Collection

by Rector, John

  I kissed her and Jacob in turn then walked out. When I got in the car I looked back and saw them in the doorway. I felt like I’d gone back in time to a different era of housewives and post-war happiness. The feeling wasn’t totally bad, but something sour settled in my stomach and I had to look away. I felt them waving as I drove off, but I didn’t look back.

  ~

  “I knew your father,” Colletto said. “He was a good man. I’m sorry to hear about what happened.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Were you two close?”

  “No.”

  Colletto nodded. “I didn’t think so.” He held a long white pipe in one hand, and as he spoke, he put it to his lips and lit it with a small silver lighter. The aroma of the smoke was like childhood and fall and loneliness. “You don’t come across as the grieving son.”

  “That obvious?”

  He smiled. “And, I knew your father.” He leaned forward and tapped his pipe in a glass ashtray on the coffee table. When he did, the worn leather chair made a slow whining sound. It sounded a lot like money. “Still, he was a good man, trustworthy. That was why I agreed to see you.”

  When he sat back, I felt like a spotlight had shifted. Right then I remembered where I was. I was sitting in a private room in an exclusive club across from someone who ran more illegal business in town than anyone else. This was not someone you came in on unprepared, and if I had any doubt about it, all I had to do was look at the two men standing in the corner behind him.

  “I’m happy you did,” I said. “I need some advice, and I was hoping you’d help. I remember my father saying you were the right person to—”

  “Cut the bullshit, please.”

  I did.

  “I’d like to hire security.”

  “For what?”

  “A friend of mine. She’s having some problems with an ex-husband.”

  “So, go to the cops.”

  “What good would that do?”

  He looked up fast. I figured he was trying to see if I was being a smart ass. When he saw I wasn’t, he smiled. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Unfortunately, I’m not in the business of protecting wives from their husbands.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t suppose you are.” I tried to think of something else to say, a way to persuade him, but then I looked at the two guys by the door and decided I’d already said enough. “Thank you for your time.”

  I went to stand, and he held out a hand to stop me.

  “Don’t be in such a rush.” He re-lit his pipe and stared at me for a moment. “You don’t look too much like your father. There is a resemblance, but not much of one.” He motioned to my suit with his pipe. “You definitely dress better than he did. I hope this wasn’t just for me.”

  I looked down at the suit, as if I was noticing it for the first time. “Actually, I’m applying for a job.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “I’m a chef.”

  He smiled. “You’re applying here? At the Settler’s?”

  “That was the plan, yes.”

  He laughed. The sound was low and warm. The two men at the doors looked at each other briefly. Neither one smiled, but I did. I couldn’t help myself.

  “I almost felt special,” he said. “I figured you were here for me, but it turns out that wasn’t the case.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “I got backed into applying here today.”

  Colletto waved me off. “No need, no need.” He reached for a small white notepad on the desk beside his chair then took a gold pen from his coat pocket. “I’ll give you the name of someone I think will be interested in a little extra work.” He scribbled on the pad, then ripped the top sheet off and handed it to me. “He’s a good man.”

  The paper had a wagon wheel logo on the top, and the words Settler’s Club written in a rustic script below. The name he’d written was Maxwell Stover. There was no phone number, only an address.

  “Thank you.”

  Colletto ignored me and pointed at the paper. “That’s the address for a girly bar called the ‘Body Shop’.” He shook his head and smiled. “Classless name, but typical.”

  “I’ll stop by and talk to him.”

  “He works nights. I’ll let him know to expect you.”

  I almost told him not to bother, but stopped myself at the last minute. That would raise suspicion. Instead I stood and said, “Is he a bouncer?”

  Colletto did a so-so move with his head. “He doesn’t work the door, but he’s there to make sure nothing gets out of hand.”

  I held up the paper. “I appreciate this.”

  He nodded and re-lit his pipe. “I hope everything works out for your friend.”

  “It will,” I said. “One way or another.”

  I turned to go, and he stopped me. “By the way, good luck with your job interview.”

  ~

  The kitchen manager set my resume on the bar and leaned over it with his hands on either side of the thin beige paper. “You’ve been working at this Diner for the past several years.”

  “That’s correct.”

  He looked up at me. “And you’re a graduate of the Culinary Institute?”

  I nodded.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” he said, pushing my resume away. “Institute graduates don’t work in roadside diners.”

  “That’s obviously not true.” I pointed to my resume and said, “If you look under my job history—”

  The manager made a dismissive sound then turned and disappeared back into the kitchen before I could finish.

  At least I couldn’t say I didn’t try.

  ~

  I went home and changed into some comfortable clothes. Ava wasn’t there, and I remembered she was spending the afternoon at her mother’s house. That was good. I wasn’t ready to tell her about the interview.

  The address Colletto gave me was in the warehouse district. I’d seen the place, but I’d never been inside. I’m not a strip club guy, especially not strip clubs that look like gas stations.

  On my way out, I wrote Ava a note. I didn’t tell her anything other than I’d be back late. I wouldn’t know where to start with anything else.

  ~

  The air in the Body Shop had a thick, sour smell that only comes to a place after years without sunlight. I stood inside the door, waiting for the bouncer to finish his conversation with the man in front of me. When he did, he looked me over and reached for his hand stamp on the table by his stool. “Six bucks.”

  I took out my wallet and handed him a ten. “I’m looking for someone who works here. A guy named Max. You know if he’s here tonight?”

  The bouncer looked up, and all at once I got the feeling I’d said something wrong.

  I waited.

  The bouncer handed me my change and said, “He’s inside.”

  I went in.

  The main room was big and scattered with tables. In between the tables were two single girl platforms. Along the far wall, a line of booths stood open to the room, each one facing the main stage. The music was loud and the dancers swayed in the swell of smoke like naked corpses hanging from the rafters.

  None of these girls looked younger than thirty, not even close. This was a parade of caesarian scars and stretch marks, bruises so deep even the red and purple stage lights couldn’t hide them. I watched for a while, more out of a morbid curiosity than anything, then went to the bar and ordered a beer.

  The bartender was blonde, younger than most of the dancers, but still long past getting carded for cigarettes. She took a glass from the back shelf, and I stopped her.

  “In a bottle.”

  “Our glasses are clean.”

  “I don’t think I’ll take the chance.”

  If she was offended, it didn’t show. She took a bottle from the cooler, opened it, and set it on the bar in front of me. “Four-fifty.”

  I paid her. “Have you seen Max tonight?”

  She po
inted over my shoulder. I turned and saw a guy sitting alone in a booth in the corner with his back to the wall. I took a drink and headed over.

  When I got close he looked up and squinted. “I know you?”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you. Got a minute?”

  He nodded.

  I sat down across from him. “Colletto said you might be interested in earning some extra cash. Was he right?”

  “Depends on the job.”

  “Protection. I need someone to watch over a friend. She’s going through a divorce, and the husband isn’t taking it too good. I need you to convince him to behave himself.”

  “Who’s the woman?”

  “I was hoping you could meet her. Tomorrow night?”

  He laughed. “I need to know more about what I’ll be asked to do.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Max leaned across the table resting his elbows on the tabletop. “Because if you want me to break his arm, that’s gonna cost you less than if you want something more serious.”

  I sat back and took a cigarette from my jacket. I offered him one and he took it. “I don’t want you to do anything but make sure nothing happens to her.”

  He reached for a pack of matches on the table, lit one and held to the end of the cigarette. “Tomorrow night?”

  I wrote an address on a napkin and handed it to him. “Nine o’clock if you’re interested.”

  He took the napkin. “I’ll decide tomorrow.”

  ~

  When I got home Ava opened the door and ran outside. I got out of the car and she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me, pushing me back.

  When she let me go I asked, “What’s that for?”

  “You got it,” she said, then kissed me again.

  There was a mistake, I was sure of it. I shook my head. “The Settler’s job? No, I didn’t.”

  She smiled. “There’s a message on the machine. They want you to start Monday. They even gave you the dinner shift.”

  Ava was moving up and down on her toes. I tried to get my head around what she was telling me. When I went inside I hit the play button on the machine and listened for myself.

  “’Hello, Mr. Davies,’” the voice said. “’This is Walter Holland at the Settler’s club. I wanted to call and inform you that we would like to hire you as evening sous chef. Can you be here Monday afternoon, say, three o’clock? Please call me if this doesn’t work.’”

  He’d left his phone number, and after I’d listened to the message three times, I picked up the phone and called him. I looked at my watch. It was late, but I took a chance he’d still be there.

  I was right.

  “It turns out we have a sudden vacancy in our kitchen,” he said. “So we would like you to step in. You do feel confident with the position of sous chef, don’t you Mr. Davies?”

  I told him I did. Of course I did.

  “Any man who went to the Institute would, I assume.” The tone in his voice hadn’t changed since the interview.

  “You don’t believe me about my history?”

  “Time will tell.”

  “That seems like a big risk to take. You don’t seem like the type of man who would hire someone off the street just because they claim to be a graduate of the Culinary Institute.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’m not. Fortunately for you, one of our more regular clients at the Club put in a good word for you and suggested we hire you.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “We respect the opinions of our members here, Mr. Davies. Therefore, you have a job.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  After a moment of silence, Walter said, “Monday does work for you, correct?”

  I found my voice. “Colletto?”

  “He’s been a member longer than I’ve been employed here, and I’ve been through three presidents. You’re obviously on his good side, and that’s good enough for me.”

  Good side?

  “We’ll see you Monday?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Monday.”

  Walter hung up. I kept the phone to my ear and thought about Colletto. Maybe he did it because of my father. Maybe I made a good impression. Maybe he just liked to throw his power around and thought I was a good charity case. Whatever the reason, I was happy for it, but at the same time I couldn’t see straight. He might be my friend now, but chances are he wouldn’t be by this time tomorrow night.

  The phone switched to a dial tone, and I hung it back in the cradle. I turned around and saw Ava. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She was smiling. It was the first time I’d seen her smile like that in almost three years.

  It broke my heart to have to tell her.

  ~

  “You’re going to forget about it, and you’re going to take this job.”

  “I can’t do that. Marcus needs me to—”

  “Don’t start with what Marcus needs, Jack. Fuck him. I need you to do this. Your son needs you to do this. Marcus doesn’t need you to do anything. He has his own son. Let him take care of Marcus.”

  “His son is a degenerate who doesn’t care if he lives or dies.”

  “So it’s your responsibility?” There were tears in her eyes waiting to fall. “You’re putting him ahead of your own family.”

  “He’s family, too.”

  She laughed. “That old man is not family.”

  “He is to me.”

  Ava stared at me for a moment, then shook her head and said, “How’d you get so fucked up?”

  I didn’t answer, and she turned and walked out to the living room. I stayed in the kitchen and listened to her cry.

  The back door of our apartment opens onto a fire escape overlooking the alley. I took a beer from the refrigerator and climbed out and sat on the cold metal stairs. The air outside was cold and it felt good against my skin. Down below I heard the homeless shuffling between the dumpsters. I thought about the distance between them and me, and as far as I could tell, there wasn’t much of one.

  The way I saw it, I had two choices. Take this job and let Marcus go or help Marcus and lose the job. If I took the job it would move my family out of this shit-hole apartment and get us on our way. It was what Ava wanted, and it would be best for Jacob.

  Then there was Marcus.

  Why did I feel such a loyalty to him? Was it because he was there when I needed a friend? Did I feel some twisted father-son bond with him that kept me from thinking straight? Whatever it was, it was making it hard to do the smart thing, and I knew it.

  I was still thinking about Marcus when the back door opened and Ava came out onto the fire escape.

  “Jacob is asleep,” she said. “He’s growing so fast.”

  I agreed.

  “We need to start thinking about his future, and sometimes I don’t think you do.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said.

  “I think it’s more than fair. What’s not fair is you putting Marcus and that diner before your son.”

  I’d heard all this before, but when I went to speak she held up a hand, stopping me.

  “Jack, we need this job.” Her voice was cold. “I don’t care how you got it, but it’s a blessing and we need it.”

  “I know, but I can’t abandon Marcus.”

  Ava looked down at her hands, and shook her head. “If you don’t take this job, I’m leaving, and I’m taking Jacob with me.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have a choice. If you put Marcus ahead of your family, then there is no point in staying with you because you aren’t the man I want raising my son.”

  “Jacob is my son, too.”

  Ava nodded. “If you really understand what that means then there’s no problem.”

  ~

  I’d known Sergeant Greg Nash since I was a kid. When I was six he arrested my father for breaking my mother’s jaw. When I was twelve, he arrested him again for throwing her through a sliding glass door. She wound up needing forty-seven stitches that ni
ght to close a gash in her leg, and the next day I was taken from the house and put into foster care. I stayed there until I was thirteen and stole a car. After that my foster parents didn’t want me, and I was put in a juvenile home.