Let's Stay Together

by J. J. Murray

  She laughed.

  I will be drunk on love in St. Louis.

  38

  When he awoke at five a.m. on Wednesday, Patrick left a message for Salthead. “This is Patrick Esposito. I’m not sure who my supervisor is. I work the buildings on Atlantic, Dean, Bergen, Baltic, and State in Boerum Hill. I’m going to take some days off this week and need someone to cover for me. Please call me back as soon as you get this message.”

  A few minutes after eight a.m., after he had already cleaned the furnace flame sensors on Atlantic, Dean, and Baltic, Salthead called while Patrick trundled his tool bag toward Bergen and Mrs. Moczydlowska.

  “Patrick, it’s Jim Barber at Salthead.”

  “Hi, Jim,” Patrick said. Is this my supervisor?

  “It’s going to be difficult to find anyone to cover for you,” Mr. Barber said. “I’m looking at your file now. You have never taken a day off, so we don’t have anyone who has ever subbed in your buildings.”

  They’re just like any others. A building is a building. “Everything is in working order now, and I don’t think there will be any trouble. The building on Baltic has some cold weather piping issues, but I think they’ll be okay for a few days since it’s supposed to stay above freezing. I have one more furnace to clean on Bergen, and then I’m knocking off for the day.”

  “How many days will you be gone?” Mr. Barber asked.

  “Four,” Patrick said.

  “Four days? In a row?”

  “Really three and a half,” Patrick said. “I really only need a number my tenants can call in case of an emergency.”

  Mr. Barber gave him a number. “Hey, you’re not quitting on us, are you?”

  “No, Mr. Barber,” Patrick said. “I’m not quitting.”

  “Because if you’re thinking about quitting or finding work somewhere else . . .”

  “I’m going on a little vacation,” Patrick said. “That’s all.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Mr. Barber said. “You’ve been with us what? Ten years?”

  “Fifteen,” Patrick said.

  “Really?” Mr. Barber said. “That’s a long time to work without a vacation. Yep, it says fifteen years here in your file. You know, you’re due a bump in pay.”

  Good news? “I am?”

  “You were actually due three years ago,” Mr. Barber said. “I wonder why Campbell didn’t put you in for it.”

  “Who’s Campbell?” Patrick asked.

  “Your old supervisor,” Mr. Barber said. “He should have put you in for a raise.”

  I didn’t even know the guy. “How much of a bump?” Patrick asked.

  “At least ten percent,” Mr. Barber said. “I’ll get the paperwork started today, okay?”

  “Sure,” Patrick said.

  “It might not show up on your check this month, but it will definitely show up next month in time for Christmas,” Mr. Barber said. “You know, you have to have the cleanest file I’ve ever seen. There isn’t a single complaint in here from anyone.”

  Not even from Mr. Hyer or Mrs. Albertson? “Really?”

  “Many guys have a dozen complaints a month,” Mr. Barber said, “and here you are with none for fifteen years. What’s your secret?”

  “I don’t really have one,” Patrick said. “I do what needs to be done when it needs to be done.”

  “I should have you train the rest of the guys,” Mr. Barber said. “When will you be leaving?”

  “I’ll be off from now through about six p.m. Saturday,” Patrick said.

  “All right,” Mr. Barber said. “You have a good vacation. You’ve earned it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

  As Patrick moved toward Bergen Street and Mrs. Moczydlowska, he called each of his other tenants, leaving messages for half of them. Only Mrs. Gildersleeve showed any interest in his absence.

  “Three and a half days,” she said. “What will you be doing?”

  Mostly riding on a Greyhound bus. “I’m meeting a friend in St. Louis.”

  “Is this the same friend I sent a picture to?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Patrick said.

  “Is this friend named Lauren Short?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re meeting Lauren Short in St. Louis,” she said.

  “Yes,” Patrick said. “It’s our first date.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mrs. Gildersleeve said.

  She doesn’t believe me. “Really.”

  “Why go to St. Louis when she can fly to New York?” Mrs. Gildersleeve asked. “I mean, if she’s the real Lauren Short, the Hollywood star, she can fly just about anywhere she pleases, right?”

  “Right,” Patrick said. “But I’ve talked her into meeting me in St. Louis. If she flew here, photographers would most likely swarm us wherever we went. I want some quiet time alone with her.”

  Mrs. Gildersleeve laughed. “I don’t believe you for a minute, Patrick, but you have fun, okay?”

  “I will,” Patrick said. “Call that number if you need anything while I’m gone.”

  “Oh, I will,” she said. “Tell Lauren hi for me, okay?”

  “I will.” I may even bring her by to meet you one day.

  As he had expected, Mrs. Moczydlowska took the news of his vacation the hardest.

  “Why you go to this St. Louis?” she asked.

  “I’m going on a date,” Patrick said.

  “This woman is in St. Louis?” she asked.

  “Um, no, she’s flying in from Los Angeles,” Patrick said.

  “Have her fly all the way to here,” she said. “Tell her not to stop.”

  “We’re meeting in St. Louis,” Patrick said.

  “Is it far?” she asked.

  “About a thousand miles,” Patrick said.

  Mrs. Moczydlowska’s eyes popped. “You cannot date her here in Brooklyn?”

  I could, but I’m already committed to my crazy idea. “This is a special date,” Patrick said.

  “It is crazy,” Mrs. Moczydlowska said. “To go so far for one date.”

  “It is kind of crazy,” Patrick said.

  “A good boy like you should not have to go so far for a woman,” she said. “There are good women in Brooklyn, yes?”

  “True,” Patrick said.

  “So you change the place,” she said. “Tell her to meet you here. Tell her to fly here.”

  “But we already have our tickets,” Patrick said.

  “Get refund,” she said.

  “My ticket is nonrefundable,” Patrick said.

  She sighed and looked at the number Patrick had given her. “You did not think this through.”

  Patrick didn’t dispute that.

  Mrs. Moczydlowska sighed. “So if I have trouble, I call this number.”

  “Right,” Patrick said. “Twenty-four hours a day.”

  “What if I call your number?” she asked. “By mistake. Will you answer?”

  Patrick nodded. “I will always answer your call, Mrs. Moczydlowska. But only yours. I will ignore everyone else’s.”

  Mrs. Moczydlowska seemed to smile. “I may call you by mistake while you are gone.”

  I would expect nothing less. “And I will answer every time for as long as my phone works. The battery doesn’t last more than a day.”

  “You must get better phone, then,” she said. She walked to the door. “You come back.”

  Patrick smiled. “I will.”

  “You do not come back, I call your boss.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Moczydlowska.”

  After cleaning the furnaces at Bergen and his own building, Patrick did something he had never done before.

  He went to the IHOP on Livingston and ordered a western omelet.

  For the first time in his working life, he ate a meal seated in a chair at a table. There was no machine whirring near him and no stench surrounding him. He was not hustling from one service call to another while wolfing down his food. He was not on the phone with an irate tenant.
He enjoyed his omelet, rested his feet, and watched the world rushing by outside.

  After his brunch, he went to the Chase Manhattan Bank on Flatbush and withdrew twelve hundred dollars in cash. That left $2,004.38 in his account to cover the cost of Lauren’s ticket.

  This will give me eight hundred dollars for the date and four hundred dollars for a ring.

  He sighed.

  Why did I offer to pay for her plane ticket? With twenty-four hundred dollars, I could get her a much nicer ring. Even that isn’t what Lauren deserves by a long shot, but at least it would be nicer. I’ll just have to get her a friendship ring this time. It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring yet. I’m getting a ten percent raise. Maybe I should wait until that kicks in before looking for an engagement ring. With my raise, I might even be able to get store credit. Yeah. We could be engaged after Christmas and maybe married in January.

  He sighed again. But I can’t afford to wait that long. I may only get one shot at this thing. Lauren Short is an impatient woman. Chucky kept her waiting for three years.

  I will not make Lauren Short wait.

  Besides, the best first date in the world has to end with an engagement ring, doesn’t it?

  And where would I find such a ring?

  He walked half a mile up Flatbush to Schermerhorn Street and Gem Pawnbrokers, which was sandwiched between two check cashing places and Swap & Shop. He banged through the door with his tool bag and went straight to the jewelry display case.

  “May I help you?” a Hispanic woman asked.

  Patrick looked through several dangling gold chains at her name tag. Her name is Vicky. Is Vicky a Hispanic name? “Do you have anything in . . . platinum?” Lauren deserves platinum.

  Vicky squinted into the case. “I think so.” She removed a small box with a thin sliver of a ring. “It’s an Art Deco wedding band from the thirties,” she said. She squinted at the tag. “Seven round diamonds, point-oh-four carat weight, size . . . six and a half.” She handed the ring to Patrick. “Pretty light, isn’t it?”

  It doesn’t weigh a thing, Patrick thought. It’s shinier than anything else in the case, though. “Yeah. How much?”

  Vicky turned over the tag. “Appraised for fifteen hundred, but . . . I’ll let you have it for twelve hundred.”

  If I had twelve hundred, I’d get it. “That’s a bit . . .” He sighed. “Much.” He handed back the ring. “Pretty ring, though. Maybe one day.” He scanned the case, which was mostly filled with gold rings, some exceptionally gaudy. “Anything, um . . .” Lauren deserves much more than gold. He shook his head. “Never mind. Thanks.” He turned to go.

  “What’s her name?” Vicki asked.

  Patrick stopped and turned. “Lauren.”

  “Nice girl?” Vicki asked.

  Patrick nodded. “The best.”

  “Is she from around here?” Vicki asked.

  “No,” Patrick said. “She’s from LA.”

  Vicky stared at him. “Los Angeles, California?”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said.

  “How’d you meet her?” Vicky asked.

  “We met online,” Patrick said.

  “Like on Match.com,” Vicky said.

  “No,” Patrick said. “I wrote her a fan letter, and she wrote back. We’ve been writing to each other ever since.”

  “A fan letter, huh?” Vicky said. “Is she famous?”

  “Yes,” Patrick said. She’s so famous that I’m meeting her in St. Louis so her fame doesn’t get in the way of our date.

  “What’s her name?” Vicky asked.

  “Lauren Short.”

  Vicky put the ring back in the case. “Like the actress?” “No,” Patrick said. “The actress.”

  Vicky blinked. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said. “I’m meeting her in St. Louis on Thursday.”

  “Uh-huh,” Vicky said, crossing her arms.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t believe me, either,” Patrick said. “I hardly believe it myself. Lauren Short and I are going on a date in St. Louis in two days. It doesn’t seem real.”

  Vicky leaned against the case. “You’re serious.”

  Patrick nodded. “I’m trying hard to impress her. I’m paying for everything—the meal, the hotel, and her plane ticket, first class, two grand one way.”

  Vicky whistled.

  “And that doesn’t leave me much to get her a ring,” Patrick said. “What, with dinner at Tony’s, a room at the Millennium Hotel, and my bus fare . . .” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do, you know?”

  “You’re taking a bus to St. Louis,” Vicky said.

  “Yeah,” Patrick said. “Twenty-eight hours on a Greyhound. I leave at one.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Vicky said. “You’re taking a bus to St. Louis in a couple of hours to have a date with Lauren Short, the world-famous actress.”

  “Right.”

  Vicky laughed. “And you came here to buy her a ring.”

  Patrick’s face grew hot. “Right.”

  Vicky slapped the counter with both hands. “I have heard some tales in this store but nothing like the one you’re spinning for me now. Tell you what. I’ll knock that ring down to nine hundred for that crazy story.”

  More good news? “If you make it eight hundred, I could pay you half now and half when I get paid at the end of December,” Patrick said.

  “I don’t know if I can go eight,” Vicky said.

  “How long has the ring been in the case?” Patrick asked.

  “Good point,” Vicky said. “All right. Eight hundred, but I’ll need some collateral.”

  Patrick turned slightly, the tool bag swinging forward. “I only have my tools and the clothes on my back.” Why didn’t I put the laptop in the tool bag today? That has to be worth at least . . . fifty bucks. “I won’t need my tools for a few days. They’re all in good condition.”

  “Your . . . tools,” Vicky said.

  “I’m a handyman,” Patrick said, putting the bag on the counter. “They’re the most valuable things I own.”

  “You’re a handyman going on a date with Lauren Short in St. Louis,” Vicky said.

  “Right.”

  Vicky shook her head. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “All right,” Vicky said. “Let me take a look.”

  While Vicky pored over Patrick’s tools, Patrick looked at the thousands of items people had parted with: guitars, trumpets, saxophones, amplifiers, jewelry, electronics, and even some expensive purses. People even pawn what holds their money so they can get some money. There’s something ironic about that. He stared into the case at the diamond rings and gold wedding bands. These used to be on people’s fingers. I wonder where those people are now. He squinted at a particularly small diamond ring. I wonder if that’s the one I got for Natalia. It’s about the same size.

  “You have a tool for just about everything in there,” Vicky said.

  “I do maintenance for Salthead Property,” Patrick said. “Whatever can go wrong, I need the right tool to fix it.”

  “I really can’t value these at more than three hundred,” Vicky said, “and that’s being generous.”

  “They’re easily worth five times that,” Patrick said.

  “New,” Vicky said. “These aren’t new. And three hundred is their loan value. I’m giving you a loan, right?”

  He nodded. “That leaves me a hundred short. What if I left them here with you?”

  “You couldn’t do your job,” Vicky said.

  “I’ll be gone until Saturday night,” Patrick said, “and then maybe I can come by to pay you the balance on the ring and pick up my tools.” How, I don’t know! I’d hate to borrow money from Lauren to pay for her ring and the rescue of my tools!

  “We’re closed Saturday night,” Vicky said.

  “How about Sunday?”

  “We’re closed on Sundays,” Vicky said.

  “It would have to be Monday, then,” Patrick said. “I really want to t
ake this ring with me to St. Louis.”

  “For Lauren Short,” Vicky said. “Chazz Jackson’s ex-fiancée.”

  “Right.”

  Vicky leaned closer. “Are you crazy or something?”

  “No,” Patrick said. “What I’m doing may seem crazy, but I’m not crazy.”

  Vicky shook her head, but she was smiling. “You sure you want to give up your tools, even for a ‘date’ with Lauren Short?”

  “I know I shouldn’t, but I want to get Lauren that ring,” Patrick said. “If leaving my tools here means that I get to leave with the ring, I’ll leave the tools.” He dug out his roll of money and peeled off four hundreds. “I’d pay for the ring in full, but then I couldn’t afford dinner at Tony’s, and I might have trouble paying the entire hotel bill. I’d hate to ask Lauren to pay for any part of our date.” He held out the money. “That would be embarrassing.”

  Vicky looked at the money. “You’ve really worked out this . . . date.”

  “I’m trying,” Patrick said.

  Vicky took the money. “All right. I know I’m going to regret this, but I’m letting you take the ring.”

  Patrick smiled. “Thank you.”

  “And though I don’t feel right about taking your tools,” Vicky said, “I kind of have to.”

  “I understand,” Patrick said. “I will be back for them on Monday, so please don’t sell them.”

  “I don’t sell many tools,” she said. “I ‘buy’ them, though. This economy, you know?” She handed him a form. “Fill this out while I get, um, Lauren’s ring ready.”

  “Okay.”

  While he filled out the form, Vicky polished the ring with a cloth, seated it in a black fuzzy box, and handed him the box.

  “I can carry the bag wherever you want me to,” Patrick said. “It’s kind of heavy.”

  “I’ll manage,” Vicky said. She handed him another form. “This is what you owe on the ring.” She slid him a card. “And this is your claim ticket for your tools. Don’t lose this.”

  “I won’t. Thank you, Vicky.”

  Vicky looked at his form. “You’re welcome, Mr. . . . Esposito.” She squinted at him.

  “I’m Italian,” Patrick said.

  Vicky shook her head slightly. “Give my best to Lauren.”

  “I’ll give her my best,” Patrick said, “and then I’ll give her this ring. Thank you for doing this, Vicky. See you Monday.”