CHAPTER 50Philadelphia, PA, April 1954
OZZIE
Ozzie whistled to himself while he stood waiting his turn to punch the quitting clock at work. His stomach growled, and he wondered if Penn would offer snacks tonight at Rita’s awards ceremony. Maybe he’d splurge for the occasion and take Rita over to Niecy’s Rib Shack for a celebratory dinner.Rita would like that,he thought. He’d even buy a few roses from the flower cart on Broad Street to show her how proud he was of her.
In the employee locker room, he unlatched his locker, and just as he reached for his stingy-brim hat, he heard “Sure Shot, that you?”
Only guys from South Philly called him Sure Shot. Ozzie spun around and saw Slim, a fellow from around the way.
“Brother man.” Ozzie clapped Slim’s hand. “When’d you start working here?”
“About a week ago.” Slim was over six feet tall, with a thin frame and small eyes.
“Which department?”
“I’m over in receiving and maintenance.”
“That’s where I started too,” Ozzie said. “Now I’m over in material control, we supervise the deliveries and distributions. It’s a slight upgrade.”
“That’s good to know. ’Cause hauling this heavy shit is for the birds.” Slim fitted a porkpie hat on his head. “Whatcha doing tonight?”
“Got plans with the Mrs.” Ozzie closed his locker.
“Well, it’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, man. You remember Bill and Tiny who lived over on Wilder Street?”
“They work here too?”
Slim nodded. “Think you could at least stop in at Wally’s and say hello?”
Ozzie looked down at his watch. He had sworn off Wally’s, the beer garden around the corner, but he hadn’t seen those guys in years. He could spare a nickel for a Coca-Cola and thirty minutes for a quick hello. If anyone asked why he wasn’t drinking, he’d say he was recovering from an infection and on strong antibiotics.
“Lead the way.”
Three hours later, five men were crowded around a square table meant for four. Slim, who had always been the class clown in high school, told stories of his time in the marines, and Ozzie laughed so hard that his sides hurt. The dark bar smelled of wood chips and cigars. The jukebox was loud, and the barmaid, in a black dress with a plunging neckline, stood balancing a tray on one hand.
“Five Canadian Clubs,” she said, placing the fresh rocks glasses in front of them and quickly picking up the used ones.
Ozzie had meant to refuse the next round. He needed to getto Rita, but then Bill pushed the glass toward him and stood with a toast.
“Raise your glasses to Slim,” Bill slurred. “May all your dreams come true tonight and every night.”
“Hear, hear.” The men raised their glasses, and the brown liquor slid down Ozzie’s throat in one gulp.
The guilt of having picked up those first few drinks had eased its way into the back of his subconscious. Now all he felt was loose. Then he thought,Rita’s ceremony.He looked down at his watch. Where had the time gone?
“I gotta head on out.” He swayed when he stood, and grabbed the table for balance.
“Sure Shot, thanks for coming.” Slim stood and gave him five.
When Ozzie turned his key in the front door, he could hearHancock’s Half Hourplaying from the radio, which meant it was somewhere in the ten o’clock hour. Rita was sitting on the Queen Anne camelback sofa in her nightgown with her hair tied up in pink curlers. The lamp on the end table gave off a soft glow.
“Well, at least you aren’t dead,” she said.
He dropped his keys on the end table. “Why would I be dead?”
