by JT Kalnay
Jay's job at MacKenzie Lazarus was going to pay more per week than his dad earned his first year at work in 1944. But then again Wall St. was a long way from the South Pacific.
The ceremony came and went. Jay got choked up and his eyes went misty when he heard his name called out as Dr. Calloway for the first time. Rick accepted his doctoral hood with grace and dignity. Walking out of the hall the two planned when they would get together next.
"Hey Rick, I've got a wild idea. Let's meet on November 1st at the top of Mt. Yale,” Jay said.
"What are you crazy?" Rick asked. "There'll be snow up there by then, could be a couple of feet. And with the wind chill it will be like ten or twenty below.”
"Oh,” Jay answered glumly. He'd forgotten that winter came early to the mountains. Luckily his mountain-wise friend hadn't.
"But I'll tell you what,” Rick said. "I'll meet you at Clingman's Dome, at 11:11 on November 11 okay?"
"Where's Clingman's Dome?" Jay asked.
"That's for me to know and you to find out. You're a bright guy. Look it up. There's a stone hut at the top. It'll take you about five hours to make the climb and you'd better be in better shape than you are now, I'll tell you that much,” Rick said. The deal was struck.
“What about between now and then?” Jay asked.
“Well I don’t know where I’m going to be living, don’t have an email address, don’t have a phone. So I’m probably going to be out of touch until then. And, since there’s no way for you to get in touch with me, there’s no way for you to cancel. So you have to be there.”
Chapter
"Four bucks,” the gruff toll taker announced. Jay Calloway reached for the last of four rolls of quarters he'd acquired for the drive to New York City. He counted out the change and handed it across to the surly guardian of the Holland tunnel. Even Jay's twenty seconds of fumbling had irritated the neurotic New Yorkers and Jerseyites waiting on line for the tunnel. Horns blasted behind him. Jay, irritable from the ten hour drive and thirty-three dollars in tolls so far swore at them all, hoisting the one finger salute into the rearview mirror. His conversion to New Yorker had begun.
Half an hour later he had covered the mile and a half from the tunnel to his new and unseen apartment building in Battery Park City. Jay Calloway was not having many of the typical move-to-New-York nightmares. Everything he owned fit in his truck, there was no trailer to be unhitched and hijacked at a corner by street punks. His apartment was in a secure building with underground parking so all his stuff wasn't stolen from his truck while he went up to find the manager to let him in. He didn't get lost in the Bronx or end up in Harlem or wrecked on Times Square. He found his company selected, company furnished, and company stocked apartment with ease.
Too much ease. Later he would remember that it had all seemed too perfect, and that he hadn't noticed.
Outside the apartment building, two weary men in a dark blue car pulled up beside two other tired men and a fatigued lady sitting in a dusty grey car.
"Good work guys,” she said. "He's in. He's alright. The next squad is in position for the night, take tomorrow off.”
"Thanks boss,” the men mumbled, too weary to be happy.
"Hi mom,” Jay Calloway said into the telephone. He had the Reds-Pirates game on ESPN and could hear the local broadcast from his father's radio over the phone. He turned down the sound on the tube to listen to Marty and Joe on WLW through the phone.
"What's the matter honey?" his mother asked.
"Nothing. I just wanted to let you know I got here okay. No problems.”
"That's nice honey. We were a little worried,” she replied.
Jay knew his mother well enough to know she had indeed been worried. But Jay doubted the 'we'. He doubted his father worried at all. The stiff handshake twelve hours earlier and the stiffer upper lip revealed no sense of loss in the old man.
"You'll be back,” was all he'd said, and then he'd clapped him very manly-like and very fatherly-like on the shoulders.
Chris Sabo stole second base on the television and the cheer came through on the radio. "Is there anything else?" Mrs. Calloway asked.
"No. I'll check in later in the week,” Jay replied. "Good-bye,” he said.
"Good-bye.”
He heard the line go dead. On the TV Sabo was thrown out trying to steal third. Jay sat watching the game in silence until the Pirates pulled 5 runs ahead with one inning to go. Jay padded off to the small bedroom and fell onto the bed. He was fully clothed in his road-dirty outfit and high top driving shoes. He fell asleep almost instantly.
In a small room down the hall, two men talked.
"Did the phone equipment work?"
"Yes.”
“That’s kinda cool how our TV plays what his TV plays.”
“Yeah it is.”
"Good. He's asleep now. You take the first shift.”
On the first morning in his new apartment in Battery Park City, Jay awoke tired and confused. His feet had swollen in his shoes and his scruffy face was rough and oily from the road. It took several long minutes laying in his new bed to figure out where he was and why he was there. Through foggy eyes it came back to him. It was Tuesday morning, he was in New York, and he would start work at MacKenzie Lazarus in six days. He was going to settle in and explore and get established before starting work. Finally Jay had his frame of reference established and the momentary morning panic that he so often felt came under control.
Jay rose and showered and dressed and ate. While eating his cold cereal and watching the morning news on CNN he made his plans for the day.
"I'm going to find the doctor, the dentist, the dry cleaner, the drugstore, and the grocery store on the list Bill Beck gave me,” Jay said. “And then there just might be some time for some Centipede or Galaga.” He'd never been one to talk to himself but he was quickly picking up that peculiar habit of lonely, single New Yorkers. He made several calls for directions and pulled on his sweater. He stepped out into the dark shadows between the tall buildings that were crowded into his neighborhood on the South West tip of Manhattan. Traders, athletes, television personalities, and all types of the assorted nouveau were the denizens of this new community. Any sized apartment was available in Battery Park City, from studios to luxurious two story, three bedroom units. Though it was clean, safe, within walking distance of Wall St., the World Trade Center, and the World Financial Center, it still hadn't caught on with native, territorial, and fiercely tribal New Yorkers who usually refused to leave the neighborhood in which they were born and raised. Not surprisingly therefore, most of the people who lived in Battery Park City weren't originally from New York.
Jay walked west towards the Hudson River. A Mercedes limousine's wheels rumbled as the large vehicle sped over the newly bricked road. Jay hugged his sweater tighter around him. Though the television had said it was 60 degrees out, it felt more like 50. He saw no-one on his walk to the river.
"Nine million people live here and there's not one person on my street,” he mumbled. It would be the first of many surprises for Jay that day.
"Good morning. I'm Jay Calloway. I called earlier.”
"Good morning Mr. Calloway,” the perky receptionist answered. "How may we help you.”
"Oh I just wanted to make sure I could find your office before it was an emergency,” Jay said. The young blonde girl looked at him, as if expecting him to say something or do something more. But nothing came to mind. Jay lingered and then shuffled his feet and made to leave.
"Maybe I should make an appointment for a checkup,” he offered. The girl pulled out her book and they set it up. Jay noticed her long, manicured nails and wondered how she could hold a pen or type with them. They finished their business and Jay drifted out.
"Who was that?" the dentist asked, seeing Jay walk out.
"Just another lonely new boy in town,” she answered. They chuckled a melancholy laugh, feeling sad and sorry for the boy, remembering when they too had been all alone in the
big city.
Jay emerged into the street and couldn't believe his eyes. In the twenty minutes he'd been inside, the deserted street had erupted to overflowing with people. Whereas before he had felt the empty loneliness of the shadowed concrete canyons, now he felt a brief rush of exhilaration as the multitudes swelled around him. The downtown lunch crowd was out on this late spring day. Secretaries from Brooklyn and Jersey with big hair and long, painted nails. Wall St. traders in baggy multicolored jackets. Pasty skinned computer nerds and data clerks crawling out of their electronic caves for a few brief minutes in the sun. Jay saw them all rush by in a hurry to be somewhere, to be someone. It was chaos screaming for everyone to do and be more.
Jay soaked in the energy. He headed towards the shining towers of the World Financial Center for lunch. A new spring was in his step. He figured a nice Italian sandwich at one of the sidewalk restaurants he'd seen would be nice. Approximately 1,500 of his closest friends had a similar idea. Jay had the brief revelation that even if you had an idea that was one in a million, nine other New Yorker's had certainly already had that same idea twice that day.
"What'll it be?" the waitress asked. Jay hadn't seen her turn to face him. He'd been daydreaming about all the people. Trying to imagine where they all came from and what they could all possibly do. He couldn't imagine so many people in one place at one time. There were more people crowded into this one little block than could fit into Cincinnati's Riverfront Stadium for a World Series game.
"And it's just a regular old Tuesday lunch hour,” Jay said to himself.
"A meatball sandwich, no onions and a diet coke please,” Jay ordered. He'd learn to lose the 'please' quickly enough.
"Cheese?" the young waitress asked, annoyed that she'd had to do so.
"Pardon me?" Jay responded. He'd never heard of a meatball sub without cheese so he wasn't sure what she was asking.
"I said, do you want cheese on your sandwich?"
"What kind do you have?"
She rolled her eyes. "Provolone, Cheddar, or Mozzarella?" she rattled off. Jay took note of the tone of her voice. It was grating. He thought she must be angry at someone or ready to scream or something. The hard edge and urgency and simmering hint of violence that were in her words put Jay ill-at-ease. His earlier good feelings were rapidly dissipating.
"Provolone,” he ordered.
"Lemon?" the waitress asked.
"On a meatball sandwich?" Jay asked incredulously. He couldn't believe it.
"No asshole, in your freakin' soda. You want lemon in your soda or no?"
"No lemon,” Jay answered meekly. She'd intimidated him. She stalked off leaving him confused about this place and these people and the things they did to their soda and lunchtime customers.
"Who puts lemon in soda?" Jay asked himself.
He could feel the energy all around him, but he couldn't understand it. He sensed he would do great things here, be part of some large thing, but he was starting to know the isolation of being a nameless, faceless foreigner who had most recently been a big fish in a small pond and now, in New York City, had yet to find the water.
The grocery store and dry cleaner were new experiences to him as well. Being used to the wide open well-stocked spaces of the Kroger Super Stores in the Midwest, he found the crowded, noisy, under-stocked, over-priced, new but already dirty hole-in-the-wall that was the sole grocery in his area very unsatisfactory. No wonder this neighborhood hasn't caught on, he thought, though he could have spoken out loud. The entire staff at the grocery was Lebanese. The dry cleaners had been Asian.
Weary from his travels and carrying three sacks of essentials he returned to his apartment. It was almost 3 o'clock. He'd been out five hours but felt like he'd endured an entire month of being pushed and shoved and hurried along and spoken to by people who seemed to be in a bad mood for no particular reason. And he felt dirty. The accumulated filth and pollution that plague New York had not yet defaced Battery Park City, but Jay still felt the grit of the city in his pores. He headed for the showers.
After an early supper and a Mets game on the tube, he flopped into bed. Alone, lonely and exhausted. It would become his habit. Hard days, lonely nights, exhausted, fitful sleep.
In his dream he was walking along the Hudson. Tonia Taggert was beside him. His hand held hers. The sun was setting a glorious riot of red and orange behind the Statue of Liberty. He turned to her. She looked up into his eyes. The unspoken words leapt between them. Their lips came together and he could feel her body press up against him. He could feel the firmness of her breasts, the heat from her breath.
Chapter
"So how's everything going so far?" Bill Beck asked. Jay held the phone against his left shoulder, with his right hand he worked the remote control, channel surfing for anything of interest. After four days in New York City, spent mostly walking around, watching TV, and playing Galaga at the World Trade Center arcade, he was starting to get cabin fever. He was ready to do something, meet some people. Bill's call couldn't have come at a better time.
"Not bad,” Jay lied. He sucked in his breath to talk, but Bill beat him to it. He found New Yorker's were always getting their words in before him.
"Well the reason I called was to let you know about a happy hour after work tonight. I know you don't start until Monday but I thought you might want to meet some of the guys, and gals, from the office. You up for it?" Bill asked.
"Sure" Jay answered. He would have killed for a date or a party or anything where there were going to be people. The doorman would be happy to see him with something to do too. Jay had taken to talking his ears off before and after he went out for his daily jogs and video binges. Even the attendant at the World Trade golf center where Jay was playing virtual Pebble Beach every day would have been happy to hear Jay had something else to do.
"When and where?" Jay asked.
"Flannery’s. It’s four blocks uptown from the North Tower. From about six until, oh, probably around eight for the married guys, but I've heard these things go on until 2 or 3 for the young, single folk. Sometimes they even end up at a jazz club in the village or at a restaurant in Little Italy until God knows when. Anyway, I told the wife I'd be home by ten, so, I can meet you there, and make introductions, but then you’re going to be on your own..."
It was the first Jay had heard of Bill being married. He didn't remember seeing a wedding ring on Bill's hand. In the Carnegie course they had taught him to look for the wedding ring to avoid making gaffs. Jay silently reminded himself to be more vigilant in his observations.
"Six it is,” Jay butted in.
"Ah Bill?" Jay asked.
"Yeah?" Bill answered. There was concern in his voice, he could feel the tone and trepidation in Jay and worried about the question. Had Jay noticed anything?
"I'm not really much of a drinker, so does this place have snacks and lite beer and stuff?"
Bill relaxed. "Sure, sure. Probably a pretty good idea to take it easy tonight anyway Jay. First impressions can mean a lot. And most of these people are probably going to end up working for you sooner rather than later."
"Got it,” Jay said.
"Right,” Bill said. "So I'll see you later okay?"
"Good.”
"Oh yeah. How did you like your surprise today?"
"Surprise?" Jay asked.
"Oh shit. Don't say it didn't..." Bill lamented.
"Don't say what?" Jay demanded. His mind was racing, first a party now a surprise.
"Well… you were supposed to get a delivery today,” Bill said. "It should have gotten there by now. Did you go out and maybe they left it at the doorman's station?"
"I'll check,” Jay said.
"Okay. Well. See you tonight right?"
"Right.” Jay hung up the phone, grabbed for his keys and headed out the door and down to the elevator.
"Come on, come on,” he urged the elevator. It seemed like the elevator would never arrive. He pressed the down button again and again, knowing fu
ll well that it would have no effect. Finally the elevator arrived and he rode down. All the way he was trying to figure out what his surprise could be.
"Bicycle? Baseball tickets? Hooker?” His mind raced from the childish to the obscene and back again. Arriving in the lobby he hurried over to the doorman's station.
"Did any packages arrive for me today?" Jay asked.
"Let me check.”
Jay waited while the middle aged, uniformed doorman checked his book then checked in the back.
"Yessir, you have several boxes back here,” the doorman announced, returning from the back room. "They must've come while I was on lunch,” he apologized.
"Let me get the cart and the service elevator,” he offered and before Jay could agree or disagree the doorman disappeared again.
Several boxes? Jay wondered. Jay almost danced from foot to foot. He couldn't imagine anything that would come in several boxes and need a cart to move. Jay bit off a cuticle, more nervous than a frequently and recently rotten kid wondering if Santa Claus had picked this year to pass him over. The doorman returned.
"Want to give me a hand?" the doorman asked.
"Sure,” Jay replied. The two men stepped around the front desk. As soon as they were in the back, Jay saw the large boxes, all labeled SUN. He knew now what his surprise was. Computer equipment, and lots of it. High quality stuff. It was the perfect gift for a boss to give to a lonely computer nerd employee. Jay's jaw almost hung open. He'd used the SUN workstations at school, but never thought he'd own one.
