Write me a Letter

whatever errands I had to do first, then see Fats, then take the rest of the day off. That way a certain lilac-eyed stunner wouldn’t be able to get hold of me and send me off to slay dragons for her in the wilds north of Oakland . The last thing I needed was to become foolishly involved with her; one love-bitten, long-suffering wreck in the family was more than enough. So stay on your guard, Daniel, the heart is a wayward child, obeying mysterious rules of its own. Right. Now you’re thinking.
    Hell, if I collected from Fats, what with Will’s contribution, I wouldn’t even need another job right away. So: Mañana sleep in late. Do expense sheet. Errand(s). Fats. Leisurely lunch at Fred’s. Get bet down on Les Habitants winning the cup. Siesta. Evonne. Candle-lit supper. Evonne. Late snack. Evonne.
    I got to the office Friday just on opening time, which, as the sign on my door said, was ten o’clock weekdays and weekends by appt. I might even have been a bit early, who knows, but it’s me who pays the rent, I can open when I want to. And if that lying petticoat did call, boy was she going to get a piece of my mind.
    The phone rang once that morning. I answered it by saying coolly, ”Victor Daniel here,” but it was only some hustler—an out-of-work thespian, he sounded like—trying to peddle me ball-point pens or key chains with my name or company logo on them; I suggested he stick his rubbish up a narrow, dark passageway. There was nothing in the accumulated mail to occupy me for longer than it took to chuck it all in the wastepaper basket under the desk, so I got to work on the expense sheet for Fats. Who said art is dead? I even scribbled out a receipt, in pencil, from a mythical cab driver called Ramon, dated yesterday, for $7.45. And I did manage to find an old bill I could use to replace the unusable one from Dunkin’ Donuts. When I was done, the total came to a tidy $1,244.50. Most, if not all of the entries were backed up with stubs and receipts and the like, which I neatly stapled to the expense sheet after I had neatly retyped it. Well, it soon adds up, what with the plane fares, the cabs, including the one Sara took in L.A. , various bribes, all those long-distance phone calls, airport parking fees, meals and so on. I had to swallow our plane fares back and forth to Montreal , unfortunately, as that leg of the journey was our little secret. Added to the expenses of course was the five hundred dollars remaining of my fee— all right.
    The phone didn’t ring.
    I phoned the home about eleven but Mom was not available, I was told; why, I was not told. I called Evonne at her school and she was available. She was also available that evening, she informed me, but it meant breaking her date with Clint Eastwood. I laughed heartily. She said she had a ”welcome home” present for me. ”Was it bigger than a breadbox?” I asked her. I had a present for her, too, I’d bought at the last minute at Dorval —no, not moose pate— some real maple syrup to put on the waffles she made once in a while if I promised to wash the waffler afterward. I’d promise almost anything for her waffles. I had a present for Sara, too, that I bought when she wasn’t looking, a book of ballads by that terrific Scottish versifier Robert Service, who writes those great poems about the Canadian northwest like ”The Cremation of Sam McGee” and the one about the lady who was known as Lou. I hoped she’d learn something from it about real poetry.
    I rang Fats, told him I had news and made a date to pass by his office after lunch. I called John D. at the Valley Bowl just to shoot the breeze; we shot it until he had to go back to work. I tried the Lewellens and got the runaround again.
    The morning dragged on. The phone didn’t ring. I stuck it out till twelve-thirty or so, then closed up shop and strolled down to Fred’s Deli for some brain food, i.e., cream cheese on toasted raisin twice, a slab of peach pie, and a large glass of buttermilk. Two-to-One Tim was propped up in his customary booth just inside the front door; I joined him for a minute. He remarked he hadn’t seen me around for a few days. I said that was because I hadn’t been around for a few days, I’d been closeted with back issues of the Sporting News but now I was ready to plunge. He wanted to know what kind of plunge I was interested in taking. Fifty on the Dodgers, fifty on Les Canadiens, I said, both to go all the way.
    Tim whistled through his