Lot 39

By Richard Segal

What happens if a Saturday afternoon begins like Thomas Hardy and ends like the evening of Silly Talks, with Erich Segal in between? A chance meeting on the street leads to a quick drink and then another with spouses, partners and fast friends, fervent discussions about topics of the day and life in the sharing economy, the wisdom of domestics with magic sponges and monogrammed brooms, working the circadian rhythms. Debates are fueled by charcuterie boards and addictive heirlooms, with Saturday supplements, satirical magazines, and cameo walk-bys as props.

Meanwhile on a separate track, where theres smoke, theres fire, but if a countrys leadershipmake that two countriesis going to play with said fire, wouldnt it make sense to take out some insurance beforehand? Who says madness takes its toll, and say what you want about Nero and his fiddle, but at least he could play.

Too much to take in by the end of the evening? Not to worry, if you need a taxi, call the Maxi.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546289777

Richard Segal

Richard Segal, an American citizen, resides in London, England, and works as an economic and financial consultant. He has written widely about matters relating to global public policy over the years. His most recent novel was The Man Who Knew the Answer.

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© 2018 Richard Segal. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/09/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8978-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8977-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Into The Great Wide Open

The Deal

Ebitdata

What Is It With Me And Drug Runnerz?

Save The Zaniest For Now

Seven Years A Dave

Anyone Hungry?

True Colours

The Cliff Effect

Box Pop, Or Is It Vox Bop

Pronounced Leonard

Time, Gentlemen

To Phippsie, RIP, Some Day

INTO THE GREAT WIDE OPEN

A Saturday afternoon in North London was approaching the time of dusk, as it adopted the familiar shade of umbrella grey.

You shouldn’t have, Alan said.

Shouldn’t have what? I asked.

Bought me the flowers, he joshed. They are for me, aren’t they?

I hadn’t noticed, but I’d been holding an arrangement when I bumped into him, and because they were light I had forgotten. Usually when I’m carrying something while on an errand run, it is heavy and weighs me down. Not these flowers, although I did have to hold them upright, because the vendor asked if I’d prefer them wrapped in ‘water plastic,’ or something like that he described them, and I wasn’t sure what he meant. Although I was paying close attention, it is sleight of hand how he envelops the gift in a clear film that creates a dimple in the bottom. By the time he hands them to the customer, me, the dimple is filled with water, and they stay fresh and moist. No wonder he charges so much.

Have to hold them upright, and I gather strap them into the passenger’s seat with the safety belt to keep the water where it belongs. I must have appeared chivalrous, carrying a bunch of flowers on a random Saturday afternoon.

Have you lost weight? he then asked. You look good.

They’re still not for you, I reacted. What have you been up to?

I’m in between jobs, he explained. I start the new one in December. I’ve the season off and couldn’t be happier about it.

No wonder you’re relaxed, I remarked.

I think I knew he was changing jobs, thanks to social media, but then I figured he would resurface one day, and he did, but I anticipated this would be on business social media, or at a hi hi conference, rather than busted with a bouquet, pinched with a posey.

You seem pretty relaxed yourself, he added.

Yes, I too added, and this was a short time coming.

Why? he asked. What happened?

I went to the Ned last night, exactly as instructed, I said, and got stood up. I could be home early on a Friday night. What a luxury and boy was I relieved.

In what way? he asked again.

Because every decade it’s the same, I said. "Everyone wants to be seen in the new spots, and the last locale I want to be seen is with the seen to be seen. Especially when Simon says it’s the location, after I spied the types jammed into the lobby bar like sardines."

But aren’t the new spots at least less tacky? he wondered.

But they more than make up with hype, I answered. And they won’t stop when it’s time. If they had their way, they would have a branch on every corner, like wine bars in the go go days. I sighed. Well it’s not like that in our neighborhood here. Most of the shops are independent. They may not last long, but they are independent ...

Though everyone wears a costume, everyone dresses identical, he commented. He looked himself and subsequently me up and down. Except you and I.

This was true. If you scanned the passers by, nearly every last male was wearing sneakers, faded jeans, a zip up and a baseball cap, jersey or t-shirt optional. My sole overlap was a t-shirt, but that was out of custom, or was it CBBs. Alan, meanwhile, was wearing a dressy work shirt under a suede jacket which in another urban pocket might be labelled the epitome of cool, but in his case was assuredly what he grabbed before he walked out the door.

I should run, I admitted, before I forget who I bought the flowers for. I winked to myself, because I’d be excommunicated if I said that at home.

Sure, he agreed, but let’s go out for a widow-maker sometime.

How about now? I ad libbed, there’s water in the base of the bunch, after all, which means they will keep, and I’m not expected back for a while – though a quick pint, and not a full blown widow maker.

Why not? he agreed, it’s Saturday afternoon and my children are grown.

"Which one shall ...? I asked.

The King’s Arms? he proposed before I could finish the sentence, and I laughed, until I realized we were both serious and this rare impromptu cheeky pint was about to happen.

The King’s Arms it is.

A few minutes later, we were ensconced at a table near the window, so that we could watch the beautiful people walk past, the distinction being that in this neighbourhood, beauty is on the inside, as in beautiful attitudes, and it’s worn uniformly. Passers-by uniformly plunge into the verge with their attitude, plow into it, but it is a great spectator sport.

Where did it all go wrong? he asked, as if he were a celebrated TV talk show host, clairvoyant at that.

How did you know it went wrong? I countered.

He had no idea whether anything did or not, and in what form, to me or anyone else, this was merely an opening gambit, a conversation starter, like picking the name of a cabinet official out of a hat in the pejorative. Because something always does, he replied.

Ah, OK, it does. Buyer’s remorse, I conceded, if you must know. And this tale of mine was a long time in coming, unlike the Ned anecdote.

Elaborate, he requested.

It began with Old Leather Face, I began.

Leather face? he asked.

Yes, I redoubled. A woman with a face like leather. It was many years ago. The 90s. I organized a barbecue on my cove and invited a lot of friends and family. It was improvised. We gathered some rocks and stones into a circle and built a fire with paper, sticks and wood. We air-dropped a portable grill on top and when the branches had burned down into ember, we lowered a major salmon on top of it. The beast was stuffed with sausage, parsley, breadcrumbs and eggs. It was covered with tin foil. When it was done we all dug in. Actually the grown ups babysat the salmon while us younger guys, we were in our 20s, walked on the ledge, talked, gazed across the cove and drank beer. Meet on the ledge, we’re gonna meet on the ledge. The proper adults seemed old at the time, they were in their early 60s I suppose, they seemed so old and fragile. I didn’t think they would care to join us on the ledge and drink beer, therefore we didn’t ask them. I suppose it was an imposition of me to ask them to tend the salmon but they said they didn’t mind.

That salmon, that big salmon, it was good, it was tasty. I wish I remembered the recipe. It was just about perfect, for imprecise measures. There were a lot of us, but back then none of our party was smoking, especially before it got dark, when a lot of people did. In general. People used to smoke menthol cigarettes, and toss them into streams of water. Mentholated water. La di dah. There were a lot of us. Maybe twelve. Wish I could remember all the names in the crew that afternoon, the whole twelve yards for the salmon, the superlatives extolling that this would be one of many unforgettable afternoons on the ledge, before children, before many great storms rendered the path to the ledge unreachable, before afternoon gave way to evening and the beer gave way to beverages stronger, after the grown ups went home and left us to our devices.

One of the older relatives drove a Cadillac. How did he turn in and around in such a narrow space? Benjamin. Nowadays that road is hardly passable. It hadn’t been maintained in more than twenty years, maybe thirty. The owner of the property adjacent to my ledge, one of the few remaining from his cohort, he inherited his legacy, he doesn’t drive all the way down to his house any more either, it is less passable, he drives half way down, and walks the rest. He has no money, and that’s the least of his worries.

I wish I no more than rented the shack with the ledge, then, and now it would be someone else’s problem. I was so young, I was, and well intentioned. In the future, I planned to bring my combination wife, princess and queen Claire coffee mugs to match to our vacation house to enjoy the nature, we hadn’t yet met but I knew some day she’d find me. I’d be responsible for maintenance and upkeep and her lone responsibility would be to appreciate this paradise and avoid the mosquitos of paradise.

Princess.jpg

I had such fond memories of reveling in fields when I was younger, it seemed like much earlier when it was less than ten years. The mortgage broker, Carla, she gave me a cheap half bottle of faux champagne at closing - I should have known this was a Dial R for buyer’s remorse. Where has she gone? This passing parade of time flashed by and I took in all the years since, but to Alan it was an instant.

"Tell me more about old leather face, or the son, the inheritor, he prompted. How did she, she get her nickname?"

Oh yeah, I granted. I didn’t finish. The elder relative, the elder statesman Benjamin, he took one look at her from a distance and pigeon holed her as ‘old leather face.’ I couldn’t tell whether this was a stab at a term of endearment or a cutting remark about her composure. Old leather face. Working back now, she’d be, what, she’d have been forty five at the time?

‘I am a lineman for the county’ played on the pub jukebox in the background, as the comics who’d be showcasing their talents in the downstairs sit room warmed their voices nearby. Mi mi mi mi mi mi. Figaro, figaro.

One of Leather Face’s children stared across the gentle hill towards my new property, the ledge and barbecue, and beheld the campfire for slaying the major salmon. She noticed, too, and pointed. ‘Over there, they’re making a fire,’ she said to one of her kids, or one of her extended family.

‘What of it lady, it’s my property, I’ll do on it what I want,’ I thought to myself. This woman is going to be my next door neighbor for time immemorial? There goes the neighborhood, although she probably thought that of me too, and she was there first, much first. Still, what have I done to myself? It took forever for the transaction to close. I should have backed out when I had the chance, explained to Carla that I had cold feet, I was too young to know what I was doing and if you don’t like it, then sue me. Why wasn’t Benjamin or another relative humane enough to hard-stop my pure folly? In ‘the movies,’ wealthy parents will hand out a check to a ruffian from the wrong side of the tracks to stay away from their misguided daughter, and the ruffian will, because deep down he can tell this is most noble, this is the ruffian being principled rather than resourceful, but where was my sage older relative with the common sense? I would have lost my $1,000 good faith deposit and it would have been the best $1,000 I ever spent.

The lady wasn’t going to live forever and indeed she didn’t, the dispatches in her e-remembrance book are touching, the few that were written for her behalf. Jimmie her partner went first, he was the handyman of the neighborhood, he was good hearted, I don’t know how he hooked up with old leather face, they were nothing alike and her children certainly were not his.

you were a great cousin and i have and will always love you. i wish we made it up there one more time but i know you are an angel looking down on us now and resting in peace with the love of ur life

This was a memorial citation from a cousin undisclosed, almost five years ago, and there are several more if you are resolute. It is no ‘dossier,’ but each amounts to the same. Who can say if these were fair weather friends and in-laws of hers from the gritty Lynn, Mass., but she certainly made her mark and no one forgot her presence. You can read about him, too, the son that is, the inheritor, and I will get to him later when you can draw conclusions about her mothering skills, not sure about Jimmie, he would fix things around the houses, he would fix or sweep my chimney if it needed, but wouldn’t take my money if it didn’t. Need it. Unlike the new breed of handyman. And how. And one, as they say to their business partner.

Jimmie simply expired one day I heard via the grapevine and I wish it had been the other way around, either the son and mother or both, but not Jimmie. The son was invited by local TV to discuss experimental treatments for his addiction, in a group, his other two or three mentions on the web are not worth bragging about in the nearest bar, especially in comparison with other partakers in this one of a kind focus group, ways with words for sure.

The family could mold into a good-sorrowful short story to recast or for a computer to autoread, but preferably a TV movie than in real life: to Bonnie Sue on her 67th birthday, tip toeing on the sand in the company of her favorite tidal basins, everyone’s favorite tidal basins, and because she’s now an angel, she only made it as far as her 66th. If I was a screen writer I could bring this to life, from two or three of my observations of the end of their road, the dividing line between my property and theirs, the ‘dangerous dog do not enter’ signs, and the state of their house, with no money eh and what about the daughter and son and the other kids if there are any, oh, and shouldn’t I buy a round for Alan and meself, since it was my idea? I will as well ask the barman for a glass of tap water for the blossoms just in case, I could wedge the bouquet between the napkin holder and the candle sticks, but I’ll ask for a glass of water just in case, to keep them company. What do you feel like drinking, Alan? I’ll buy the first, I offered. The second interior monologue occurred at lightning speed over probably five more seconds, as the previous 20 years raced across my eyes anew.

Tides.jpg

I’ll take a lager, Alan answered back, but if you didn’t want this property after a spell, why didn’t you try to sell it?

On the flip side, I said. Buyer’s remorse can take a long time to self-diagnose.

I walked to the bar and requested a pint of lager and one of pale ale, and hoped the bartender could tell which was which. I once yearned for a secret natural law that required pubs to present beer in flights so I would never have to make up my mind, except that now there is a custom of try before you buy, so that you don’t waste time and money. If you sample three, chances are you will end up with a schooner you don’t mind finishing, you’ve taken the edge off by the time you’re back at your seat and you’re not as thirsty as otherwise, when you have emptied your first pint.

There’s an unwritten rule that if you are marched into a pub or café blindfolded and led to the counter, you’ll apperceive which is which by the sounds and accents behind it, a pub if the accent is British or Irish and a café if the cadence is European or African. But that’s only in the real world.

There’s a second that puts forth small talk as a necessity when beginning a conversation, but not if the talk has merely been interrupted. However, what do you call a conversation that is pure small talk? Never mind Heat Magazine, Alan reverted without haste to the topic.

Why then, didn’t you try to sell, if you sensed you made a mistake? he repeated.

"I tried to sell part of it,