"You got that bay all straightened up, Josh? Gus is going
to open tomorrow and I don't want to get blamed for your
shoddy work."
"The only reason you still got this job is because I cover
for you, Bozo. It's neat in there, but not too neat, so Gus might
still think you had something to do with it." Josh snapped off the
lights in the back of the garage. "Let's go get some pizza."
"Sounds good to me. Your treat tonight, if I'm
countin' right." Fred ran a cold eye over the counters and floor and
then followed Josh into the brisk night. He turned and double locked
the door while Josh got his car.
"Zowee. This thing needs some work, old boy." The
Chevy was making odd noises, had been for a week. Maybe a brake
shoe, maybe something more expensive.
"Gus said I could put it up on the lift whenever we
have some time, but that could be next summer. It runs. That's all
that's important."
"It's hearing this car drive by that reminds people
they'd better schedule a tune-up for their own cars. You are an
advertisement for the shop. Gus should be paying you extra. Make a
sign that says, `Don't let this be you. Come see us before it's too late!'
" Fred was laughing too hard to continue.
"How you gettin' home tonight, joker? If this beast is
not up to your usual standards, you can start walking right now."
Josh reached over and whacked Fred on the arm.
"Oh, your greatness and exalted one. This camel is all
that any poor boy could ever wish for. It exceeds my humble needs.
It, and you, are wonderful. At least until I get my machine back on
the road!" Josh turned up the radio, hoping to drown out both Fred
and the car. Fortunately, the pizza shop was just ahead. He
swung across the road and let the car die as they coasted into a
parking spot.
"Man, I am starved. I am so starved. Let's order
another pizza right now!" Fred was sucking a slice of pizza into his
mouth but it did not impede his ability to talk. Josh ate more
slowly, amazed that Fred could eat so quickly and still leave a growing
pile of olives on his napkin.
"I don't like them. Okay? Is that okay with you? What's
the big deal, if I don't like olives?"
"I didn't say a thing." Josh smiled sweetly.
"No, but you're thinkin' it. I can see it. You're thinkin',
how come Fred orders olives and then doesn't eat olives? What's
the matter with Fred? Well, I'll tell you. I order olives because you
like `em. And so for you, because you are my best friend, I order
olives, and then I strain them out of my own pizza before I ingest it.
What are friends for?" Fred stuffed the rest of his third piece of pizza
into his mouth.
"A wonderful sacrifice for friendship. And, I'm
paying. That, Einstein, is the critical element in this equation of
olives. Friendship counts for nothing around here. It's all money. If
you've got it, you're in. If you ain't got it, you ain't in. Simple."
Josh grabbed the final slice of pizza.
"Another, with pepperoni?"
"Nope, not tonight. I'm gonna have a cuppa coffee.
You want one?" Josh walked back to the counter, put some coffee
in each of two cups and then topped them off with milk. He brought
a handful of sugar packets to the table. "Here you go."
"What are you doin' tonight, Josh? Wanta just
cruise around, drink some coffee, and stay out all night? See what's
going on?" Fred was ripping packets open and dumping sugar into
his cup.
"No, man. I gotta do some homework tonight. Some
math, and then Parsons' stuff."
"Suit yourself. I guess you can drop me off at my
house then. I wonder if my parents still live there. I haven't seen them
in weeks." Fred pushed the empty packets onto the floor.
"Trouble? Your parents doing all right?" Josh focused
on Fred.
"Naw. I'm just out of the house before they're really
awake. And they're asleep when I get home. No big deal. Just
strangers living in the same house." He took another drink of coffee.
"Fred? Fred, what are you going to do next year? You
got any plans yet?"
"Gus said you were going to work for him. That's
great, Josh. You're a lucky guy." Fred tried to pick his teeth with
his coffee stirrer.
"Yeah, he said I could, if I wanted. I guess I might. I
don't know yet. What about you? You staying in town?"
Fred looked out the window, and then around the
room. "My dad's sending me to Keene State. That's where he went
to college. Said it made him what he is today. I said, `Wow,
Dad. That's impressive.' He, of course, missed the sarcasm. But he
wants me to go there and have the same wonderful college
experience that he had. So I guess I will. It's not supposed to be too bad."
The coffee stirrer was being twisted into ever smaller knots.
"I've heard good things. A lot of kids from our class end
up there." That's not what Josh had meant. He hoped Fred
hadn't picked up on the negativity. He took a sip of coffee and then
blotted up a bit of spilled coffee with his napkin.
"End up there?" Fred spit his coffee across the table.
"End up there! That's pretty big talk for someone who's gonna work
in Gus's sweat shop for the rest of his life. Don't you mean, it's
too far away, and too hard, and too unknown for you?"
Josh was staring at the stain on his napkin, so his
words were mumbled. "I'm going to Detroit."
"What? What? Speak up. I didn't hear you."
"I said, I'm going to. . . ." Something caught in his
throat. "I'm going to Detroit, damn it. I'm going to school in
Detroit. There's a big world out there. There's more to the world
than Exeter, New Hampshire and Gus's garage." Why had it been
so hard to say?
"Right. And I'm gonna be the President's chauffeur.
You're not going to Detroit. Who was with you the night before you
went out there? Who had to talk you into even getting on the plane?
And who've you been talkin' to since you got back? I know
you, Allenson. I know what goes on inside that head of yours. When
you think at all. And it ain't Detroit. Anyway. What about that
sweet little girlfriend, what does she think about Detroit, huh?"
Fred stabbed his finger through his styrofoam coffee cup.
"She thinks we ought to get an apartment together
next year. Maybe in Newmarket." Josh tried to focus his eyes.
"There you go. You are wrapped, sealed and delivered.
Ol' Fred was right again. Goodbye, Detroit, and hello, married life."
He threw his cup across the room, hit the wall and banked it into
the basket. "Whoa, am I good or what?"
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