Tales of the City 08 - Mary Ann in Autumn

finish an end table for a client in Seattle, but early-afternoon hookups worked well for him, since Michael raised a fuss when Ben’s play cut into their evening time. On the other hand, Michael expected full disclosure after the event, and this was not the day for that: they’d be waiting for the results of Mary Ann’s surgery, and there would be other things to talk about before dinner. “Sorry,” he told the guy. “I’ll give you a call, though.”
    The guy nodded but looked rejected, so Ben showed his sincerity by fishing a business card from his wallet. “That’s my cell,” he said. “Or you can call me at my studio. I’m usually there during the day.”
    The guy studied the card. “Master craftsman, huh?”
    “I work wood.”
    “Oh, yeah? Sure hope so.” The guy winked and squeezed Ben’s arm as if no one had ever made that joke before, then sauntered back to his own locker.
    Too bad, thought Ben, as he watched him round the corner out of sight.
    Then, as he tugged his T-shirt over his head, someone came up behind him and asked: “How was Pinyon City?” He pulled the T-shirt into place and turned to find a face so jarringly out of context that it took him a while to identify it.
    Cliff from the dog park. Cliff of Blossom and Cliff. The old man was shirtless and wearing baggy brown trousers that were shiny-thin with age.
    “Oh … hey, Cliff … it was fun.” Ben had mentioned their upcoming trip to Pinyon City on his last visit to the dog park. In fact, he’d probably bored the old man on the subject, since Ben tended to babble around Cliff just to keep the conversation afloat. For someone who seemed to crave company, Cliff wasn’t especially gregarious.
    “And your friend from the East?”
    “Oh … Mary Ann? Yeah, she went with us.”
    “She liked it?”
    “Yeah. She loved it. It snowed while we were there.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “Yeah … it was.”
    Long, awkward silence.
    “I didn’t realize you were a member here,” Ben said, filling the void. “I mean, I’ve never seen you.”
    “I come on a day pass sometimes.”
    “Right.”
    “I like the pool.”
    “Yeah, me too. Especially when it’s nasty outside.”
    “Yep. Nice today, though. The weather.”
    “How’s Blossom?”
    “She’s good.”
    “That’s great. Cool name, by the way. Perfect for a little dog.”
    The old man nodded, then sighed with unexpected intensity. “The wife named her. After Blossom Dearie. The jazz singer. She was one of our favorites.”
    The wife, thought Ben. Such a straight-guy thing to say. But Ben liked knowing that this melancholy codger had company at home. Assuming he wasn’t a widower.
    “Is she … still with us?” he asked.
    “Think so. Don’t know if she’s still singing, but—”
    “I meant your wife.”
    “Oh … yeah … she’s alive.” Cliff looked flustered. “But she’s not … with me anymore.”
    “Sorry to hear that.”
    “She had problems. I tried to make it better, but …” His voice trailed off as his eyes filled with weariness and despair. “I have to get home … speaking of Blossom.”
    “Nice seeing you,” said Ben. “Say hi to her for me.”
    “Will do.” Cliff stood there a moment longer, avoiding intimacy by keeping his eyes fixed on the tile floor. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”
    It was heartbreaking to hear him lay out his loneliness in such a blatant way. “Oh … hey … it’s easy, Cliff. You’re good company.”
    “No, I’m not. You don’t have to say that.”
    Ben would have protested, but the old man turned and walked away.
    “Catch you at the dog park,” Ben called, trying to end this on an upbeat note.
    Cliff lifted his hand in mute reply and just kept walking. It was then that Ben noticed the scar on his back: an ugly puckered line, smoothed somewhat by the passage of years, running all the way from his shoulder blade to his waist.
    Surgery? For a tumor or something? It seemed too irregular for that.
    A war wound, then? Ben remembered Cliff’s story about the mascot dog that had to be shot when he was serving in Vietnam.
    Whatever its cause, the scar only deepened the sense that Cliff’s gloom was the product of a lifetime of troubles. There were layers to that resident darkness, Ben thought, and no one outside of the old man himself would ever know what they were.

Chapter 26
A Grace Period
    T andy Street was a bitch to find. It wasn’t on the hill behind the Mint, as Otto had remembered, but closer