Читать книгу Out of Mind - Michael Burke - Страница 15

7

The commuters, those who lived in town but chose to work in the city, or those who worked in the city and chose to live in our town, took the train every day from South Station. A few drove; they were the commuters who wanted to spend a few extra hours a day away from their families. The southbound morning trains to the city were crowded; the southbound evening trains full of empty seats. Lafonte would take one of these, the 6:10 to the city. I skidded to a stop in a space in the parking lot, jumped out, and ran for the station. Running for trains was normal—no one stared. I was in the waiting room leaning against a wall by the door when Lafonte’s limo turned the corner. It pulled up in front of the station exactly as the train whistle sounded its approach. Mr. Lafonte emerged, turned, and held the door. Two bare legs appeared, followed by a micro mini, two large breasts, and a blaze of red hair. Looks like Vera Booby to me. They came into the waiting room, a large sterile space, terrazzo floors and bare walls. The old wooden benches along the sides were left over from the time before the station was modernized and sterilized. The few passengers who had been waiting were folding their newspapers and moving toward the arriving train. Mr. Lafonte, red-faced and fuming, walked straight through to the platform. Vera headed for the ladies room. I walked out to the platform as the train rolled into the station. A handful of passengers left the train; the few waiting on the platform climbed aboard. Mr. Lafonte followed. Vera was not with him. I waited but Vera didn’t appear. The train jerked, pulled ahead, picked up speed, and rolled away, shrinking down the tracks, headed for the big city. I was sorry not to be aboard. New York; I hadn’t been there for a while and I was looking forward to the chance to live out a few old memories.

Running to the bathroom and missing the train is not a good way to consummate a clandestine tryst. I checked out front; I thought the limo was gone, but then I spotted it at the end of the parking lot. I’ll try the bar. The Coliseum Bar leaned against the north wall of the station. It used to be called Pete’s, but someone put fiberglass columns on either side of the door and renamed it the Coliseum Bar. One could enter directly from the station waiting room through a side door. I followed a middle-aged couple, and we had to squeeze by a wide-shouldered guy standing beside the door. The black shined shoes and the baseball cap seemed to say “undercover cop.” We were followed by a young man wearing a red plaid shirt, khakis, hiking boots, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. The guy was a walking advertisement for L.L. Bean. Vera was perched on a stool in front of the bar. An all-too-interested bartender set a dark draft beer before her. I picked up an abandoned copy of The Alternate View, found a table by the window, motioned to the waiter, and ordered myself a draft. Just wanted to fit in.

L.L. Bean guy looked around the room, then walked over and took a stool next to Vera. She did stand out, and I guess he decided there was nothing to lose by trying. The relationship didn’t last long. He only said a few words before he gulped down the rest of his soda and left the bar.

Vera wasn’t at ease. She shifted on her stool and looked around, as though she was waiting for someone. Her eyes fell on me. I wondered if she recognized me from the office. I tipped my glass toward her as a silent toast and went back to concentrating on the paper. One story caught my eye. Something about how many kittens are abandoned in countries around the world, abandoned to wander hopelessly and alone, mewing pathetically in the back alleys of a dying slum. The story was illustrated with a picture of a very sad kitten. I wondered how much KittyLuv had slipped the reporter to get this story into the paper. In the corner of my eye I saw Vera slide off her stool and start in my direction. I turned the page and studiously concentrated on the paper.

“Mind if I join you?” Vera was standing over me.

“Please be my guest.” I looked up and motioned to an empty chair.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked.

“Sounds like a pick-up line to me.”

Vera looked at the paper. “You’re reading the personals?” She said pointing toward the open page. “You’re alone in a bar. You must be looking for company?”

“Just checking for old friends.”

“Well,” Vera looked me in the eye. “I did see you at the office with that cat—makes me feel that I can trust you. I have a proposition for you.”

”I accept.” I smiled.

“No. Not what you think. It’s just that I, I mean, I was wondering if you could walk me home.”

I sat up a bit straighter. “Afraid of the dark?”

“Well, yes. Sort of. I’d feel better if there was someone with me.”

“Where’s home?”

“Just a few blocks from here. You can leave that.” She pointed to the half-finished beer. “I’ll fix you a real drink if we get there.”

It sounded like an offer I couldn’t refuse, even if the “if we get there” was a bit unnerving. I stood, dropped a ten on the table, and followed the lovely motion of Vera’s hips out the door.

The fresh outdoor air was a welcome contrast with the smoky bar. The sun had set, and a clouded sky had hastened the onset of the dark of the evening. Vera started to walk along Lincoln Avenue, by the parking lot. “I really should introduce myself. My name’s Vera.”

“I’m Blue,” I answered. “I mean I’m called Blue. Glad to meet you.”

“It’s down that road over there.” Vera pointed to an intersection ahead. “I’m about a quarter of a mile down there.” She took my arm, letting her breast nudge me in the direction of the road ahead.

I could barely read the sign on the corner, Corncob Road, an old tarred road that wound past a few factories that bordered the rail yards. I knew the road; it curved by the rail yard for about a half-mile to a dead end, a favorite parking spot for teenagers in love. The factories along the side were the dark shapes I could see from my fire escape, old and abandoned. The trains had cut back freight service years ago, and the factories died or moved out of town, where they relied on trucks and highways to carry their freight.

Unused freight cars stood idly about the rail yard. I remember standing by the tracks and watching the boxcars slowly rolling by. I once counted a hundred cars pulled by two tandem steam engines. I was jealous of the history carried in the names on the boxcars: the Erie Lackawanna, Chesapeake and Ohio, Southern Pacific. Perhaps that is why I live in the Arms, on the hill overlooking the tracks. I could watch the trains come and go, leaving for another world and then returning with stories to tell. Now, from my window I watch a locomotive push a few coal cars around, but essentially the freight service is dead, the tracks unused and rusting away. The shiny new electric passenger trains that clicked in and out of South Station live elsewhere.