Jacks Magic Beans

The man stood rotting on the corner. Frayed rags hung from his skeletal frame and ulcerated sores covered his exposed flesh, weeping blood and pus. He stank. Sweat. Infection. Excrement. Despair.

Finley considered going the long way around him, but Kathryn waved impatiently from across the street. He shouldered by; head down, eyes fixed on the pavement. Invisible.

He can’t see me if I can’t see him.

“Yo ’zup,” the rotting man mumbled over the traffic. “Kin you help a brutha’ out wit’ a quarta’?”

Finley tried ignoring him, then relented. He didn’t have the heart to be so cold, although Kathryn’s yuppie friends (they were supposed to be his friends too, but he never thought of them that way) would have mocked him for it. He raised his head, actually looking at the bum, meeting his watery eyes. They shone. He glanced across the street. Kathryn was incredulous.

“Sorry, man.” Finley held his hands out in a pretense of sympathy. “I’m taking my girl to dinner.” Feeling like an idiot, he pointed at Kathryn, proving what he was saying was true. “Need to stop at an ATM.”

“S’cool,” the vagrant smiled. “Ya’ll kin hit me on da way back.”

“Okay, we’ll do that.”

He stepped off the curb. The man darted forward, grasping his shoulder. Dirty fingernails clawed at his suit jacket.

“Hey!” Finley protested.

“Have ya’ll seen Yellow?” the bum croaked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Finley stammered, clueless.

“Afta’ ya’ eat, take yo’ lady t’ see it.”

Cackling, he shambled off toward the waterfront.

Kathryn shook her head as Finley crossed the street. “So you met the Human Scab?”

“Only in Baltimore,” he grinned.

“Fucking wildlife,” she spat, taking his arm. “That’s why I take my smoke breaks in the parking garage. I don’t know what’s worse—the seagulls dive-bombing me, or the homeless dive-bombing me.”

“The seagulls,” Finley replied. “How was your day?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Roger. Christ, you’ve become so liberal. What happened to the conservative I fell in love with?” She paused and let go of his arm, lighting a cigarette. In the early darkness, the flame lit her face, reminding Finley why he’d fallen in love with her. “But since you asked, it sucked. How was yours?”

“Alright, I guess. Pet Search’s site crashed, so I had to un-fuck that. Fed-Ex dropped off my new back-up server. On Days of Our Lives, John is still trying to find Stefano and Bo found out about Hope’s baby.”

“Wish I could work from home. But one of us has to make money.”

“Well isn’t that why we’re going out to dinner? To celebrate your big bonus?”

They crossed Albemarle Street in silence. Ahead, the bright lights of the Inner Harbor beckoned with its fancy restaurants and posh shops. The National Aquarium overlooked the water like an ancient monolith.

Kathryn’s brow furrowed.

“Beautiful night,” Finley commented, tugging his collar against the cold air blowing in across the water. “You can almost see the stars.”

Kathryn said nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighed, her breath forming mist in the air. “I feel—I don’t know—old. We used to do fun things all the time. Now it’s dinner on the couch and whatever’s on satellite. Maybe a game of Scrabble if we’re feeling energetic.”

Finley stared out across the harbor. “I thought you liked coming home every evening with dinner made, and spending a quiet night around the house.”

She took his hand.

“I do, Roger. I’m sorry. It’s just—we’re both thirty now. When was the last time we did something really fun?”

“When we were twenty-one and you puked on me during the Depeche Mode concert?”

Kathryn finally laughed, and they walked on, approaching Victor’s.

“So why did your day suck?”

“Oh, the lender won’t approve the loan on the Spring Grove project because the inspector found black mold in some of the properties. Of course, Ned told him we were going to rip out the tiles during the remodeling phase, but he—”

Finley tuned her out, still nodding and expressing acknowledgement where applicable. After ten years, he’d gotten good at it. When was the last time they’d really done something fun? He tried to remember. Didn’t this count? Going out to dinner? Probably not. He tried to pinpoint exactly when they’d settled into this comfortable zone of domestic familiarity. By mutual agreement, they didn’t go to the club anymore. Too many ghetto fabulous suburbanites barely out of college. They didn’t go to the movies because she hated the cramped seating and symphony of babies crying and cell phones ringing.

“—so I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Kathryn finished.

“You’ll be fine,” Finley nodded, squeezing her hand. “You can handle it.”

She smiled, squeezing back.

The line outside Victor’s snaked around the restaurant. Finley maneuvered them through it; thankful he’d had the foresight to make reservations. The maitre d’ approached them, waving.

“Hello, Ms. Kathryn,” he said, clasping her hand. “I’m delighted you could join us.”

“Hello, Franklin,” she curtsied, smiling as the older man kissed both her cheeks. “This is my boyfriend, Roger.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard much about you.”

He winked and Finley grinned, unsure of how to reply.

“Give them a good view,” Franklin told the hostess, and turned back to them. “Sheila will seat you. Enjoy your meal.”

“I come here a lot for lunch,” Kathryn explained as they followed Sheila to their table. “I told Franklin we’d be coming in tonight. He’s a nice old guy; a real charmer.”

“Yes, he does seem nice,” Finley mumbled, distracted. Not for the first time, he found himself surprised by how little he knew about Kathryn’s life outside their relationship. He’d never thought to wonder where she spent her lunches.

In many ways, they were different. Strangers making up a whole. She was the consummate twenty-first century yuppie—a corporate lioness intent upon her career and nothing else. He was the epitome of the Generation X slacker, running a home-based web-hosting business. They’d been together almost ten years, but at times, it seemed to him as if they were just coasting. The subjects of marriage and children had been broached several times, and usually deflected by both of them. He needed to devote his time to developing his business. She wasn’t where she wanted to be in her career. Despite that, he thought they were happy. So why the disquiet? Maybe Kathryn was right. Maybe they needed to do something fun, something different.

“—at night, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “What’d you say hon?”

“I said the harbor really is beautiful at night.” They were seated in front of a large window, looking out towards the Chesapeake Bay. The lights of the city twinkled in the darkness.

“Yeah, it sure is.”

“What were you thinking about, Roger?”

“Honestly? That you’re right. We should do something fun. How about we take a trip down to the ocean this weekend? Check out the wild horses, maybe do a little beach-combing?”

“That sounds great,” she sighed. “But I can’t this weekend. I’ve got to come in on Saturday and crunch numbers for the Vermont deal. We close on that next week.”

“Well then, how about we do something Sunday? Maybe take a drive up to Pennsylvania and visit some of the flea markets, see the Amish, or stop at a produce stand?”

“That’s a possibility. Let’s play it by ear, okay?”