“Can’t talk anymore. Seriously, this counterman’s giving me the eyes like he wants me and his phone dead. It’s no personal answering service he says he has.”
“Just whisper to him Porky why.”
“Why like in the question?”
“Like in the letter. But what’s the difference, you’d only be saying it, so he’ll know.”
“What’s it mean?”
“That you would have known if you had let us serve you months ago. All sorts of wonderful fringes coming from us. But since you’re on your way out of here anyway, I’ll be a good guy and tell. Means he won’t charge for what you eat and will let you talk long as you want on his phone free.”
“Maybe I want to pay for my meal and don’t want to talk.’’
“Then you’re really stupid. Because who else is giving you a free meal when you’re hungry and a phone for as long as you want, especially when you still have unfinished business to discuss? You can even call long distance when we hang up. Go on, tell him you want to call out of town and as far away as you like.”
“I have no one out of town. And what more we have to discuss?”
“Such as what I don’t want to harp on again but you’re forcing me to about your making it a big thing and sticking around the city and junk — just don’t.”
“I’ll see.”
“I said don’t. Telling you, advising you. I’m actually going way beyond what I intended and befriending you: leave the city by this afternoon at the latest. But without talking to anybody about your bar, or at the most, if you have to, then that you were quietly forced to go. Or as a compromise, that it was over some woman you went crazy for and left — that always works and it’ll build up your rep.”
“Will you get off the phone?” the counterman says. “Your five minutes are long up and I just don’t want you on anymore.”
“Porky Y,” I say.
“What’s that again?” Comes closer, says low “Tell you what. This time use it all you want. Don’t make it a habit, but use it now. That line about my wife is to keep the other slouches off because most can live on the phone. When you’re done with your call I’ll reburn you some new toast.”
“The old will do. I like it both cold and burnt too. No kidding,” when he puts another two pieces in the toaster, “I do — That code message of yours really worked,” I say on the phone. “About the other thing, I’ll think it over, but I’m too sleepy and hungry to say yes now or no. Want to call me at the hotel later today or me call you someplace?”
“No. Answer now.”
“Can’t.”
“I said your decision, Shaney. Last time: what’s it to be?”
“Move to another city for so long? I don’t know. I’m not trying to give you a tough time, but I never lived anywhere else. And about my mouth staying shut, how do I know all times what it’s going to say?”
Hangs up. I sit down and the counterman gives me a fresh bowl of hot cereal. I mix in the milk and pat of butter and start eating. Phone rings. Counterman answers it and says “Yes … Yes … Yeah … Sure.” Hangs up, takes my bowl away though I’m not half finished with it, chucks it in the garbage pail under the counter while I eat off what’s on my spoon. “Sorry, I can’t serve you. You know what I’m talking about, so I’ll see you.”
“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve money, so give me my eggs, toast and sausages and more coffee or I’m phoning the police from here and you can explain it to them.”
“Don’t make it hard on me. Just go.”
“And don’t hand me that don’t-make-it-hard-on-me crap. Give me my food or I call from your phone.”
“You can’t use my phone.”
Something catches my eye at the window. Man’s behind it, ducks away. Seems like the one from before who also wore a dark suit and no hat. “Friend of yours?” pointing to the window.
“Who?”
“Sure, who. Mr. Peekaboo, I-see-you. I’ll use your phone all right. I’ll break your counter in if you don’t let me and smash your window too.”
“Please.”
“No more pleases either. Some creep calls up, gives you the password on me like Porky T, Freaky E and says a fellow creep will be watching at the window what you do and that’s supposed to be enough? Oh no, I’ve had it to here with them, so it also means with you. I want a new bowl of cereal, forget the spoon because I can use this one, and next my eggs turned over well-done and toast like I said and sausages and also a glass of milk. I want a cold glass of milk, all of which I’ll pay for and the cereal one-and-a-half times for and because I’m an old bartender I’ll leave a good tip.”
“I can’t. Now get out.”
“What’s the trouble, Irv?” a printer at the counter says. “Anything any of us can help you with?”
“No trouble,” I say. “It’s his business and mine and personal unless he wants to tell you just what it’s about. Irv won’t serve me because someone told him not to, that’s all I’ll say for now. Well screw Irv and you too if you butt in, because that’s how I feel. I feel lousy, angry, scrappy, the whole thing of it, everything, up to here, that’s how I feel. And I’ve money for what I want him to cook for me, so it’s not like I’m trying to cheat the guy either,” and I slap a five on the counter. “Now,” to Irv, “you giving me my cereal and eggs or not?”
“Nothing.”
“Then forget the police, what they do for me? And I’ll make the food myself.”
I go around the counter. Irv backs up all the way to the phone. Three printers stand up. “No,” Irv says, “let him have his fun, just so he gets out of here eventually.” Printers sit. I take a bowl off the shelf, plop a few serving spoons of cereal in from the pot, though I don’t want anymore, look in the refrigerator for a piece of fruit, find a banana on top of it and slice the banana into the cereal and add milk and eat. I finish it and take the bowl around the counter, stick it with the dirty dishes, dribble some grease on the grill, crack two eggs and throw them on, turn them over, burn my toast the way I like it, pour myself some coffee and put the toast, eggs and butter on a plate.
“Forget the sausages,” I say to Irv, “because I wouldn’t’ve been able to fit them in with all the cereal,” and I sit and eat and drink. “The milk. Could you get me a cold glass of one?” He stands there staring at me. “I’m too tired to get up again. No, I’ll get up, what am I making excuses for? Exercise will do me good and milk even better,” and I go around and get a milk carton out of the refrigerator and pour a glass.
Phone rings. I look at the window. No one’s there. Irv answers the phone and says “I know, I know…. Sure, on his way now,” and hangs up.
“Them again?”
“No, my wife.”
“Sure it is. She wants to know when I’m leaving. Tell her ‘now.’ How much?”
“Forget it I told you.”
“That was just for the first cereal and single coffee.”
“Don’t bother. I can take the loss.”
“The hell don’t bother. This five dollars do you?” He nods. “Great. Here’s another five for your trouble,” taking it out of my shirt pocket and putting it on top of the other on the counter. “Really, I’m sorry for giving you such a tough time but you made me mad. I’m not that sorry though and I don’t always act this way, but if I told you why you’d probably say you don’t understand.”
“Just get lost.”
I put on my coat and hat and walk out.
“And don’t do me any more favors with a return visit,” he says when the door’s shutting behind. I smile and wave at him. He gives me the curse sign with his hand. That man outside’s not around and I walk to the hotel.