He opened the blueprints for the 140-story building his company was going to put up in three years and flipped through the prints to page 126. “Here’s your ticket office,” he said, pointing to one of 200 tiny boxes that will make up the 200 offices on the 126th floor. “Great view of the city also, when there aren’t too many clouds below. And sometimes on the same day they’ll be able to see Canada, half of America and the larger ocean liners two days out to sea. And round-the-clock evacuation teams for the tenants during the heavier storms. Special radio communication with local airports so they’ll have instant alerts when planes are flying too low. Sound good? An office you always dreamed of? The crown of a working lifetime and what no great company should be without? Then what about you renting one on the 126th floor? We’ve only eighty offices left on that floor and no more than 12,000 left in the rest of the building. All you need is an okay from our doctors that you don’t go crackers from very high altitudes or get severe nose bleeds or fainting spells from the high-speed elevator rides.” “I don’t need an office for what I do.” “Then rent one just for the kick of the elevator rides. Up and down. What do we care? They’re all automatic, so bring your friends with you and ride them as much as you like.” I told him I could hardly pay for the rent on my cheap apartment, and he suddenly looked cross and showed me the door. “Yes, a very nice door you have here also,” I said, rubbing and knocking on it. “Very sturdy. Good finish. Will the doorbells in your new office building be just as well made?” I left and sat on the stoop across the street. A woman came out the door behind me and said “Now here looks like a young fellow who’s got a mean itch to get to Palo Alto.” “How’d you know?” “A little birdie told me.” On her shoulder was a small bird who never stopped talking into her ear, even when she was telling me this. “I got just the plane ticket to get you there,” she said. She reached into her pocketbook. The bird pecked her temple to get her attention and flapped his wings very fast as if what he was saying was very important. “So sorry,” she said. “But the little birdie just told me a man down the street wants to get to Palo Alto even more than you.” She got on her bike with the bird on her shoulder and pedaled to a man sitting on the curb. “Now you look like a man who wants to get to Palo Alto real bad,” she said to him. “I can’t tell you how much,” he said. “You don’t have to, as the little birdie just did that.” She gave him a plane ticket to San Francisco. A helicopter ticket from the San Francisco airport to Palo Alto. And enough money for cab rides from here to Kennedy Airport and from the Palo Alto heliport to the house on Leary Street where this man wanted to go. “Leary Street?” I said. “That’s Kevin’s block.” I asked him what number. It was the house next to yours. “Could you also give me a plane and helicopter ticket to San Francisco and Palo Alto?” I asked the woman. “I’ll travel with this man. That way you’ll save on my cab rides from here to the airport and from the heliport to Leary Street. And I won’t insist the cabby also pull up in front of Kevin’s house, I’ll get out at this man’s house next door and walk the rest of the way.” All this time the bird was talking excitedly into her ear. “Hold it,” she said to me. “I can’t hear the little birdie over your chatter. Now what’s that you said, birdie? No. You don’t say. That’s unbelievable. Thanks, sweetlife. Know what the little birdie just told me? That there’s a young lady uptown who wants to get to Palo Alto in an even worse way than you two guys put together. Sorry, but I guess she’s the one who gets to go.” She snatched back the tickets and cab fare from the man, got on the bike with the bird on her shoulder and rode away. “Hey lady,” I yelled. “Let us try to prove to you that put together this man and I want to get to Palo Alto even more than that girl.” “Dumbkofs,” the bird yelled back to us. “Well, what do you know?” the woman said. “That’s the first word in English this little birdie’s ever spoke.” That’s when I gave up on getting to Palo Alto. After I finish this letter I’m going straight home. I suppose a nice thing for you to do would be to tell the people next door that there’s a man in New York who wants to get there even more than I do. But then I don’t see how they can know how much I want to see you, unless they have a little birdie of their own. Or the bird the lady has flies out to tell them before this letter arrives. Anyway, bye for now. And no matter what the birdie tells you if it does fly out there, you’ll never know how sorry I am that I couldn’t get to Palo Alto. But quite honestly, getting there turned out to be much too tough a problem for me.
Very best,
Rudy
Dear Kevin:
Right after mailing you that last letter, I went home. But my home didn’t seem to be my apartment anymore, as my keys didn’t fit the locks and my door knocker was gone and there was now a bell.