Despite having been late to the station, he’d managed to hit the street on time. Delivering the same route for the better part of a decade, Mikey could handle most aspects of the job in his sleep. Calibrating time with work-speed was second nature to him. Singing developed as a result of this ease. He’d sang as a child, mostly with his grandmother’s opera records before graduating to pop radio. He had as much confidence in his voice as he did in his ability to deliver US Mail. It provided him, and often others, entertainment... escape from the dreary repetition of a systematic job.
It also made the day go a hell of a lot faster.
Mikey strode down the well trodden, cracked sidewalks in his shorts, softly singing the first verse ofPrisoner(Love Theme from “The Eyes of Laura Mars”) before bursting out into a full Streisand vibrato with the chorus. A woman, crossing the street and reaching the sidewalk, turned, seeking the source of this surprising melody. She pinpointed Mikey and her eyes widened, her mouth transforming from an O to a large appreciative smile. Mikey waved at her, keeping the pace of both the song and his step.
* * *
Once done with Embassy Row, he crossed over to Connecticut Ave. It was getting close to lunchtime, and he was hungry.
He picked up a BLT wrap and an orange soda at Kramers bookstore and also grabbed a copy ofTrueby Alec Collier from a display of books by local authors. The following half-hour, Mikey sat engrossed in the novel. The book was about a writer from DC with a humor column, which wasn’t too dissimilar fromTales of the Circle,the column that Collier himself was retiring. The writer in the story had gone to Montana and met a mysterious and sexy cowboy. And as he read about a shared midnight horseback ride up a snowy mountain, he felt his shorts getting a little snug below.
Before leaving, he purchased the book, deciding it warranted more than a lunchtime browse.
As the bookstore door closed behind him, he saw across the street that a new business was going in right next to Ruff Stuff, May Fischer’s holistic dog food store. It had once been Sun Garden, a Chinese restaurant he’d frequented. Mr. Chang, the owner, had died, and the location had remained vacant for a while. Mr. Chang had always been so nice to Mikey—insisting that he have a fortune cookie every day, whether he ate lunch there or not. Remembering this made Mikey both happy and sad.
TheRealty-Man Ralphsign in the window was gone, replaced by a crude poster reading:Coming Soon—David’s
David’s?he thought.Who the fuck would name a place David’s?
Chapter 2
When George arrived at 1510 Connecticut Avenue his real estate agent, Ralph Forrester, opened the door. A tiny bell from the prior tenant remained suspended above, tinkling as he entered.
It was dark inside and had retained the lingering odor of fried food. It was clean though; the commercial cleaning service had been there on the regular.
“The place needs a coat of paint,”Ralph said. “That will help with the smell and brighten things up.”
George looked around at the place. It was the second time he had been there, but he’d made up his mind after the first. “Yeah. It just needs a floor sanding and a coat of paint to be good as new.”
“You’ve got a good eye, George. You should be flipping properties with me.”
The flirting was subtle. Ralph was good. But George was ready to get the keys and get started.
He reached out, giving Ralph’s hand a firm shake. “I can’t tell you how happy I am this is finally happening.” His dark-blond hair was mussed from the wind outside, face pink, blue eyes watery. He was a good-looking man of Greek descent, shorter than Ralph, stockier.
“Yeah? Me too. But what about those folks at The Grill? They’re gonna miss you, I bet.”
Ralph was referring to The Old Ebbitt Grill where George had worked for the past five years as head chef. “Yeah, maybe. Yesterday was my last day. They had a cake and all.”
“You’re being modest. That place has a great reputation and you’re responsible.”
“It’s iconic. Someone else will come along and do the newest, best thing.”
“Maybe. Who knows? But you’ll be here making news... and gnocchi.” Ralph held up the keys to the building.
George took them. He couldn’t hide his grin. “I’m hoping. Who knows?”
“David would have been proud.”
George’s smile faltered a bit.
“Sorry. Sometimes I speak before I think.”
“It’s OK, Ralph. It’s been two years. It’s time I move on. That’s what May says, anyway. She looks after me.”
“I do think opening your own business is a lovely way to pay homage to him.”
David had known Ralph better than George. David had been one ofRalph Forrester Properties'preferred lenders. But George had grown familiar with Ralph in the periphery, always conversing with him at events and social gatherings.
