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kind of thing happens with large,
pompous men with large, pompous voices, and with spatula-thin women whose lack
of food has turned them into restrained, yet rage-filled, maniacal
bitches.
    Anyway, the guy was obviously raised right,
because even his finger has manners. I bring him his check, and there's the
crispy bill again. He smiles, I smile, and we all watch his suit-jacket-flaps
flap as he speeds off on his Vespa.
    For a few minutes, it's just us. The regulars,
as Jane says, which caused Leroy to dub us "the Irregulars."
    "Depressed," Nick says out loud. "I ought to
know."
    "I vote with the gals," Joe says. "Gay. Too
pretty. Manicured nails. Probably never even been to a boxing match in his
life."
    "But I bet he's been to Rio," Trina
says.
    "Italy," Jane says.
    "Why buy a mattress an-y-where else," Luigi
sings.
    My shift is almost over when Funny lifts her
head from the notebook she's been writing in. "Has anyone thought about all the
places you've ever laid your head?" she asks. "All the places you've ever woken
up?"
    31
    Leroy walks in then. He's so much later than
usual, I had given up on him coming in at all. The bells on the door jangle, but
still he's heard Funny's question. He raises up his hand, as if the teacher
might call on him. Under his right forearm is a mermaid, with twisty golden
hair. "Do backseats count?"
    "Rough night?" Nick asks. He says it with a bit
of longing. Nick is this nice, straight guy who would've had this nice, straight
life had his wife not fallen down those stairs.
    "Anyone got aspirin?" Leroy says.
    "I do," Funny says. She lifts her purse,
rattles what sounds like twenty pill bottles in there.
    "Eighteen places," Jane says. She scrunches her
nose around instead of itching it. Jane's got allergies. "I counted eighteen
places I've woken up. No, nineteen. One airport chair in Dallas during a
layover."
    "Seventy, eighty?" Trina says.
    Nick whistles.
    "Roger and I did a lot of traveling. And then
you've got ... miscellaneous apartments."
    Nick blushes. He takes a sip of water that has
maybe three or four flat shards of ice left in it.
    "God, Trina," I say.
    "Some were just friends," she
says.
    I'm almost embarrassed to admit my answer.
"Five or six," I say. Mom's, Dad's, camping trip with Dad, Bomba and Bompa's.
Ramada Inn with Dad. I add another, just because five seems too pathetic. I
refill Nick's water glass; the new ice sloshes in merrily.
    "You're young," Leroy says. He winks at me.
Leroy and I understand each other.
    32
    "Hundreds," Joe says. "Hundreds and hundreds.
But then again, I'm old."
    "So old, Jesus was in your math class," I say.
I crack myself up.
    "You probably toured the country with your
boxing, right?" Jane says. She clips Jack to his leash, getting him ready for
his late-morning pee. Whenever Jack sees his leash, it's like he's looking at
two plane tickets for around the world, even if he's just going to the corner
and back.
    "Oh yeah. For years. When I got back, my family
barely knew who I was." Joe's big hand is covered with wrinkles that look like
the chocolate piping on Harold's cakes. It's a hand that trembles, though, as he
brings a triangle of toast to his mouth and crunches.
    "Well, they know you now. Look at that picture
they sent. Beautiful baby granddaughter," Jane says. Joe's got the photo propped
up against a water glass.
    "With her in Saint Louis, I'll be lucky to see
her before I'm dead," Joe says, chewing. He has a lump of toast in one
cheek.
    "This is getting goddamned dark," Funny
says.
    "You'll see her someday," Jane says. "Don't
give up hope." Jack pulls her to the door like he's a sled dog and she's the
sled. Jack is an old dog, but strong, same as Joe. If you ever saw Joe
arm-wrestle Leroy, you'd know what I mean.
    Right then, Bill and Marty come in, these two
guys that work at True Value with Nick. I pretend I don't know their names, even
though I do. Actually, we all pretend we've never even seen