by G L Rockey
Engrossed in Zack. “Who?”
He leaned over his desk. “I thought you said Lande called.”
“You smoke too much.”
“Oh, and did you say that?”
“What?”
“You smoke too much.”
She rolled her eyes.
“So, what did our dear Ms. Lande have to say?”
“The White House must be reading your editorials.”
“At least we have two readers.”
“Who’s the other one?” Mary raised an eyebrow.
“You.”
“And you, that’s three.”
“So what did Lande say?”
“Says you’re bordering on malice—actual malice, she said.”
“Is that all?”
“Quoted some New York Times versus Sullivan. Court held that a public person, celebrity, politician—Armstrong—who alleges libel, as by a newspaper—you—and can prove that the statement was made with ‘actual malice’—knowledge that it was false or done with reckless disregard of whether it was false or not—can sue for damagesand you, The Boca, is and they’re not above suing.”
He shook his head. “She really said all that?”
“Yes, Boca, she did.”
“You know I don’t like that.”
“What?”
“Being called Boca.”
“Fits.”
“On what grounds?”
“Your mouth?”
“I meant Lande.”
“I think it’s maybe because you keep writing that our dear President is paranoid with delusions of grandeur—megalomania, narcissistic I think you wrote ‘marked by infantile feelings of omnipotence, grandeur, delusional, manic-depressive, they call it bipolar now, disturbed, senile, an insane lunatic mien master, stupid jackass’ or something like that.”
“Well, let him prove he’s not.”
“Zack, come on, you have to admit you are a little excessive. Like Lande said, you’d think the old fart, you, was a licensed shrink.”
“She called me that?”
“Yes.”
“Huh, imagine. Anyway, I have had considerable training in mind games.”
“You keep reminding me.”
“Anything else?”
“She said you’re dead wrong on that military para-something, global unit whatever editorial, and they want a retraction.”
“Ten billion U.S. smackers went somewhere.”
“Zack, it’s a dangerous world. Benny is counteracting terrorism.”
“Why do you defend that moron?”
“No need to get edgy.”
“I’m not edgy.”
“Sound edgy.”
“He’s insane.” Zack crushed his cigarette out.
“He’s a politician.”
“D-minus. He’s a mole-brained idiot zealot.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Plain and simple—nuts.”
“You said that.” Mary stood, stepped to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “Political rhetoric.”
“C-plus.”
“Thank you.” She tasted the coffee. “Ugh, this is unusually rotten.”
Zack ignored her and mimicked Armstrong’s Southern drawl. “The time is much more momentous than Hannibal’s decision to cross the Alps. Beyond Columbus’s discovery of a new land. Eclipses Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. This is more akin to those days immediately before” He looked at her. “Tell me that’s not nuts”
“Why are you getting so worked up? It’s just me.”
“You do understand that we—you, I, humanity—we are all, all of us, in the hands of an accidentally placed idiot who thinks Jesus Christ sleeps in the Lincoln Bedroom”
“Boca, Boca, Boca, how you tend to exaggerate.” Mary sat on the arm of the sofa and nursed her coffee.
“I do not exaggerate”
“Well, anyway, Armstrong must be putting the heat on Lande to shut you up.”
“He’ll have to change a few words in the Constitution”
“Lande might show him how.”
“Or God.” Zack lit a MORE.
“Maybe he does talk to God.” She looked at him. “Some people say they do.”
“Who?”
“Don’t you?”
“Difference is, I know I’m crazy, and besides, the Big Guy isn’t talking back.”
“How objective we are.” Mary walked to the office window and looked out. “Boca, when can we have dinner?”
Her question, like a surprise jab, hit him between the eyes. Fifteen seconds passed.
“Take your time. When?”
“Mary, we’ve been through that umpteen times.”
“Just dinner, for cripes sake.” She tasted her coffee. “Ugh, I will never understand how you can drink this tar.”
“I like to think asphalt.” He exhaled.
She shook her head. “So, when can we have dinner?”
“I feel like I’m being pressured.”
“You feel right.”
“Mary, you know this could be construed as sexual harassment.”
“What do you mean ‘construed?’ It is.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“You don’t know?”
“Let’s see, four years”
“Four years and three months—I followed you here after Florida State, remember?”
“Journalism student, right, tennis scholarship, Sarasota High, State high school singles’ champ, three siblings—Kate, Kelly, Jim—father is a coach”
“Oh, stuff it and quit changing the subject.”
Zack picked up a Sports Illustrated invoice from his desk. “By the way, this came for you, third notice.”
She took it, glanced at the total and threw it back on his desk. “That’s yours, remember? That and free parking, half my incentive package.”
“What was the other half?”
“A ride on your boat.” She tilted her head. “Remember?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“When you get my age you forget some things.”
“Only what you want to.”
Zack looked at his watch—5:05. “How about a drink?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Just one.”
“You have one, I’ll have two.”
Chapter Nine
A full house this evening, The Tea Company’s linoleum floor shone from what smelled like a recent Lysol mopping. The flyspecked fluorescent lights dispersed their familiar yellow glow over everything, and the odor of cigarette smoke and peanut cooking oil hung heavy in the air.
Mindy, the female half of the new owner team, looking very Native American (an eighteen-inch eagle feather stuck from her shiny black hair), stood at the cash register inside the front door. She nodded to Mary and smiled at Zack.
A step behind Mary, Zack said to Mindy, “Hear anything from Joe Case lately?”
Mindy looked to the bar, touched her feather, cast a quick glance around then said, “No, I don’t know” and shrugged like she couldn’t talk about it.
Wondering what all that meant, Zack looked to his favorite booth at the end of the establishment. Empty. He nudged Mary toward it.
“Watch it,” Mary said.
Zack said to Mindy, “If you hear from Joe, tell him I said hello.”
Mindy, stone-faced, nodded.
Zack nudged Mary’s shoulder. “That last booth on the end, get it.”
“Quit pushing me.”
“Sorry.”
One step toward the booth, Mary turned. “What’s that smell?”
“Barbecue ji ji.”
“What’s that?”
“Monkey.”
“You’re a riot.”
Settling into Zackary’s favorite booth, Mary sniffed the air. “So, what is that smell?”
“I’m serious. Have you never heard of the Chinese Monkey King? Journey to West, classical Chinese novel, dates back four
hundred years, there were three”
“That’s okay, professor, I’ll catch it next semester.”
“Monkey King was the true story of a Chinese monk, Xuan Zang, around 602 to 664.”
“Is this going to be a monkey food joke?”
“After many years of trials and tribulations, the monk traveled to India to seek the Sutra, the Buddhist holy book.”
“No.”
“When he returned to China, he translated the Sutra into Chinese.”
“That makes sense.”
“Some say the monk symbolizes a rebellious spirit.”
“Sounds like some newspaper guy I know.”
“A rock gave birth to the Monkey King. He became extremely smart and capable. He can transform himself into seventy-two different images—tree, bird, beast of prey, can travel one hundred-eighty thousand miles in a single somersault.”
“He is definitely some newspaper guy I know.”
“With Neptune’s iron bar, he went down into hell and threatened Satan himself.”
“How big was that bar?”
“In a nutshell, Monkey is a rebel fighting against meaningless rules and regulations, hypocrisy and sanctimonious pretense in the world.”
“I now think I know what that smell is.”
“What?”
“Your bullshit.”
“I don’t smell anything.”
“That’s because you smoke too much.”
“Oh.” Zack threw a pack of Camels on the table.
“Why do you like this dump so much?”
“Nostalgia.” He lit a Camel. “Memories of The Bimini Road, ahhh, the arroz con camarones, and the sopa de frijoles negros, and the piccadillo”
“Are you showing off?”
“Frijoles negros was heaven”
“This place stinks.”
“Careful, the owner is sensitive.”
“Who, the lady with the feather?”
“Her other half, Jay Xzing.”
“So why do you like this dump so much?”
“No plastic, the glasses are just right for Glenlivet and—”
“Don’t tell me—chopsticks.”
Zack lit a Camel.
A very tall Teutonic male waiter in black pajamas came to the table. He smiled and said, “My name is Troy Allen, I’m from Phoenix, my real job is acting, this is part-time, I’ll be your server for this evening.”
Mary rolled her eyes and ordered a Bohemia.
Zack shook his head no.
“What’s that mean?” Mary said.
“They don’t have Bohemia.”
“And you come here?”
“Try the Tsingtao draft—excellent.” He smiled at the server. “ Tsingtao draft for the lady, and I’ll have a Glenlivet on the rocks.”
The waiter left, and Mary said, “You’re so chivalrous.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, but why?”
“Why?”
“Why do you like this place?”
“The former owner, Joe Case. I knew him, this place got to feel like home, still does. Joe’s ghost, he’s still here.”
She rolled her eyes. “I knew Joe Case, too. No ghost would be seen with him.”
“You knew Joe Case?”
She pursed her lips. “You know, sometimes you piss me off.”
“I can’t figure out why he left so”
“Thought he was still here.”
“You woulda thought he would callyou know, say leaving town, something. I was in a week beforewe talked, then just like thatgone, poof.” He snapped his fingers.
“Maybe he’s a reincarnation of the Monkey King, went down to hell with Neptune’s bar.”
“Joe? No. Never. He was”
“Looney tunes.”
The waiter served the drinks.
“Run a tab.” Zack said.
“No tabs no more, new policy, cash only, ten-twenty-five.”
Mary raised an eyebrow.
Zack reached deep and laid a twenty dollar bill on the table and some coins.
The server made change and left.
“You skipping out on tabs again?” Mary tipped her head.
“I think it’s some of the Pi guys that hang around here”
“Please.” She sipped. “You know, I heard the Feds had this place under surveillance.”
“Now where did you hear a thing like that?”
“Oh, stuff it.” She put the mug of Tsingtao down. “So, tell me again, why do you like this place so much. I mean, you know, look at this tabletop. It’s rank withwhat is that?”
“Stewed puree of cicadas, part of the ambience.”
“You’re so full of it.” Mary said.
“So, what are you going to tell Dr. Lande tomorrow when you call her back?”
“I’ll tell her that Boca is going to call her personally.”
“Mary”
“Why do I have to take all those calls? She’s calling for you.”
“Mary” Zack noticed the television over the bar flash up video of Senator Beno. He pointed to the set. “There’s Beno, her Labor Day speech to the AFL-CIO, Detroit.”
Mary called to a heavyset bartender. “Hey, sumo, turn that up”
Sumo snarled something under his breath.
“Hurry up” Mary half-stood.
“Will you sit down?” Zack said.
She did and their attention went to the TV video of Beno standing at an outdoor lectern. Her short black hair buffeted by the wind, the sun bronzed her dark African-American skin. She waved to a large applauding crowd then, as the applause died down, began.
“I don’t understand. Why does one individual receive a million dollars in stock options and the next day the company lays off a thousand workers? I don’t understand?”
Cheers and applause from the labor day crowd broke out.
“Why is one person paid fifty million a year to run a media conglomerate and the employees have to work two jobs to make a house payment? I don’t understand.”
Cheers.
“And for what, these millions? To tool around in a Rolls Royce, drive up to the takeout window for fries and a Coke? I don’t understand.”
Cheers.
“You can get fries and a Coke on a bicycle. Four wheels and a two-cycle engine can get you to Wendy’s just fine. I don’t understand ”
Cheers and applause.
“Let me tell you this, dear friends. History is replete with societies toppled because they ended up with a privileged class aristocracy perched at the top of the pile. It simply doesn’t work. Sooner or later, the masses get tired of cheap seats, broken promises, and ten-dollar beer.”
Cheers.
“And you know what the problem is, don’t you.”
Jeers, Cheers, shouts of “YES”
“The problem is the cronies at the top won’t let go of their wallets They keep passing the bucks up, passing it on, pass it up, wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.”
Cheers.
“Pass the gold, pack it in, pass it on, pile it up, pass it on—I doooo understand that, honey. It’s spelled g-r-e-e-d”
Wild applause.
“Four thousand years ago, those over-libidoed Pharaohs tried to take some of the gold out with them. They built pyramids ten blocks long and a mile high. It’s still here, honey—the gold—and where are they?
Cheers.
“I’m telling you, let go of the stuff”
Wild cheers.
“Spread it around a little, while there’s still time.”
Cheers and applause.
“There’s enough to go around for everybody. Enough for every man, woman and child to live like a human being. I don’t understand”
Cheers.
“And we wonder why the have-nots look at us with contempt. Millions sleeping on the ground, eating garbage, drinking rain, no roof over their heads, no toilet, no bed, no nothing. And we suck up weight-loss infomercials a
nd diet pills. I don’t understand”
Booos.
“The biggest problem in America today is fat. No wonder they all hate our Aunt and Uncle Joes’ tilly. Let it go”
Applause.
“We could abolish poverty overnight, but we don’t, won’t even talk. Shame on us. It’s a tragic disgrace, and on a planet with so much, that things, things, are more important than people. I don’t understand.”
Silence.
“Understand this, the haves and have-nots are on the same track, one heading east and one heading west. Also know that, with the grace of God, there is still time. Maybe we can all be thankful for that. Friends, there is truly a new day coming. With me I think we can do it peacefully. Otherwise, those trains are barreling in the night.”
Beno paused.
“In closing, if you want a change from this insane gluttony of a few at the top, elect me next November. I’ll show you how to clean out the closet, honey”
Applause, cheers, chants of “Beno, Beno.”
“Thank you all very much. God bless, and thank you for coming.”
Applause, TV video switched to an anchorperson.
The bartender turned the sound down and snarled at Mary.
“Thanks.” Mary blew him a kiss.
Zack, digesting Beno’s remarks, remembered several conversations he had had with the Pi people and Joe Case—the last chat with Joe, as a matter of fact. Just before he disappearedabout the very things Beno had talked about.
“Having a nice little trip?” Mary tipped her head.
Back from his thoughts: “So, what are you going to tell Lande’s office?”
“To kiss my rabbit’s foot.”
Zack raised his hand to the server. “Want another one?”
“Just one, remember.”
“Sure.”
The server came to the table.
“Two more.” Zack said. “New here, huh, Troy?”
“Seems like forever.” Troy sighed and left.
“Friendly little sucker,” Mary said.
“You trying to pick a fight in here?”
“Boca, why don’t we go to my place and I’ll cook some steaks.”
“Mary”
“Okay, why don’t we go to your place and catch a fish.”
“Mary”
“Don’t give me that you-need-to-go-to-confession look.”
“So, what will you tell Ms. Lande?”
“Oh, bullshit.” She threw a nickel in his glass.
“Oh, I see.” Zack stumped his cigarette out in an old Bimini Road tin ashtray. “You’d think they would get new ashtrays.”