“Frank’s not in any trouble, is he?” Ruth asked.
“No, Ruth,” the detective responded, shaking his head. He sipped at his tea then took another bite of his cookie. “I love stale cookies.” The woman smiled apprehensively.
The detective spoke. “We have a report, actually it’s quite an old report, about a man dying up the street. Heart attack. He was discovered by someone named Gray. The writing was pretty messy so I think it was Gray. Couldn’t make out the first name. I’m checking out all the Grays in the neighborhood.”
Ruth shook her head. “I can’t remember Frank mentioning anything.
But then he’s pretty quiet. Doesn’t tell me everything. I wish he told me more. Men keep too much inside. I read that in a magazine at the doctor’s office. The article said that it shortened their lives, keeping everything inside. Do you believe that, Sam?” Sam took out his pad and scribbled something down.
He looked up. “I don’t know, Ruth.”
“Do you talk to your wife about your work?” Ruth asked, then apologized. “I hope I’m not being too personal, Sam.” Sam smiled. “Not married.”
“Oh,” Ruth responded. “My, Sam, you don’t look like a bachelor.” Sam laughed.
“Frank and I were downtown on Saturday if that helps.” Ruth looked across the table at the detective.
“This happened years ago, Ruth,” Sam said.
“If this death happened so long ago, why are you looking into it now?”
“Doing it for a friend.” He smiled. “We like to think that every case can be solved.”
“I see. Does that mean that our Johnny’s file could be reopened?”
“Would you like me to look into it, Ruth? It’s not likely that I could find anything but I’ll have a look if you want.” Ruth shook her head. “No. I mean it’s terrible to say, but we went through so much at the time and over the years, I don’t think we could take that again. I pray that he’ll come home again some day on his own.” Ruth smiled, her voice weakening. “He’d just finished his first year of college. We had such plans for him. Frank was hoping that he’d get his CA and join him in the firm. Frank was working with a partner then. But Johnny hated school. I warned Frank about pushing him too hard. A boy needs time to sow his wild oats. Sometimes there would be fights.
Johnny always threatened to run off to California. He was going to be some Hollywood star. We looked there. Had a detective on the case for over a year. He didn’t find anything. I can never watch movies. I keep looking at the extras hoping to see Johnny’s face in a crowd. It’s put a hole in my heart. Do you know what that’s like, Sam? To have a void inside you that can never be filled?”
Gin
Jack leaned over the bar. “How are things going with your fella?” Mary smiled and flicked an ash off the cigarette that dangled in her fingers into the ashtray on the bar.
“Do I have mat written on my forehead?” Mary asked.
“That bad?” Jack emptied Mary’s ashtray and replaced it with a clean one.
Mary continued, “If I could write a book about everything I’ve learned about men over the years, I wouldn’t have a thing to say. You’d think some lesson would sink into my thick skull, but every time I meet a new guy, it’s like I’m falling in love with a new species. Hank must be the coldest fish in the sea. A girl likes to be romanced. A candlelight dinner.
Soft music. Slow dancing. Hank told me that modern romance was an industry. That’s what he called it-an industry. From movies to lipstick, restaurants to lingerie, chocolates to diet pills, the whole thing is about capital venture. What the hell is capital venture? Hank says that women have a fatalistic obsession with romantic delusions. What the hell does 89 that mean, Jack? The other night I made this pork tenderloin meal. It’s a recipe I learned from an Italian girlfriend. I have everything set up to se-duce him-soft music, good food, an expensive bottle of French wine, and candlelight. Hank arrives and the first thing he does is turn on the light. Tells me that he can’t enjoy his food unless he can see it. I’m in the mood for an evening of long caresses, wine, and passion. Once we’re in bed, it’s slam, bang, thank you ma’am, and he’s asleep. It’s the middle of the night and I’m left wide awake with nothing to do but watch television. Do you know how boring those infomercials are? I think I’ve seen every piece of exercise equipment in existence. Last night I watched the shopping network, women’s answer to pornography. I ended up spending fifty dollars on skin cream. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic.”
“You actually phoned in to one of those commercials?” Jack asked.
“I needed to talk to someone,” Mary responded, picking up her drink again and swallowing the remainder. She put down the glass and tapped the brim with her finger. Jack produced another gin and tonic.
“Do you know why I order gin?” Mary asked. “I probably told you but I’m going to tell you again because it always brings a smile to my face. I went to college. You didn’t know that, did you, Jack?” Jack shook his head.
“I had to quit after the first year. I was on probation and I just partied my way right out of school. I had this boyfriend and we broke up. Well, I’m never long without some man. I met this lovely long-haired red-headed guy. My ex labeled him puppy dog. He was like that, very sweet, following me around everywhere I went. He adored me. You can only take so much adoration. So I dumped him and went back to my old boyfriend. We were at a basketball game when my boyfriend spotted the red-head across the court. ‘There’s your puppy dog,’ he laughed. The red- head was sitting with a couple of his friends. He could hardly keep his head up he was so drunk. And then he looked up and our eyes met.
He stands up, and right in the middle of the game, he staggers across the court. The players all stop. The referee blows his whistle. Still, my puppy dog keeps advancing toward me. At the last moment, he passes out at my feet. You could smell the gin off him like it was a fellow traveler.” Mary took a sip of her drink and laughed.
“What happened to Puppy Dog, Mary?” Jack asked.
Mary shrugged. “Never heard from him again. But gin always reminds me of him. Every time I walk into a party and smell gin, I look around for him. God, he was a sweet guy. But that was a long time ago.
He’s probably bald, fat, married with kids, and incredibly happy. Or maybe he’s dead. Funny how people that were so important in your life just disappear.”
“You ever think of looking him up, Mary?”
Mary shook her head.
“Why not?” Jack asked.
Mary looked up at Jack and smiled. “What if he still adored me? What would I do with him? Or worse, what if he didn’t remember me? What if I no longer existed in his memories?”
Mary took a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes. She looked up at Jack. There were tears in her eyes. “What happens to us, Jack? Why do we end up so fucked up? What happened to all the sweetness in life?” There was silence for some time. Jack polished the top of the bar. Mary sat staring into her drink, smoke from her cigarette curling up toward the ceiling.
“Maybe you should go home, Mary,” Jack said kindly.
Mary looked up at Jack, her makeup streaked with tears.
“Home? A tiny little hole in the wall with a kid that hates me. Jack, sometimes I feel as if I don’t exist. Like the young girl that was me, filled with promise and dreams, walked out of my life one evening and never returned, leaving a lonely middle-aged woman behind…I hate feeling like this. I watched a show the other night, when Hank passed out on me, on black holes. You ever heard of them, Jack?” Jack shook his head. The door of the bar opened and a couple stepped in. Jack moved off to serve them. Staring into her drink, Mary didn’t notice his absence.
“There are these holes in space that suck everything in. Nothing escapes them. I got one of those black holes inside me. It’s sucking my life away.”
Mary looked up and then around the bar. Jack was in the corner serving his new customers.
“God, I hate gin,” she muttered, dropped her cigarette in the glass, and left.
Montgomery Inn
Hank looked around the old inn, now preserved for future generations as a museum.
“Can I help you, sir?” a young woman asked.
Hank looked down at the young girl, her long red hair framing a generous smile.
“A beer?” he said.
Before the girl could explain that the inn was no longer an operating tavern, Hank asked, “So this is where the Rebellion of 1837 began?”
“Yes, sir.” The girl nodded.
“Hard to imagine that this neighborhood gave birth to revolution,” Hank said.
The girl looked puzzled.
