Everybodys Someplace

Berneys Place was always open.

Even is bad weather.

Especially in bad weather.

Us two sat at the bar. My place was usually where the bar mirror was kind of wiggly and the lights from the Pabst display didn’t hurt my eyes too much. His place, next to me. He wanted to sit a table. There were other guys there. You couldn’t tell it was a sorry night outside here inside Berneys. No windows. Snow, rain- a mix. Can’t make up its mind.

I kept bugging him about it. He kept shrugging.

“I heard this one before,” he said. Then under his breath-“Many times.”

“I know,” I’d say. “But still.” I cracked a few peanuts. He was patient, being ex-brother-in-law and all.

“Ok, tell it again. I almost know it by heart.” He took a drink, glancing toward the table with the other guys.

He was a good friend. To listen like that. Here we were and I had to tell it. I would usually buy him a drink, maybe two by the time it was done. That made me feel better about it anyway.

“Okay,” I say, looking at him sideways, seeing if he is listening at least a little. I get in a rhythm like.

“Okay. This guy comes in here-Berneys. This is years ago, it seems like.”

“Time goes by fast or maybe it wasn’t long ago,” he says. I don’t challenge him on this point. He is listening.

“Maybe you’re right,” I nudge him like, and show appreciation that he is participating, adding something. There is loud laughter in the place, so I crack a few more. Take a slug of beer.

“He comes in next to me, in a place like this- In fact, it was this place!” My friend and I both sort of look around and take in the bar environment. He laughs, cuz it is the funny part.

“He is quiet. But I know he wants to, wants to say something. You get a feel for that, after a while.” My friend rolls his eyes-I see it even through the squiggly mirror.

“Ok, that isn’t a part of the story. Just my observation with people, you know. I’ll stick to just what he said.”

“He says- ‘I’m an insurance agent’, “like I asked him what his profession was which I had not. I nod or maybe I said- ‘Good for you’ or something. Well, then you can buy the drinks, I’m thinking.”

“He starts right in, like nothing’s stopping him. A bad night like this one, too.” Now my friend is leaning in, a little. I think he likes this part.

“’One day’”, he says, ‘I was on the job. Drive up to this cherry little house on a hill. The couple was waiting, but the husband had to leave after I had explained the policy and had all the paperwork out. The wife was quiet. When the husband left, he just nodded at her, they didn’t kiss or anything, like the honeymoon was over long ago. He had signed already, and then she signed. She said-‘Would you like a drink.?’ I said sure. ‘To celebrate? Is it okay with your husband?’ She didn’t say anything. We drank, one, two drinks. She started to talk. Kind of confess, open up about being unhappy. I felt uncomfortable but she was really something to look at. I kind of got the idea that, maybe from what she said, that the husband was two-timing her, and she knew it. Long story short, I drove her to a motel and we slept together. I dropped her off early in the morning and the husband’s car wasn’t even there. I still felt bad. But she really needed… she needed me.’”

“Ok, so he is telling me this and I feel like- what am I? A priest? So naturally I kinda shrug. He takes a deep breath, like. He isn’t drinking. Holding a glass though. So, he continues. He buys me a second drink.”

“’I felt bad. So I go to the office with the paperwork. My boss notices me and he pulls me into his office.’”

‘He says-‘Anything you want to tell me?’ I go, no, not really except I just slept with a client, expecting to get fired right then. Instead, he pulls out a bottle of scotch and pours me a drink. And he tells me his story! When he slept with a client, years ago. She wasn’t married so mine was worse but he says-‘We aren’t supposed to understand or change human nature. We are in the death-insurance business and some clients react differently. Now, if the husband storms in here with as gun, then I gotta fire you. But I might re-hire you later and send you somewhere different, away from here.’ And then he said-‘I had this same talk with my boss and he had the same talk with his boss. Goes way back.’ “I ask – And they were all okay? ‘He said-only one, one of them, Louis Simpson, lost his family, lost the girl. Never really had the girl, except that once. But he still sells. Keeps to himself. He is a high producer there in Iowa. Probably get the Diamond Award before he retires. But it bit him bad. But you aren’t married. She obviously needed some comforting while her husband was getting his comforting. Some marriages are arrangements and the comfort is found outside.’”

“So, this guy, he tells me that and then he says he waited for...”

“The other shoe to drop,” my friend says. He has been paying attention.

“Exactly. the other shoe.” I take a breather and finish the beer. Another one appears. Someone comes in the door and everybody yells at him- Shut the Damn Door!”

“And it never drops. The policy gets approved, he gets his commission and he keeps on selling. Then, he gets a letter from that woman after a few years thanking him! Because of him she says, she got a divorce, got the courage to get a divorce. Moved away, got a job and her life was going better.”

“And how was he, she asks him! He doesn’t write back. He dodged a bullet or something he tells me. But he didn’t say it like he really dodged anything.”

“Then he says to me-

‘I met someone, decided to get married. The wedding was in June at the church where my fiancé’s family all went to. I think- I am in love. She wants me. All the men wanted her. I got her. I got a nice car, security, you know.

‘The day of the wedding, I am standing waiting for my future wife to come down the aisle and I see her in the back. She comes in and sits in the back. I am, I don’t know how to describe it. I am mixed up but I can’t just walk up to her before the ceremony. So, I get married. My new wife gets surrounded by her friends and I drift off to find her. I see her leave in a taxi. I think she looks back at me but… I see the guest register. She signed it. Best of luck to you both, Donna. That was her name, Donna Sugarman, her married name. She didn’t put her unmarried name.’

I check and see if my friend is still listening. He is.

“Then, he waits for me, I think he is waiting for me to say something, but I don’t, and he doesn’t. He gets up. He looks at me, just one second and I see something, like something lost, or defeat or something. Or hope even. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. A guy’s heart is never on his sleeve, whatever that saying is. Least not in my experience.”

“Maybe that’s why you have to keep telling it. You can’t figure it out, so it goes around and around,” my friend says. Now he’s the minister. “Or the thing with my sister…”

“Maybe.” I like to pause at this point. Water under the bridge, really.

I’m done telling the story again to my friend, maybe for the umpteenth time. I look around. I see all the others in the bar mirror, like me, not talking, talking, maybe stirring a drink, looking down. I suddenly feel sober. Real sober. All of them. I stand up. My friend tries to pull me down, thinking it was the alcohol. But I get up.

My friend shrugs and goes over to the table to join the other guys.

I blow a kiss to Berney’s picture over the door. Berney is a girl- was a woman. The regulars blow her a kiss leaving. Good luck like. I never met her.

I notice the little label like under the picture. I never saw it before, after all these years. It says-

Everybodys Someplace.

Hum.

I leave.

I pass under a streetlight and start walking on the ice and slush. At least it stopped raining or snowing.

I get on the sidewalk with the rock salt and make big crunching noises with my leather.

I don’t feel bad. Maybe something clicked like.

Think I’m done telling the story.

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