Bernie at the Pay Phone | |||||
I came out of the post office and there was Bernie Stapleton talking on a pay phone. Bernie had been hiding from me for seven years. I had loaned him a thousand dollars for an emer- gency and I never heard from him again. He wasn’t sure if I had recognized him, so he turned his back to me and hung his head down. Bernie didn’t know what it was to earn a living. He just moved from one scam to another, narrowly evading the law. But I had always had a soft spot in my heart for Bernie. I waited at a certain distance for him to get off the phone. I knew he was sweating blood. “Bernie,” I said, “where have you been? I’ve missed you.” He was massively uncomfortable. “I’ve been away. I’ve been running an investment firm in the Bahamas. Yeah, I’ve missed you too. How’ve you been?” “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m kind of down on my luck,” I said, which was a lie. “Maybe I could help you out, Simon. If you could come up with, say, a couple hundred bucks, I could turn it into something substantial real fast,” he said. Bernie never changed. Everything around us was changing so fast I couldn’t keep up, and there was Bernie at the pay phone making nickel and dime deals the way he’s always done. “I think I could come up with that much,” I said. “Then meet me here tomorrow at three. A little favor for an old friend, that’s the least I can do.” Bernie was standing tall now. He really believed he was an investment banker in the Bahamas, and not some scuzzy little rat holed up in Shutesbury without a pot to piss in. I admired that to no end. “Thanks, Bernie, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. - James Tate (2001)JJames Tate (2001) | |||||