By John McManimon

Trenton Tales is a new section in the Downtowner for works of fiction set in and around the city. Got a Trenton Tale? Email your story for consideration to jcarlucci@mercerspace.com.

The rain meant a slow day. After three slow and rainy days, a fourth was unwelcome. Rain meant less foot traffic in the neighborhood. It meant fewer lunchtime workers willing to leave the comfort of their cars or their cubicles. Who would test this weather for a sandwich or a beer? Cassidy walked around the bar towards the front door. The rain had turned Grand St. grey and dark.

As he leaned against the damp door jamb Cassidy could hear the voice of his old boss at Tunney’s when he used to work over on Hamilton, “If there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean.” Bastard!

But in this place, his was the voice of responsibility and today that voice was silent. The cold damp of the day put a stubborn tiredness in the bones. Watching the intersection fill with runoff seemed a far more worthwhile endeavor. Except for the rain there was quiet. He had turned the television off as an unnecessary waste of electricity after the noon news. It was a soft day.

The scuff of a bar stool being pulled out dragged Cassidy back from his almost sleep at the doorway. Larry had come in the side door having gotten soaked from his five yard gallop from the car to the side porch. Cassidy went back to the bar.

“Snuck in the side, didja?”

Larry slid onto the stool. “I didn’t sneak. I always come in the side. There’s no parking out front or didn’t you know?”

“Vodka?”

“Sure.”

Larry was a roofer. Larry was actually whatever anyone at any given moment needed him to be. If you needed a bricklayer he was a damned good bricklayer. If you needed a landscaper he could be that, too. But when it rained he was a roofer and you couldn’t put a roof on when it rained.

“Cranberry?”

“No, orange. The bastards are closing the plant.”

Cassidy squinted at him, “You didn’t work there.”

Larry pushed his ball cap back on his head folded his arms. “Yeah, but I work for a lot of folks who do but probably not no more.”

Cassidy placed the tumbler in front of Larry and took his money. When he turned back from the cash register he saw that a small woman had perched herself on a tall stool at the other end of the bar. She sat with her back to the grey light from the front door. Her hair was auburn and cut short. She was neatly dressed in jeans and a white blouse. She carried a black sweater and a small purse.

“May I see a menu, please.” she said without looking up, as she rummaged through the purse. Cassidy gave Larry his change as Larry stared intently out the window at nothing in particular.

“We have only cold sandwiches today: roast beef, corned beef, turkey, ham and the like.”

As she hadn’t taken any money from the purse he added, “Although we don’t take credit cards.” Not to be intimidating but to avoid embarrassment for all parties involved, as he usually put it.

She smiled and he noticed the small bandage on her chin. “Roast beef will be fine and a small beer. How much will that be?”

“Six-fifty,” Cassidy said as he went around the bar to the kitchen. He hadn’t seen the girl before but if she was new to the neighborhood it didn’t hurt to cultivate a new customer.

When he brought the sandwich she thanked him and paid for the beer and the food. When he gave her the change Cassidy noticed that the circles under her eyes were from something more sinister than lack of sleep. She noticed him notice.

“A less than diplomatic disentanglement. And some bad luck.” She fished a pair of dark glasses from her purse when she realized that the extra foundation and makeup were inadequate.

“So, do I have enough for another beer?” Cassidy shrugged. She was a dollar short on a dollar-fifty beer, “Sure. Call it a new customer discount.”

Larry looked at the barkeep as he slid his glass towards him. Cassidy picked up the glass.

”You pulled the stool out from under me for doing that once,” he whispered. Cassidy shot back in a low growl, “No, you did it three times in a row and you fell off the bar stool on your own.”

Larry took a sip of the fresh one. “So you say.”

When Cassidy gave Larry his change, she called him over. “I’m very sorry; I thought I had more money with me.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. At any rate welcome to the neighborhood.” She put on the thin hooded sweater as she started to leave.

“I’ll be back. I’m sorry I don’t have any more money. I’m waiting for a check from my last job. Severance; things didn’t work out.”

Cassidy put the glasses in the suds. “Well take care and stay dry.”

She looked up at a pitiless sky, one more piece of bad luck. “Thanks, again.”

Cassidy looked at Larry who was reading the daily. “Any ball games on this afternoon?”

Larry gave a short cough. “You think maybe it’s not raining somewhere in the country?”

Cassidy went back to his post next to the door. The rain was pelting down sideways now and blew spray in through the open door.

He realized that the floor could do with a wash. Might as well start at the front door. Two blocks down he saw the waif of a girl turn on to Broad Street. The hood of her sweater was her only protection from the rain. Cassidy muttered to himself.

“I thought there was something wrong about her; she doesn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.” At the corner of the bar, Larry overheard him, vodka having improved his hearing as it dulled his other senses. “What, are you blind, Mac? She doesn’t have the cents to come out of the rain.” He held up his left hand, rubbing his thumb and two fingers together. “She’s hurt. She’s tired and she’s given up. But she’ll be back. Give a stray mutt a scrap…too bad.” Cassidy closed the door against the rain.

Larry drained his glass. “Well, I’m off like a prom dress. Try and keep the crowd under control.”

Cassidy wiped the bar at his spot and pocketed the dollar tip. “I’ll try to take your sound advice.”

Larry left the way he had come in. Cassidy flicked through the television channels. He had always thought that if television was a vast wasteland, then daytime television was Death Valley. His frustration ended when the front door squeaked open. She was soaked to the skin and shivering, framed by the doorway against the battleship grey storm clouds.

“I managed to find a few more dollars if you wouldn’t mind giving me another beer.”

Cassidy stared past her at the sheets of rain outside. If he had had to stack a hundred cases of beer with a raging hangover he couldn’t have found enough anger in him to send her back out into that. “Sure.”

He placed the mug of beer on the bar and took the two sopping dollars that she offered. She took a sip; a short one and then a long pull. She used a sodden handkerchief to try to dry her hair. “I’m just trying to hold out until my check comes from my last position.”
“And that was?” Cassidy asked.

“I had a temporary position with a law firm to research mortgages that the state Supreme Court has held back from foreclosure due to improper documentation.”

Cassidy was impressed. He had thought that at best she had lost her job at a local salon. He discussed the recent foreclosure epidemic with her for a while. He gave her one on the cuff as it was still teeming outside. Then her beer was as gone as her money and the rain had stopped.

“Can I have one more, please?” she asked, her eyebrows wrinkling above the mouse that someone had placed under her eye. Cassidy thought about it but he could see that even she expected him to say no.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Giving out free beer is a habit I can’t afford just now.”

“That’s alright. And my name is Corrine.”

Cassidy took her hand, “Sorry, I’m Jerry.”

Corrine walked to the door and Jerry followed her. The skies were still threatening, but there would be a few minutes before the next cloud burst. Cassidy started to scoop cigarette butts into a bucket from the planter that customers used as an ashtray. Corrine pulled on her still dripping sweater.

“I’d be happy to do that for you if you could see your way to giving me another beer.” As she spoke, Cassidy had known what she was going to say and hoped that she wouldn’t say it. But she did. He put the bucket down and looked at her.

“I’m sorry, no.”

She seemed to sag a bit, grow a little smaller; give up a little bit more.

“That’s all right,” she said. “You’ve been kind. Some people can be very cruel when you ask them for a dollar. They have so much yet they can’t seem to realize that the dollar that means so little to them can buy someone else peace and warmth if only for an hour. They look so offended; so put upon.” She extended her hand again and Cassidy took it.

“Goodbye and she smiled.

“Goodbye.”

Cassidy watched her as she walked down Liberty Street. getting smaller and smaller. Then she was gone.

And again it started to rain.

John McManimon was a member of Leadership Trenton 2003 and owns and operates an eponymous pub in South Trenton.