Nobody Bats a Thousand (9 page)

“No…ah…ah, forget it. Nadine, I’ve got to go to work tonight, and I need to take a nap.”

“Use my bed.”

“I was planning to. What I want to know is how clean
are your sheets
?”

“They haven’t been on there too long.”

“Well, I guess what I’m asking
is
how many guys have you fucked on ‘em since you last changed them?”

“Gosh, Mary Jean, why do you always treat me like I’m some kind of slut?
  But there are clean sheets in the closet if you want to change them.”

“Thanks, slut,
” Mary Jean laughed, but she did change the sheets, and did take her reliable travel alarm clock into the bedr
oom to wake her.  But as she tried
to relax an
d work her way to sweet slumber land
, she couldn’t fully shake the nagging, irritating thoughts of her special pyramid clock out there lost and beleaguered at the whims of fate like an abandoned child.

But she did get
some
sleep and after she awoke, she showered, dressed, and reported to work at
Danny’s
fifteen minutes early. The bartender, Chester, was a quiet, fat kid who didn’t seem to be in a hurry for anything. Business in the lounge was slow all night, but the restaurant was busy for a few hours, and after MJ made friends with the only food waitress, Linda, she helped her out by doing cocktails in the restaurant, making sure the transactions were separate from the dinner bills, and when Mary Jean punched out at a little before eleven she left with more than forty bucks.

Back at the garage apartment, the room was dark except for luminance from the overworked television, which showered its light over Nadine lying across the couch.

“
Here.
” MJ handed Nadine twenty-five dollars. This is for my half of the rent. I’ll give you the rest tomorrow. But I’m only going month by month, and
I
get the bedroom.”

“Okay.”

“And I want my car fixed as soon as possible. The headlight has to be replaced right away.”

“Okay.”

Surprised there was no argument or backlash, Mary Jean quickly changed the subject. “So what are you watching?”

“A movie.”

“Any good?”

“No, it’s terrible. I’ve already seen it three times.”

MJ left it at that. She took a Valium and set her alarm to go off in five hours. She hated the thought of
getting up before dawn, especially after less than a full night’s sleep, but she had an important appointment early that same morning. A meeting with a woman named Patty who always wore a red hat.

Uncle
Tom’s
, probably the last bar in town that still opened every day of the year at six A.M., was a throwback to an era when having a few pops before work was less than a mortal sin. The crowd was still good at six, but now most of the patrons, long-time regulars, were long retired and more apt to drink coffee than whiskey or gin. Mary Jean got there about fifteen minutes after the doors had opened. After adjusting her eyes to the dark room, she studied the crowd and saw no other women, let alone one wearing a red hat. She pulled up a stool away from everybody at the far end of the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Just coffee, black.”

“Mary Jean? Is that you?”

“Yes,” Mary Jean answered with suspicion.

“It’s me, Dick
Hartoonian
. I worked with you at the old
Stardust
on Hobson
Boulevard.” T
he bartender squinted
his eyes and rubbed his chin. “That would have been about nineteen and
sixty

”

“No need to be specific, Dick. Of course I remember. That was my first cocktail job. I wasn’t even twenty-one.”

“I remember you were pretty green, but you picked it up real quick.”

“You’ve got quite a memory, Dick.”

“I never forget a pretty blonde, which is probably the reason I’m still working and not retired to Palm Springs. Coffee black, you
got it. I just made a fresh pot.
” Dick turned to his right and walked away.

“Oh heck, put a shot of Baileys in it, Dick.”

The bartender delivered the drink and slid MJ’s money back towards her. “I got the first one, babe.”

“Well, thank you Dick.” Mary Jean rewarded him with a big smile. “Say, Dick, you probably know someone I’m trying to get a hold of. They call her Red Hat Patty.”

“Patty? Sure she’s in here just about every mornin
g for a shot of Beam and a beer.” H
e looked at his watch. “She’s usually in here by now. What’d she do rip you off?”

“Why?  Is she a thief?”

“I wouldn’t go as so far as to call her a thief, but I wouldn’t trust her to hold my wallet if you know what I mean.”

“Oh no, this isn’t about anything bad. I just heard through a friend of a friend that she might be able to help me find something I lost.”

“Well if she comes in I’ll point her out, but I probably won’t have to that red hat thing speaks for itself,” the bartender said. Then he walked down to the other end of the bar to attend to his other customers.

Mary Jean sat sipping her coffee and trying to mind her own business. Occasionally she took a glance at the digital clock on the cable TV box that kept her mindful that time was slipping away on this fragile project, and her mission du jour was probably a total waste of time anyway.  She finished her drink and ordered another.

“Coffee and Bailey’s, right?”

“Yeah…oh shoot, put a little Irish in too, just a little.”

Dick delivered the mixture and again slid her money back at her. “That ge
ntleman wants to buy it for you.” H
e nodded in the direction of a skinny guy several stools down who looked to be about a hundred and forty years old. “Don’t worry. He’s harmless. He’s just being nice.”

Normally MJ would have refused a drink from a stranger, but owing to the bartender’s disclaimer and the fact that her cash was running low, she accepted without personally acknowledging the old coot. “Tell
him thanks.”

More time slid by in this lonely old bar full of lonely old people. Mary Jean looked up at the clock to
see it was seven-fifteen. “Dick.” S
he waved him over. “So what are my chances of seeing Patty today?”

He turned to check the time. “If she’s not here by now the chances aren’t good. I’ll say one thing for her, she works hard at what she does, and she likes to get an early start.”

“Could you do me a big favor?” S
he pulled a pen from the lotto ticket display on the bar and wrote her name and Nadine’s phone number down on a fresh cocktail napkin. “I’ve got to leave after this drink, but if you see Patty in the next few days could you give me a
call? I’d really appreciate it.
” Mary Jean forced a smile, which wasn’t easy to provide at this time of the morning after so little sleep. “But this is just between you and me, okay?  I wouldn’t want to scare her away.”

“No problem.” H
e tucked the napkin into his breast pocket.

Mary Jean swished around the final contents of her coffee cup, and was just about to suck down the dregs, when Dick deliver
ed a fresh one. “What’s this?” S
he was both surprised and a little dizzy.

“They
included you in their last roll.” H
e shrugged and nodded in the direction of the large group rolling dice at the other end of the bar.

Mary Jean shrugged. “Tell ‘em thanks, I guess.” Well, she thought, what the hell?  The caffeine would keep her straight enough to drive the short way home, and the alcohol would help her sleep, plus one would have to admit the combination of coffee, sweet liquor, and whiskey did taste awful damn good in the morning.

She was halfway through her
final
final
drink when the front door opened, spreading light into the dark room, and in marched a frantic small woman wearing a broad-rimmed red hat. She plopped down two stools away from the now slightly inebriated Mary Jean.

“Damn it,
Dickie
, make the Beam a double. My day’s shot. Everything is fucked. The best da
y of the year is down the tubes.
” Red Hat Patty sat with both fists planted on the bar.

“What’s the deal, kiddo?” Dick set down a beer and a double shot.

“The one day I wait for all year, the best day of
Operation
Clean
Up
, and the chain on my bike breaks. Normally I could fix it, but I need parts and the shop doesn’t open until ten. By then all the good stuff will be picked clean.”

Mary Jean leaned over, buzzed just enough to push her way into the conversation. “So what am I missing?”

“Why should I tell you?” Patty snarled.

“
It’s
okay, Patty,” Dick said. “She’s an old friend. She’s not in the business. She’s just asking a question.”

Red Hat Patty shifted her focus between the bartender and Mary Jean a few times before centering it on MJ.  “
Operation
Clean
Up
is a twice a year thing where the city picks up throwaways that are too big for regular trash pick-ups. Every week it’s a different part of the city. Usually it’s just crap or so-so stuff, but now they’re doing it in the north side of town. Those rich people throw out great stuff.  I’ve gotten stuff that still had the price tag on it.  And I know this one alley that’s kinda hidden, my secret alley, that’s pure gold, just pure gold.” Patty stopped, took down her shot and seemed to savor both the whiskey and the thought of her awaiting treasure. “Today’s the first day they
start
put
tting
things out, and I’m stuck without transportation. W
hat rotten luck.” S
he grabbed her bottle of Budweiser and hammered half of it down.

“So, what do you do with the stuff?”

“I sell it. What do you think I do
,
eat it?”

“Like at secondhand stores?”

“Yeah, I know ‘em all, know who likes what, and who’ll pay the
most for whatever.
” Patty leaned back
as she looked at Mary Jean. “If you’re not looking to get into the business why do you want to know so much?”

“Actually it’s because of this.
” MJ took out the photo of her clock, moved down a stool and slid the picture in front of Patty.
“That little thing on top of the mantel.
It’s a clock, and somehow it got picked up by someone. It’s a long story, but it’s not worth much to anyone else, but it’s the only thing my kids have left tha
t
belonged to their late father.
” Mary Jean had a son, 31, and a daughter, 27, who lived 1500 and 2000 miles away respectfully. She loved both her kids, heard from them at least twice a year, and was greatly pleased she could pull them out of the hat in times of need, like her latest plea.

Patty looked deeply at the photo then suddenly p
ushed it away. “Haven’t seen it.” S
he sucked hard at her beer.

“Are you sure?  If you know all the secondhand stores maybe

”

“I said I hadn’t seen it.
You calling
me a liar?”

“No, no, I just thought, I just t
hought,” MJ slumped forward. “
I don’t know what I t
hought.” S
he
put her forehead in her hands
with her elbows on the bar
. “Damn it, I don’t know what to think.”

Patty finished her beer then looked at Mary Jean. “Hey, maybe I
could
help you,” she said in a completely different tone. “You got a car?”

“Right outside.”

“Well how about this? You help me go trashing in this one alley, and when I sell the stuff off I’ll ask around and see if I can find what you are looking for. What do you say?”

“Okay.
” MJ perked up, and in a manner of minutes they were out on the road in MJ’s little Rambler heading north.

“Wow, this is living,” Patty
said,
her window fully down, the frigid air rushing in. “With my three-wheeler and my little cart I do okay, but this is it. If I had a setup like this I’d have it made. Hey, turn into that mini-mart. I need a beer.”

Mary Jean parked in front of the store.

“You wouldn’t have any change, would ya?
             
The smallest MJ had
was
a five-dollar bill. She handed it to Patty.

“You want a beer too?”

“Sure,” Mary Jean responded. It just seemed to be the thing to say.

Soon they were in Patty’s secret alley, about a quarter of a mile stretch dead-ending in a big circle at one end. Tall brick fences and huge trees separated the alley from the ponderous and pompous houses it served.