by G L Rockey
I took a drag of Salem and thought, until I get a drink, I'm not believing any of this. I turned to face Berry. “When do you want to start this new weather side show?”
He smacked the window sill. “It's not a side show, goddamn it!” I think he hurt his hand and he pranced back to his desk. “Don't start that negative crap with me.” He checked his calendar. “April 30, two weeks, that's plenty of time. Couple weeks' rehearsal, get her in the May ratings … oh, and tonight, we're going to meet Peggy at The Berry, 6:30. I want you and Joe to get to know her, ask her some questions, you know, get on board.”
“An interview?”
“Yeah.”
I thought about telling him I had done my interview with Ms. Moore, round the world, head to toe physical, tonsils and all, but figured, heck with it, don't burst his bubble. “Should I wear a jacket?”
He shook his head. “You're impossible,” and sat behind his desk.
I started to leave and he said, “And get that non-compete contract from Luther signed, this afternoon.”
“Got it.”
* * *
Heading for Otis, I noticed Jay leaning against the wall in the hallway next to that picture of the Parthenon. I drained the last drips of coffee from my mug and saw that Jay's face had that expression humans get when they have a problem, want to talk. I didn't want to talk. No more human sounds, not now. Maybe a bird, a cat, a dog, but no more words. I walked past him and pushed Otis's button.
Jay next to me: “Jack, I need to talk.”
I knew it.
The public address system boomed: “Jack Carr, to the front lobby, Carr, to the lobby.”
Joe Galbo's voice seemed urgent.
The door opened. Jay and I entered.
Jay looked at me like he wasn't sure I had heard Galbo's page. “That page was for you.”
“What page?”
“That….”
“Down please.”
He pushed the down button, said, “That was Galbo, paging you.”
I had a good hunch what Joe wanted. I had parked in his slot. And I knew, knowing Joe, he was shaking in the lobby like that famous dog passing razor blades.
Another page from the tiny squawk box in Otis's ceiling: “Joe Galbo, front office, Galbo, front office.”
Berry's voice seemed more urgent than Joe's.
Jay said. “This is like lunch time at the zoo.”
Otis stopped and the door opened.
I exited and walked briskly toward my office.
Jay's voice behind me: “Jack, wait up.”
I turned the corner and stopped at Joy's desk.
Typing, she stopped, looked at me like she missed the last bus home, said, “Is it Monday?”
“Think so.”
“Galbo is looking for you.”
“I heard.”
“He's, well … he's beside himself.”
“Which side?”
“The threatening 'you parked in my space' side.”
I set my coffee mug on her desk.
She looked at Jay. “Good morning, Jay.”
“Good morning.” Jay forced a smile.
Another page over the P.A. speakers: “Jack Carr, please call extension 222 immediately, please, immediately.”
I recognized Galbo’s secretary, P.J.’s voice, she sounded frightened. I said, “Who’s 222?”
Everybody knew 222 was Joe Galbo’s main number.
Joy said, “Jack, should I call P.J.? She sounds terrified.”
I looked at Jay then spoke to Joy. “I think I’m going into a private meeting with Jay.”
Booming, there was another page: “JOE GALBO, FRONT OFFICE, GALBO, FRONT OFFICE, IMMEDIATELY.”
Joy said, “That takes care of Joe for a while.”
Taking off my jacket, I said to Joy, “I can't be disturbed, not in, out, whatever.”
Joy said, “Luther called, wanted to talk to you. Very upset, wondered who was going to do the weather tonight.”
I looked at Jay. “You do weather, Jay?”
Jay took a stab at a laugh.
Joy said, “Oh, and, ah, ah ah….”
Joy never stuttered. “What?” I said.
“Ms. Moore called again.”
“I'll be talking to Jay. We do not wish to be disturbed.” I motioned Jay into my office.
Joy, standing, asked, “Fresh coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
“I'll bring it in.” She took my mug.
I said to Jay, “I'm not a chauvinist, it's just easier, and, Joy being in charge, she insists.”
She said, “You sure you don't want some, Jay?”
“No, thanks.”
Jay sat in one of the orange covered chairs facing my desk.
I closed the green drapes overlooking the newsroom. “Freaky isn't it Jay?”
“What?”
“Living.”
Joy entered, put a steaming mug of coffee on my desk, and said, “Jay, are you sure you don't want some coffee?”
“No thanks, I'm fine.”
I sat behind my desk.
Joy closed the door as she left.
I looked at Jay then glanced at my bottom drawer where rested Jack Daniels. I said, “Well, Jay, what's up?” I touched my lips to the hot coffee, sipped, and leaned back in my chair.
Jay said, “Reality check. Did I just hear Sally say we were going to replace Luther with that broken down singer, Peggy Moore?”
“Check.”
“We're going to dump Luther?”
“In a roundabout way.”
“Is Berry crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Are we in Nashville?”
“Yes.”
“Is this the twenty-first century?”
“I think.”
“Are we all crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Luther, in Nashville, is God's weatherman. This town will riot if….”
“This town won't riot. Luther will be on Channel 3 the day after he leaves here.”
“It's insane.”
“It’s all insane, one way or another.”
“Can I please get off?”
“No, waters too deep.”
“Thanks.” A thin smile turned flat. Jay studied my face which was, far as I could tell, blank.
I lit a Salem, and beyond my closed office door I heard a loud bang then: “IS CARR IN THERE?” Joe's baritone tones seemed higher than usual.
Joy's voice, firm: “Yes, but he's in a meeting and he can't be disturbed.”
Joe: “This is more important, disturb him.”
Joy: “No!”
Jay and I exchanged mixed glances.
Joe: “I'm going in there.”
Joy: “I said NO!”
There was a pause then Joy: “Now, get out of here.”
There was another longer pause. Jay and I exchanged “the hell you say” glances.
Joe: “You tell him to see me….” his voice like he intended me to hear him, “TELL HIM TO SEE ME the minute he gets out of there, immediately.”
Silence.
After a few seconds, Jay said, “Joy must be crazy.”
“Hell, you say.”
Jay shook his head then looked down like he was stirring around in that problem pot again.
I leaned my head back further and closed my eyes. Jack Daniels was now shouting from my bottom desk drawer.
Jay said, “What IS going on around here?”
I opened my eyes. Jay still there, I considered telling him about Peggy Moore and the Snakebite trade deal with Berry, to get out, to get away, leave. But it stuck in my throat. Then I was going to say, whatever it takes, you win, that's all that matters. That's the world, and this world is the only one available right now. I was going to say this, but everything seemed gloomy enough so, remembering what Berry had said about Jay, given the state of the world, I evaded. “Allegro. Quick and lively. Step to it. Or step in it. I don't know. Who knows?” I blew smoke toward the ceiling.
“What's that mean?”
“When you walk behind elephants, watch your step.”
“I was just trying to make some sense up there in his office, thought I was being logical.”
“That's your first mistake.”
He leaned forward. “Logic is a mistake?”
I said, “Different plane of existence. Winners and losers and Spam in between, kinda like a lie where the beef should be.” I sipped then reflected, “You know what J.D. Salinger said about logic?”
“I missed that.”
“The apple in the Garden of Eden story represented logic, have to vomit it out to see the truth.”
He crossed his legs, shifted his legal pad, then said flatly, “Wish I had stayed in Providence.” He paused again, then asked, “Is this weather idea one of Joe Galbo's fantasies?”
“Don't think so.”
“What do you think of Galbo?”
“Survivor. Eats goose liver for breakfast, lunch, dinner … pounds of it, loves it, never saw a guy eat goose liver like Joe Galbo. Drinks Cold Duck with it. Says it keeps him loose. Every try it?”
I could tell Jay didn't think that was funny. He said, “He takes my office … has me moved in that rat hole back room down here on the first floor….”
“What, you don't like the first floor?”
He studied me for a second then said, “I don't believe this is happening.”
“Believe what you want, saves you time wandering around.” I made a note with a blue felt tipped pen on a piece of junk mail and threw it in my out basket.
“God help us.”
“He's busy.” I continued note making.
“I can't believe that.”
“God's busy?”
“Peggy Moore.”
“Believe it.” I leaned back, put my feet on my desk, thinking what Jay would think if he knew about my weekend with Mr. Moore. No, don't. Maybe Jay wouldn't mind if I brought Jack Daniels out. “Want a drink?”
He smiled. “No, thanks.” Then he said, “Is it something you eat or something you learn?”
“All of the above and goose liver helps.”
“Survival.”
“Something like that.” I lit a Salem, studied Jay, and given what Berry had said about him, said, “Why don't you get out … I know a few people, I'll help you find another job.”
“Judy too?”
I had a hunch about those two. “Are you two….”
“Don't say anything.”
“Wow, good for you.”
“What about you, getting out?” Jay said.
“I'm having too much fun.”
“I guess we all have to pay the rent.”
I really did hate that line.
He stood and said, “Well, back to the grindstone, thanks for the time.” He opened the door, left, and Joy entered with a burst of energy. “Jack, Joe Galbo was….”
“I heard. Bravo.”
“Let him fire me, I don't care, I won't take his horse shit.”
“Joy!”
“He just called again. He wants you out of his parking slot immediately and he wants you to call him immediately.”
“In which order?”
“Jack, land's sake, it's like monkey island at the zoo around here this morning.”
“This morning?”
“I know.” She paused. “What's wrong with Jay?”
“Just a rotten day.”
Joy walked back to the door. “You want this closed?”
“Yes, please.”
She closed the door. I went for the bottom drawer, poured a good belt of Jack Daniels in my coffee, put the bottle back, and took a long eye-closing drink. Better already. I pressed Joe Galbo's number.
After one ring, Joe answered, “Galbo.”
I waited a good five seconds just for fun.
“Galbo,” he said again.
I said, “Joe, you called, Jack.”
“Whatthefuckyoudoingparkinginmyspace?” came out of my phone like fifty caliber machine gun bullets.
I had pretty much mastered Galboese so I said, “Geez Joe, when I got here your space was empty, figured you might not be coming in….”
”Fuck that, doesn't matter! That's my space twenty four hours a day, rain or shine, I'm here or not, period.”
“Oh, okay, sorry, where did you park?”
“Next to that foreign piece of junk of yours.”
“Want to move cars now?”
“No. Get up here. We have to talk about things, Charlie Chan lickety-split, right away.”
“I'll be up in a few minutes.”
“Not a few minutes, now.”
I threw the phone in its cradle, took a gulp of my now lukewarm coffee royale and whispered, “It helps.”
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and went back to that once-upon-a-time, a warm evening, the orchestra turning itself … Vanderbilt campus … warm June evening … fresh cut grass … through Terri's fingers, a Steinway responds to her fingers and the night air fills with Mozart … standing, I hear myself cheering, “Bravo! From the beginning, take this mother from the beginning … but there is no beginning and this is not new … Da Capo!”
“Jack, are you all right?” I looked, my office door open, Joy stood in the door way.
“Perfect.”
“Do you want to take a long distance call from a Tom Leary, says he's with Associated Press. Something about the flooding.” She looked over her glasses. “Are you sure you're all right?”
Crossed over for a moment, I clung there, but then I was here, back in the muck, between times, in a ten by twelve office, waiting. Waiting for what?
I sat up and said, “What?”
“Long distance, Associated Press, the flooding….”
”Take a message, tell him it's nothing, I gotta see Joe Galbo.”
CHAPTER 15
Real Time
11:15:10 A.M. CDT
Wearing a double-breasted gray pinstriped suit, white dress shirt, and a silk blue tie, in the back corner of his office, the red buffing pads of his electric shoe polisher whirred as Joe Galbo tidied up his 12-D black wingtips.
In a moment, his shoe's spit-shine restored, he sat behind his desk, lit an eight inch palma cigar and puffed. After a second puff he put the cigar in an orange TV12 ashtray, and began chewing the nail on his left middle finger. Scant nail to bite, he switched to his thumb. Chewing, he frowned then reached to straighten a silver CBS clock and gold miniature golf three-wood that sat at the front edge of his desk. Satisfied with the arrangement, he picked up his cigar, puffed, and looked at his silver Omega wristwatch: 11:20.
He bit his lower lip and called, “P.J., you hear from Carr yet?”
“No sir.”
CHAPTER 16
Jack’s Time
Five shots of lime Binaca tingling my tongue, coffee mug in hand, I walked, slowly as plausible without looking lost, toward Otis. Today's second trip to the second floor would be Joe Galbo's version of reality. Since first meeting Joe, six months ago, I had a sense he was, in the great human collection, a rarest of rare gene mutations. Underneath I think he wanted to be liked, a regular Joe, but something in the slimy green grab of the planet's greed machine had turned him into an asshole.
Moseyed out, I entered Otis, punched up, and wondered what profound mumbo jumbo Joe would proclaim this morning with his insane Mother Goose one-liners. One thing I know for sure, in the sure money world of time and chance, Joe is a survivor.
Otis opened to the second floor, oil painting of the Parthenon in front of me, I stepped out, paused a moment, then started down the hallway.
Passing Berry's office, his door closed, I winked at Judy and kept walking. You could tell you were getting close to Galbo's power base by the pungency of the cigar smoke and the bustling semper fi efficiency.
Past the conference room, nearing Joe's office entrance, I thought what the heck, I need to go say hello to Bobbi, see if two plus two is still four. I walked past P.J.'s door,
gave her a little wave and continued down the hall. Looking back, P.J.s' shocked expression said it all.
Bobbi and I had bonded five years ago when, doing my annual department budget, I questioned my calculator's veracity. Always making the same mistake, the machine kept registering two plus two equaled four when I knew, without a doubt, the total had to be three.
Bobbi, a hard little stone, native of Johnson City, forty-five looking thirty, stood about five four. She probably weighed around ninety-five pounds, blown dry. Short red hair, freckles everywhere, her darting hazelnut eyes caught everything within a mile and what she didn't see, her pretty nose smelled. Her hobby growing begonias, Bobbi had a twenty year relationship with the Frazer family. Over the years she had been a confident and personal counselor to Berry's father. She did the taxes, buried the bones and, I had a hunch, she knew of Berry's gambling problems. As far as I know she said nothing to anybody about anything. The thing I liked most about her, she regularly told Joe Galbo to stick it.
After hi and hello, Bobbi offered coffee, had a box of Dunkin Donuts, lemon-filled.
After a donut and five minute or so chit chat, I freshened my coffee, thanked her, and returned to Joe's reception area.
Typing, P.J. said in a fearful half whisper, “Where did you go?”
“Errands.”
She rolled her large brown eyes, “Mr. Galbo is expecting you,” and continued moving her elegant fingers over the keyboard.
I said, “Pity.”
She cleared her throat and typed faster.
I glanced inside Joe's office. He appeared engrossed in a phone conversation. He eyeballed me then turned his back. I looked inside to see if anything had changed since he was still just a lowly sales manager. Office looked the same: giant TV tuned to TV12; desk, slightly smaller than Berry's but anally clean; window overlooked downtown Nashville, half the size of Berry's; powder blue fabric sofa; creamy wall covering; two olive drab leather chairs faced his desk. An oak cabinet, when opened (I knew this), held two quarts of Wild Turkey. Above the cabinet, a large brass Marine Corp. insignia hung on the wall. He didn't have a private privy but there was a men's room across the hall. He had put his name on the first stall, called it his ‘slit trench’.