The Printer's Apprentice

By Drew Banton

A young print shop assistant encounters a daunting task at work, left wing politics, sub-standard housing and the exotically beautiful wife of a local TV celebrity. Can his coworker, a vibrant young secretary, help him overcome these challenges?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Banton
• Release date: Dec 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370070602

Drew Banton

Drew Banton has published novels, novellas and stories. He has had pieces appear in Event Horizon online magazine and Bicycling Magazine. He has worked as a printer, welder, auto mechanic, bicycle frame builder, industrial mechanic and manufacturing engineer. He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts. When not writing he can usually be found walking his dog or trying to keep up with his grandson.

Book preview

The Printer's Apprentice

by

Drew Banton

The Industrial Strength Press

©Copyright 2016 Drew Banton

All Rights reserved

Smashwords edition

Also by Drew Banton:

A Dangerous Job

The Jack

The Gurry Room

The Mascot

e-mail: [e-mail]

web: The Industrial Strength Press

Authors Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Start

Midpoint

End

Author

*1*

Davis had the refrigerator door open and was peering dully, hopelessly inside when he felt a silken touch on his hand. He swung the door inward so that Marie could pass through and join him in the kitchen.

She studied his face, reading it like a sign in a partially understood language.

Do you have to go to work? Sleepiness made her voice lower, rounded off the edges.

He nodded slowly. Um. Work. Money. Life.

Oh, Davis.

She placed her hand lightly on his back and rested her cheek on his shoulder. They stood for a moment like that, gazing together into the refrigerator. A six pack of empties sat on the top shelf.

Let me make you some breakfast.

Not enough time. I was looking for some orange juice.

Here, let me.

Her long hands guided him to one side. She extracted a carton from the confusion and moved to the sink to wash a glass. Davis leaned against the stove. Her sleeve brushed him as she worked. She was wearing a purple bathrobe. Her hair hung down and billowed out unbrushed, a thriving foliage grown wild. Black hair. Black is the absence of color. The author of his high school physics book had never seen this black.

She handed him the juice. The liquid flowed down with a cold, acid bite that felt so good he tried a second sip. Despite last night's excessive alcoholic beverage consumption and a fitful night's sleep on the living room floor (his friend Lars had claimed the couch) he would survive.

How about some toast?

He shook his head, mouth full of juice. Over the edge of the glass, he watched her watching him. Her lips formed a half pout, half smile. She enjoyed mothering him. His eye followed the high arching ridge of her nose. Her parents were Armenian or Arab or something. He could never keep it straight.

He drained the glass.

That helped, it really did. Listen, thanks for getting up. You take good care of me.

His few kind words produced a smile. She closed the quarter step between them and hugged him, pressing her face into his flannel shirt. He set the glass down on the counter, put his arms around her, and inhaled her aroma.

Marie gave him a last squeeze and led him from the kitchen.

Try to take care of yourself today.

The door was open.

See you later, Marie.

Bye, and she touched his cheek with her fingers. Then she started to scratch the day old stubble of his beard. She was smiling as she closed the door and he was sure she was about to laugh. He grinned as he walked down the hallway.

*2*

The autumn morning air was sharp like the snap of a dry branch, clear, bracing, just what he didn't need. He soon found himself at the bus stop.

He leaned against a mailbox in the sunshine, waiting. The bus whined to a stop. He climbed aboard, threw some coins in a hopper and sprawled on a green leather seat. The bus whined back into motion. Yes, whined. An electric bus. What a loopy idea, like something a kid would dream up, wires strung all over the city with flexible wands making the connection. Occasionally the wands fell off. Everyone in the bus would get to watch while the driver got out and put the wand back in place. Some people would be annoyed by the delay but Davis always enjoyed the show.

Three school girls sat across from him, green jackets with a gold emblem on the pocket and plaid skirts and blue knee socks and saddle shoes straddling brown book bags. They were peeking at him while pretending not to and whispering among themselves and giggling. He was clearly the sort of person who would make their mother's head explode if she knew they had talked to him. The one with the red hair and all the freckles wore her hair in braids.

Good morning, girls, he said.

They giggled, naturally.

Good morning yourself, said the brunette whose pony tail lost nothing in comparison to her friend's braids.

You need a shave, the brown-haired one added and gave just the tiniest shake of her long straight shining strands.

And a haircut. The redhead had finally found her voice. In fact, she summarized, you're a real mess.

Davis nodded, ecstatic. I know, I know. Isn't it wonderful?

Their laughter echoed as the bus was swallowed by the tunnel leading to the station. The symbolism might have made him sweat if he hadn't been laughing along with them.

*3*

He braced himself for the highlight of his day, the ride up the escalator. The average human over the age of four might have found some difficulty in sharing his joy but he would have been at pains to point out, this was no ordinary escalator. The wooden slats had been polished to such a smooth finish, had eroded so gracefully that surely the process could only have taken place over a geologic time span. It creaked and groaned as it carried him towards the street. The fact that it had done this every morning (except for once in a while when it was closed for repairs) since subway riders first crawled from the sea filled him with wonder. Some people ahead of him climbed the moving stairs to hurry their ascent. This he would absolutely never do, not even when the person behind him made funny noises because they wanted him to move. The ride was always over too soon.

He crossed the street and peered through the window of the Hayes Bickfords. The little hand was part way past the seven and the big hand was pointing towards the five. He leaned his head against the plate glass, making a smudge mark. Somehow he had managed to get downtown early.

*4*

The man behind the counter was barely over five feet tall. Davis did not hold this against him nor was he in the least bit inclined to make fun of the white hat the regulations required him to wear over his greasy curls. For although the man was short his thick forearms and broad shoulders made it clear that he was fully capable of scrambling over the counter in order to make Davis wish he had been born in some other hemisphere.

You trying to memorize them or you going to order something?

Davis had been staring at the painted cardboard signs that served as the menu. Uh, yeah. I guess so. Do you have something that won't make me vomit?

The counterman snorted. A fellow wise ass. They were now good friends. You could try the toast but I'm not makin' any promises. I'll get you some that they didn't take off somebody else's plate.

Davis nodded. Yeah, fresh brewed toast. That might work. And some of that black water from the silver barrel.

He slid a few coins across the counter. He took the cup, saucer, and plate of toast, exchanged mirror image lopsided grins with his good friend behind the counter and made his way to a seat near the window, spilling less than half of the coffee on the way. The toast had to do some fancy talking to convince his stomach that it really meant well, but at last it won its point and was allowed to stay. He stretched his arms over his head and watched the parade of secretaries begin to pick up in volume. The coffee began to work its magic. He was almost awake.

*5*

As Einstein had pointed out, if you were in an elevator that was in outer space and it was being