As we were about to start our dessert course, the Grimble brothers showed up, and I could tell they were looking for trouble. Otherwise, why would they frequent a vegetarian/lesbian roadhouse. They had probably been drinking, which is not to say their manners would have been impeccable if they hadn’t. They didn’t even bother to sit down at a table and pretend they’d come in for vegetarian dinners.
“Hey, Candy Ass,” Myron called out to me. “Out with the boys tonight?”
His brother Vernon got hysterical as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. But I did not. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s being called Candy Ass. Added to which he had insulted my two new friends by referring to them as “boys.” I felt I had no choice but to fight them, knowing full well that no one had ever been able to defeat both Grimbles at once. (You could do all right if you got Myron off by himself, but that was about it.)
When I started to get up, Edna restrained me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. She then motioned to Caroline who stood up, lifted her chair and held it out horizontally toward her friend. Edna did some spins to get up momentum and then drove her fist through the heavily reinforced oaken seat.
If Myron was impressed by her performance, he took great pains not to show it.
“That’s nothing,” he said, taking a seat at our table. “And let me take a taste of that shit.”
With that, he stuck a finger in Caroline’s tofu pudding.
He was licking the finger daintily, making fake sounds of enjoyment, when Caroline reached across the table, grabbed his trachea, yanked him out of his chair and brought him face down on the Spanish tile.
Though I was no supporter of the surly Grimbles, I got sick to my stomach at the display of raw animalistic violence.
If I had to bet, I would have guessed that Vernon would come to his brother’s aid, but he, too, must have been taken aback by Caroline’s swift and unorthodox move.
“Hey, hey,” he said, raising his hands defensively, and jumping up and down like a demented cheerleader. “All right, all right … just give me a minute to drag Myron out of here.”
Which is what he did. And then we all went back to eating our desserts (after replacing the tofu pudding that Myron had stuck his finger in), just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. For the rest of the evening, Edna and Caroline regaled me with stories of the backstage hijinks they had witnessed as members of a gypsy dance troupe in outer Gdansk. And if there’s one thing I learned from the experience, it’s that you do not fuck with folks who practice an alternative lifestyle, no matter how mild-mannered they might appear to be.
All in all, my job at the range made for a rewarding and healthful existence. Many turkeys are roamers and will bust out of the range and have to be tracked down. Chasing after them is a workout in itself, since there are Toms that can outrun a pickup. We received a decent wage and got to take home leftover Butterballs, so long as we didn’t overdo it. I grew to love turkeys and signed a petition that said they should be designated as the national bird, which only seemed fair. As Edna pointed out to me, the turkey had been on the continent long before the bald eagle. Opponents of the switchover had always known that, but had felt that we didn’t want to be known as a “turkey” of a nation.
My personal opinion is that it is the way we feel about ourselves that counts. Any country that thinks otherwise is the real turkey.
Chapter Seventeen
I mailed off another check to Global Enterprises, Inc., for $300 this time, which was only fair since I was employed now and had a small cash flow. That left a deficit of less than $60,000, which did not particularly worry me since they had not bugged me about it. And if they did, I’d be ready for them.
Naturally I thought about Peabody and what he was up to. My guess was that he was off in Rawalpindi working with that other fellow he had once felt was as good as I was. And I confess that I was a little jealous.
One day, on my lunch hour, I drove over to his old office and found the half-completed high-rise boarded up with a sign out front saying it had been reclaimed by a government agency. At the diner I asked Ed Bivens if he had heard from Peabody, and he responded by hitching up his pants, scratching his head and looking off in the distance.
“Oh, yeah,” he said as if he had difficulty remembering him.
Then he quickly switched over to a trip his wife was forcing him to take to see her family in Nicaragua, all of whom had been opposed to their marriage.
“I just can’t seem to win them over,” he said with a sigh.
Betty, who could hear a leaf drop in the next county, looked up from the grill and gave him a sharp look.
“Maybe if you sent them a credit card and money they would learn to like you.”
“I don’t have any money to send,” said Ed.
“Oh yes, you do, you sneak. Don’t try to fool me.”
Considering the way they fought, it was a miracle they were able to stay together. Yet that squabbling might have been the glue that kept them going.
So it was as if Peabody had never existed. And then one day, just as his memory was starting to fade away on me like an old snapshot, I heard from him.
I had taken Lettie to the ballpark for a game in which our town was playing an all-black team from Shreveport. We only had three black ballplayers, but they were our best.
It was a picture-perfect day. The grass was bright green, the air was fresh and clear, and the sky looked as if someone had painted it a perfect blue. Everything looked so much more vivid than it did on TV, and it made you wish they had never invented the medium.
The attendants were all skinny high-school girls with straw-colored hair who wore sweatshirts and short skirts and who showed you to your seats. Then they hung around to take care of any special needs you might have. Each one seemed languid and distracted as if she was dreaming of the big city.
When the game began, two fellows behind third base started hollering out catcalls of an old-fashioned and benign nature such as “throw the bum out.” Our players were excellent for the most part, but they were no match for the visitors from Shreveport, each of whom seemed good enough to qualify for the big leagues.
I spent as much time enjoying the tableau itself as I did watching the game. It was as all-American a phenomenon as I could imagine. Other countries might try to import our national pastime, but they will never capture its flavor, although they are welcome to try.
All this from someone who doesn’t really care for the sport that much. My own preference is boxing, which is mano a mano and features nonstop action.
I’m not sure how much Lettie enjoyed the game. She is a player and not a watcher—but we were together and that’s what counted. Along with the rest of the crowd, we got to our feet to stretch out before the start of the seventh inning, and Lettie wondered why we had to wait that long to do it. I said you could get up and stretch anytime you liked, but it was a baseball tradition that everybody did it together in the seventh inning. I wasn’t sure why.
And then I heard my name being paged over the public address system.
“William Binny, please report to the front office. That’s William Binny. Report to the front office, please.”
“Maybe it’s Hollywood,” said Lettie, who had continued to pursue her goal of becoming a movie producer.
“Why would they want me?”
“Maybe they’re doing a turkey movie.”
“I doubt it.”
I hesitated before leaving Lettie alone, but then I realized that we were surrounded by wholesome families who would see to it that she was nice and safe. So I told her I’d be right back and then made my way through the stands, embarrassed about the stir that I had created.
The front office was filled with baseball memorabilia, and I was all wedged in by pennants and souvenir bats when I took the call.
“Binny,” said the voice at the other end, which I recognized as belonging to Peabody. “I’m not interrupting you, am I?”
&nb
sp; “No, I was just watching a ballgame.”
“You are?” he said. “They didn’t tell me that. Who’s winning?”
“Shreveport, but it’s not important. It’s just a thing to do.”
“I’ll just take a minute. Something’s come up that might be just right for you. Thomas Gnu would like to do a couple this time, and the exciting thing is that they’re in New York City. It’s an opportunity for us to work together since I plan to be there. That’s what I’ve always felt was missing, the two of us combining our efforts instead of you off somewhere at work and me sitting around twiddling my thumbs. The great news is that I’ve gotten Gnu to forgive your debt and to toss in a new $50,000 advance against the quarter-of-a-million completion fee. He’s a cheap bastard, and he really surprised me, which leads me to believe that he wants this badly. How does it all sound?”
“I just started a new job,” I said, not wanting to appear too eager.
“Really? Doing what?”
“De-beaking and de-snooding turkeys.”
“I see. Sounds fascinating. I’ve been off writing poetry in Valparaiso myself. But do see if you can get out of the turkey thing. I’ll send you a packet with everything you need.
“This is it, Binny, I can feel it. Yes-s-s-s! Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“My cholesterol has gone down to 190. Isn’t that lovely?”
Chapter Eighteen
We finished up watching the game, although, as usual, Peabody had gotten me stirred up, making it difficult for me to concentrate. The part about forgiving my debt was appealing to say the least, and the extra $50,000 did not hurt either. With that kind of money, plus the twenty or so I had in the bank, I could sail right through until I reached the age of Social Security—and then I would be home free. I realized, of course, that it was only an advance—but there was something about having it in your possession.
Then, too, there was the chance to see the great city of New York, which I had somehow managed never to have visited. I did have a brief stopover in nearby Jersey City during my service years, but how could you compare the two.
I had some concern about the crime rate, but I had read an item saying that the new administration had cut into it—so maybe I would be lucky enough not to run into any.
And that was really something. Me concerned about the crime rate!
On the down side, Peabody said we’d be going after a couple, which seemed like twice the work. But to look at it another way, couples tended to stick together, so it might not be much different from my other ventures. Another concern was that I would have to give up my job on the turkey range; having left the poultry field once before, the chances were slim I would ever be hired back. They don’t look approvingly on people who come and go—and who can blame them?
But finally, it was not much of a decision. My ego was such that I wanted to see just one of my assignments through to completion. And to show Peabody I was just as good as that hotshot in Rawalpindi he kept raving about.
I received a FedEx the next morning, clear evidence that Peabody never doubted for a minute that I would get on board. It contained my itinerary and travel documents and that heavy bricklike packet that I did not even have to open, since I knew by now what it would contain. There was also a memo stating that an apartment in a “secure” building had been set aside for my use—and there were instructions on where to find the key—which was on the fifth floor and taped discreetly to the top of the mail chute.
You would have thought I had signed on with the CIA.
The big surprise was that there was an airline ticket for Lettie.
When I asked her how she felt about going to New York City, she responded with high excitement.
“That’s great,” she said. “The William Morris Agency is located there. I can go up to see them and get started on my career as a movie producer.”
I saw no reason to tell her it was unlikely she could get an appointment with them and that she was far too young to get into movie producing. Why trample on a daughter’s dream? So I let it go, and we made preparations for our trip. In one way, it was a blessing, since her school was in recess, and I had not been able to come up with any entertaining activities for her, other than having her accompany me to the turkey range, which would not have been much fun.
Peabody had arranged for me and Lettie to have two days together in the city before his arrival. There had been no mention of weaponry, so I brought along my powered Super V Turkey De-beaker, just so I would have something.
The plane trip was uneventful, which was fine with me. We did get excited when the pilot dipped his wings and we got to circle LaGuardia Airport, affording us a view of the New York City skyline that had thrilled so many millions before us. I would have been content to circle around a few more times so I could feel the full effect of this majestic city.
The cab driver who took us into the city proper was of Asian descent, and I was tempted to share my recent experiences in Tokyo with him. But on second thought, I decided it would be prudent to keep a low profile. I had heard horror stories of out-of-towners such as Lettie and myself being bilked by unscrupulous cab drivers, and the $150 fare did seem a bit high. But not when you considered there were two of us, it was a long ride in, and we were in the greatest city on earth.
The driver dropped us off in a quiet leafy area that was lined for the most part with townhouses and looked more like the way I imagined London to be than New York City. Our building was seven stories high and covered with ivy, which helped it blend right in with the townhouses. (I found out later that we were in Gramercy Park.)
Lettie and I had fun finding our key, which was exactly where it was supposed to be. The building was a quiet one and the only tenant we saw was an old lady with a veil who slipped past us as if we weren’t there. And our apartment was a nice surprise. It had much more character than the one I’d been assigned to on the Dickie Moué caper. Though it was only partially furnished, there were antique sofas and couches in the living room, luxurious carpets and paintings on the wall that I identified as being in the French Impressionist style. It would not have surprised me to learn they were originals. There were two bedrooms, one of which featured a canopied bed with a little staircase beside it that you had to climb to get up there. I had my eye on it, but Lettie beat me to it, and I did not have the heart to say no to her. (When had I ever?)
The second bedroom was more of a utility space. It was stuffy and filled with file boxes and office-type equipment. But there was a foldout sofabed that would certainly get me by. Lettie had opened the closet of her bedroom and called me in to see what was in there. Piles of angora sweaters of every color were stacked up to the ceiling, and there were about forty dark suits on hangers. I checked the label on one, which said it had been made in Hong Kong.
All in all, the apartment smacked of wealth—on a global scale. It looked like some spoiled rich fellow had moved in, started to decorate it and then lost interest and moved out. A fellow so rich he could afford to leave everything behind.
While Lettie was trying out the canopied bed, I took a minute to light up a small cigar and to check the view from the living-room window. The apartment looked out on a beautiful well-maintained park with no one inside it. But there were people of every age and description, wearing shorts and bandannas and jogging around the park to try to get in shape. I sat down to rest my knee, and, as if I had ordered it up, I noticed a circular rack that held fifty different kinds of canes and walking sticks, one more beautifully crafted than the other. I pulled out an artistically gnarled-looking one and limped around the living room to try it out.
I was hoping Lettie would take a nap, but she was too revved up to even consider it, so we decided to get right on the case and explore the city. We are both pretty good walkers so we chose to do so on foot. I put my arm around Lettie’s shoulders, because of the crime rate, but the people in our immediate neighborhood were so friendly that I soon saw it wasn�
��t necessary. Many had a scholarly look about them and might have been professors. The men tipped their hats at us, and the women went out of their way to smile in our direction, making us feel right at home.
Of course, that could have been because we were a father and daughter, which appeals to everybody.
As we got deeper into the heart of the city, the people seemed to get more agitated, many of them bumping into each other without stopping to apologize. But that could have been because they were all crowded together and in a rush to get somewhere. I caught one fellow on a street corner leering at us as we walked by, but here again that could have happened in any major city. Still, I put my arm back around Lettie’s shoulders as a precautionary measure.
What Lettie and I enjoyed most is the way the neighborhoods suddenly changed, as if you were in a theatre and the minute one play was over, the scenery was replaced to make way for another. We would be walking through an area that featured the sights and smells of India and just as we were starting to enjoy ourselves, it would end without warning and we would find ourselves on a street that looked like downtown Korea. And then boom, we would come upon a crowded street that was lined with jewelry stores and have to hurry to get out of the way of Hasidic gentlemen who were rushing in and out of them.
What we discovered is that New York is not one city but fifty of them rolled into one.
When we tired of all the excitement, we decided to eat some lunch and ducked into the first restaurant we could find that featured Italian cuisine. There were only a few people seated at the tables, and the place seemed to have fallen on hard times. After our linguini dishes had arrived, Lettie asked the waitress if any famous people ever ate there, and she said that Telly Savalas had once been a customer but that he had died.
A Father's Kisses Page 16
