was in no hurry. There was plenty of time; no reason to push
things.
When he brought her a refill, he said, "Hey, big
girl, we know each other?"
" Maybe. You look really familiar."
"You don't know who I am?"
"My second grade Sunday school teacher?"
" Come on. You can do better than that."
The man at the next stool, an older man Skip had
barely noticed, put a hand on her arm. "This here's Donnie."
He slurred his words pretty badly.
"Hi, Donnie. Fm Skip."
" You still don't know who he is?"
Skip shook her head.
"From—you know—that show."
Donnie named a television show from way back, before
Skip's time, but one of which she'd seen reruns. There was a
character on it named Donnie, a cute little kid, maybe ten or eleven.
"Oh, Donnie. The kid."
"My real name's Phil." The bartender smiled
as if he couldn't be happier.
It had entered her head from time to time, when she
thought her life wasn't going fast enough, to wonder what became of
child athletes and child stars. Something about Phil, about his
too-ruddy face, once known to nearly everyone in the country, now
seen only by a few drunks in a dark room, made her feel slightly
panicky. She couldn't pinpoint the reason, thought it might have to
do with the notion of change, things not being what they used to be,
but she couldn't see how that applied to her life.
He was staring at her, still smiling, and she saw
what was required. "I remember you. God, that was funny, that
time you got locked in the closet with the dog."
"You can't even imagine how hot it was. Doing
that scene."
Maybe I shouldn't feel sorry for him. Here's a guy
who's got something in common with every person he meets. Maybe his
life is wonderful.
But she couldn't shake a feeling of melancholy.
When they had passed enough pleasantries, she said,
"You know a guy named Dennis Foucher? Used to come in here
pretty often."
"Man, what a coincidence. He was here last
night. Comes in, like no time has passed instead of five years, gets
shit-faced, and then I read in the paper he's wanted for murder or
somethin'."
Skip showed him her badge. "He's not wanted for
murder. We just want to talk to him."
"You're a cop?"
" You're Donnie?"
" Everybody's got to be somebody." Phil
laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. When he had
wiped away the tears and returned to relative sobriety, he leaned
close and touched Skip's elbow, conspiracy marked on his features.
" You're not the only one lookin' for him
tonight." He pointed with his jaw. "That's Toni in the
white T-shirt. She left with him last night."
Toni was sitting alone in a booth facing the bar. She
was staring at Phil, as if expecting him to produce Dennis, and
apparently saw him point her out. She got up and came forward,
bringing her drink, a glass of white wine. Her gait was unsteady.
" Hello," she said. "Did we just meet?"
" I hear we're looking for the same man."
" Oh?" Toni was a slight woman, dark and
hungry-looking, a little wiry, but full-breasted and apparently proud
of it. Her T-shirt was tucked into black jeans that emphasized her
small waist and hips or, more properly, the way they contrasted with
her chest.
"For different reasons," Skip said, and
identified herself. Toni's eyebrow shot up. "Why don't we have a
drink?" She turned and sauntered back to the booth. Skip picked
up her Coke and followed.
Toni reached across the table. "Let me have your
hand."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Give me your palm. Then we'll talk."
Oh, well. It's not like I've got a pressing
appointment.
She stuck out her hand, palm up. Toni took the hand
and studied it.
"Your life line's okay, you have a good family
life. There are two important men in your life, and that may cause
you some trouble." She paused, as if taking a deeper look. "But
here's the thing—you're on a journey right now, you've got to go
through some doors, you're going from one level to the next as you
travel downward. And you're going to suffer." She looked up,
into Skip's
things.
When he brought her a refill, he said, "Hey, big
girl, we know each other?"
" Maybe. You look really familiar."
"You don't know who I am?"
"My second grade Sunday school teacher?"
" Come on. You can do better than that."
The man at the next stool, an older man Skip had
barely noticed, put a hand on her arm. "This here's Donnie."
He slurred his words pretty badly.
"Hi, Donnie. Fm Skip."
" You still don't know who he is?"
Skip shook her head.
"From—you know—that show."
Donnie named a television show from way back, before
Skip's time, but one of which she'd seen reruns. There was a
character on it named Donnie, a cute little kid, maybe ten or eleven.
"Oh, Donnie. The kid."
"My real name's Phil." The bartender smiled
as if he couldn't be happier.
It had entered her head from time to time, when she
thought her life wasn't going fast enough, to wonder what became of
child athletes and child stars. Something about Phil, about his
too-ruddy face, once known to nearly everyone in the country, now
seen only by a few drunks in a dark room, made her feel slightly
panicky. She couldn't pinpoint the reason, thought it might have to
do with the notion of change, things not being what they used to be,
but she couldn't see how that applied to her life.
He was staring at her, still smiling, and she saw
what was required. "I remember you. God, that was funny, that
time you got locked in the closet with the dog."
"You can't even imagine how hot it was. Doing
that scene."
Maybe I shouldn't feel sorry for him. Here's a guy
who's got something in common with every person he meets. Maybe his
life is wonderful.
But she couldn't shake a feeling of melancholy.
When they had passed enough pleasantries, she said,
"You know a guy named Dennis Foucher? Used to come in here
pretty often."
"Man, what a coincidence. He was here last
night. Comes in, like no time has passed instead of five years, gets
shit-faced, and then I read in the paper he's wanted for murder or
somethin'."
Skip showed him her badge. "He's not wanted for
murder. We just want to talk to him."
"You're a cop?"
" You're Donnie?"
" Everybody's got to be somebody." Phil
laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. When he had
wiped away the tears and returned to relative sobriety, he leaned
close and touched Skip's elbow, conspiracy marked on his features.
" You're not the only one lookin' for him
tonight." He pointed with his jaw. "That's Toni in the
white T-shirt. She left with him last night."
Toni was sitting alone in a booth facing the bar. She
was staring at Phil, as if expecting him to produce Dennis, and
apparently saw him point her out. She got up and came forward,
bringing her drink, a glass of white wine. Her gait was unsteady.
" Hello," she said. "Did we just meet?"
" I hear we're looking for the same man."
" Oh?" Toni was a slight woman, dark and
hungry-looking, a little wiry, but full-breasted and apparently proud
of it. Her T-shirt was tucked into black jeans that emphasized her
small waist and hips or, more properly, the way they contrasted with
her chest.
"For different reasons," Skip said, and
identified herself. Toni's eyebrow shot up. "Why don't we have a
drink?" She turned and sauntered back to the booth. Skip picked
up her Coke and followed.
Toni reached across the table. "Let me have your
hand."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Give me your palm. Then we'll talk."
Oh, well. It's not like I've got a pressing
appointment.
She stuck out her hand, palm up. Toni took the hand
and studied it.
"Your life line's okay, you have a good family
life. There are two important men in your life, and that may cause
you some trouble." She paused, as if taking a deeper look. "But
here's the thing—you're on a journey right now, you've got to go
through some doors, you're going from one level to the next as you
travel downward. And you're going to suffer." She looked up,
into Skip's
Similar Books
