doing a rush job on an SUV out back? Then I'll pitch in and lend you a sleuthing hand."
"Sounds like a plan. What time?"
"I should wind it up around sevenish."
"Good. Meantime I’ll fire up a cigarette."
"When did you take up the nasty habit?"
"All hunted desperados smoke cigarettes."
"Of course they do. See you at sevenish. Ta-ta, sweetheart."
Esquire returned to his upholstery makeover of a client's SUV, and I thought of heading on home, but if Mr. Ogg had sent his welcoming committee, I'd be smart to boycott their welcome. Up in the air on how to burn some time until seven with no lead slug splattering my brains out on my shirt, I left in the coupé. A steak house with no hungry line out front came up, and after stopping, I went into its old-school elegance highlighted by the mahogany wall panels. Wynton Marsalis trumpeting Bird on the jukebox was the next promising sign that I was in the right pitstop.
I claimed a window table, and the menu looked easy on the wallet, as did the server on the eyes. Their BLT down was exceptional, she said, but I wasn't all that hungry. A club beer arrived in a hobnail-bottom tumbler, and sipping it, I watched out the front window the three ladies—young professionals in their crisp but sexy suits—at the bus stop across the street.
Everybody but me, it seemed, was going green by using public transport. They had their backs to me, and none used a cell phone. Instead they chattered, gestured, and laughed with enthusiasm. They were some family's sisters and wives. I'd no sister, wife, or even real family, and I carried no photos in my wallet. I never felt the profound loss any heavier than I did now.
My roving eyes alit on the public phone in the alcove by the cashier's nook. My server made change, and I tabbed in my 50¢. This newer phone featured a push button to amplify your voice. I dialed a number by rote, and an older lady's chirpy lilt coming on was Amanda.
"Happy belated Easter, Mom."
"Same to you. It's about time you called. I thought you'd forgotten me."
"Not a chance in a million."
"It's good to hear your voice. How's life in Old Yvor City ?"
"I stay busy as the dickens, and I don't see any let up coming."
"You're blessed in this recession."
Yeah: blessed, that's me, all right. "Have you heard from Kathy?"
"No, I guess your sister has the same leaky memory you do."
That was the real blessing here. The prickly, bossy Kathy was a bit much. "Hey, do you remember D. Noble Yeatman?"
"Oh him. Isn't he in the federal penitentiary?"
"Where did you hear that? He's a little reckless, but he's never run afoul of the law. Anyways, he's coming to town."
"I never liked D. Noble."
Moving right along . "I saw Esquire today."
Her tenor grew snippy and disapproving. "Is he still gay?"
"Of course. That part of you doesn't change."
"Esquire isn't my favorite person either."
"Sorry to keep bringing up sore topics."
"Speaking of which, have you spoken to your father lately?"
"No, so please don't pump me. I've got nothing on Phil."
"Oh, quit it, will you? We're still friends, sort of. While I've got you on the phone, I found a notebook of your poems up in the attic. Should I keep them?"
"Yeah, I'll be picking them up. How's the bed-and-breakfast doing?"
"The reservations are coming in. It's been a brisk spring, and we'll get busier once school lets out, and the summer vacations crank up."
"Buzz me if you need an extra hand." I really wanted to ask her why she just didn’t retire like her friends had done.
"Can you afford to take off the time?"
"My boss is pretty flexible."
"So it would seem."
"I'm an old timer there."
"Who are you with again?"
"Right. I better get back to it. Nice talking."
"Likewise. Be well. Love you."
"You too, Mom. Bye."
I hung up the phone receiver, a simple but elegant social ritual all but extinct from our popular culture. It was heartbreaking. Cell phones weren't just a passing fad. They were long past that stage and here to stay. They
"Sounds like a plan. What time?"
"I should wind it up around sevenish."
"Good. Meantime I’ll fire up a cigarette."
"When did you take up the nasty habit?"
"All hunted desperados smoke cigarettes."
"Of course they do. See you at sevenish. Ta-ta, sweetheart."
Esquire returned to his upholstery makeover of a client's SUV, and I thought of heading on home, but if Mr. Ogg had sent his welcoming committee, I'd be smart to boycott their welcome. Up in the air on how to burn some time until seven with no lead slug splattering my brains out on my shirt, I left in the coupé. A steak house with no hungry line out front came up, and after stopping, I went into its old-school elegance highlighted by the mahogany wall panels. Wynton Marsalis trumpeting Bird on the jukebox was the next promising sign that I was in the right pitstop.
I claimed a window table, and the menu looked easy on the wallet, as did the server on the eyes. Their BLT down was exceptional, she said, but I wasn't all that hungry. A club beer arrived in a hobnail-bottom tumbler, and sipping it, I watched out the front window the three ladies—young professionals in their crisp but sexy suits—at the bus stop across the street.
Everybody but me, it seemed, was going green by using public transport. They had their backs to me, and none used a cell phone. Instead they chattered, gestured, and laughed with enthusiasm. They were some family's sisters and wives. I'd no sister, wife, or even real family, and I carried no photos in my wallet. I never felt the profound loss any heavier than I did now.
My roving eyes alit on the public phone in the alcove by the cashier's nook. My server made change, and I tabbed in my 50¢. This newer phone featured a push button to amplify your voice. I dialed a number by rote, and an older lady's chirpy lilt coming on was Amanda.
"Happy belated Easter, Mom."
"Same to you. It's about time you called. I thought you'd forgotten me."
"Not a chance in a million."
"It's good to hear your voice. How's life in Old Yvor City ?"
"I stay busy as the dickens, and I don't see any let up coming."
"You're blessed in this recession."
Yeah: blessed, that's me, all right. "Have you heard from Kathy?"
"No, I guess your sister has the same leaky memory you do."
That was the real blessing here. The prickly, bossy Kathy was a bit much. "Hey, do you remember D. Noble Yeatman?"
"Oh him. Isn't he in the federal penitentiary?"
"Where did you hear that? He's a little reckless, but he's never run afoul of the law. Anyways, he's coming to town."
"I never liked D. Noble."
Moving right along . "I saw Esquire today."
Her tenor grew snippy and disapproving. "Is he still gay?"
"Of course. That part of you doesn't change."
"Esquire isn't my favorite person either."
"Sorry to keep bringing up sore topics."
"Speaking of which, have you spoken to your father lately?"
"No, so please don't pump me. I've got nothing on Phil."
"Oh, quit it, will you? We're still friends, sort of. While I've got you on the phone, I found a notebook of your poems up in the attic. Should I keep them?"
"Yeah, I'll be picking them up. How's the bed-and-breakfast doing?"
"The reservations are coming in. It's been a brisk spring, and we'll get busier once school lets out, and the summer vacations crank up."
"Buzz me if you need an extra hand." I really wanted to ask her why she just didn’t retire like her friends had done.
"Can you afford to take off the time?"
"My boss is pretty flexible."
"So it would seem."
"I'm an old timer there."
"Who are you with again?"
"Right. I better get back to it. Nice talking."
"Likewise. Be well. Love you."
"You too, Mom. Bye."
I hung up the phone receiver, a simple but elegant social ritual all but extinct from our popular culture. It was heartbreaking. Cell phones weren't just a passing fad. They were long past that stage and here to stay. They
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