Glenn Beck - The Overton Window

Noah ducked a passing tray of Budweisers and was jostled from behind as he stepped back to let the server squeeze by. He turned to see whom he’d run into, and there, standing before him, was Molly Ross.

The first thing he noticed was that she’d changed her outfit. More stylish jeans and a warm autumn sweater, nails freshly done, a little purple flower in her hair instead of the pencils. But more than just her clothes had changed. The difference was subtle but striking and it probably boiled down to one thing: she gave a damn how she might come across to these people, in contrast to her obvious disdain for those at the office. That’s what it was; she seemed like she was right where she belonged, and the effect was very easy on the eyes.

“Well,” Molly said, allowing him only a conditional hint of a smile, “look what the cat dragged in.” For the first time he noticed a light Southern lilt in her words.

“Yeah, I made it. I said I would.”

She pulled aside the lapel of his overcoat, tsked, and shook her head. “What did you do, walk all the way down here in the rain?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Hold still.” With a disapproving sigh she helped him off with his overcoat, then folded it over her arm. “Come on, I’ve got a table over there by the jukebox. I’ll go look around-somebody here’s got to have an extra shirt you can wear.”

“No, really, don’t bother-”

But she’d already turned, offering her hand so he wouldn’t lose her. He took it, following as she worked their way through the thick of the crowd.

Soon they arrived at a little round pub table for two near the stage, with high stools on either side. In a higher-class joint, seats this close would have been reserved for the VIPs.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and then she disappeared into the noisy multitude.

After one more all-American number the singer finished his set to spirited applause and loud bar-thumping. As the ovation subsided a passing waitress asked Noah what she could get for him.

“For some reason,” Noah said, “I’ve suddenly got a craving for a Samuel Adams.” She took the order down on her pad, but his not-so-subtle dig at the goings-on in the bar seemed completely lost on her.

Molly came back with two cups of coffee, a choice of three dry shirts, and an enormous bearded man in jumpsuit coveralls and a Beech-Nut baseball cap. The clothes she’d apparently foraged from the luggage of some out-of-towners in attendance. It wasn’t clear where she’d picked up the big guy, but he looked like he might have hiked here straight from a hayride.

The big man ticked his chin in Noah’s direction. “Who’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Not my boyfriend,” Molly said, in a tone meant to emphasize what a far-fetched idea that really was. “This is Noah Gardner, from where I work, and Noah, this is my friend Hollis.”

A beefy right hand the size of a fielder’s mitt came toward him, and Noah put out his own. “Good to know you, Hollis,” he said, with a clasp only firm enough to transmit sincerity without throwing down a challenge for that iron-grip competition some men love to engage in upon first meeting.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” the big man said. Good etiquette had obviously been drilled into him from childhood; by his manner it seemed that shaking hands with a total stranger was an event to be treated with great respect. In contrast to his physical size his voice was unexpectedly high and reedy. The overall effect was something like being introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh, if Winnie-the-Pooh had been a seven-foot, mostly shaven, talking grizzly bear.

Molly had brought back a selection of men’s tops, including a faded sweatshirt from Kent State, a dark burglar’s hoodie with a torn pocket and a pattern of moth holes, and a two-tone T-shirt that said presumed ignorant on the front. He took the sweatshirt.

“Thanks,” Noah said, looking around. “Where can I go to put this on?”

“For heaven’s sake, it’s just your shirt. Go ahead and change right here if you want to.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her palms, with a bewitching innocence on her face that was not quite as pure as the driven snow. “I doubt you’ve got anything under there me and Hollis haven’t seen before.”

“Aha. So you admit that I’m human.”

She seemed to study him deeply, as if the piece to a stubborn blank in a jigsaw puzzle might be hiding somewhere within his gaze. It must have been only a second or two, but it felt so much longer than any other mere moment he could remember.

“We’ll see,” she said.

Being between tans, Noah had opted to change his clothes in private, though the restroom turned out to be nearly as crowded as the bar itself. There was a definite scent of weed smoke in the air. He’d already seen a few hardcore, single-issue hemp-heads in the crowd. Maybe they were here to attach their cause to the larger group’s ambitions.

He slipped out of his damp shirt and into the fresh top he’d borrowed.

His pants he’d have to live with, but they were already starting to dry out. At least without his dress shirt and tie he might blend in a little better with the majority of the yahoos outside.

When he returned to the tavern proper he saw that the big guy was gone, but another man had joined Molly at the small table by the stage.

Noah stopped by a floor column at a point where he was half obscured from their line of sight. It hadn’t been his conscious intention to stand there and watch the two of them from a distance, not at all. That would be impolite, not to mention a little creepy if either of them should have glanced over to notice him there. But as the brief pause stretched into a minute or more, his minor worry of what she might think if she saw him watching was pushed aside by a different concern.

They were sitting close together, hand on hand, talking and whispering, intent on one another, each finishing thoughts for the other, laughing easily. It was an intimate relaxation between them, a togetherness without any pretense, the kind of closeness you see only rarely between siblings, and sometimes among old friends, but often between two people in love.

“That Molly, she’s a nice girl, don’t you think?”

Noah flinched at the sound of the voice near his ear. He turned to see Molly’s large friend Hollis towering beside him, watching the distant table just as he had been.

I was just-

“Nice girl. Smart one, too. Quick as a whip.” Now that he’d said a few more words his regional accent was coming through loud and clear. This guy wasn’t just from Appalachia; he looked and sounded like he might’ve eaten one of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

“Whatever,” Noah said, “I just met her, so-”

“That boy with her there, his name’s Danny Bailey. Molly tells me they was tight with one another some time ago, but beyond that I didn’t pry no further.”

Feigning disinterest didn’t seem to be of much further use. Either Hollis was an excellent judge of character or it was so obvious that Noah was smitten with this woman that there was no more need to try to hide it.

“Okay, so that’s his name,” Noah said, “but who is this guy?” His cover was now blown; Molly had just spotted him and was waving him over.

“To be honest I don’t know that much about him,” Hollis said, and his next words sounded strange coming from a giant of a man who could probably bear-hug the fight out of a silverback at the Bronx Zoo.

“But he scares me some.”

• • •

When he returned to the table they pulled over another chair and all three sat back down.

“So, you must be Noah,” Danny Bailey said. “Molly’s told me almost nothing about you.”