Where I'm Calling From

get a drink there after closing hours. It was a place called the Off-Broadway. It was a spade place in a spade neighborhood. It was run by a spade named Khaki. People would show up after the other places had stopped serving. They’d ask for house specials—RC Colas with a shooter of whiskey—or else they’d bring in their own stuff under their coats, order RC, and build their own. Musicians showed up to jam, and the drinkers who wanted to keep drinking came to drink and listen to the music. Sometimes people danced. But mainly they sat around and drank and listened.
    Now and then a spade hit a spade in the head with a bottle. A story went around once that somebody had followed somebody into the Gents and cut the man’s throat while he had his hands down pissing. But I never saw any trouble. Nothing that Khaki couldn’t handle. Khaki was a big spade with a bald head that lit up weird under the fluorescents. He wore Hawaiian shirts that hung over his pants. I think he carried something inside his waistband. At least a sap, maybe. If somebody started to get out of line, Khaki would go over to where it was beginning. He’d rest his big hand on the party’s shoulder and say a few words and that was that. I’d been going there off and on for months. I was pleased that he’d say things to me, things like, “How’re you doing tonight, friend?” Or, “Friend, I haven’t seen you for a spell.”
    The Off-Broadway is where I took Donna on our date. It was the one date we ever had.
    I’d walked out of the hospital just after midnight. It’d cleared up and stars were out. I still had this buzz on from the Scotch I’d had with Patti. But I was thinking to hit Birney’s for a quick one on the way home. Donna’s car was parked in the space next to my car, and Donna was inside the car. I remembered that hug we’d had in the kitchen. “Not now,” she’d said.
    She rolled the window down and knocked ashes from her cigarette.
    “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I have some things on my mind, and I couldn’t sleep.”
    I said, “Donna. Hey, I’m glad to see you, Donna.”
    “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said.
    “You want to go someplace for a drink?” I said.
    “Patti’s my friend,” she said.
    “She’s my friend, too,” I said. Then I said, “Let’s go.”
    “Just so you know,” she said.
    “There’s this place. It’s a spade place,” I said. “They have music. We can get a drink, listen to some music.”
    “You want to drive me?” Donna said.
    I said, “Scoot over.”
    She started right in about vitamins. Vitamins were on the skids,
    vitamins had taken a nose dive. The bottom had fallen out of the vitamin market.
    Donna said, “I hate to do this to Patti. She’s my best friend, and she’s trying to build things up for us. But I may have to quit. This is between us. Swear it! But I have to eat. I have to pay rent. I need new shoes and a new coat. Vitamins can’t cut it,” Donna said. “I don’t think vitamins is where it’s at anymore. I haven’t said anything to Patti. Like I said, I’m still just thinking about it.”
    Donna laid her hand next to my leg. I reached down and squeezed her fingers. She squeezed back. Then she took her hand away and pushed in the lighter. After she had her cigarette going, she put the hand back. “Worse than anything, I hate to let Patti down. You know what I’m saying? We were a team.” She reached me her cigarette. “I know it’s a different brand,” she said, “but try it, go ahead.”
    I pulled into the lot for the Off-Broadway. Three spades were up against an old Chrysler that had a cracked windshield. They were just lounging, passing a bottle in a sack. They looked us over. I got out and went around to open up for Donna. I checked the doors, took her arm, and we headed for the street.
    The spades just watched us.
    I said, “You’re not thinking about moving to Portland, are you?”
    We were on the sidewalk. I put my arm around her waist.
    “I don’t know anything about Portland. Portland hasn’t crossed my mind once.”
    The front half of the Off-Broadway was like a regular cafe and bar. A few spades sat at the counter and a few more worked over plates of food at tables with red oilcloth. We went through the cafe and into the big room in back. There was a long counter with booths against the wall and farther back a platform where musicians could set up. In front of the platform was what passed for a dance