Richard Russo - Nobody's Fool

“He understands women, is why,” Ruby said defiantly.

“Well,” Sully said, “if that’s true, he deserves them all. Any idea where he’s at?”

“Probably with his perfect wife that he won’t divorce,” Ruby guessed bitterly. “The one he buys brand-new cars for. The one who lives in the mansion on Glendale while I live in a studio apartment and drive an eight-year-old car I bought secondhand.”

“life’s unfair,” Sully said to keep from smiling.

“It’s a blow job is what it is,” Ruby agreed seriously. “I always get the slimy end of the dick, too.”

“The other end’s attached,” Sully pointed out.

“Oh, buzz off, Sully. Can’t you see I’m all upset?”

“Okay, dolly,” Sully said, getting to his feet again. “Tell him I was here and I’ll be at The Horse if he wants me to do that job. And Ruby—”

“What?”

“Don’t take your love to town.”

Sully parked Carl’s El Camino outside the OTB in the middle of the diagonally striped no-parking zone. A young cop named Officer Raymer, whom Sully’d had run-ins with before, was bending at the knees in the doorway. “You got two minutes to move that,” he told Sully, not unreasonably. “Or you get a ticket.”

“Go ahead,” Sully said. “It’s not my car.”

Inside, Otis was among the other yellow windbreaker men, several of whom called out, “Sully!”

“Get away from me, you,” Otis warned. “You gave me a nightmare.”

“Good,” Sully said.

“I dreamed an alligator crawled up the stairs and got in bed with me. Woke up kicking and screaming. My wife’s got a big bruise on her thigh.”

“And you believe that’s how she got the bruise, Otis?” Sully said. He considered giving Otis the rubber alligator he’d bought from Mrs. Harold, but decided the occasion was not right.

Except for Otis, this remark struck the windbreaker men as pretty funny. Several offered other explanations for the bruise. Sully watched Officer Raymer grow impatient through the OTB’s front window.

“I’ll have you know my wife’s been faithful to me for forty years,” Otis said indignantly.

Sully nodded. “That’s pretty near the whole time you’ve been married, isn’t it?”

“Go bet your sucker triple,” Otis advised. “Before you give me another nightmare.”

Sully held up his hands in self-defense. “I never meant to give you bad dreams, Otis. In fact, I think Florida’s a good place for you. I just wanted you to be careful of alligators, is all.”

“Get away,” Otis said, swatting at him. “Just get away from me.”

“I think you should move to Florida,” Sully went on. “If you’re careful, you’ll probably be safe.”

“Go. Get lost.”

“Just one little word of advice,” Sully insisted. “When you wake up in the morning?”

“He won’t go away,” Otis said, appealing to the others.

“Just peek under the bed,” Sully said, demonstrating. “A quick peek. If you see teeth, stay in bed.”

“I’ll dream about this all night now,” Otis said miserably.

Sully bet his triple, shot the breeze for a minute with the ticket seller and sauntered out just as Officer Raymer finished writing the ticket.

Sully took it with good grace, opened the passenger side door and tossed it into the glove box. “Who do you like in the game Saturday?” he said genially.

The policeman looked suspicious, but this particular topic was too tempting, Sully too convincingly interested in his opinion. “Ah, Schuyler,” he said sadly. “They’re too damn big.”

Sully nodded. “You played for Bath, didn’t you?”

“Varsity, three years,” Office Raymer said proudly.

“I’d sure like to see our kids win one,” Sully said, starting around the El Camino. “Maybe then they’d go out into the world and make something of their lives.”

Officer Raymer started to agree, then caught a whiff of something. His nose actually wrinkled.

“The losers all stay around here and become cops.” Sully grinned, opening the door of the El Camino.

When the policeman actually rested his hand on the butt of his revolver, Sully laughed out loud.

“I heard a great joke,” Wirf said, pivoting on his bar stool when Sully came in off the street, having given up entirely on work for the day. There was a certain degree of aggravation beyond which Sully would not go, and today he’d reached it. There were days when the world set up more than its usual phalanx of obstacles, and when Sully sensed this principle in action he hung it up. “You’ll appreciate it, too, since it’s the story of your life,” Wirf said.

“I bet I don’t laugh,” Sully said, winking up at Birdie, the day bartender, who had climbed up onto a stool to adjust the focus on her soap channel. The picture came in fine as long as she stood there.

“This guy wants to get on the freeway,” Wirf began.

“Stop a minute,” Sully told him. “I like to concentrate when I look up Birdie’s skirt.”

Birdie fiddled with the fine tuning, unconcerned. “There’s nothing up there anymore,” she said. “How come the only channel we don’t get worth a sour old dog turd is the channel my soaps are on?”

“I see something up there,” Sully said, leaning forward. “But I’m not sure what.”

“This guy’s heading up an off ramp by mistake,” Wirf said. “Off to the side there’s this sign that says ‘Wrong Way.’ ”

“I swear to God I’m going to quit if Tiny doesn’t spring for cable,” Birdie said, finally climbing down. “Look at that. You can’t tell who’s in bed with who.”

“They all look alike to me anyhow,” Sully said, craning his neck to see the TV. “And I don’t think that’s a bed.”

“You gotta watch every day,” Birdie said. “Otherwise soaps don’t make sense.”

“So the guy keeps going anyway,” Wirf continued. “And pretty soon there’s another sign. This one’s all in capital letters. It says ‘YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY.’ ”

“You had a call about half an hour ago,” Birdie said.

“Miles Anderson?” Sully guessed.

“Woman,” Birdie said. “Said she’d reach you at home tomorrow morning.”

“So the guy keeps going up the off ramp,” Wirf continued. “Now there’s a great big sign with huge red letters that says ‘DANGER! TURN AROUND!’ ”

Sully fished around in his pocket for change that wasn’t there. He handed Birdie a dollar bill. “How about some quarters?” he said. Birdie was squinting at the set intently.

“Anyway,” Wirf said. “The guy ignores the sign and keeps going the wrong way, and just before he hits the oncoming traffic there’s a tiny sign on the shoulder that says ‘What the hell, you’ve come this far.’ ”

Birdie slapped four quarters onto the bar in front of Sully.

Wirf picked his money off the bar and stood up. “I don’t know why I even come in here,” he said.

“To be among friends?” Sully guessed.

“That must be it.” Wirf nodded. “Vaya con huevos, amigos. ”

“That was a pretty terrific joke, Wirf,” Sully called to Wirf’s retreating figure. “Laugh, I thought I’d die.”

“All you people should treat me better,” Wirf said over his shoulder. “When I’m gone, you’ll discover how hard it is to find another one-legged attorney who’s always in a good mood.”

“He’s right, too,” Birdie said seriously when the door closed behind Wirf. “I don’t know how we’ll replace him.”

Sully frowned. “Why would we want to? He’s right there on that bar stool about eight hours a day.”

“I hear he’s a sick man,” Birdie said.