by Allen Weiner
And in a voice that was just loud enough to gain everyone’s attention, Max let loose: “Holy shit. That’s him!”
The entire office came to a standstill with Max’s outburst. Without looking around, he ducked into the men’s room, hoping everyone would get back to their own business by the time he came out. Max waited ten minutes before leaving the bathroom, but no sooner had he stepped two feet out of the men’s room when a tall, reed-thin, extremely fit man approached him.
“Are you all right?” the FBI employee, who was an agent assigned to desk work, asked Max. “You gave us all quite the scare.”
“I’m fine. I was just overwhelmed by some of the feats of the men and women honored on the wall here.”
Max was not very convincing in his response, but the FBI agent who approached him was only ensuring their visitor was not injured in some way. Satisfied that Max’s rant was nothing serious, the agent smiled and said, “Well, let me know if you need anything.”
Not wishing to press his luck, Max left the FBI office as quickly as he could without drawing attention. Even though his mind was spinning out of control with what he just discovered, Max focused on getting to his car and starting on the ride back to Carbon County.
Max needed a distraction after starting his car, so he tuned into the area’s sports talk station, WEJL. Luzerne County was hardcore Penn State territory, so the talk centered on the Nittany Lions changes against Alabama in the Sugar Bowl. The game was set for New Year’s Day, with the winner likely crowned the national champion. The team lacked many future NFL stars save for Matt Millen, the latest string of great Penn State linebackers.
Max stayed with the Scranton sports talk station until he was out of range, at which point he switched to WEEX, Allentown’s station devoted to sports talk. It was no surprise the same topic was discussed, given that Penn State’s Millen was a local kid from the Lehigh Valley. The succession of mind-numbing calls praising the team and its coach Joe Paterno allowed Max to focus on his driving. He drove straight to the bureau to talk with Charlotte Robb and get her opinion on what to write about the kidnapping, if anything.
The office was locked with the lights off, which was expected as it was five o’clock on the thirtieth of December. The heat was off, so Max left his coat on and raised the temperature to a bearable sixty-eight degrees, figuring he might be there for a while.
Charlotte Robb answered her phone on the first ring. “Max, I was expecting to hear from you an hour ago. What’s going on?”
At that moment, Max realized that after seeing Joe Taylor’s picture at the FBI office, he forgot about the kidnapping and his assignment.
“I am so sorry,” Max responded, trying to sound apologetic. “As it turned out, the FBI wouldn’t come out and say it was a kidnapping. The truth is, given Arnie Mitchell’s business, the FBI realized it was what you could call a ‘business issue’ between the porno publisher and some disgruntled enemy. I think it’s a non-story.”
“While there probably is something there, unless we knew who was involved in the ‘abduction,’ there isn’t much to report. It would make for some juicy news, but my instinct is to leave it alone.”
“I’ll tell you what, Charlotte. I think it’s worth keeping an eye on in the future, but now isn’t the time to speculate.”
“Right, Max. Listen, have a Happy New Year. Talk to you in ’79.”
Max was relieved that he didn’t have to write a story on what turned out to be something the FBI preferred to sweep under the rug. He did have the feeling the agency’s decision to punt was a temporary one to allow it to dig deeper into the business of Arnie Mitchell, a notorious figure in the Lehigh Valley.
It was close to 6 p.m. and Max had some serious shopping to do for his big dinner party the following evening. He was concerned that some of the supermarkets would have shortened hours on the thirty-first, so he left the bureau and headed off to Falk’s, a higher-end food store that likely would have everything Max needed. Before he left the office, he called, and Falk’s was open until nine with limited hours on New Year’s Eve day.
Falk’s had just opened a new branch in Palmerton, a town between Nesquehoning and Allentown. Max had been there shortly after it opened, and he bookmarked it in his mind as a place to shop in case he ever needed fresh produce and choicer cuts of meat. While hardly what anyone at the time would call a gourmet supermarket, it was far better than the smaller, run-down places that were common in older parts of Carbon County.
Max pulled into Falk’s parking lot and was surprised to see very few parking spots left. He was not the only one who had a dinner party planned for New Year’s Eve. He grabbed a cart and pulled out the shopping list he’d been working on since Sue accepted his invitation. Max planned to keep things simple, as this was the first time he cooked for anyone other than his family. Tackling something too exotic, such as homemade ravioli stuffed with three kinds of cheese in a light ragù, would make it seem like he was trying too hard to impress.
After loading three bags of groceries in the car, Max remembered he had one more stop to make. It was a stop he thought long and hard about. The last time Max had Sue at his house was after the company holiday party, and a drunk Sue was disappointed that her host did not make any attempt to join her in bed. It was a scene that the socially and sexually inexperienced Max replayed countless times in his mind. What should he have done? What would he do if he ever had such a chance again?
That chance now appeared on the horizon as a logical outcome of an intimate New Year’s Eve dinner, and Max wanted to be prepared. On his way back to Nesquehoning, Max pulled into the parking lot of a Rite Aid, the largest pharmacy chain in the area. Hands shaking, Max walked into the pharmacy, whose bright florescent lights caused him to squint. Embarrassed to ask a clerk or the pharmacist for help, Max wandered the aisles until he found the male contraceptives section. His knowledge of condoms was limited to what he learned in his tenth grade sex ed class. At an all-boys high school such as the one he attended, sex ed classes were filled more with laughter than actual instruction. So, when it came to condoms, Max was on his own.
Since Trojan was the only brand he’d heard of, Max grabbed a box off the shelf. Before heading to the checkout stand, Max was thinking ahead, should he have an overnight guest. One aisle over from the condoms, he found a Colgate toothbrush, which would be a thoughtful gesture for the morning after a possibly memorable evening. For a second, Max paused, worrying that his planning might lead Sue to think that he expected to have sex with her. Rather than stand in the middle of a brightly lit drug store and debate the pros and cons of his purchases, Max told himself to stop overthinking things. He closed his eyes, thought about Sue kissing him on the cheek, and being overwhelmed by her exotic scent. Max paid for his purchases and drove home.
It was too late to call Aaron Grant and tell him about the revelation regarding Joe Taylor. Max realized that on January 2, when business at the newspaper resumed, Taylor would still be some sort of FBI agent. Given that, and that it was a holiday, there was no point in rushing the announcement. A face-to-face meeting with Grant would allow them to plan how to best utilize Max’s discovery.
Before going to bed, Max worked on the timing of the dishes he would serve Sue for their big night. His menu consisted of an appetizer plate of olives and cheeses which they could nibble on while having a glass of wine. Next would come individual salads—Max’s specialty—and a light soup. Of late, Max had read a lot of recipes for interesting soups, and although he’d yet to prepare one, he was confident he could handle it. Their main course would be veal piccata, which he had prepared for his family on many occasions. With the veal, he’d serve roasted potatoes and string beans. Not being big on desserts, Max bought a pint of Breyer’s mint chocolate chip ice cream to top off the meal.
The trick Max knew from overdosing on TV cooking shows was to prepare as much as he could in advance. Doing that would allow him to focus on his guest and knock out the remaining courses in r
eal-time. The thought of having a woman over and serving her a memorable meal would be a big step forward in his growth socially. If the evening ended the way Max hoped it would, it would also represent a milestone for him in other departments.
It was 10 p.m., and Max had one last call to make.
“Hi, Max, is everything all right?” his mother asked. “You’re calling kind of late.”
“Everything is fine. I have something I want to talk to you about. I have a friend coming over for dinner tomorrow night, so I’d like us to wish each other Happy New Year’s now. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me New Year’s Day too early.”
There was stone silence on the other end of the phone.
“Who’s the friend?” Max’s mother asked.
“No one you know. Just someone from work.”
“I gather that it’s a woman. Is she your girlfriend?”
“Not really. We’ve worked together since she joined the bureau, and we enjoy each other’s company.”
“Having a woman over for dinner on New Year’s Eve is a big statement. I hope you know what you’re doing?”
“If I did, it would be a first,” Max said sarcastically.
“That’s not necessary,” his mother replied with a hurt tone in her voice. “How about you call us before she comes so you can talk to your father and me?”
“Okay, but just for a few minutes.”
“Talk to you tomorrow. I’m sure you’re excited to have someone other than your family to cook for.”
“Good night,” Max said, ending the call.
Max shook off the guilt he felt after talking to his mother. It could have gone a lot worse, he thought to himself.
It was unusual for Max to set his alarm on a day off, but he was up bright and early at seven thirty on December 31. His first job was to clean his apartment. It was small, so it only took Max ninety minutes to vacuum the rug, clean the bathrooms and kitchen, and put away a lot of clutter. Listening to music always helped, so WFMZ’s countdown of the past year’s top hits helped move things along.
Before lunch, Max started his prep work and made the salad and appetizer plates. He made a fresh stock for the minestrone early in the afternoon. Max peeled the potatoes and soaked them in water with lemon and baking soda to keep them fresh. He decided to do the potatoes about the same time he cooked the veal, an hour before his guest arrived. The last thing was the fresh string beans—which cost a fortune since they were out of season. He washed them and put them in a steamer basket in the fridge. He would steam them while he and Sue enjoyed their wine and appetizers.
Max knew nothing about wine. He remembered his college classmates drinking Mateus, a rosé wine, when they were trying to impress someone. He had kept one on hand in case he ever entertained, so he dug it out from his so-called pantry and put it in the refrigerator. He laughed, thinking about the other option he recalled from college—Boone’s Farm.
The time flew by, and before he knew it, it was 3:30 p.m. Max took a break and, as agreed upon, called his parents. With his father on the phone, his mother didn’t ask too many questions, but Max could feel a distinct chill in her voice. In the past, such a guilt trip would make Max extremely sad and close to tears, but he refused to buy into her trap on this day.
Max showered and put on his lone button-down polo shirt purchased on a trip to the outlet stores in nearby Reading. He found a clean pair of khakis and put on a dash of Paco Rabanne cologne for good measure. Max stood in the bathroom after putting himself together and stared at himself in the mirror for a good thirty seconds. If his life was governed by the competing forces of vulnerability and strength, the latter was finally in charge. Max smiled and almost cried, thinking about the progress he had made in his personal life.
At 6:30 p.m. on the button, Sue rang Max’s doorbell. When he opened the door, his friend stood there smiling in a long flowing dress with sequins across the bodice. She had a button-down cardigan sweater, dotted with sequins, covering her arms. She had chosen a simple yet elegant pearl necklace, perfect for New Year’s Eve. Her makeup was understated, but the familiar scent of her perfume nearly knocked Max to his knees.
“Are you going to let me in?” Sue joked. “It’s cold out here.”
Sue handed Max a pretty bouquet of snapdragons in a frosted green vase.
“These are for you,” she said, handing Max her gift as they walked up the stairs. “I took it for granted you didn’t have a vase, so I put the flowers in one of mine.”
When they entered the apartment, Sue nearly gasped. Max turned his card table into a makeshift dining room table with a plain blue tablecloth draped across the top. Not owning anything other than a set of everyday Melmac dishes, Max dressed them up with some floral napkins he had bought the night before at Falks.
“Let’s sit on the sofa and have a glass of wine,” Max said as casually as he could. Inside, he was nervous and excited, pushing any self-doubts aside so he could enjoy the evening.
Max and Sue drank their wine, ate their appetizer plates, and talked. Sue was curious about where Max picked up his culinary talents. He gladly went into great detail about his love for cooking shows, the heritage of Eastern European cooking he inherited, and even told her the story of how he acquired an entire collection of Gourmet magazines.
Sue looked straight at Max as he spoke, finding his story charming, revealing a part of his personality she had never seen before. This is a special man, Sue thought. As Max finished his long geschichte, Sue reached out and placed her hand on top of his.
Max’s face was flushed with Sue’s gentle touch, but he had to break the mood by putting the finishing touches on her meal.
“I’m so sorry, but I need to go to the kitchen and finish a few things. To be continued?”
Sue smiled back at Max, giving him an answer without speaking.
An hour after her arrival, Sue and Max sat down to the multicourse meal that was several days in the making. They ate slowly, with Sue astonished at the effort Max had made. As if in perfect order, salads were placed on the table, followed by soup, veal, potatoes, and steamed string beans.
“Sorry, but the string beans are a bit overdone,” Max said apologetically.
“You’re serious?”
“It’s just that I wanted everything to be perfect.”
“Believe me, it is. I have never had a man cook for me before, let alone someone who could work at a gourmet restaurant.”
Max blushed. “Cooking relaxes me. I never cook for myself; I’m a frozen lasagna guy on most nights.”
Sue passed on dessert. Being a good guest, she helped clear the table. With a stack of dishes from a fancy dinner, Max was fortunate that one of his place’s nice perks was a built-in dishwasher.
“Can you please help me load the dishwasher?” Max asked. “I was never allowed to do it growing up.”
“Sure, I have a degree in dishwasher loading.”
Space was tight in Max’s small kitchen, and when Sue’s lithe body brushed against Max’s hip, the warm feeling of lust and passion filled him from head to toe. He took a deep breath and suggested they watch a movie on TV until Dick Clark emceed the Times Square festivities.
“Before that, you said Dick Clark was a buddy. Is that a joke?”
“Actually, no.” Max proceeded to tell Sue about his appearance on a popular game show hosted by Dick Clark. Before the show started, the world’s oldest teenager introduced himself to the contestants and found out Max was from Philadelphia. As that was the location of Dick Clark’s big career break with American Bandstand, the two had something in common. Max assured Sue he and Dick Clark hadn’t seen each other since.
TV programming was light on New Year’s Eve, but 60 Minutes interviewed Joe Paterno, the legendary coach of Penn State football. In the Lehigh Valley, love for JoePa was required. Each year, Paterno would make a recruiting trip to the Allentown area where top players would wait in line for a chance to play for the Nittany Lions.
After 60 Minutes, Sue moved closer to Max on the couch and held his hand. In a repeat of one of Max’s great memories, she kissed him on the cheek. He returned her kiss, but instead of on her cheek, he pressed his lips against hers. Max’s heart was pounding as Sue kissed him back, drawing him closer.
It was only one hour until midnight, but Max knew he could not wait. He got up from the couch and was about to ask her to join him someplace more comfortable when time stood still. There was a loud knock at the door, followed by two rings of the doorbell.
Max looked at Sue and she returned his look, equally bewildered. Max knew it wasn’t an emergency as someone would have called rather than show up at his door on New Year’s Eve. Max shrugged his shoulders and walked down the steps to see who was at the door.
As if hit by lightning, Max stood frozen at his front door, recognizing the man standing out in the cold.
“Max, let me in,” the man said. It was none other than Joe Taylor, your friendly neighborhood FBI agent.
Max opened the door, and Joe Taylor—or whatever his name was—took off his gloves and put them in his heavy overcoat. “I need to talk to you.”
The two men walked up the stairs, with Joe Taylor two steps behind. Max entered his apartment and smiled at Sue, who seemed puzzled by what was going on.
“So, you must be Sue,” Taylor said. “Sorry to interrupt, but this is important.”
“What is it?” Max asked impatiently.
“I hear you’ve been asking around about me,” Taylor said sternly. “We had a deal, so that’s a no-no. You remember this?” Joe Taylor said, pulling Max’s clandestine FM transmitter out of his coat pocket.
“I sure do. I also know something else.”
“And what’s that?” Taylor responded angrily.
“You’re an FBI agent, that’s what.”
Chapter Eighteen
Given his work and experience with the FBI, it took something major to catch Joe Taylor off guard, but Max’s revelation put Taylor immediately on the defensive.