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Friday October 4, 2002, 11:00 p.m.
As I walked into the Tim Hortons, Allison’s voice echoed inside my head from our phone conversation that morning. “Donny, we need to have that talk now. I’ll see you at the house at noon.”
Carrying my coffee past Tony, I noticed he’d circled a help-wanted ad for a mechanic at Cayuga Speedway. Very interesting, Tony, Mr. Who-Needs-A-Dream. I pretended I didn’t notice and took my spot at our table. Papas and Reingruber sat in their respective seats.
The place was packed with old people. Outside, the sun fought to break through the cloud cover. Beyond the usual salutations, no one was very talkative.
I could tell by their mood that everyone had read my final column.
After an awkward silence, Reingruber said, “I’m kind of sad this has to end.”
“That what has to end?” said Tony. “Say what you mean, goddamit.”
“Well, you know, the search.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
“It gave us something to hope for, I think,” John said. “For a while there, I felt Steven was our friend again. Like we were going to find him and he’d come back and ... we’d start over. That would have been nice.”
“Yeah, like maybe he’d move back here like you did, Donny,” said Reingruber. “That would have been cool.”
“Thanks,” I said, staring into my coffee.
“Well, I for one am glad this bullshit search is over,” Tony said. “It was totally nuts.”
“Of course, it was totally nuts,” said John. “But, if you think about it, it was probably the most fun we’ve had since high school.”
“The most fun since high school, eh, John?” Tony was glaring at John. “Well then, your life really has been pathetic.”
“You’re disappointed, too, Tony. Admit it,” John said.
Tony went back to his paper and said nothing. It occurred to me that he was hurting.
“I thought this whole Making Steven Famous thing was magical,” said Reingruber. “For a moment, it seemed as though he was really going to come back, just like Jesus, man.”
“Magical?” I said. “I never thought of it that way, but, in a way, I can see it. It was kind of magical. Hey, Tony,” I said, trying to break his tough facade, “why don’t you tell us what you circled in the newspaper?”
“None of your business,” he said, rising with paper in hand. He tucked it under the arm of his coveralls. “Break’s over. Back to work.”
“I gotta go, too,” Reingruber piped up.
“Since when do you have to go anywhere?” John said.
“I have a date.”
“A date?” John laughed in disbelief. “With who, your mother?”
Reingruber remained unflappable. “Very funny, Pappas. Actually, Morag and I are checking out a storefront lease today. She thinks I’d be really good at running my own collector card shop. With comics and collectibles, you know.”
We stared after Reingruber, open-mouthed. He gave us a wave as he headed off on his ten-speed bike.
John looked perplexed. “Morag? Who’s Morag?”
I had to laugh at his expression. “The librarian. Remember I told you about that?”
John was still trying to fathom this new facet of Reingruber.
“Hey, Donny,” Tony said, turning to face me outside. “Maybe Steven didn’t come back to the Hammer, but you did...and I’m glad you did.” He smiled at me, turned and headed back to the garage.
That was the closest I’d ever seen to Tony telling me he cared about me.
“So, now what, John?” I asked.
He grinned at me sideways. “Dance lessons.”
“Dance lessons?” I said. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. I’ve been stuck in a rut. I need to work on a new style.”
“Good for you, man.”
“See you at the show tomorrow,” he said, stepping off the curb.
I checked my watch. Eleven-thirty a.m.. For once in my life, I was going to be on time.
