Chapter seventeen
Tania came out the front door of her apartment building at 4:40 a.m. She walked to Hennepin and saw the headlights of the 6U bus coming toward her. She boarded the vehicle and greeted the driver.
“Good morning, Robert. What stinks?”
The leaves of the bus door closed behind her.
“It was just on the radio; there was a fire on Lyndale and 25th. That hippie cafe burned down.”
“Let me out,” demanded Tania.
“Are you okay?” asked Robert.
“I’m fine,” said Tania. “Just let me off the bus.”
Robert pulled over to the curb and opened the door.
Tania raced down the six and a half blocks to Lyndale.
She thought, I see the building, but it’s not there.
Jack stood on the corner talking to a cop. Tania called out his name; he moved toward her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Holly’s mother ran up between them.
“Oh my God, Jack, are you all right? I knew something was wrong when you didn’t come home.”
Did she say “home”? thought Tania.
Holly’s mother shook Jack’s shoulders.
“Jack, Jack, can you hear me?”
She looked over to Tania.
“I’m Sharon, Jack’s lady.”
“Oh. I’m Tania, his waitress; I . . . uh . . . used to work at the cafe.”
Tania crossed Lyndale then headed to 24th. She caught the 4B bus for downtown at 5:21.
That Saturday, Christopher and Tania were asleep on the sofa bed in his furnished studio when the alarm clock went off; it was 4:45 a.m.
“Oh my God, it’s today, and you’re leaving,” said Tania.
Two medium-size suitcases and an expedition backpack with an exterior frame stood by the front door. Tania and Christopher showered and dressed. Then Christopher unfolded a pair of small, wheeled carts and bungee-strapped the valises to them. He hoisted the backpack onto Tania. She buckled the hip belt and adjusted the shoulder straps. Christopher attached a rolled foam sleeping pad to the upper part of the frame. Tania lumbered toward the front door and rotated her body in Christopher’s direction.
“If this doesn’t show how much I love you, I don’t know what does.”
Christopher grabbed the handles of the luggage carts, and they climbed the stairs that led up from the basement apartment to street level.
Once outside, Tania faced Christopher.
“Now what?”
“Didn’t I tell you? We’re taking the bus to the train station. Actually, it’s three buses.”
He checked his watch.
“We’ve only got four minutes.”
The two took off for Nicollet and 15th. Tania lumbered under the weight of the backpack, and Christopher struggled to control the waddling valises.
“I’m not hurrying so good,” called out Tania.
The pair arrived at the corner of Nicollet and 15th as the 5:41 was turning away from the stop. Tania waved her hands in the air.
“WAIT, WAIT!”
Christopher rapped on the side of the vehicle. The front door flipped open, and they hauled themselves and the baggage onto the bus. The vehicle accelerated, swayed, stopped, and started up again. Tania, still wearing the backpack, clenched the coach’s overhead handrail.
“How does my hair look?” she asked.
“Your hair looks fine, but you’ve got a big chandelier hanging from your right nostril.”
Christopher squeezed an end of one of the two suitcases between his thighs, reached in a pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and offered it to Tania.
The duo got off the bus at Blaisdell and Lake; they waited for the 21A to take them over to St. Paul.
“Who’s this guy you’re staying with?” asked Tania.
“He was a couple years ahead of me at U of M,” said Christopher. “I got to know him when we were spear carriers at the Guthrie. He lives in Little Italy . . . with his girlfriend; she’s a painter.”
“So you’re gonna sleep on their sofa until you find a place?”
“No, I’m gonna sleep in a hall closet. They don’t have a sofa. They do have a bathtub in the kitchen; I guess I could sleep in that.”
Tania and Christopher got on the 87 Rosedale and rode it to University Avenue and Transfer Road in Saint Paul. Then they walked the rest of the way to Midway station. Tania stopped in her tracks and turned to Christopher.
“Did Jack cheat on me with Sharon or did he cheat on Sharon with me?”
“I don’t think it matters; he’s a cheater, a cokehead, and a guy with a big ego and a limp dick who doesn’t deserve you because you’re wonderful, and he’s not.”
“Oh,” said Tania.
Christopher checked the two suitcases at the train station and unloaded the pack from Tania’s back and put it on his own.
“Is this the part where we promise to stay in touch?” asked Tania.
The pair arrived at the track for the Empire Builder.
Tania blubbered, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” said Christopher.
They embraced; they kissed. Tania watched Christopher walk down the platform to a coach car. He turned, waved, and boarded the train.
Tania thought, What the hell am I gonna do now?
Over at the Paradise Lounge, Ray leaned across the desk in his office.
“Did you hear me, Jack? I’m buying the lot your restaurant was on and giving you twelve grand for it.”
“What are you talking about? The land’s worth twice that.”
“I’m sure it is, but you’re in no position to haggle with me or to sell it to anyone else.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Have you forgotten? The restaurant burned down under ‘mysterious circumstances.’ ”
“Yeah, and the insurance company’s not going to pay me, so I’m screwed.”
“No, Jack, you’d be screwed if the cops conducted a criminal investigation. I could make that happen, you know.”
“Why would you do that? Wait a minute; is this about that shit from high school?”
Ray reached in the top drawer of his desk; he pulled out a check and a stack of papers.
“Twelve grand, and you don’t go to jail for burning down the farthole.”
Ray opened another drawer and pulled out a packet of coke. He tossed it to Jack.
“You’ve got ten minutes to think it over.”
Ray got up.
“I’m gonna take a piss.”
A few minutes later, Ray opened the door to his office. Jack lifted his head from a line of blow.
“Hey, how much of this can I get for twelve grand?”
“We can talk about that after you sign the papers.”
Tania got home from the train station and called her mother.
“Can I come over?” Tania asked.
She switched the receiver to her other ear.
“No, chicken’s fine; anything you want to make is fine.”
Because, thought Tania, a bad relationship with my mother will give me cancer before eating her chicken will.
A week later, Dexter from Tania’s acting class walked into the Pizza Man.
“Can I see the manager?” he asked.
Jack slammed shut the cash register drawer.
“You’re lookin’ at ’im.”
Dexter held up a placard advertising a showcase produced by Bobby Steinberg.
“Would you put this in your window?”
“Sure, I’m a patron of the arts.”
Dexter left. Jack scanned the poster, ripped it in two, and tossed it in a trash basket beneath the register.
“Wait a minute,” said Jack. He pulled the pieces from the garbage and re-read the list of performers.
The showcase was in a theater on the seventh floor of the building where Bobby Steinberg held his classes. The house was full; an actor stood center stage.
Tania was stage right dressed in a navy skirt and billowy, white blouse with a floppy red bow at the neck; Dexter was stage left wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and red tie.
“My name is Chuck Flynn,” said the actor center stage. “Welcome to Debate Central. Tonight, I will be asking these candidates a few simple questions. From their answers, you, the public, can determine who is most qualified to be your next mayor. My first question is for the incumbent, the Honorable Laslo Blatso.”
He turned to Dexter.
“Tell me, Mayor, who is buried in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier?”
“I don’t know,” answered Blatso.
“That is correct. Score one for His Honor,” responded Flynn. “Now to political unknown Louise Teagarden.”
Flynn turned to Tania.
“Tell me, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?”
“Uh . . . I . . . uh,” said Louise.
“No stalling, Teagarden; just answer the question,” said Flynn.
He checked his watch.
“Sorry, time’s up.”
Flynn turned to Blatso.
“Mayor, how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Take your time; it’s a tough question.”
A door to the theater opened and Jack slunk into the darkened auditorium.
Onstage, Laslo Blatso stroked his chin.
“Well, Chuck, a woodchuck would chuck all the wood he could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood, Chuck.”
“So true, Mayor. So true,” said Flynn. “Now back to the little lady. Mrs. Teagarden, would you happen to know which came first, the chicken or the egg? Two seconds, Mrs. Teagarden. Uh, time’s up.”
Louise threw her arms in the air.
“Hold everything; stop the music.”
“There isn’t any playing,” said Flynn.
“I demand to say a few words,” said Louise.
“Of course, Lois,” said Blatso. “Go right ahead.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“This oughta be good.”
“I’m learning that most people aren’t interested in the things I believe in,” said Louise.
“Hold on; let me get my violin,” said Blatso.
He turned his back to the audience and returned with his left elbow bent and his knuckles under his chin. He air-bowed his forearm with his right fist and sang the opening notes of “Hearts and Flowers.”
“Da Da Deeda Da Da Dum.”
“There are certain values I must live by despite their unpopularity,” continued Louise. “Is it stupid to be honest? Is it wrong to be just?”
“Just what?” asked Blatso.
“Would you shut up, you crooked piece of shit?” shouted Louise.
Mayor Blatso grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. Louise gasped.
“Oh no, what have I done?”
She put the back of her hand to her forehead and fainted. Blatso got up, brushed himself off, and put his arm around Flynn.
“I was just fuckin’ with her,” said the Mayor.
They laughed, exited, and left Louise lying face down on the stage.
Offstage, an alarm clock went off. Onstage, Louise reached her hand along the stage floor in search of the clock. Offstage, the alarm wound down. Onstage, Louise rolled onto her back and turned her head toward the audience.
“What a terrible dream! Thank God, things aren’t like that in real life.”
Jack slithered out of the theater.
