“What can I get you?”
“A bottle of Bud. And an Old Grand-Dad. Neat.”
He served me and returned to his cutting board. I downed the shot and lit a smoke, then drank deeply of the beer. When the bottle was empty, I ordered another and a shot to keep it company.
I watched a yacht leave the marina while I killed my second round. I settled up and walked back out, up the street and to my car. Heading northwest, I stopped at a liquor store and bought a sixpack and a pint of Old Crow.
Before my next stop I slammed two cans of beer and had a fierce pull off the bottle. I wasn’t really sure where I was going, but it didn’t much matter. I knew at that point that I was spiraling down into a black binge.
I parked in front of May’s, a glorified pizza parlor on Wisconsin between Georgetown and Tenley Circle. To the left of the dining room was a bar run by a fat Greek named Steve Maroulis. Maroulis also made book from behind the bar.
“ Ella, Niko!” he shouted when I walked in.
“Steve,” I said, and took a stool at the bar next to a red-faced geezer in an Orioles hat.
“What’ll it be?” Maroulis asked cheerfully, with a smile on his melonlike face.
“A Bud and a shot.”
“You still drinkin’ Grand-Dad?”
“Yeah.”
He put both in front of me and I drained the shot glass. I lit a smoke and put the matches on top of the pack, then slid them neatly next to my bottle of beer. All settled in.
“Sorry to hear about Big Nick,” Maroulis said.
“He had a life.”
“Tough sonofabitches, those old Greeks.”
“That they were.”
“Not like us.”
“No,” I said. “Not like us.”
I drank my beer and watched a soap opera on the bar television. A pretty-boy actor was doing his impersonation of a man, while the young actress opposite him was trying to convince the audience that she could love a guy who wore eye makeup.
I ordered another round and finished watching the show. When the next one came on, the same garbage with different theme music, I asked Maroulis to switch the channel.
“Anything,” I said. “Christ, even The Love Boat would be better than this shit. How about a movie?” I was looking at the stacks of tapes Maroulis had lined up next to the VCR.
“No movies!” the geezer next to me declared, and pounded his fist on the bar to make his point. “Haven’t seen a movie since Ben Hur. Don’t plan to either. They’re all shit.”
“All right, old-timer,” I said. “No movies.”
And, I might have added, “Welcome to the ’90s.” I thought of T. J. Lazarus, another senior who claimed he hadn’t seen a movie in years. But there had been a brand-new television and VCR in his house. Probably one of the gifts from Kim that he had mentioned. I thought of Kim’s state-of-the-art equipment in her barren apartment. But from the looks of her collection, she hadn’t purchased a record since Don Kirshner’s heyday. And I thought of Pence, with his unconnected recorder, a pathetic reminder of the gift from his missing grandson. Gifts.
The geezer next to me was still talking. I don’t know if he was talking to me. I smoked another cigarette and moved the ashes around in the ashtray with the lit end. In my other hand I held the empty shot glass and made circles with it on the bar. I finished my beer.
“Steve,” I said, calling him over. “You still got that phone in the office upstairs?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to use it.”
“Go ahead.”
He handed me an unsolicited beer as I stepped away from the bar. I put the Camels in my breast pocket and passed the kitchen, tripping once as I went up a narrow staircase. I found the small office and had a seat at a government-issue desk that faced a dirty window overlooking the alley. The phone directory was under the desk.
I looked up the number for the local authorized Kotekna service center and dialed it. After two rings a friendly voice picked up.
“Service,” he said.
“Hi,” I said. “I’ve got a problem with my VCR.”
“Is it in warranty, sir?”
“Yes, but it’s been serviced twice already. I’m not interested in having anothe harranty, sir serviceman look at it. What I need from you, is there some sort of eight-hundred number, a customer service line or anything like that?”
“Hold on,” he said, a little less friendly. He got back on the line and gave me the number. I thanked him, hung up, and dialed the number he had given me. A recorded voice instructed me to wait for the next available operator. Before the message ended a live voice broke in on the line.
“Kotekna Video. Customer service.”
“Customer service?” I said lamely. “I’m sorry. I’m a retailer, not a customer. I was trying to get the sales manager for the mid-Atlantic region. What’s his name again?”
“Bruce Baum,” she said.
“Yes, of course. Could you connect me please?” There was a click, then a couple of rings.
“Mr. Baum’s office,” a sweet voice said.
“This is Gary Fisher,” I said, “with Nutty Nathan’s in Washington. Can I speak to Bruce, please?”
“Let me see if he’s in. Hold, please.” A click, more waiting, then, “I’ll connect you.”
“Bruce Baum,” a smooth voice said.
“Bruce,” I said, “Gary Fisher, the merch manager with Nutty Nathan’s.”
“Gary,” he said with false warmth. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m really calling for some advice on one of your products.”
“Go ahead, Gary.”
“My company purchased a hundred sticks from your people at the CES show in Vegas, a closeout I think.”
“That’s right. The KV100, wasn’t it? Your GM, Jerry Rosen, cut the deal himself.”
“Yes. Anyway, to be honest with you, I’m having some trouble moving them. I don’t know if it’s a problem with price point, or if I’m not promoting them correctly, or what?” I heard the slur of my words and let him talk.
“Well,” he said, “I hope you’re not trying to make the full mark on them. After all, even considering they were defects, I practically gave them away.”
“Defects?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
“Well, then,” he said with a chuckle, “there’s your problem right there. Miscommunication in your office. I had this load of KV100’s with defective boards. Jerry Rosen came out to the show and decided to take them off my hands for practically nothing. He said he was going to have your service department order the new parts, fix the units themselves, then blow them out at a strong retail to make an impression in your market. He probably hasn’t gotten the parts yet. That’s why they='3' whvesre still sitting in your barn.”
“The units are shells right now, is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s right.”
“Thanks, Bruce.”
“ Thank you. Let me know how you do with them. We’ve been trying to get our foot in your door for years. Frankly, I cut this deal with Rosen as an entree.”
“I’ll let you know, Bruce. Thanks again.” I hung up.
I put fire to a Camel and leaned back in my chair. A bird flew onto the window ledge, saw me, and flew off. I
