On the way home, I stopped at the Wolf’s Lair. I took my usual seat next to the cash register.
I worked on a double Scotch, and the seventeenth draft of an article for World Oil magazine. I was bored.
I read the letter tacked to the wall behind the register. I’d read it before. A hundred times, at least. It was on the letterhead of a Dr. Fritzinger. It said: Dear Thom, Just a note to let you know your lab results were all ok. Thanks. Sincerely, Natalie,
Medical Assistant
I wondered, as usual, what it was doing there, pinned to the cork above the telephone.
But I never asked. If I did, they’d probably figure I didn’t get the joke.
Whatever it was.
A young guy sat down next to me. Well, younger than me. He was maybe thirty-five. He ordered a whiskey sour.
Hey, he said.
Hey, I replied.
What’s that you’re writing?
An article.
Really? You a writer?
Not really. I’m a lawyer.
Oh, he said. So, what’s it about? The O.J. case?
No, I laughed. I don’t think they care too much about O.J. anymore. Old news.
Right.
It’s just a little thing for World Oil magazine.
He leaned closer. I could smell aftershave.
World Oil? he said. Don’t think I’ve heard of it.
I’d be surprised if you had. The circulation’s only about three thousand.
Really?
He seemed genuinely interested.
So, why would you want to write an article for them?
It’s a very rich three thousand.
Ah.
Very, very rich.
So, you’re an oil lawyer?
No. Just a litigator. Sometimes oil companies are involved.
Right. So, what’s it about?
It’s about the difficulty of enforcing an arbitration award in Kazakhstan.
Ah. Interesting.
No, I said, it’s not. But it looks good on the resume.
Ah.
I went back to my article. I looked for wrongly italicized commas. That’s what you do when you get to draft seventeen.
The guy went back to his drink.
A few minutes later he leaned back in. The aftershave was musky, pungent.
I’m an actor, he said.
Really? That’s great.
Not so great. I’m not working right now.
I’m sure something will come up.
It always does. But I’m in a dry spell right now.
That’s too bad.
Last thing I did was a hair loss thing.
A hair loss thing?
Yeah. You know, one of those spray-it-on-your-bald-spot things. A commercial.
Right, I said, glancing at his long, full hair. Well, it looks very natural.
It was funny, he laughed. They tricked me out in a bald man hairpiece. Itched like hell.
Why wouldn’t they just hire a bald guy?
I don’t know. I guess I had the look they were going for.
I pondered that one.
By the way, he said.
Yes?
You need any carpentry work done?
Gee, I don’t know. You a carpenter too?
Yeah. When I can’t find work. But don’t get me wrong. I’m good. I used to do it for a living. My former life. I’m not one of those waiters looking for a break. Like that one over there.
I looked around.
The one with the bow tie, he said.
Ah, I laughed. Him. Yes.
I’m not like that. I’m a serious guy.
Yes. I can see you’ve got some substance.
You can?
He was surprised. Pleased.
Kind of charming. Innocent.
So anyway, he said. I can do anything. Rough work. Fine work. Whatever you need. Just to tide me over. Til I get another gig.
Gotcha, I said. Right.
Maybe I can find something for this guy, I thought. Nothing big. Can’t afford anything big right now. A little thing. A bookshelf, a table.
Well, I said. Let me think about it. There might be something I could use you for.
Great, he said, getting up to leave. Hey, I’m here all the time. Just drop by and let me know. Or leave a message with Thom.
Sure. I’ll do that. Nice talking to you.
Jake, he said, putting out his hand.
Rick, I said, reciprocating.
His hand was warm. Dry. His grip was loose.
Funny. I’d never seen him there before.