Tom Schreck - On the Ropes

“C’mon, Kel,” I said. “I’m just curious.”

“I’ve never heard anything about it. Bikers have ’em on their elbows sometimes, but that’s something different.”

“Yeah, I know. Do you think it has anything to do with the ‘Webster’ stuff Walanda was talking about?”

“Duff, you watch way too much TV.”

With that, he half turned to direct his focus on the TV. The Yankees were off, so the TV was on ESPN Classic. They were showing a 1984 USFL game between the New Jersey Generals and the Arizona Wranglers. Kelley acted like it was some storied rivalry akin to Notre Dame and USC, and fixed his attention on the screen. I decided to let it go.

The Foursome, like a dog with a bone, was still chewing on the seagull/rice/Alka-Seltzer dilemma.

“TC, it’s a known fact,” Rocco said, raising his voice. “Accept when you’re wrong.”

“How come you don’t see dead birds all in front of churches if it’s true?” TC said.

“How come you’re just an asshole?” Rocco said.

“I heard about a lady,” Jerry Number Two said. “She tried to dry off a guinea pig in a microwave and the poor thing blew up.”

“The guinea pig or the lady?” asked Jerry Number One.

“I don’t remember,” said Jerry Number Two.

“That happened to me once,” TC said. “I put a chicken liver in the microwave for the cat,” said TC.

“What the hell kind of voodoo were you practicing?” said Rocco.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and was counting out money for my bill and AJ’s tip when Kel spoke without looking away from the Wranglers’ classic touchdown drive.

“How many times did you hit him?”

“I hit him with a one-two and then a body shot. Then I slammed his head into the bumper twice,” I said.

“The one-two landed on the nose? The head slam was on the side of his head?”

“Yeah.”

“The scumbag’s nose was halfway over to his ear,” Kelley stayed focused on the television. “It separated right off his face, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said. I turned for the door.

“Duff,” I turned back around. Kelley was still watching the game. “Nice combination,” he said.

I headed past the Foursome and went home. I was halfway home when it dawned on me that my mysterious Crown Vic friend wasn’t tailing me. I smiled to myself, thinking about how my imagination can run wild, but I didn’t get to smile for long. Just as I was pulling into my driveway, a silver Crown Vic passed the Moody Blue heading the other way.

“Hey Duff.” I hated it when Sam greeted me first thing in the morning. Actually, as I thought about it, I hated when Sam greeted me regardless of his timing.

“Yes, Sam?”

“How can you tell when a Polack chick has been using a vibrator?” Sam smiled.

“Gee, Sam, I don’t know. How can you tell when a Polish-American woman has been using a vibrator?” I said.

“Her front teeth are chipped.” Sam really got a kick out of that one, and before I could say anything, he disappeared and went back to the business office.

It was a lovely start to another shit sandwich of a day. It was time for the second Quality Assurance Committee meeting. As I made my way into the boardroom, I saw Sheila talking to Gabbibb, and I think I heard her mention something about Botox. Gabbibb was wearing an authentic Derek Jeter Yankees jersey with dress slacks and polished Bostonian shoes. He was heading to the Stadium after the meeting to catch his beloved Bronx Bombers.

Bowerman led off the meeting with an announcement.

“Before we get started, I wanted to let you all know something. As you all know, we’re very excited about our new halfway house and though it’s far from being refurbished, we would like to invite everyone out to see the new facility.” Bowerman had her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was doing her best to be ultra-professional. “We’d also like to present an overview of the type of program we’d like to run, once we get approval from the state and all the construction is done,” she said.

There was an effort to unite the various Jewish agencies to coordinate services. For people like Claudia and Bowerman, this was threatening because it meant the possibility that their little empires might be compromised. It was Hymie’s idea, and on paper it was a good one. Unfortunately, the inane power struggles that dominate the lives of people who rise to the positions of leadership in these organizations would find a way to sabotage whatever good could come of a partnership.

Besides this committee and a couple of others, the big joint project was the halfway house that Espidera was funding. Anyone in social services will tell you that there’s an absolute dearth of residential facilities for women with children. It is probably the biggest single obstacle for women to get help for addiction, prostitution, and physically abusive relationships. There were halfway houses and safe houses, but none where you could bring your kids for longer than a few weeks. It was going to be a great thing, despite the fact that Espidera made it possible so he could get a tax break. I guess sometimes the ends do justify the means.

“I’m just so excited,” Espidera said, beaming at the attention he was getting. “The possibilities this new program will offer the women and children of this area are tremendous.”

Bowerman and Claudia figured a date for all of us to take a ride out to Kingsville to see the new facility and to discuss some program planning. It wasn’t hard enough that I had to get caught up with all this paperwork, I also had to somehow get it done on days when we weren’t even in the office. These little field trips to pat board members on the back and stroke the egos of people like Bowerman made me crazy.

I had just gotten back to the cubicle when Trina stopped by. I liked Trina and, even though she was the Michelin Woman’s secretary, she seemed to be on my side. I also liked her because she was twenty-four years old, with shoulder-length brown hair and legs that reached all the way to the ground. Being twenty-four, she gravitated to the hipper fashions, which was fine by me. Having her pass by the cubicle in some of her tight-fitting pants or significantly above-the-knee skirts had a way of breaking up the day.

Trina was my women’s focus group of one. I ran relationship issues past her, got date ideas, and dissected rejections with her. She was eager to help me navigate the minefield that was the fairer sex, and I could tell she genuinely liked me. She smelled nice and was a pleasure to be near. She also had been seeing a guy named Lou for two years and I could sense she wasn’t always pleased with him.

“Hey Duff,” Trina almost whispered.

“What’s up?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but she’s going to audit ten of your charts in the morning.”

“Shit. Do you know which ones?”

“She usually has me, you know, randomly select them.”

“Ugh.”

“Duff, suppose you, like, happened to let me know which ten of your files are in the best shape. Maybe I could, like, randomly select them for you.”

“Trina, you don’t have to do that.”

“Let me know by the end of the day,” she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. “It’s, like, so not a big deal.”

She smiled at me and let her eyes linger on mine a little after we stopped talking. It made me wonder. I didn’t feel comfortable having her stick her neck out for me, but I am also not a fool.

The problem was I didn’t have ten good files. I could give Trina a list and try to get ten files into some sort of shape. It would mean close to an all-nighter, but it would buy me some time. I came up with ten and discreetly slipped the list onto Trina’s desk on my way to get some coffee. She smiled at me and tucked the list away.