love
to help, she says, so sweet and polite that if this Alberto’s got any kind of
sense, he’ll be back to her before long. Makes me wonder whether I’d be better
off sticking with Eralda for a few days and letting the mystery come to me, but
considering I’ve got leads scattering all over the continent, there
unfortunately may not be a whole lot of time for Eralda.
We walk down to
the next corner, where I happen to know there’s a working pay phone. Before depositing
a few quarters from my pants pocket, which is still loaded, we rehearse a bit.
“Can you do
some fancy accent?” I ask. She tells me she does a pretty good Mary Poppins.
“Perfect,” I say. “Then tell her you were at the marvelous show last night and
after further consideration you’d like to buy the still life with apples if
it’s still available. Insist on speaking to Miss Shore. You want to arrange a
meeting.” She nods as she takes this in, then asks why I can’t call her myself.
“We broke up,”
I say, dropping in quarters and dialing the number I’ve got. I hand over the
phone, Eralda clears her throat, and what comes out of that little mouth is not
just a British accent. Hell, Eralda could be the queen of England. She practically gets me bowing out there out on the sidewalk as she runs through
her lines then stands there listening with a look of royal disdain.
“What a
disappointment,” she says.
“It must be so
lovely this time of the year,” she says.
“Oh dear yes,”
she says. “In England we say that those who help others help themselves.
Perhaps you have that expression here.”
“ Thank you, darling,” she says. “And please do tell her that Lady Eralda called.”
This goes on
for another thirty seconds or so, if you can believe it, and although I’m not
stingy with quarters, I am getting a bit anxious.
“What the hell
was all that?” I ask once she hangs up. Lady Eralda hums a little to herself
and curls the corners of her mouth.
“We we’re just
chatting,” she says. “She said that Miss Shore is attending a charity ball
tomorrow night and will be out of town for a week. We got lucky, though – they
didn’t sell the apples painting.”
“ Where is this charity ball.”
“She said it
was in Vail.”
“Vail?” I say.
“Colorado?”
“Colorado,” she says, which does throw me for a loop, and also fills my calendar for the
foreseeable future.
Before saying
goodbye I get Eralda’s number and promise to call if I run across Alberto. Then
there’s really nothing left to do but head for the Port Authority and catch a
bus. Shore may be paying expenses, but two planes in two days might well kill
me. Long before Pittsburgh, however, I have come to a conclusion: only an idiot
takes a Greyhound bus from New York City to Colorado. All the books any
philosopher ever wrote can’t even begin to approach the wisdom held in that one
little phrase.
10
What I really
need to be doing is getting back down to Texas and making inroads into figuring
out my life, by which I mean my death. What I need to be doing is focusing on
unholy revenge, digging through ol’ Jimbo’s closet for pink paisley, and
investigating the origins of Lady Caroline’s new aquatic sport. But I’ve been
stuck on a bus to Colorado for a day, making pit stops in every town that can
lay claim to a population. I get to thinking about it as the cornfields whip
by, and I realize that the story of my life is that the story’s never the one I
intended it to be. Sort of makes you wonder if eternity is long enough to get
yourself on track.
What I guess I
also need to be doing is checking in with Saint Chief to let him know about my
current trajectory towards the ol’ Rockies, but you can bet that won’t sit too
well, so I decide that saying grace can wait. Finally, however, a miracle does
come, and I make it to Vail, where it’s winter again and I do begin to
reconsider that nostalgia for the seasons. Tromping through the snow
to help, she says, so sweet and polite that if this Alberto’s got any kind of
sense, he’ll be back to her before long. Makes me wonder whether I’d be better
off sticking with Eralda for a few days and letting the mystery come to me, but
considering I’ve got leads scattering all over the continent, there
unfortunately may not be a whole lot of time for Eralda.
We walk down to
the next corner, where I happen to know there’s a working pay phone. Before depositing
a few quarters from my pants pocket, which is still loaded, we rehearse a bit.
“Can you do
some fancy accent?” I ask. She tells me she does a pretty good Mary Poppins.
“Perfect,” I say. “Then tell her you were at the marvelous show last night and
after further consideration you’d like to buy the still life with apples if
it’s still available. Insist on speaking to Miss Shore. You want to arrange a
meeting.” She nods as she takes this in, then asks why I can’t call her myself.
“We broke up,”
I say, dropping in quarters and dialing the number I’ve got. I hand over the
phone, Eralda clears her throat, and what comes out of that little mouth is not
just a British accent. Hell, Eralda could be the queen of England. She practically gets me bowing out there out on the sidewalk as she runs through
her lines then stands there listening with a look of royal disdain.
“What a
disappointment,” she says.
“It must be so
lovely this time of the year,” she says.
“Oh dear yes,”
she says. “In England we say that those who help others help themselves.
Perhaps you have that expression here.”
“ Thank you, darling,” she says. “And please do tell her that Lady Eralda called.”
This goes on
for another thirty seconds or so, if you can believe it, and although I’m not
stingy with quarters, I am getting a bit anxious.
“What the hell
was all that?” I ask once she hangs up. Lady Eralda hums a little to herself
and curls the corners of her mouth.
“We we’re just
chatting,” she says. “She said that Miss Shore is attending a charity ball
tomorrow night and will be out of town for a week. We got lucky, though – they
didn’t sell the apples painting.”
“ Where is this charity ball.”
“She said it
was in Vail.”
“Vail?” I say.
“Colorado?”
“Colorado,” she says, which does throw me for a loop, and also fills my calendar for the
foreseeable future.
Before saying
goodbye I get Eralda’s number and promise to call if I run across Alberto. Then
there’s really nothing left to do but head for the Port Authority and catch a
bus. Shore may be paying expenses, but two planes in two days might well kill
me. Long before Pittsburgh, however, I have come to a conclusion: only an idiot
takes a Greyhound bus from New York City to Colorado. All the books any
philosopher ever wrote can’t even begin to approach the wisdom held in that one
little phrase.
10
What I really
need to be doing is getting back down to Texas and making inroads into figuring
out my life, by which I mean my death. What I need to be doing is focusing on
unholy revenge, digging through ol’ Jimbo’s closet for pink paisley, and
investigating the origins of Lady Caroline’s new aquatic sport. But I’ve been
stuck on a bus to Colorado for a day, making pit stops in every town that can
lay claim to a population. I get to thinking about it as the cornfields whip
by, and I realize that the story of my life is that the story’s never the one I
intended it to be. Sort of makes you wonder if eternity is long enough to get
yourself on track.
What I guess I
also need to be doing is checking in with Saint Chief to let him know about my
current trajectory towards the ol’ Rockies, but you can bet that won’t sit too
well, so I decide that saying grace can wait. Finally, however, a miracle does
come, and I make it to Vail, where it’s winter again and I do begin to
reconsider that nostalgia for the seasons. Tromping through the snow
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