Melanie already knows. She’s waiting for me at the Mount Laurel bus station. There was no phone call from New York to get reservations started at the Steak House. So she knows. There will be no celebrating. It’s back to one dress at a time, and hold that party in Haddonfield. Nothing’s changed. It’s back to everything.
Slowly, back in the house, I give her the whole story.
“It isn’t fair,” she says.
Then we drive over to McDonald’s. I’ve said it all and there is nothing more to talk about.
“It isn’t fair,” she says now at McDonald’s.
That evening I’m back in my green uniform. She drives to the Lindenwold train station. I’m off to work, as a slot attendant. She had called in sick for me, just in case there’d be celebrating. But I am not sick. So I called back that I’d be late, but I’ll be in. That was Omar who took my call. Roger Price is gone, taken in for surgery. Who knows if he’ll ever be back.
Melanie and I are sitting here waiting for the Atlantic City train. It’s late. No, we agree, that’s no deal. That’s a slap in the face. That’s Roe Morgan. After all this time, it’s still Roe Morgan. We won’t give up, though. No we won’t. We will not give up. There are other agents, other publishers. Anyway, Sylvio isn’t strong on fiction. I’ll use him if I ever write a book on golf.
“There’s more out there,” says Melanie. “We’ll just keep knocking.”
A review she wrote a month ago so pleased the writer that he sent her a thank you, as did the publisher. Yes, the publisher. So maybe here’s a contact.
“So we’re agreed.”
“Of course,” says Melanie. “That’s no offer. It’s a joke.”
So, some satisfaction. I will call Sylvio next day to pass this message to Roe Morgan: No Thanks.
That’s something.
But what about that other deal, that offer from the casino, Shelly King and Bob Foster?
Yes, Jay Leonard, Celebrity Greeter, Celebrity Author. Next, visit our cage of midgets and giants.
“We have to think about that,” says Melanie, now getting very practical.
I assure her I will, I will think about that, and she assures me that something big will come along from New York or Hollywood, as these things always happen when you’re not watching, when you least expect it, so for the time being, yes, this is something to consider, something to keep us going until our luck changes.
“For the better,” I caution.
Don’t tempt fate.
“For the better,” she says.
She reminds me of my motto: Back class is always dangerous.
I’ve done it before, big time. I will do it again.
We’re actually quite elated. Who knows? Anything can still happen. It’s impossible to believe that nothing will happen. Yes, there is that publisher that thanked her. This could be a contact. So we’re elated, glad to have gotten this over with; start fresh. Starting tomorrow, start fresh. We’ve taken the blow and absorbing and recovering and we’re even planning. We’re even dreaming again.
For my part, I am near euphoric. I am back to rock bottom, and that’s a powerful spot to be in. Nothing to lose. Yes, when you’re weak, you’re strong. So I am near euphoric.
But there is something else. There was some phone call while I was gone, from one of those investigators at the casino. Yes, Franco’s death was ruled a suicide, but they’re thinking of reopening the case. There are questions. Apparently, further probing showed that Franco’s Mazda had no brakes. Could be neglect on his part, or tampering. No wonder he crashed through the eighth floor wall.
Do I have anything to do with this? Toledo? Toledo and me together?
“Is this going to be something?” she says, nervously. “Is this something I should worry about?”
But then the train pulls up. I kiss her and tell her I love her. I do. I love her more than anything. We hug as if it’s final. But it isn’t. We have dreams. Something has got to give. Emerson again. “To be great is to be misunderstood.” Maybe I’m not so great, but I am misunderstood. But that is bound to change. Yes, I will go on. I step out of the car, walk up to the platform and into the train. I wave to her from the window. She waves back and blows me a kiss. I miss her already. I always do.
I am off to work. I am a slot attendant.