The Grandfather Clock (7 page)

“
Done,” I said.

I woke to my phone ringing. It was
1:00 again, only this time it was the afternoon. It was
Brian.

I grunted a groggy
greeting.

“
You okay? What happened
to you?”

“
I drove all night. Slept
in a cow pasture.”

“
Nice. Where the hell are
you.”

“
Decatur
Street.”

“
Oh, no shit!”

“
You want to get some
lunch,” I asked.

“
Yeah. Actually, I gotta
work in about a half hour. Why don’t you come down?”

“
Work. You aren’t with
Globe Bank anymore?”

“
No,” Brian laughed. “They
shit canned me last year. But it’s good. I’m playing down at the
Steak Pit.”

I never figured out whether the Steak
Pit on Bourbon Street sold steak, but they did sell “Huge Ass
Beers.” The bar was no more than twenty feet wide. A single row of
booths lined one wall. The steamy heat of New Orleans was
comforting and familiar after the dry desert, and the beers were
indeed huge and cold. I sat and watched Brian playing his guitar on
the world’s smallest stage. He sat in a raised nook above the end
of the bar that had room for two folding chairs and an amp, but the
sound was rich. Brian’s voice poured into the street as he played
“Mr. Bojangles.”

I had a hamburger and sweet potato
fries and downed two “huge ass beers,” probably more than a six
pack. Brian took a break and we stood at the bar talking to a group
of girls from a bachelorette party. A tall blond from the
University of Texas was wearing a tiara with a veil. I had come
full circle from the bar in Orlando. Or maybe I hadn’t moved an
inch. It was just another hot, steamy tourist bar in another
city.

She had three friends: two were
comparing their red tongues from the hurricanes they drank. The
third was more reserved. I decided to make conversation.

“
You guys going to last
until sundown?”

“
Not likely,” she said.
“We need to go someplace and sit down, get some food in their
stomachs.”

“
There’s no shortage here.
You should force feed them all muffalettas or Lucky
Dogs.”

“
Not a bad idea,” she
said.

Brian was getting badgered to play
“Delilah,” by Plain White T’s. He claimed he’d already played it,
but I didn’t remember that. Everyone did a shot. Brian had another
set and pulled me aside to tell me that we’d get dinner with his
girlfriend when he was done. The bachelorette party stayed to
listen and he opened with “Delilah,” which prompted them to drop a
fistful of dollar bills in the jar. He was making good
money.

The ladies sat in a booth with their
huge beers getting warm. The bride-to-be had her head on the
shoulder of her red-tongued friend who was shouting along with a
country song. The freckled brunette I had been talking to came to
stand next to me at the bar.

“
Do you know how to get to
Café Du Monde?” she asked.

“
Yeah,” I said above the
din.

“
Want to go there with
me?”

We stepped into the busy street. New
Orleans has the smell of great food, alcohol, bleach, and trash,
all mixed into something truly its own. It’s not as offensive as it
sounds, but it isn’t good either. Once in a while, in another city
I’ll catch a whiff and think, “Bourbon Street.”

“
Are your friends going to
miss you?”

“
God, no. I’m the sister
in law. She’s marrying my brother,” she said. “I came out of
obligation. Don’t get me wrong, I like to have fun. I just haven’t
been, um, welcomed by them.”

“
That sucks.”

“
Oh, it hasn’t been bad. I
get it. They don’t know me. It would be more fun if I hadn’t come.
Fourth wheel. I’m Erin.”

“
Michael.”

“
You live here,
Michael?”

“
Oh no. Just passing
through. I know Brian through work. Home is in Florida.”

“
When do you fly back? Not
being nosy. Sorry. Just talking,” she laughed.

“
Actually. I’m driving
through from California. Long story,” I said. “And you’re from...
let me guess. Atlanta.”

“
Charleston. Nice try
though. I went to school in Athens.”

She told me about her work for an
advertising firm. She was a few years out of school at University
of Georgia.

We found a table and ordered two café
au laits on ice and two orders of beignets. Powdered sugar covered
our faces and clothes with one bite. I was exhausted as I assessed
my new acquaintance. Erin was pretty. She looked like she’d gone to
a makeover for women in advertising. She had dark brown hair, with
a shoulder length cut, held behind her ears by dark rimmed glasses.
She battled the hot weather with a white tank.

“
So, driving from
California alone? What’s that all about?”

“
I’m transporting a family
heirloom, a grandfather clock, because no one else wanted
it.”

“
A clock? Wow. That’s a
lot of effort for a clock.”

“
Yeah,” I sighed. “I
needed to get away.”

She grinned. “Really, come on. This
sounds juicy. It’ll be boring if you don’t tell me.”

“
I broke off my
engagement.”

“
Whoa,” she gasped,
spraying powdered sugar. “I didn’t see that coming. What
happened?”

“
It’s going to sound
petty,” I said.

“
Oh, please.”

“
You’ll think I’m a
jerk.”

“
What the hell do you care
what I think?” she smirked.

“
Okay,” I said, pausing
for dramatic effect. “It was a bad relationship getting worse. I
was trying to find a way out. Then this little thing just set me
off. We were at her friend’s wedding. She was wasted. Everyone was
wasted, so... I was sitting by these three bridesmaids at the after
party – not even talking to them – and one of them tells her that I
look like Ben Affleck.”

“
I can sorta see
that.”

“
Anyway, Christie, my
fiancée, sneers at them and says, and I quote, ‘Have you seen Ben
Affleck? Ben Affleck is HOT.’”

“
Ouch, that’s kinda
harsh.”

“
Yeah. I know it sounds
like I overreacted, but it was something that just
snowballed.”

“
No, I can see how that
might be a symptom of a larger problem.”

“
Yes. Exactly! I probably
should have been more vocal, but to say something would just have
started a fight. I should have never let it get that
far.”

“
Seriously, why did you
propose in the first place?”

“
It was the thing to do I
guess.”

“
I’m sure she’ll be fine,
Michael.”

“
Oh, here’s the kicker.
This happened a week ago today. She’s already slept with someone
else.”

“
Oh, man,” Erin moaned,
shaking her head.

“
I’m almost glad she did
that.”

“
Really? Are you?” she
asked.

“
I am! I think
so.”

“
Okay.”

“
What? Okay what?” I
probed.

“
Just that, I could see
how it might hurt to find out she moved on so quickly.”

“
I can honestly say that
I’m relieved I won’t have to deal with convincing her it’s really
over.”

“
Okay.”

“
Are you psychoanalyzing
me?” I asked playfully.

“
Yes. I was a psych major,
which is how I came to advertising.”

“
Here it
comes...”

“
So, you broke off your
engagement with brutal suddenness. You feel bad about it, but not
bad enough not to do it. So, to make up for it, you decide to
rescue an old clock because it will seem like an altruistic act.
But in reality, you are worried that people will realize you are
just using it as an excuse to avoid dealing with the reality of
your life.”

“
I think I need another
drink.”

“
See... there. You avoid
the subject. You’re not only afraid that people think you’re a
jerk, you are afraid that you are a jerk. You can’t even convince
yourself of your own value.”

“
That’s pretty deep,
Erin.”

“
Shut up.”

“
I mean it,” I said.
“Honestly. The other day, I was hanging out with this girl from
high school. I barely know her, but we connected. At one point, she
was ready to join me on the trip.”

“
So you’ve, uh, moved on
too. Now I see why you weren’t mad when Christie screwed someone
else.”

“
No, nothing like that
happened. At the last minute, she said she wasn’t coming. Didn’t
give a reason and I didn’t ask. A part of me was relieved. I mean,
if you’re going to drive three thousand miles with someone, you’re
going to have to give the other person your life story. I wasn’t
ready to hear to hear me tell my life story.”

“
Why not?”

“
I don’t know.”

“
Because,” she said,
answering her own question, “you haven’t done anything yet. Your
life doesn’t mean anything. The biggest moment of your life is
breaking off an engagement.”

“
Wow. Don’t sugar coat it.
Thanks.”

“
Michael,” she said,
getting animated. “Do you know how many people dream of having the
courage to make the right choice, even when it’s hard? Even when it
hurts? Man, Michael, maybe you made some bad choices because they
were the easy choices. But when push came to shove, you had the
balls to do something about it.”

“
Gee, thanks,” I said,
feigning bashfulness.

“
There are millions of
people who would cut off an arm to go back and make that decision.
Instead they end up miserable, or divorced. Or both.”

“
Well, I appreciate your
encouragement,” I said. Accepting her analysis. “I’m not sure if
it’s the sort of thing that I can put on my resume. My next
girlfriend can introduce me, ‘Dad, I’d like you meet Michael. His
greatest accomplishment is backing out of a marriage before it was
too late.’”

“
Own it.” Erin jumped from
her seat. “Okay, I’m ready to have some fun now. It’s New
Orleans!”

Erin held on to my arm as we wandered
quickly through the quarter. We camped out on the balcony of
Tropical Isle and put away Hand Grenades that looked like
antifreeze. Before we knew it, it was eight o’clock and we saw
Brian and Erin’s three friends making their way up the
street.

A typical night on Bourbon Street is a
blur at best, and this one was no different. We dined at an oyster
bar, and hit the requisite tourist spots. Brian’s girlfriend never
materialized. As it got late, Brian lead us to another French
Quarter bar that tended to get the after-work crowd, along with a
few tourists. Ol’ Toons Saloon had a corny name, but it had a pool
table and a good bartender named Dan. With the House of Blues
around the corner, good bands tended to hang out smoking and
playing pool before and after gigs. I’d been there many times, and
every single time, the sidewalk sign read, “$2 Rolling
Rocks.”

The bachelorette party was passing
out. The bride was giving Erin and I a hard time, declaring, “You
two lovebirds are thick as thieves. You guys are gonna get married.
Erin, we’re going to be sisters! And – what’s your name again?
We’ll be brothers in laws.” Things were beginning to fall
apart.

Brian and I sat at the bar talking to
Dan while Erin did triage on her crew, administering water and
pretzels. We were all inebriated, but those three were in for a
rough morning.

“
Dan,” I said to the
bartender. “You would have no reason to remember me, but I’ve been
here probably twenty times in a decade. Maybe more. You’re always
working here.”

He laughed. “I remember you. I thought
you lived here. It’s been a while.”

“
Nice gig. What, 12 hour
days?”

“
I work Thursdays through
Sunday. Four to four.”

“
Cushy,” Brian said,
grabbing his own beer from the bar.

“
Gets old, but the money
is good.”

“
I’ll bet,” Brian
said.

“
Brian,” Dan said, “We’re
looking for a Monday through Thursday bartender. Has to be a guy
because the other bartender is a girl and you have to bounce
people.”

“
No, thank you, sir,”
Brian said. “I promised my dad I’d stick to music. And I don’t have
to deal with people’s bullshit.”

Dan looked at me.

“
What?” I said.

“
I need someone for
Monday,” he said, dead serious.

“
I live in Florida,” I
said.

“
Do you?” Brian asked
rhetorically.

I laughed nervously. “I have a
job.”

“
That you hate,” Brian
added.

“
No pressure,” Dan said.
“You can make two or three hundred bucks in a day easy. More on
others. You can pick up weekend afternoons. Mardi Gras is sick.
You’ll pay your yearly rent during Mardi Gras if you
survive.”