FIfty-Three

Stoddard’s sits near Downtown Crossing in a building that survived the Great Boston Fire of 1872. A wooden bar, carved in Europe and echoing the building’s architecture, graces one wall. Wooden Corinthian columns frame mirrors and bottles of top-shelf liquor, while Doric columns sit above the bar’s trolley-track footrest. Framed corsets decorate the rest the of bar, a reminder of the building’s original tenant: Chandler’s Corset Store, the nineteenth-century’s idea of Victoria’s Secret.

I love Stoddard’s for two reasons. First, it has old-fashioned lampposts installed in the middle of the floor, so you can lean against a lamppost, one knee bent, and rest your foot on the base while you drink your beer. Second, it has twenty silver beer taps that run the length of the bar and five ale casks tapped at the end of the bar. The twenty-five taps deliver a rotating assortment of outstanding microbrews.

Lucy and I stood under a lamppost. She nursed a white wine, while I had already downed half a pint of Mayflower Pale Ale, brewed right near the Plymouth Rock boulder.

Lucy looked around at the small crowd. “Should we get a table?”

“No. I want to keep Uncle Walt standing. That’s the key to short meetings. If we sit, there’s no telling when we’ll get back home.”

“Don’t you like Uncle Walt?”

“I like Uncle Walt just fine. I just don’t like mysterious dinner invitations.”

“You should have just said no.”

A jolt of irritation rippled across my belly. Lucy was right, I should have just said no. I pursed my lips and drank my beer.

“Maybe I should go,” said Lucy.

“I’d hate to end our day like this,” I said. “I had fun.”

“Me too. It’s just that—”

Walt burst upon us. “Hey, kids! How are you doing? Let’s grab a seat!” Walt strode to the empty bar and sat at a seat with an empty chair on either side. He patted the chairs and tilted his head. Come on over.

Lucy glanced at me. I shrugged. We climbed into the seats on either side of Uncle Walt. The unoccupied bartender greeted us.

I said, “Uncle Walt, you remember Lucy.”

Walt took Lucy’s hand and said, “How could I forget this gorgeous creature. Tucker, you are a lucky guy.”

Lucy extricated her hand. “We’re both lucky.”

I caught the bartender’s attention and changed the subject, “Pabst Blue Ribbon, Walt?”

Walt said, “Screw that. We’re celebrating. I’ll have a Jack Daniels. Make it a double, neat. You guys want one?”

I looked across Walt to Lucy, who placed her hand over her wine glass. I drained my beer and looked to the bartender. “Geary’s Pale Ale.”

The bartender brought the drinks. I had just tilted my Geary’s when Walt shot back his double Jack Daniels. Lucy’s eyes widened.

Walt said to the bartender, “Another.”

I said, “Jesus, Uncle Walt. What’s your hurry?”

“I’m celebrating. That’s why I called you.”

“Okay. What are we celebrating?”

Walt reached into his back pocket and pulled out a glossy brochure. The brochure featured a large DNA molecule, superimposed over a mountain. The name MinCare dominated the top of the brochure. “We’re gonna make us some money. You too, Lucy.”

“What’s that?” I asked and regretted it immediately.

“That, Tucker, is a ground-floor opportunity for us. This MinCare stuff is the reason I’m so healthy. I never realized it until one of the guys at the gym let me try some. It’s all in the min—” Walt’s voiced faded into a dull drone of minerals, DNA, free radicals, cellular membranes, quick twitch muscle, the evolutionary history of man, and finally the health of barnyard animals.

I broke into Walt’s spiel. “You mean these are vitamins.”

“Not just vitamins. Supplements. These supplement the things that you’re not getting into your body because you’re not a caveman anymore.”

The corner of my eye caught Lucy, the biology teacher, rolling her eyes and knocking back her wine.

Curiosity destroyed my good sense. “What does this have to do with making money?”

This gave Walt the opportunity to flip to the back of the brochure. It displayed a diagram that looked to me like a binary tree, the type I would use to store data in alphabetical order and retrieve it quickly. Apparently, binary trees could also be used to make money.

Walt said, “This is the payment plan. Each person has two people direct to them, then …” And he was off again. There was a power leg and profit leg, and Walt was certain that Lucy would be his power leg and—no offense, Tucker—I would probably be the profit leg. Then the money from the power leg would meet the profit leg …

A bartender noticed Lucy’s empty glass and refilled it. I had hardly touched my Geary’s as I sat in slack-jawed amazement at Walt’s ability to rattle off long strings of meaningless business gibberish.

Finally I broke in. “But I don’t need any money.”

Walt blinked. “What do you mean, you don’t need any money? Everyone needs money.”

“I’ve got money.”

Lucy watched the conversation.

Walt said, “No. You earn money with your time. I’m talking about residual income, Tucker. The money just rolls in like you were living off your investments.”

“I do live off my investments.”

Lucy reached across Walt and touched my hand. “And he’s handsome and good in bed.”

Walt looked back and forth between us. “Jesus, you guys are
in love.”

Lucy pulled her hand back and I looked into my beer.

Walt continued, “Don’t deny it, Tucker. Did you tell her you love her?”

This had to end. “Walt, does this have to do with the money that you owe to Hugh Graxton?”

Walt glared at me and shot down his Jack Daniels. He tipped his glass to the bartender. “Another.”

“How much do you owe the guy?”

“It’s none of your goddamn business.” The drink arrived. Walt shot it down. “Another.”

I caught the bartender’s eye and shook my head. Made a writing motion it the air. Check, please.

Walt caught my movement and said, “No. One more, one for the road.”

“Walt, I think you’re done. If you drink any more, I’ll have to take your car keys.”

Walt stood, stumbled back a step, gave Lucy a sidelong glance. Now you’re scoping out my girlfriend?

Lucy caught the glance and said, “I think it’s too late. You should take his keys.”

Walt leaned on the bar and rummaged in his pants. Pulled out a big black key fob and slammed it on the bar. “You want my fucking keys? Go ahead. Take ’em. Take the whole fucking truck, and the payments.”

“Jesus,” I said. “I don’t want your truck.”

Lucy said, “I think you should take his keys anyway.”

“Walt, c’mon. It can’t be that bad. How much do you owe? Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t wancha goddamn help.”

Damn it. The slurring had started. I took the keys. Walt would have to spend the night on my couch.

The check came. I signed for it.

“Whacha doin’?” demanded Walt. “This was supposed to be my treat. It’s my fucking party.”

“C’mon, big fella.” I said. “Let’s get you to my house.”

“I gotta take a leak.”

Walt broke away and stumbled around, looking for something.

I pointed at the staircase. “Bathrooms are downstairs.”

Walt teetered off.

Lucy said, “Shouldn’t you help him?”

“Help him walk down the stairs and take a leak? It’ll just aggravate him. I suspect he’s got practice doing this.”

Lucy pulled me close. Her blue eyes bore into mine. “I had a
fun day.”

“Me too,” I said. “Sorry it ended this way.”

“There will be more fun days.” Lucy gave me a white wine kiss that lasted until Walt slammed his hand on my back. My front tooth clicked against Lucy’s. We both said, “Ow!” and put our hands to our mouths.

“Let’s roll,” said Walt.