Читать книгу Night at the Museum - Leslie Goldman - Страница 7

Larry Daley was having a bad day. Lately, he’d been having a string of bad days. They added up to not just a bad week or a bad month, but actually, a fairly bad few years. Yet, today was even worse than usual. Today, they’d shut off his cable.

Larry hadn’t paid the bill, but was that any reason to deny him television? He didn’t think so, which is why he called the cable company to try and reason with them.

“Hello, Delores, this is Larry Daley. You guys shut off my cable yesterday. I know the bill is late, but we’ve just had some minor organizational problems over here.”

Larry was stretching the truth. His problems were major, not minor. He wasn’t organized in the slightest. His apartment was a huge mess. It was filled with a jumble of books and papers, hockey equipment, and boxes. One look at his apartment and a person would think he’d either just moved in or was about to move out. In fact, neither was the case. Larry was just a big slob.

As he pleaded with the cable lady, he paced back and forth in the small living room. When he walked past his latest invention, The Snapper, he glanced at it. The front of the box showed an old woman with a big smile on her face, snapping her fingers to light up a room. You’ve heard of The Clapper? Well, that was a successful invention. The Snapper, which Larry invented? Not so much.… Of course, that was small potatoes compared to his other failures.

“The thing is,” said Larry, “I’ve got my son staying with me tonight and we were gonna watch the Rangers game, but if there’s no cable, I mean it would really…I’d just hate to disappoint him. I’ve already mailed the check. So, can you please turn it back on?”

Larry pulled back the dingy curtain that led to his son Nicky’s room. It was the best-looking part of the whole apartment. The walls were freshly painted and hockey posters hung from them, neatly. The bed was made. The shelves were stocked with board games and model jets. Larry was always careful to make sure that Nicky’s room didn’t get messy. Mostly, he did this by staying out of the room when Nicky wasn’t around. For some reason, it seemed like whatever Larry went near turned into a disaster.

Yet, perhaps his luck was about to change. It sounded like the cable lady was actually buying his story.

“Oh, that’s great. Thank you so much, Delores. You’re the best. Good-bye.”

Larry hung up the phone and realized he was late for a very important appointment. He grabbed a folder from his desk. Inside were the plans for his latest business idea. He wanted to open up a restaurant called The Daley Grill: An International Dining Experience.

Larry checked himself out in the mirror. He smoothed down his dark brown hair. He flashed his pearly white teeth. In jeans and his best button-down shirt, he was looking good. Larry put his folder in his bag and headed to his meeting.

No way could this go wrong.

As he headed to his car someone called his name. “Larry?”

Turning around, Larry found himself face-to-face with Miguel, his super. “Hey, Miguel. Como estás? You get that CD I burned you?” Larry asked.

“Yeah, man, I like it,” said Miguel. “Thanks.”

“Good. I thought you’d be into the Gipsy Kings. All right, I’ve got to run.”

Larry hoped to make a clean escape, but Miguel had some unfinished business with him.

“I need the rent, Larry.”

Larry stopped short. He was so close to getting away. Turning around slowly, he decided to play dumb. “I didn’t give it to you?” he asked.

Miguel wasn’t falling for it. They both knew that Larry hadn’t given him the rent check. “You’re two months late,” said Miguel. “If I don’t have it by January 1, I’ve got no choice but to evict you. I’m sorry.”

Larry wasn’t worried. He’d been late with the rent plenty of times. Of course, he’d also been evicted plenty of times.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have it. I’m about to close on a major deal. Cash flow is not gonna be a problem,” Larry promised. “See you later, Miguel.”

Larry hopped into his old heap of a car and started it up. He was hoping to make it out of there before his landlord could argue with him.

“January 1, Larry. Two weeks,” Miguel called.

“Got it,” said Larry. What he was really thinking was, I hope I’ll have it.

Larry sped to his meeting. It was in SoHo in downtown New York. He was running a little late, but luckily he found a great parking spot in front of his soon-to-be restaurant.

At the moment, it was a dingy, vacant storefront, but Larry had vision. He had imagination. All he needed was the money.

After climbing out of his car, he placed a brown paper bag over the parking meter. Scrawled on the bag were the words “Broken Meter.” This was a great way for Larry to get out of wasting change to pay for parking.

Soon he was giving his three potential investors a tour of the place. “If you’ll turn to page one of your business plan,” Larry said, trying to sound as official as possible, “you’ll find the basic layout of the restaurant.”

The men opened up their folders to the first page. This wasn’t exactly hard to do, because besides the cover, there was only one page in the business plan.

Larry explained what he thought was a brilliant plan, a sure moneymaker, and probably his best idea, yet. “We’re going to go for an Asian fusion sort of thing,” he said confidently. “There will be a sushi bar around the perimeter. Six shabu-shabu stations in the center here.”

“Shabu-shabu?” asked one of the men. “We’re dentists, Larry. Talk to us in English.”

Larry said, “You sit around a pit of boiling water and cook your own food. It’s very big in Japan.”

The second man nodded, thinking about this. “Interactive dining. I like it. This is an interesting investment opportunity.”

“I don’t think we can go wrong,” said Larry, clearly pleased.

“What are you looking at in terms of food cost to profit ratio?” asked the first man.

“Uh, it’s… it’ll be…” Larry was afraid the questions would get complicated. To be honest, he hadn’t done all that much research into the financials of the business. Why waste his time crunching numbers? There was no need. He knew—he just knew that it would be a huge success. “High yield. Very solid ratio,” Larry assured them.

“Can we meet the chef?” asked the third man.

Details, details, thought Larry. What is it with these guys?

“Yeah, I’m actually looking into a few guys. That won’t be a problem. There are a lot of great cooks in New York.”

“Who know how to do shabu-shabu?” asked the third man.

“The thing is, you really cook it yourself, so…” Larry was starting to get nervous. Actually, he didn’t have anything else to say on the matter. It seemed as if they were losing interest. This had happened before, with other investors. It baffled Larry. How could these guys not want to give him the money, when his plan was so brilliant?

The second dentist took a closer look at the business plan. “I don’t see your résumé in here. You’ve worked at other restaurants in the city?”

“Yes,” said Larry. “I’ve actually held several managerial positions, in neighboring fields.”

Last fall, Larry had been fired from Kinko’s, which was next door to a great little Italian restaurant. This is what he meant when he said “neighboring,” but he decided not to share that part.

“So you’ve never worked in a restaurant?” asked the third man.

“No. But that’s a minor detail,” said Larry. “I’ll be the big-picture guy. I’ll run the front of the house. We’ll hire people to handle the rest.”

The three dentists exchanged skeptical looks. The problem with Larry’s plan was, well, it wasn’t exactly planned out. One of them handed his folder back to Larry.

“You know what, gentlemen. I’m going to pass,” he said.

“No, why?” asked Larry. “This is gonna be great. We’ll open the first one, then we think about franchising.”

The third man glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run, too,” he said. “I have a root canal at three o’clock.”

“Sorry, Larry,” said the first man. “I’ll see you at your next cleaning. Keep flossing!”

As they walked away, Larry stood there, holding his three folders. That didn’t go well at all. How was he going to pay his rent in two weeks? He didn’t know but decided to look on the bright side. At least he’d managed to get the cable turned back on.

Walking back to his car, he had a funny feeling in his gut. Something wasn’t right. He pulled the brown paper bag off the meter. Someone had crossed out the words “Broken Meter” and written below, “Nice Try.”

There was a ticket on his windshield. Worse than that: A big orange boot was wrapped around Larry’s back tire.

“No, no!” Larry shouted. He kicked the boot and then yelped, as the pain shot up his leg. His big toe throbbed. That hurt. That hurt, a lot!

Then he noticed his watch. “Oh, crap,” said Larry. Realizing there was no way to pry the boot off his car, he made a run for it.

An hour later, Larry jogged up to the entrance of his son Nicky’s school. A teacher was up on a ladder about to take down a banner.

“Hey, Mike,” said Larry as he caught his breath. “Have you seen Nicky?”

Mike smiled down at Larry. “Erica came by to pick him up. He was waiting a pretty long time.”

“I know. I had…” Larry tried to swallow his guilt. “Car trouble,” he finished. Just then he noticed what the banner said. “Welcome! Parent Career Day!” This was the first he’d heard of it, which meant that Nicky failed to tell him. Was it on purpose, and just because he didn’t actually have a career at the moment? Okay, so The Snapper hadn’t worked. Yet Nicky didn’t know about the restaurant failure, yet. It had to be because of The Snapper. Or perhaps it was because of the hundred or so other ideas that Larry had failed to make work.

“So today was, uh, Career Day?” asked Larry.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Nick didn’t tell you?”

“Yeah, no, he did. I just…I must’ve forgotten. See you, Mike,” said Larry. Although he forgot about many things (the rent, the cable bill, the electric bill), he definitely would’ve remembered Nicky’s Career Day. Nicky was his only son. His best friend. His buddy.

Larry decided to go see Nicky at home. He lived with his mom, Erica, who was Larry’s ex-wife. Now Erica lived with her fiancé, Don. They had a big fancy apartment on Fifth Avenue, in New York City.

“How’s it going, Gabe?” Larry asked the doorman as he walked into the building’s lobby.

“Not too bad, Larry,” said Gabe. He picked up a small phone and rang up to the apartment. “Mrs. Daley, your ex-husband is here.”

Larry rode up in the elevator and knocked on the door. Erica let him inside. She already looked upset. “Hi,” she said shortly.

Looking around, Larry realized that Erica’s apartment was the exact opposite of his. It was enormous. It was clean. It had nice furniture. It had amazing views of the city. And it was paid for.

“I’m sorry, Erica,” said Larry. “I was about to get him, but they put a boot on my car and—”

“You didn’t pay your parking tickets?” asked Erica. She didn’t sound surprised, which was kind of upsetting for Larry. It was almost like she expected him to fail. And was that fair? Just because he’d failed so many times before?

“No, the meter maid had it out for me,” said Larry. “So…did Nick…not want me at Career Day?”

Erica sighed. “He’s just a kid, Larry.”

Just then Don walked into the room. As usual, he was dressed in a dark fancy suit. Attached to his belt were lots of gadgets—a cell phone, a BlackBerry, and a digital camera.

“There he is! Great to see you,” Don said to Larry.

“Great to see you, too, Don,” said Larry.

They shook hands. Both were quiet, after that, because they’d already run out of things to talk about.

“I’ll go tell the little corn on the cob you’re here,” said Don as he headed down the hall.

“Your fiancé really manages to squeeze a lot of stuff onto that belt,” Larry observed, totally innocently.

“Larry, stop it,” said Erica.

“No, it’s cool. He’s like the Batman of stockbrokers,” said Larry.

“Bond traders,” Erica said. “He’s a terrific guy and he loves your son. So, what’s happening with the restaurant? Did you get your investors?”

“Yeah. No. Um, there were some problems. So I don’t think it’s going to happen. It’s fine. I have other irons in the fire,” said Larry.

“Uh-huh,” said Erica.

Larry bristled. “‘Uh-huh’?” he asked. “What does ‘Uh-huh’ mean?”

“Larry, come on, we’ve been through this a million times. When problems come up, you just seem to…bail,” said Erica.

“I’m not bailing. I… opening a restaurant is very complicated. It just didn’t work out.” Rather than argue, Larry changed the subject. “You think Nick would like Queens? I might try to find a place out there. Little more space, maybe an above-ground pool.”

“You’re getting evicted again?” asked Erica. She’d heard this story before. She didn’t want to hear it, again. “Larry, I don’t know how much more of this Nick can take. Every few months you’ve got a new apartment, a new career. If Nicky wasn’t involved, I wouldn’t care, but this instability…it’s bad for him.”

“Well, I’m trying to figure things out,” said Larry.

“I hope so, Larry. I’m just…I’m not sure Nick should stay with you until you get settled.”

Larry felt his heart sink. Erica sure knew how to crush a guy.

“Really?” he asked sadly.

Erica frowned as she tried to explain. “He gets attached to one place, then in a couple of months, it’s gone. It doesn’t seem fair.”

As Larry thought about this, he noticed Nick standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Dad,” said Nick.

Seeing his son made Larry feel so much better. “Hey, buddy! You ready to carve it up?” he asked.

A little while later, they were in Wollman Rink in Central Park, at Nick’s ice hockey game.

Nick skated toward the goal, pushing the puck forward. He glided across the ice quickly.

Larry cheered him on from the sidelines. “There you go, baby! Breakaway!” He was yelling more loudly than any of the other parents.

Nick pulled back his stick and took a slap shot. The puck went wide, missing the goal by a foot. Even worse, Nick lost his balance and fell.

Panicked, Larry ran out to the ice, slipping and sliding all the way over to his son.

“Nick? Nicky? You okay?” he screamed.

Nick was so embarrassed. “Dad, I’m fine. Will you get off the ice?”

Larry looked around. The game had stopped and everyone was watching him. Before he left, he leaned in close and whispered some advice. “Their left defenseman can’t skate for crap. You work that side, you got an open shot to the goal.”

Nick grinned at his dad. “Cool, thanks.”

Larry looked out to Nick’s teammates and said, “As you were, skaters! We’re good over here.”

After he helped Nick stand up, Larry headed back to the sidelines.

Well, thought Larry, I may not be good at opening restaurants or inventing things or paying my bills, but at least I give good advice when it comes to Little League ice hockey. Too bad I can’t turn that into a career!

Later that afternoon, Nick and Larry walked home through the park.

“You tore it up out there, dude. You keep working on that slap shot. I’m thinking the NHL is a serious possibility,” said Larry.

“Yeah,” said Nick. “I don’t really want to be a hockey player anymore.”

“All right, so what do you want to be?” asked Larry.

“A bond trader,” Nick replied.

Larry looked at his son. He hoped Nick was kidding. Sadly, this didn’t seem to be the case. “And where’d you get that idea?” he asked. “Reading bond trader comic books?”

“Don took me to his office on Wall Street last week,” said Nick.

Larry nodded. “Uh-huh, that’s cool. So, what? You want to dress up in a monkey suit and tie, sit in a cubicle all your life? Trust me, you can’t play hockey in a cubicle.”

“He’s got a pretty big office,” Nick said.

“That’s not the point. I thought you loved hockey,” said Larry.

“I still like it, but bond trading is my fallback,” Nick explained.

“Your fallback?” Larry could hardly believe his ears. “You’re too young to have a fallback. Where did you even hear that word?”

“Mom was talking to Don about all your different schemes.”

“She called them schemes?” asked Larry.

“She said it was time you found a fallback.” When Larry didn’t respond, Nick asked, “Are you really moving again?”

“We’ll see,” said Larry. “There are some pretty cool places out in Queens.”

“Isn’t that kind of far?” Nick looked up at his dad. “I thought your restaurant is in the city.”

“Yeah, that’s on hold right now,” said Larry. “But maybe I could open one out there.”

Nick shrugged. He looked down at the ground and kicked a small rock. “I guess so.”

It was obvious to both of them that Nick didn’t believe his dad for a second.

“Hey,” said Larry. “Hey, I want to tell you something. I know things have been kind of up and down lately, and that’s been hard on you, but I feel like my moment is coming. There’s something out there for me. Something great. And when I find it, everything is going to fall into place.”

Nick looked up at his dad and asked, “What if you’re wrong? What if you missed your moment and you’re just an ordinary guy who should get a job?”

Larry knew that Nick didn’t say this to be mean, but the words still stung.

“Yeah, well, we’ll figure it out,” said Larry. “Come on. I’ll take you back to Mom’s.”

Larry thought about what his son said. Yes, it hurt, but Nick was right. Larry did need some sort of job. His rent was due and he didn’t want to move, again.

Bright and early the next morning, Larry headed down to the employment office. He sat in a chair as Debbie, the lady working there, looked at his résumé. He tried not to squirm. But it was hard. She seemed so judgmental.

“Mr. Daley, I can honestly say in forty-three years at this agency, I’ve never seen a résumé quite like yours,” said Debbie.

Larry smiled widely and said, “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Debbie explained. “It says here you were the CEO of Snaptime Industries? You care to elaborate on that?”

“Yes, that was the umbrella corporation for my invention, The Snapper. You know, snap!” He snapped his fingers to demonstrate. “And the lights turn on. We sold about eight hundred units our first year of production.”

“Didn’t they already make that?” asked Debbie. She clapped twice.

Larry shook his head. This was a common mistake. “There is The Clapper, of course. That obviously stole a lot of our thunder. I personally never saw a big difference. I mean…” Larry clapped twice and then snapped. “Whatever. But I guess some people have trouble snapping.”

“Clapping is easier,” said Debbie. “You want to tell me why you got fired from Kinko’s?”

“That was a little misunderstanding,” said Larry.

Debbie squinted at the fine print in her folder. “My record says ‘misdemeanor,’ as in a crime.”

“It was hardly a crime,” said Larry. “The suits from corporate said we couldn’t have Halloween decorations. Violated policy. Well, I’m not a suit, and all I did was carve out a couple of jack-o’-lanterns. Then boom, they fired me. I still say, you can’t put a price on fun.”

“Is that all that happened?” asked Debbie doubtfully.

Larry felt like it was getting very hot in the room. “The candle in one of them started making a lot of smoke, which set off the sprinklers. There was eighty thousand dollars worth of damage. So, I guess technically, you can put a price on fun. Apparently it’s eighty thousand dollars. But the point is—”

“The point is, it’s a week before Christmas and you’re a college dropout with a criminal record and a résumé courtesy of the freak factory,” said Debbie. “I can’t help you.”

“Debbie,” said Larry. “Can I call you Debbie? Because I felt a connection when I entered this office and I think you did, too.”

Debbie leveled her gaze at Larry. “I didn’t feel a connection,” she said coldly.

Larry wasn’t ready to give up. “Debbie, I need a job… tomorrow. If I don’t have one I… I just need it, okay? So I’m not begging you to find me something, but I’m pretty close to doing that.”

Debbie sighed and looked through her files. “I might have one thing,” she said, writing an address down on a card. “They’ve turned down everyone I’ve sent over, but who knows? You might get lucky.”

“Great!” Larry said. Taking the card, he frowned down at the address. Then he looked back up at Debbie. “Do I have to wear a tie?” he asked.