Read Time and Chance for Free Online Page B

guys.”
    “I still don't know
who Peggy Moore is.”
    His voice volume
increasing, Angelo propped his foot on the back-bar stainless steel sink and
said, “Jack, Jack, sings on Clip ‘en Snip TV commercials, has the new song out,
‘Dogwood Blossom’, Duke label.”
    “Hadn't heard it.”
    “Jack, you're a big TV
news director, supposed to know everything.”
    “Who says that?”
    “Everybody.”
    “That ices it.”
    “They say Moore, she's
the next Tammy Wynette.” He leaned close and cupped his mouth, “Odometer is
turned back a little, know whan I mean, hee hee hee.” Snort . He nodded to the stage, “You'll see, she's up at 9:00,
singing every Saturday night from now on out.” He winked, “Snakebite's says
she's the best hum he ever had.”
    “Name up in lights,
huh?”
    “That's what Snakebite
said.”
    Wondering what Berry
might be up to, I said, “Would you go over that again in Sicilian shorthand.”
    He looked around,
leaned close, and, like he had finished with the Dead Sea Scrolls, was moving
on to the Shroud of Turin, said out of the side of his mouth, “Peggy gets on
TV, the Kid gets to live, and Snakebite gets his chrome polished. Hee hee hee.” Snort . He looked around then pointed
his fat right index finger between my eyes. It looked like a snub-nosed 38.
“You din hear nutin from me buddy boy, know whan I mean?”
    “Know what you mean.”
I noticed Stella come through a door that led to a back area where a dumbwaiter,
Kitten dressing room, Men's and Women's pit stops, probably a family of
roaches, few rats, were. Balancing a red plastic tray on her shoulder, she
stopped at the service bar to say something to Neon.
    I took a sip and, the
ice melting nicely, I sucked on an ice chip. I didn't want to know what I
thought I had just heard about Berry, Snakebite, trade deals, and what it might
mean for TV12. Not only did I not want to know, I didn't want to think about it
so I said, “You know how many wives Solomon had?”
    “Sol Yidda, the
diamond guy, up on Church Street?”
    “No, no, Solomon, you
know, the Bible.”
    “Maybe you shouldn't
drink tonight, know whan I mean? You get too deep in that philosophy shit and
start arguing and I can't understand you, get loud.”
    From Wurlitzer,
Diamond Rio sang “Sweet Summer”.
    Just then Stella
arrived with my dinner and said, “Here ya be Jackson.”
    Said Angelo, “Put 'em
right there.”
    She plopped a large
platter of oysters and shrimp in front of me, dropped a red plastic basket
filled with Club Crackers next to the plate, finished the setting with a white
cloth napkin, and blew a meaty “enjoy” in my face.
    “Thank you.” I said.
    She sucked a back
molar and left.
    Said Angelo,
“Solomon's wives, huh. Whan's that again?”
    “Solomon, Old
Testament, wisest of the wise.”
    Deep concern on
Angelo's face, “I got a customer.” Angelo left.
    I ate.

 
    * * *

 
    Eating, I confirmed
one thing I like about shrimp and oysters: shrimp don't fill you up, more room
for drinking; oysters go down fast, more time for drinking.
    I ate a shrimp as an
electric guitar wailed an intro, and, from Wurlitzer, a husky female voice
filled the room:
    “Wheeen it's spa-ring time in Tennessee, spa-ring
time in Tennessee, And the dogwood blossoms bloom, dogwood blossoms bloom, I
cur-riiie for you, die for you, my heart bleeds for you, in my lonely, lonely
room….”
    The lyrics reminded me
of Aunt Jane's Legend of the Dogwood sermon. She told me the dogwood's white
blossoms, like tiny crosses, had the bloody nail prints of Christ's crucifixion
and the blossoms were fragrant and beautiful to remind us that good things come
from suffering.
    I swallowed an oyster
and said to myself in the mirror, “Such is the way to immortality, that's the
mystery, huh?” I ate a shrimp, “Suffer now, suffer later, SUFFER SUFFER SUFFER.
How come all this FUCKING SUFFERING?”
    Angelo appeared out of
nowhere, his face hanging a foot from mine, he stared at