I'll be coming. Yeah, I’m coming to take Lisa away. And she’ll go willingly. And it’ll be me and my woman and my girl. Not nobody’s ever gonna mess with that.”

Tom rose quickly to his feet and stood over George, “You take that to Mary, George. Tell her to kiss my ass. Yeah, to kiss my ass and look after her own soul ‘cause the devil’s in her words.”

Tom raced over to Tizzie and reaching down grabbed her hand. “Come on Tizzie, let’s go. I made you a promise earlier today and I aim to keep it.”

As Tom and Tizzie proceeded on toward the road into the city Tom took a sudden turn into the woods.

“We’re going to stop by the property first. Won’t take but a minute,” Tom said.

“What’s ya up to?” Tizzie asked.

“You’ll see. You’ll see. Those sons-of-bitches are going to pay for this. Nobody’s going to tell me what to do and what not to do. Not them, not that Goddamn Mary, and not you. So just be quiet and do what I tell you.”

When they approached the property, Tom headed for the cache of supplies. Tizzie stood at the entrance to the clearing calling to Tom, “What’re you going to do Tom? Why did we come out here? This ain’t the way to town.”

“Tizzie, for the last time, I told you to shut your mouth. Now bring that can of kerosene over here and help me drag the lumber and stuff from the cache. This town is going to see the biggest bonfire in its history and we’ll be looking back at it on our way to the Common. Come on, now, bring the kerosene and give me a hand.”

“No, Tom. Oh, no. This is our house where we’re moving to from the camp. Remember, Tom, the big room and the bedroom and the deck and the yard. Tom, you wouldn’t. Would you?”

“Fuck all those bastards. Goddamn nobody’s telling me to build the house I was going to build all the time. The house I planned and dreamed about. It’s my house, not theirs. Telling me to build it makes it theirs and I ain’t having any part in anything of theirs. I say fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. Gimme that goddamn kerosene or I’ll fry your ass along with the rest of this shit. Tizzie, are you with me or with them. Your choice.”

“Listen to me, Tom. Please, please.” Tizzie said.

“And that goddamn Mary. Goddamn it. I’m her husband and if there’s to be any divorce, it’s going to be mine. Son-of-a-bitch, I’ll go down there to the judge in the morning and tell him that I want a divorce. I will divorce that woman, that weight around my neck. By tomorrow night I’ll be a free man. Goddamn you Mary, I divorce you. I am free.”

“Tom, you need a woman, someone to help you along the way.”

“You’re my woman. That’s all I need.”

“But, now that you’re a free man, I could be your wife. Tizzie Schultz. How’s that sound?”

“Hang on here. Did they tell me to marry you?”

“No, not that I know of,” Tizzie said.

“Well then, it’s OK. You can be Tizzie Schultz. Now bring me the kerosene.”

“Now wait, Tom. How about Lisa? Where’s Lisa supposed to live after you, well, kidnap her? You’re about to burn down Lisa’s house.”

“Lisa’s my daughter and she’ll do what I tell her to do. If I want her to live here, she’ll live here. If I tell her to live somewhere else, she’ll live somewhere else. She’s my girl. Don’t ever forget that. You may be Tizzie Schultz and she may be Lisa Schultz, but she’s my girl. Not yours. Got that?”

“Tom, listen, Tom. Before we do the fire. Well, couldn’t we go down to the pond? I’ll go for a swim and when I come out I’ll lie on the big rock to let the cool breeze dry me off. You can take off your clothes and lie down on top of me. Then…”

Chapter 31

A blue jay calling from deep within the bramble wakened Tom to sunlight filtered through the pines surrounding the property. He and Tizzie were bundled together under the lean-to that Tom had constructed a few weeks earlier when they had hauled the building materials from town and were too tired to hike it all the way to his camp. He got together a breakfast of dried rabbit and soda biscuit and headed to the pond for some fresh water.

The winter had been unusually mild, and while mountains of snow covered the area that Tom and Tizzie had chosen for the house, Tom knew that the ground underneath would be pretty frost-free. Their first task would be to clear away the snow in order to lay out dimensions of the house and start digging the trench for the foundation.

Tom went over to the lean-to and shook Tizzie awake, “Come on, Tizzie, let’s go. This house won’t build itself.”

“So, we really are going to build it after all? Where do I begin?”

Clearing the snow was relatively easy since Gus had some men into the property the previous summer to clean an area for Tom to build the house on. They cut what trees they had to, removed the stumps, and burned the area down to bare earth. Tom measured off a square in the center of the cleared area so that there would be a 30-foot border between the house and the bramble bushes. Digging the trench for the foundation was a laborious job involving removing boulders and chopping through remaining roots of pine, oak, and elm trees. They were making progress, but the trench could not be dug in one day nor could they work without frequent breaks. On one of these breaks Tizzie announced that she was going for a swim and shouldn’t be expected back very soon. When she did return, she found Tom sitting within the house space with his feet dangling in the trench. He had a pencil and paper in hand and a serious look on his face.

Tizzie approached from the woods and looking down at Tom said, “What are you up to?”

“Writing a letter to Mary.”

“Saying?”

“Saying she’s been divorced by me and I’m coming to get Lisa. And I don’t want any trouble. And she can kiss my ass on Sunday afternoon.”

“Whoa, Tom, whoa. Calm down. You know trouble always comes looking for trouble. Ain’t you learned the best way to skin a rabbit is a little at a time?”

“How do you know so goddamn much? When’d you ever skin no rabbit anyhow? You put your nose in my business, you’d better be ready to smell shit.”

“It’s our business, Tom. Not just your business. All I’m saying is ‘Easy Does It.’ Just tell her you talked with George and you’re thinking about things. Tell her we’re willing to discuss things with her.”

“Goddamn woman. Can’t I know anything? Here, you write the letter. Let me get on with the foundation.”

Tom threw the pencil and paper to the ground and, picking up the shovel, slipped down into the foundation trench. “Make sure you tell her I’m pissed off and she’s going to pay. I don’t want any trouble from her. Let her know who’s boss.”

With each shovel full of dirt he threw from the trench Tom puffed a breath of “Damn woman.”

Things were going smoothly until he hit a boulder that he quickly knew was too big for him to remove without help. “Hey, Tiz, come on over here and give me a hand with this rock. Bring that big pry bar.”

“Hang on a minute. I’m just about to finish this letter.”

Just then Tizzie came over with the pry bar, “OK, get off your ass and let’s get that baby out of there. You look like you’ve solved all the problems the world can bear for some time.”

“You can park the humor section over there in the writing department. What we need here is more back muscle and less lip. I’ll lift and you put those smaller rocks underneath. Roll it onto the tarps and we’ll drag it out of the trench.”

“Need a hand with that?” Tom and Tizzie looked up to see Gus and Buck standing above the trench.

“Get over on the other side of the trench, Buck, and grab those straps and throw them over to Gus when we get the rock on the tarp.”

When they had dragged the rock from the trench and rolled it safely away, they all sat down on the ground for a breather.

“Get that canvas of water, Tizzie, and break out some of those apples,” Tom said.

“Whew-ye, get many more of those ya oughta build this here motherfucker somewheres else,” Buck said.

“How deep you going with the foundation?” Gus asked.

“Three feet ought to put us safe below frost line. Don’t you think?” Tom said.

“That’s what they did for our house. It’s the conventional wisdom here ‘bouts. Are you going to have enough money for all the materials you’ll need?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get by. Tizzie and I always manage to figure something out?”

“I have a hunch you do and I’m not asking for details. So three feet it should be.”

“Well, I’m going with that. Here, have some water. Take some of those apples. They’re Macs gathered last fall. Keep real well in the fruit cellar.”

“You ain’t got a house. How can anybody have a cellar without a house? Makes no sense,” Buck said.

“Oh, Christ, I just call it a cellar. You gotta fuss over everything anybody says. Don’t ya Buck? We’ll it’s just a big deep hole out by the camp. Lined it with plastic and burlap to keep squash, potatoes, onions, burdock, corn, beans—all sorts of stuff that’ll keep at just above freezing. Christ, Buck, you wouldn’t last five minutes outside a couch and a TV set.”

“Well, ya still can’t have a cellar without a house. Maybe you should call it a cold hole, or…”

“Enough, enough.” said Gus. “Tom, George asked us to follow up on what he proposed last night concerning Mary. I plan to keep in touch with him, and he, in turn, will keep in touch with Mary. It’s unlikely he’ll ever make his way back here anytime soon. So, Tom, your sudden exit last night left us without much to go on. I’m glad to see that both you and Tizzie are safe and, apparently, sane this morning. Have you had any further thoughts about what George had to say?”

“I’ve written Mary a letter,” Tizzie said.

“Yeah, she wrote it, but I told her what to say. And I’m going to sign it. It’s from me, not us.”

“OK, OK,” Gus said with considerable impatience. “Let’s hear it.”

Tizzie went over to the cache to get the letter she had composed and turned toward the men. “Dear Mary,” she began,

“I would like to thank you for your Christmas card and let you know how much it has meant to me…”

“Hold on here, hold on.” Tom got to his feet and started toward Tizzie. “I never said anything like that. Give me that goddamn letter. If you can’t get it right, just leave it alone. Give me that, give me that.”

Gus jumped to his feet and went after Tom grabbing him by the arm. “Tom, Tom, cool down. Just let Tizzie read the letter. After that you’ll have all the time in the world to give your version. Please, Tom.”

“Well, alright, but I don’t like anybody putting words into my mouth. Not even if it’s the woman I lo... I mean, not even if it’s my woman. I haven’t decided about the rest yet, but I’m going to try to trust her as long as I get the final say.”

“Alright, Tizzie, continue. And let there be no further interruptions by anybody,” Gus said turning to give a hard look at Buck.

“OK, let me start over:

Dear Mary,

I’d like to thank you for your Christmas card and let you know how much it has meant to me to hear from you. What a surprise to see George last night and to hear from you again, but this time, through George.

I’d like you to know that I agree in essence with what George had to say. Let me review in words that are more comfortable to me. As of this date and with whatever legal maneuvers are necessary I, Tom Schultz, do divorce from you, Mary Richards and make no claim whatsoever to any and all possessions and properties that belong to you and you, in turn, make no claim whatsoever to any and all possessions and properties that belong to me. Let it be as though we had never married.

I am in the process of constructing a home on a parcel of land that is known to Mr. Gustav Schneiderman of 154 North River Road in the Town of Concord, Massachusetts. Mr. Schneiderman is my agent and will be my official spokesperson. Any contact with me shall go through Mr. Schneiderman. He will attest to the fact that I have a proper home on land owned by me in the Town of Concord. This is all you will ever know concerning my whereabouts and this will be sufficient for all purposes.

My daughter, Lisa, shall arrive at Mr. Schneiderman’s residence at the termination of school this spring for the purpose of staying in my home for the summer and until school resumes in the fall. I expect you to pay her transportation costs and to provide any clothing, etc. that she might need for the summer.

As soon as my divorce from you is final I will become married to Ms. Tizzie Shunterlog. Tizzie and I shall take up residence in our new home on May 1 of this year. This is the home where Lisa will spend the summer under the loving care of her cherished father and her beloved mother (forget the step-).

I wish you well in all of this and look forward to a speedy resolution.

Sincerely,

Tom

Tom jumped up and down shaking his fists and tossing his head. “No way, no way. Where’s the ‘fuck Mary?’ I told you, Tizzie, I told you. Tell her, ‘Fuck you, Mary. You’ve been running everything all these years, and now it’s time for a change. Now I’m the boss. I got me a home and my woman and I’m the boss. You can kiss my ass if you think I’m listening to you anymore.’ Where’s all that in that letter. Here give that goddamn thing to me. I’ll show you how to write a letter, by damn.”

“Tom, Tom,” Gus said getting up to put his arm around him. “Look, Tom, nobody’s trying to tell you what to think. And nobody’s trying to tell you what to say out here on your own land. The only thing we’re trying to do is to get you to write a letter to Mary that will get you what you want. Understand that, Tom. What is it you want the most?”

“Here, Tom,” Tizzie said bringing the canvass of water over to him. Take a drink of this. Settle down. Remember what we talked about last night? About how we’d all go swimming—you and Lisa and me. About how the three of us could share the bedroom and you’d teach Lisa to fish and clean the road kill and all those things. Isn’t that what you really want, Tom? Sure, say ‘fuck you, Mary’ for all the shit she gave you all these years. Fuck her till she can’t see straight. But, Lisa. Lisa here with us for the whole summer. Remember that, Tom.”

“Oh, shit, I’ll sign the goddamn letter. You mail it. But when that judge looks me in the eye and says: ‘You, Tom Schultz, in divorcing Mary Schultz are now a free man with full rights to have Lisa Schultz in your home for the entire summer of this year,’ I’m going to turn to Mary and with all the spite and meanness I can muster I’m going to say—‘Fuck you, Mary Richards, and the boat you came over on. Yeah, fuck you, Mary Richards.’ Then I’m going to turn on my heals and march out of that courtroom like the man I am. And, Tizzie, you’re going to be by my side just as long as the sun rises in the east. Tizzie, if I don’t love you, then whatever I feel will have to do until the real thing comes along. Let’s get into town and mail this thing before I change my mind.”

Several weeks passed during which the foundation was completed and the 2x10s, well drenched in preservative, were joined together upon the foundation to form the base of the 20’x26’ house. Tom and Tizzie had just completed construction of the one side of the house and were getting ready to hoist it into place using ropes tied to the elm nearest the house.

“You guys are making some great progress. Let me give you a hand getting that up,” Gus called as he approached the property through the brambles on the south side.

“Well aren’t you just in time,” Tom said. “This first side’s a bitch and I was just wondering if the two of us could make it. Let’s you and me get it up into place and Tizzie can secure it to the footings. Grab that other rope, Gus, and here we go.”

“Quick, Tizzie,” Tom shouted. “Quick, before the damn thing slips. That a girl.”

“Whew, that’ll call for a long drink of water. Here, Gus,” Tizzie said.

The three of them stood there admiring their efforts. The form of the house was becoming evident. The house was surrounded by elm, oak and pine with a 30 foot clearing all around. Isolation from any casual intruder was complete with a broad hedge of thick bramble and pine around the entire area. Entrance to the area around the house could only be secured by knowing the key to the maze of bramble.

“A job well done,” Gus said. “You’re going to be living in this house before you know it. And before you know it you’re going to have to face up to what Mary has in store for you. Here, read this. It came in the mail from George just this morning.”

Tom took the letter from Gus and went over and sat on the foundation. Tizzie quickly joined him. “Tom,” it began:

I am in receipt of your letter of two weeks prior and it is the intent of the present letter to frame a resolution to our ‘situation.’ Words could not be found to express the joy in my heart to again think of myself as Mary Richards. Whether or not this will erase the misery that I have endured all these years masquerading as Mary Schultz is an open matter, but it cannot help be other than healing to shed the odious appellation forced upon me by your overactive sex gland. If your considerable ego requires that you divorce me rather than some other arrangement, so be it. What is important to me is that I am, once and for all, rid of you. I want nothing from you (not that you have or ever have had anything to offer) and it would require God, himself, to wrest anything of mine for your pleasure. I trust that the next baby sitter, Tizzie, if that is other than a misspelling, will pamper you in ways that my stomach has not allowed me. Congratulations and I shall dance, not at your wedding, but to my freedom. Mazel tov.

Now on to the main arena. Lisa has but one mother and that is I. This is as it has always been and shall always be. If Lisa chooses to call this other woman something other than ‘step-mother’ (and I could suggest a number of alternatives not becoming a lady of my dignity), then that is Lisa’s prerogative even though I plan to instruct Lisa in terms of her conduct in your presence. Be clear from the very beginning that, no matter how many houses you build and no matter how many w… you acquire, you will not have Lisa for an entire summer. I plan to ask the court to give me sole custody of Lisa for these next two years until she reaches the age of 18. I will allow Lisa to visit you on selected weekends at your expense and will quickly withdraw any such privileges should you fail to adhere to my demands—to the letter.

I have written to Judge Kilgore requesting divorce on the grounds that I have been an unfaithful spouse, if not carnally, then certainly in spirit. I can think of no individual more loathsome to me than you, Tom Schultz, but I will hold no grudge. May there be peace so long as you religiously adhere to my conditions concerning Lisa’s visits to you. Fail in this and you will spend the next two years wishing that you could catch even a glimpse of your daughter.

I am informing Lisa of the nature of this arrangement.

Mary Richards

Tizzie had finished reading the letter before Tom had and she reached one arm around Tom’s neck and put her free hand on his arm. “Don’t start, Tom. Don’t get going with another war dance. This isn’t the final word and it all comes from hate and hurt. Let’s walk up to Gus’ with him and see what Martha has for lunch. Some nice cold lemonade would be just fine. Come on, Tom, let me help you up. Tell me how it feels to be so angry and disappointed. Tell me you don’t have to do what Mary says. You’re a free man with the respect of those of us who love you. You don’t have to have any more tantrums. Those are something that were, Tom. Not are. Let’s go, Tom—one step at a time. Come on, Gus.”