sk.everythingseventual-第42部分

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ay；　there　was　a　publicity　still　of　her　on　the　fridge；　held　there　by　a　couple　of　those　little　vegetable　magnets。　She　was　on　her　Moulin　Rouge　swing。　And　that　time　it　was　the　real　deal。　I　know　because　of　the　way　it　was　signed：　'To　Dinky　Earnshaw；　with　love　&　kisses　from　Nicole。'
　　Oh；　baby。　Oh；　honey。
　　Tell　you　something；　my　friend…if　I　worked　hard　and　really　wanted　it；　there　might　be　a　real　Rembrandt　on　my　wall　someday。　Sure。　In　a　job　like　this；　there　is　nowhere　to　go　but　up。　In　a　way；　that's　the　scary　part。
　　
　　IV
　　
　　I　never　have　to　make　grocery　lists。　The　cleaners　know　what　I　like…Stouffer's　frozen　dinners；　especially　that　boil…in…the…bag　stuff　they　call　creamed　chipped　beef　and　Ma　had　always　called　shit　on　a　shingle；　frozen　strawberries；　whole　milk；　pre…formed　hamburger　patties　that　you　just　have　to　slap　in　a　hot　frying　pan　（I　hate　playing　with　raw　meat）；　Dole　puddings；　the　ones　that　e　in　plastic　cups　（bad　for　my　plexion　but　I　love　em）；　ordinary　food　like　that。　If　I　want　something　special；　I　write　it　down　on　DINKY'S　DAYBOARD。
　　Once　I　asked　for　a　homemade　apple　pie；　specifically　not　from　the　supermarket；　and　when　I　came　back　that　night　around　the　time　it　was　getting　dark；　my　pie　was　in　the　fridge　with　the　rest　of　the　week's　groceries。　Only　it　wasn't　wrapped　up；　it　was　just　sitting　there　on　a　blue　plate。　That's　how　I　knew　it　was　homemade。　I　was　a　little　hesitant　about　eating　it　at　first；　not　knowing　where　it　came　from　and　all；　and　then　I　decided　I　was　being　stupid。　A　person　doesn't　really　know　where　supermarket　food　es　from；　not　really。　I　mean；　we　assume　it's　okay　because　it's　wrapped　up　or　in　a　can　or　'double…sealed　for　your　protection；'　but　anyone　could　have　been　handling　it　with　dirty　fingers　before　it　was　double…sealed；　or　sneezing　great　big　whoops　of　booger…breath　on　it；　or　even　wiping　their　asses　with　it。　I　don't　mean　to　gross　you　out；　but　it's　true；　isn't　it？　The　world　is　full　of　strangers；　and　a　lot　of　them　are　'up　to　no　good。'　I　have　had　personal　experience　of　this；　believe　me。
　　Anyway；　I　tried　the　pie　and　it　was　delicious。　I　ate　half　of　it　Friday　night　and　the　rest　on　Saturday　morning；　while　I　was　running　the　numbers　in　Cheyenne；　Wyoming。　Most　of　Saturday　night　I　spent　on　the　toilet；　shitting　my　guts　out　from　all　those　apples；　I　guess；　but　I　didn't　care。　The　pie　was　worth　it。　'Like　mother　used　to　make'　is　what　people　say；　but　it　can't　be　my　mother　they　say　it　about。　My　Ma　couldn't　fry　Spam。
　　
　　V
　　
　　I　never　have　to　write　down　underwear　on　the　DAYBOARD。　Every　five　weeks　or　so　the　old　drawers　disappear　and　there　are　brand…new　Hanes　Jockey…shorts　in　my　bureau；　four　three…packs　still　in　their　plastic　bags。　Double…sealed　for　my　protection；　ha…ha。　Toilet…paper；　laundry　soap；　dishwasher　soap；　I　never　have　to　write　any　of　that　shit　down。　It　just　appears。
　　Very　eventual；　don't　you　think？
　　
　　VI
　　
　　I　have　never　seen　the　cleaners；　any　more　than　I　have　ever　seen　the　guy　（or　maybe　it's　a　gal）　who　delivers　my　seventy　bucks　every　Thursday　during　As　the　World　Turns。　I　never　want　to　see　them；　either。　I　don't　need　to；　for　one　thing。　For　another；　yes；　okay；　I'm　afraid　of　them。　Just　like　I　was　afraid　of　Mr。　Sharpton　in　his　big　gray　Mercedes　on　the　night　I　went　out　to　meet　him。　So　sue　me。
　　I　don't　eat　lunch　in　my　house　on　Fridays。　I　watch　As　the　World　Turns；　then　jump　in　my　car　and　drive　into　town。　I　get　a　burger　at　Mickey　D's；　then　go　to　a　movie；　then　to　the　park　if　the　weather　is　good。　I　like　the　park。　It's　a　good　place　to　think；　and　these　days　I've　got　an　awful　lot　to　think　about。
　　If　the　weather　is　bad；　I　go　to　the　mall。　Now　that　the　days　are　beginning　to　shorten；　I'm　thinking　about　taking　up　bowling　again。　It'd　be　something　to　do　on　Friday　afternoons；　at　least。　I　used　to　go　now　and　then　with　Pug。
　　I　sort　of　miss　Pug。　I　wish　I　could　call　him；　just　shoot　the　shit；　tell　him　some　of　the　stuff　that's　been　going　on。　Like　about　that　guy　Neff；　for　instance。
　　Oh；　well；　spit　in　the　ocean　and　see　if　it　es　back。
　　While　I'm　away；　the　cleaners　are　doing　my　house　from　wall　to　wall　and　top　to　bottom…wash　the　dishes　（although　I'm　pretty　good　about　that　myself）；　wash　the　floors；　wash　the　dirty　clothes；　change　the　sheets；　put　out　fresh　towels；　restock　the　fridge；　get　any　of　the　incidentals　that　are　written　on　the　DAYBOARD。　It's　like　living　in　a　hotel　with　the　world's　most　efficient　（not　to　mention　eventual）　maid　service。
　　The　one　place　they　don't　mess　around　with　much　is　the　study　off　the　dining　room。　I　keep　that　room　fairly　dark；　the　shades　always　pulled；　and　they　have　never　raised　them　to　let　in　so　much　as　a　crack　of　daylight；　like　they　do　in　the　rest　of　the　house。　It　never　smells　of　Lemon　Pledge　in　there；　either；　although　every　other　room　just　about　reeks　of　it　on　Friday　nights。　Sometimes　it's　so　bad　I　have　these　sneezing　fits。　It's　not　an　allergy；　more　like　a　nasal　protest…demonstration。
　　Someone　vacuums　the　floor　in　there；　and　they　empty　the　waste…paper　basket；　but　no　one　has　ever　moved　any　of　the　papers　that　I　keep　on　the　desk；　no　matter　how　cluttered…up　and　junky…looking　they　are。　Once　I　put　a　little　piece　of　tape　over　where　the　drawer　above　the　knee…hole　opens；　but　it　was　still　there；　unbroken；　when　I　got　back　home　that　night。　I　don't　keep　anything　top　secret　in　that　drawer；　you　understand；　I　just　wanted　to　know。
　　Also；　if　the　puter　and　modem　are　on　when　I　leave；　they're　still　on　when　I　e　back；　the　VDT　showing　one　of　the　screen…saver　programs　（usually　the　one　of　the　people　doing　stuff　behind　their　blinds　in　this　high…rise　building；　because　that's　my　favorite）。　If　my　stuff　was　off　when　I　left；　it's　off　when　I　e　back。　They　don't　mess　around　in　Dinky's　study。
　　Maybe　the　cleaners　are　a　little　afraid　of　me；　too。
　　
　　VII
　　
　　I　got　the　call　that　changed　my　life　just　when　I　thought　the　bination　of　Ma　and　delivering　for　Pizza　Roma　was　going　to　drive　me　crazy。　I　know　how　melodramatic　that　sounds；　but　in　this　case；　it's　true。　The　call　came　on　my　night　off。　Ma　was　out　with　her　girlfriends；　playing　Bingo　at　the　Reservation；　all　of　them　smoking　up　a　storm　and　no　doubt　laughing　every　time　the　caller　pulled　B…12　out　of　the　hopper　and　said；　'All　right；　ladies；　it's　time　to　take　your　vitamins。'　Me；　I　was　watching　a　Clint　Eastwood　movie　on　TNT　and　wishing　I　was　anywhere　else　on　Planet　Earth。　Saskatchewan；　even。
　　The　phone　rings；　and　I　think；　oh　good；　it's　Pug；　gotta　be；　and　so　when　I　pick　it　up　I　say　in　my　smoothest　voice；　'You　have　reached　the　Church　of　Any　Eventuality；　Harkerville　branch；　Reverend　Dink　speaking。'
　　'Hello；　Mr。　Earnshaw；'　a　voice　says　back。　It　was　one　I'd　never　heard　before；　but　it　didn't　seem　the　least　put…out　or　puzzled　by　my　bullshit。
　　I　was　mortified　enough　for　both　of　us；　though。　Have　you　ever　noticed　that　when　you　do　something　like　that　on　the　phone…try　to　be　cool　right　from　the　pickup…it's　never　the　person　you　expected　on　the　other　end？　Once　I　heard　about　this　girl　who　picked　up　the　phone　and　said　'Hi；　it's　Helen；　and　I　want　you　to　fuck　me　raw'　because　she　was　sure　it　was　her　boyfriend；　only　it　turned　out　to　be　her　father。　That　story　is　probably　made　up；　like　the　one　about　the　alligators　in　the　New　York　sewers　（or　the　letters　in　Penthouse）；　but　you　get　the　point。
　　'Oh；　I'm　sorry；'　I　say；　too　flustered　to　wonder　how　the　owner　of　this　strange　voice　knows　that　Reverend　Dink　is　also　Mr。　Earnshaw；　actual　name　Richard　Ellery　Earnshaw。　'I　thought　you　were　someone　else。'
　　'I　am　someone　else；'　the　voice　says；　and　although　I　didn't　laugh　then；　I　did　later　on。　Mr。　Sharpton　was　someone　else；　all　right。　Seriously；　eventually　someone　else。
　　'Can　I　help　you？'　I　asked。　'If　you　wanted　my　mother；　I'll　have　to　take　a　message；　because　she's…'
　　'…out　playing　Bingo；　I　know。　In　any　case；　I　want　you；　Mr。　Earn…shaw。　I　want　to　offer　you　a　job。'
　　For　a　moment　I　was　too　surprised　to　say　anything。　Then　it　hit　me…some　sort　of　phone…scam。　'I　got　a　job；'　I　go。　'Sorry。'
　　'Delivering　pizza？'　he　says；　sounding　amused。　'Well；　I　suppose。　If　you　call　that　a　job。'
　　'Who　are　you；　mister？'　I　ask。
　　'My　name　is　Sharpton。　And　now　let　me　〃cut　through　the　bull…shit；〃　as　you　might　say；　Mr。　Earnshaw。　Dink？　May　I　call　you　Dink？'
　　'Sure；'　I　said。　'Can　I　call　you　Sharpie？'
　　'Call　me　whatever　you　want；　just　listen。'
　　'I'm　listening。'　I　was；　too。　Why　not？　The　movie　on　the　tube　was　Coogan's　Bluff；　not　one　of　Clint's　better　efforts。
　　'I　want　to　make　you　the　best　job…offer　you've　ever　had；　and　the　best　one　you　probably　ever　will　have。　It's　not　just　a　job；　Dink；　it's　an　adventure。'
　　'Gee；　where　have　I　heard　that　before？'　I　had　a　bowl　of　popcorn　in　my　lap；　and　I　tossed　a　handful　into　my　mouth。　This　was　turning　into　fun；　sort　of。
　　'Others　promise；　I　deliver。　But　this　is　a　discussion　we　must　have　face…to…face。　Will　you　meet　me？'
　　'Are　you　a　queer？'　I　asked。
　　'No。'　There　was　a　touch　of　amusement　in　his　voice。　Just　enough　so　that　it　was　hard　to　disbelieve。　And　I　was　already　in　the　hole；　so　to　speak；　from　the　smartass　way　I'd　answered　the　phone。　'My　sexual　orientation　doesn't　e　into　this。'
　　'Why're　you　yanking　my　chain；　then？　I　don't　know　anybody　who'd　call　me　at　nine…thirty　in　the　fucking　night　and　offer　me　a　job。'
　　'Do　me　a　favor。　Put　the　phone　down　and　go　look　in　your　front　hall。'
　　Crazier　and　crazier。　But　what　did　I　have　to　lose？　I　did　what　he　said；　and　found　an　envelope　lying　there。　Someone　had　poked　it　through　the　mail…slot　while　I　was　watching　Clint　Eastwood　chase　Don　Stroud　through　Central　Park。　The　first　envelope　of　many；　although　of　course　I　didn't　know　that　then。　I　tore　it　open；　and　seven　ten…dollar　bills　fell　out　into　my　hand。　Also　a　note。
　　This　can　be　the　beginning　of　a　great　career！
　　I　went　back　into　the　living　room；　still　looking　at　the　money。　Know　how　weirded…out　I　was？　I　almost　sat　on　my　bowl　of　popcorn。　I　saw　it　at　the　last　second；　set　it　aside；　and　plopped　back　on　the　couch。　I　picked　up　the　phone；　really　sort　of　expecting　Sharpton　to　be　gone；　but　when　I　said　hello；　he　answered。
　　'What's　this　all　about？'　I　asked　him。　'What's　the　seventy　bucks　for？　I'm　keeping　it；　but　not　because　I　think　I　owe　you　anything。　I　didn't　fucking　ask　for　anything。'
　　'The　money　is　absolutely　yours；'　Sharpton　s