| “Have a good trip?” The boss was sitting at his desk, frowning at his pipe. “It was okay.” He put the pipe down. “Yeah, it’s good to get it away from it all.” The boss gave him a wan smile. “Well, you can’t get away from everything. Turns out you just end up getting closer to the things you can’t leave at home.” He sighed. “Here – thought you’d like this. It’s where we stayed.” He tossed a matchbook across the table. “See any?” “Deer? No. But look at those letters. They’re made out of wood. That’s clever. You could use the idea, I figured.” Joe hated wood letters. You always had to cheat, use curved pieces of wood – look at the d, the R, the O, the D. Did someone spend all day in the woods looking for a tree that grew circles? “How was the food?” “Fine. I don’t have much of an appetite, though, even though I’m eating for two.” “And the service?” “Friendly.” “So pretty much as advertised, then.” “Yep. Well, I got some papers to take care of here. Maybe see you later.” “Sure. Welcome back.” He looked thin from the cancer. Eating for two. What a way to put it. Joe walked back to his office, thinking: How long since he’d been on a vacation? Years? A man ought to go twice a year, just like church on Christmas and Easter. You needed to – well, not get away, he’d never think of that the same way again. Get out, then. He looked at the matchbook; the Deer Lodge did not look like a place he’d like to visit. In fact it looked damn spooky – black empty windows, abandoned porch, floating in the middle of some beige void. What would you do there? He knew: put on hunting clothes, sit around the fireplace and play gin rummy, walk in the woods, get gored by some rutting buck who mistook your cologne for an ewe in heat. No, not an ewe, that was a sheep. A faun? Buckette? Whatever you call them. Then venison at night, cracking a crown on some buckshot. Beers at night with the rest of the boys. Card games again. Big talk and small stakes. No thanks. I’ve never been to New York, he thought. Practically no one I know has been to New York. Bet there are people here in town who go there all the time. And so does everyone they know. Why not me? What’s stopping me from telling the boss I need some time off – he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t notice. Walk over to the Terminal Tower, buy a ticket and a toothbrush. Can’t afford to make a big trip – who knows what hotels cost. Dinner, cabs, tips – not in the budget. But he could just walk out of the train station and look around. Hello, New York. Thought I’d drop in. Head across the street; there would always been a good cheap bar for the commuters. Have a local beer, read the paper, get back on the train. A nice long sleep. So if anyone asked “you ever been to New York?” he could shrug: sure. As if to say, who hasn’t. After work Joe went over to the Terminal and checked the departures. He didn’t feel like sitting around waiting six hours for the next train to New York. Besides, the train stopped too many places, anyway. It made New York seem like a place where the train ran out of ideas and called it quits. He wanted to board a train where the conductor said “next stop, Broadway!” Because in a way that would mean you were already there, in a way. You sure wouldn’t be in Cleveland. He checked the departures: a train from New York had just arrived. Gate Four. He wandered over to see who got off, and whether they looked any different. Fancier. Sharper. More cosmopolitan. But they looked like anyone else. He went across the street to the bar, ordered a Leisy. There was a newspaper on the bar, and he checked the headlines. “Excuse me –“ He turned left. Guy about 30 or so, ordinary looking, big eyes. Bow tie. Suitcase. “Where does a fella go for some fun around here? I got some time to kill and thought I’d see the sights.” “There’s fun, and there’s the sights,” Joe said. “I’d put them in separate categories.” “Heh heh. Yeah. Well, fun first.” “If you mean hookers, I wouldn’t know. If you mean strippers, there’s burlesque off Euclid, but from what I hear it’s strictly stockyard material, if you know what I mean. If you want a dinner and a show, Alpine Village is your best bet, and don’t try to pick up the waitresses. If you want the sights, walk out of the bar. That’s Public Square. Turn around 360 degrees. Slowly, like. Soak it all in. Then come back here.” Joe waved his finger in the air to indicate the smoky interior of the bar. “These are our sights.” “Hey, thanks.” “Where you from?” “Brooklyn.” “No kidding. What do you think of our fair city so far.” “Gotta tell you, New York closes in on you. It’s nice to get away, you know? Nice to be in the country.” The country. A fifty-story building across the street, and he thinks this is the country. Well, I suppose when there’s only one instead of a hundred, he could be excused. Joe drained his beer. “One more thing. When you head outside?” “Yeah?” “Watch out for deer.” Joe winked. “It’s mating season.” ---- |
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