“…. ”
“He’s apparently out of the country, with my father.”
“Doing what?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Is this the same ‘I can’t tell you,’ or a different one?”
“Different. ”
“Deeply hurt and pissed off, now.”
“Look, can I just assure you that I’ll tell you later, and not tell you now, and think, and eat my salad? Would that be OK? I’ll stay at your place tonight, which I actually really want to do, even though I told Candy I’d be back home tonight, and we’ll talk. I really do need your advice. Yours especially, Rick. I just have to figure out what’s going on myself, first, for a second, OK?”
“It’s really quite bad, and it has to do with the nursing home, and no one has passed away.”
“Eat your steak.”
“I only—”
“Rick, who’s that?”
“Where?”
“Over there, by himself, at that table?”
“You don’t know who that is?”
“No.”
“That’s Norman Bombardini. Our landlord and Building-mate, of Bombardini Company and skeleton eye-socket fame.”
“He’s a large person.”
“He is large.”
“Gigantic, is more like it. Why’s he snarling and gnawing on the edge of the table?”
“Good Lord. My understanding, which I get mostly from War-shaver over at the club, is that these are just not good times for Norman. Problems with his wife. Problems with his health.”
“He looks like he really needs to lose some weight.”
“I guess he’s tried, off and on, for years. An interesting man. War-shaver hints around that his company is on the verge of a real—”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Look at what the waiter’s bringing.”
“Good Lord.”
“There is just no way someone can eat all that.”
“Poor Norman.”
“Oh, that’s sick. He could at least wait till the waiter put it on the table.”
“Must be really hungry.”
“Nobody’s that hungry. And did he just try to bite the waiter? Was that an attempted bite?”
“Must be the light in here.”
“He’s really making a mess.”
“I’ve never seen him like this.”
“He’s getting juice on the people at the other tables. That lady just put her napkin on her head!”
“Is that a napkin? It’s really quite fetching.”
“You’re horrible. Look, they’re having to leave.”
“Well, it looked like they were almost done, anyway.”
“Well I’m not. I’m not going to look anymore.”
“Probably wise.”
“….”
“….”
“But I can’t really help hearing, now, can I?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“God, look at that, he’s almost done with all that. He has eaten a literal mountain of food in about two minutes.”
“Well, a lot of it’s on the floor, too, after all.”
“I think I’m going to be physically ill.”
“I’m frankly worried. This has almost taken my mind off your present lack of trust in me. Norman is not right.”
“How come I’ve never seen him? I see his car all the time, in that space.”
“I think there are size problems with the front door. He has a special entrance on the east side. Elevator. Reinforced cables.”
“Wow.”
“….”
“Did he finish all that? Is he finished?”
“He’s certainly slowing down. I sense something missing, though. See the way he’s looking around?”
“Dear God, Rick, look at the floor.”
“Dessert. That’s what’s missing. And here comes the waiter.”
“Laws of nature will be violated if he eats all that and doesn’t die.”
“Lenore, listen, I think we should go over and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“Are you joking? I think that’s an insane person, over there. I don’t think it was the light, I think he really tried to bite the waiter. See the way the waiter’s just sort of tossing the desserts onto the table from a safe distance?”
“Norman’s sated, though, you can tell. The desserts are going at a normal rate, more or less.”
“You’ve still got a lot of your own steak left, you know.”
“The steak will keep. I feel vicariously gorged, anyway.”
“What are you doing? Are you kidding? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Come on.”
“Big mistake, Rick. Not something I wish to do.”
“Be a sport.”
“How are we going to get over there?”
“Serpentine. Follow me. Watch the—”
“I see it.”
“Norman?”
“Who’s that?”
“Rick Vigorous, Norman.”
“Not a good time, Vigorous. The beast is at trough, as you can see.”
“Norman, we were just at the other table, there, just beyond the vegetables, see?”
“….”
“… And thought we’d come over to see if anything in particular might be the tiniest bit wrong, and to introduce this young lady I’m with, who works in the Building, and whom you may or may not know.”
“I don’t think I know you, no.”
“Norman Bombardini may I present Ms. Lenore Beadsman, Lenore, Mr. Bombardini.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Beadsman. Not related to Stonecipher Beadsman, by any chance?”
“Lenore is Mr. Beadsman’s daughter.”
“Daughter. Interesting. Stonecipheco Baby Foods. Not a bad line of products, really. A bit soft and runny for my taste, of course….”
“Well, it’s infant food, really, Norman.”
“… but any port in the proverbial storm. Please feel free to sit down.”
“Shall we?”
“Ummm…”
“Let’s.”
“Just put the plates anywhere at all. You probably don’t want to sit in that chair, at all, Ms. Beadsman, I predict.”
“Not really.”
“Here’s another one.” “….”
“So, Norman.”
“I don’t suppose either of you would care for a bit of eclair?”
“No thank you.”
“No thanks, Norman, really. ”
“Well, it’s just as well, because you can’t have any. They’re mine. I paid for them and they’re mine.”
“No one disputes that.”
“Staked your claim pretty thoroughly, I’d say.”
“Ms. Beadsman, you’re not one of those spunky girls, are you? One of those girls with spunk? My wife has spunk. Or rather she had spunk. Or rather she was my wife. Spunk is apt to make me uncontrollably ravenous, thus representing not an insignificant hazard to the possessor thereof.”
“Lenore is comparatively devoid of spunk, really.”
“Thanks, Rick.”
“So, Norman. How are things?”
“Things are huge and grotesque and disgusting, Vigorous; surely you can see that.”
“Pretty keen analysis, really.”
“Careful, Ms. Beadsman. That was spunky, in my opinion.”
“Norman, I couldn’t help noticing that you’re having rather more for dinner than seems completely natural. Or healthy.”
“I’d go along with that, Vigorous.”
“So I presume something is the matter.”
“Astute as always.”
“….”
“You want to know the story? I’d be happy to tell you. I think I have just enough caloric energy stored up to make it through the telling of the tale. It’s short. I am monstrously fat. I am a glutton. My wife was disgusted and repulsed. She gave me six months to lose one hundred pounds. I joined Weight Watchers… see it there, right across the street, that gaunt storefront? This afternoon was the big six-month weigh-in. So to speak. I had gained almost seventy pounds in the six months. An errant Snickers bar fell out of the cuff of my pants and rolled against my wife’s foot as I stepped on the scale. The scale over there across the street is truly an ingenious device. One preprograms the desired new weight into it, and if one has achieved or gone below that new low weight, the scale bursts into recorded whistles and cheers and some lively marching-band tune. Apparently, tiny flags protrude from the top and wave mechanically back and forth. A failure — see for instance mine — results in a flatulent dirge of disappointed and contemptuous tuba. To the strains of the latter my wife left, the establishment, me, on the arm of a svelte yogurt distributor whom I am even now planning to crush, financially speaking, first thing tomorrow morning. Ms. Beadsman, you will find an eclair on the floor to the left of your chair. Could you perhaps manipulate it onto this plate with minimal chocolate loss and pass it to me.”