“Listen, I don’t think you understand. I just told you I have no connection to the Observer any longer. Plus, to be totally honest with you, I’m not even a journalist. Sorry, I’m just not your man.” Woody was now in earnest. He had felt pity while watching Scatcherd drag himself across the floor but now the clerk was becoming obnoxious.
Scatcherd wasn’t prepared to give up. He turned meek and almost pleaded. “You could take it to one of those papers downtown. They would eat it up. The Dumonts have a lackey over at the Torpedo Factory by the name of Bellows. He’s out to get me.” The clerk’s mood swings were so dramatic and his self-confidence so tenuous that all the courage he had shown in confronting Bradley Bertram had dissipated. He was now desperate and sniveling like a child.
Woody just shook his head sympathetically and Scatcherd, looking helpless, turned back toward the door. After he had retreated a few steps, Woody called out and said “Hey, what’s your name? If I hear of anyone who might be interested, I could have them contact you.” Noise was picking up at the bar and if Scatcherd had heard Woody’s consolatory words, he ignored them as he trudged out of Pudge McFadden’s.
As Woody watched Scatcherd leave, he didn’t notice the two middle-aged men in dark suits standing at the bar.
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Seeking Solace
AFTER THE INCIDENT with Scatcherd, Woody walked back to his apartment on North St. Asaph Street, restless and moody, thinking about the accusation that had been leveled at him. Okay, he wasn’t a muckraking journalist. Hell, he wasn’t even a writer but that is not what distressed him. This pathetic character had challenged him and made him almost despise himself. He knew that he was drifting aimlessly, and he had to do something about it soon but to be confronted with his desultory existence by such a sorry-looking character was painful to face.
Woody looked at his bike on the back porch and decided to ride downtown, roughly 8 miles along the mostly-paved path past the airport and Arlington National Cemetery, at which point he could cross the Potomac River Bridge that would put him close to his destination – the Lincoln Memorial. Honest Abe was often a brooding and troubled man, even dispirited at times. Woody had sought out this revered site before to commune with the great one. He had pedaled furiously for thirty minutes and was breathing heavily as he gazed up at the iconic statue of the man with the grizzled visage, this paradigm of greatness who had carried the weight of the nation on his shoulders. In that moment, Woody found solace.
After a short rest, Woody felt invigorated and decided to bike over to Georgetown, the trendiest area of Washington, DC. He rode uneasily over the rough pavement on M Street, the glare of the setting sun making him squint into the western sky as he maneuvered cautiously between and around cars. He decided that he could handle one beer before pedaling home so he stopped in front of Clyde’s, a popular pub with locals as well as students from two nearby universities – Georgetown and George Washington.
He locked his bike to a lamppost and walked into the midst of a raucous throng, three-deep at the bar and almost all of them jostling for position so as to get the bartender’s eye. At the moment, the quaintness of Old Town seemed a million miles away.
Woody finally saw an opening at the bar and squeezed in to order a Heineken. He leaned both elbows on the bar and cradled his beer with both hands. Two girls were huddled next to him, laughing and attempting to talk above the din. He could not see their faces but drank in the intoxicating aroma of either shampoo or perfume. Whatever it was, he was sure that they could use more of it to freshen up the atmosphere at Pudge McFadden’s.
Woody had made his weekly call home the night before and his stepfather had mentioned that there was a course he could take in New York City run by a retired cop that prepared young recruits for the police exam. Woody did not feel pressured but did volunteer that he would think about it. Right now, that prospect was looking more enticing than it had only a few weeks ago
Woody didn’t intend to eavesdrop but was certain that he heard the words “Parlor Harbor” spoken by one of the girls and his attention was immediately riveted. He pivoted slightly toward them and leaned forward on his left shoulder when the girl closest to him suddenly jerked her head back. When she did, Woody was staring at Nellie Birdsong.
IT HAD BEEN four years since Woody had seen Nellie. Both of their families had summer cottages in Parlor Harbor but to say that their acquaintance was during a tumultuous time in both of their lives would be a profound understatement.
Woody had gone to college with Nellie’s cousin, Ralph Birdsong, and at one time they had been close friends before a falling out. When Ralph came to Parlor Harbor to visit her after their graduation from Thorndyke College, Woody was spending the Summer there, contemplating his future and an impending draft notice. After Ralph was killed by drug dealers, Woody was charged with his murder and was practically railroaded by a corrupt District Attorney and a compliant sheriff. Surreptitiously, Nellie had provided information that had exonerated Woody but had, when it eventually came out, caused a strain between the Meacham and Birdsong families. Shortly thereafter, Woody joined the Army to beat the draft and Nellie returned to college.
Before Ralph Birdsong’s murder and his bogus arrest, there had been a spark of romance between Woody and Nellie. He remembered the moment vividly. It was 1967 and they were outside Pappy’s waterfront restaurant in Parlor Harbor. Woody’s childhood friend, Jerry Kosinsky, was visiting at the time and had likened her to Joni Mitchell while Woody insisted she was the twin sister of Jackie DeShannon. As he stared at her four years later, her long blonde hair was now cut short in a bob and slightly curled in just below her ears, exposing a sleek, alabaster neck. If possible, she was more beautiful than ever.
As Woody stared with a smile frozen on his face, Nellie looked at this guy with a mop of dirty blonde hair and droopy mustache with a puzzled look, which said “Am I supposed to know you?”
Nellie’s friend was closest to him and now turned her head to look at Woody. Both girls were staring at him as if he had interrupted their conversation as a prelude to a lame pick-up line. Woody’s smile faded, and he forced out “Woody Meacham, Parlor Harbor?” as more of a question than an explanation.
Nellie stood frozen for a few seconds and then her jaw dropped as she brought her hands up to her face in mock horror. She had not pined for Woody Meacham all those years, but it would be untrue to say that she had not thought of him from time to time with tender feelings. She had heard through her family that he had gone into the Army but didn’t want to entertain the possibility that he had ended up in Vietnam and come home in a body bag.
Nellie’s friend slid behind her and let her wedge in next to Woody at the bar. They were almost forced to glance into each other’s eyes. It was a tantalizing moment to be suddenly so intimate as they struggled to talk over the cacophonous crowd. Woody explained that he had recently been discharged from the Army. She heard little else but kept nodding and smiling. Then, she turned and introduced her roommate, Liz Cuttwater. Woody learned that they shared an apartment in Georgetown and worked downtown but was able to pick up little else through the clamor. Mostly, they stared at each other and laughed nervously.
Woody looked out to the street through the bar window and saw that it was getting dark. He had forgotten his therapeutic visit with Honest Abe and cursed his bicycle. He almost yelled into Nellie’s ear that he had his bike out front and had to start for home. When he said he hoped to see her again, Nellie winced, and Woody concluded that he had misinterpreted what he thought were encouraging signals. Crestfallen, he turned to leave but Nellie grabbed his arm while she looked back and whispered something to her friend. When she turned back, she was smiling as she handed Woody a scrap of paper. It was still very loud, but Woody distinctly heard her say “Don’t lose it”.