CONTENTS      A LONG TIME AGO      THE O'BRIENS HAVE COFFEE
CAMPING WITH HENRY DAVID      THE MAKE-UP ARTIST     AUTHORS

Patrick O'Brien walked into the Real Italian Pizza Shoppe late one cold afternoon in January. He waved to his son, Kevin, sitting in a booth along the wall. Elena, the owner, sat behind the counter at the rear, folding boxes.

Patrick sat down, facing his son, unzipped his coat, and leaned back in the booth. Kevin ran his hand down his tie. His overcoat lay folded in the corner of his seat.

Patrick rubbed his hands and blew into them. "It's a cold mother out there Kevin."

"It is January."

"I heard something about that."

"What kept you? I've been waiting for a half hour," Kevin said.

"Couldn't help it. We had to cover up the wall so the cement would set up. Shouldn't be laying brick in this weather, but it'll be ok. I hope anyway."

"I almost left."

"Well, time is money, Kevin. You should know that."

"You men want your coffee I suppose now," Elena yelled over the top of the counter.

"That's right Elena, soon as you can stir yourself to bring it over here," Patrick said. He smiled at her and winked at Kevin, chuckling, his chin down into the front of his sweater.

"I think she's trying to fix you up with her daughter, Kevin. What do you think about that?" He nudged his son's arm.

"She's a beauty, Dad, but definitely not my type."

Elena walked around the counter and stood at the side of their table, holding two cups of coffee.

"Here's your coffee, you men." She put the cups carefully on the table, one in front of Patrick, the other in front of Kevin. She looked back and forth at them, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Could we have some cream and sugar, please?" Kevin said.

"I think you need how many of those?"

"Just a couple," Patrick said.

"Ok I get just two apiece for you and the sugar too." Patrick leaned out of the booth and watched her walk back to the counter.

"That's a fine woman there, Kevin. Like mother, like daughter." Patrick looked back at Kevin. "I'm serious Kevin. A nice girl and you would be a happy man."

"You're full of it, you know that."

"I know it." Patrick's face opened into a quick smile that closed when Elena came back. She placed four creams on the table along with a hand full of sugar packets.

"There you are, your four creams and sugars. I give you four because you have two coffees. You don't use too much like some people come in. I tell them only use so many but they use too much. I tell them it's too much but they don't care."

Patrick looked up at her. "So, Elena, how's your daughter these days?"

Kevin grabbed one of the creams, ripped it open and poured it into the coffee, then added another. He stirred the coffee, tapped the spoon against the lip, and laid it on a napkin. Elena frowned at him and turned back to Patrick.

"She's a good girl but she don't meet any nice men. She needs to meet a nice man, somebody works hard, take care of her good."

"No good men around here?"

"You're too old for her. You're too old for me." She laughed and fluttered her hands at him.

"I wasn't thinking about me."

"Maybe you know somebody, maybe somebody rich and handsome. Take good care of his mother in law." She looked over at Kevin who was stirring a packet of sugar into his coffee.

"Maybe I fix you up if your papa don't mind. You're a nice boy, make lots of money selling the houses. Better than pizzas. You use too many napkins though." She laughed, breaking into a cough. She slapped her chest and cleared her throat.

"I got to give up the smoking," she said over her shoulder as she walked back to the counter.

"There you go, Kevin. Give you something to take your mind off business."

"Why do you do stuff like that, Dad. You know I don't like it."

"I'm sorry. Well, you know I'm really not. I'm just kidding with you a bit that's all. You're just like your mother, too serious all the time."

They sipped their coffees, occasionally looking around the booth to watch the customers coming in: the two cops off duty, the old woman who came in every day for a cheeseburger and a plate of French fries, and the teenagers.

"Look at those kids," Kevin said.

Patrick watched a boy and a girl walk by.

"What about them?"

"I would never let a child of mine dress like that."

"Since you don't have any, that's a very easy thing for you to say."

"Let's drop it."

"I know I just don't understand."

"You don't, so let's move on to other things."

Kevin pulled his coat out of the corner of the booth.

"You leaving already?"

"No. I got something for you."

Kevin put his hand in one of the pockets and slipped out a business envelope, folded in half. He laid it on the table, flattened it out and pushed it towards his father.

What's this for, Kevin?"

"Open it and find out."

Patrick found a small jack knife in his coat pocket, slit the flap and looked inside.

"It's money."

"Go ahead and count it."

Patrick pulled out a pile of wrinkled bills and placed it on the table. He turned the envelope upside down and shook it.

"Oh, for Chrissakes Dad, count it."

"Why are you giving me a pile of money? How can I say it? Well I might as well say it. It's just not like you, tightwad business guy that you are."

"You men want more coffee? Look at the money you got Patrick. Who gave it to you?" Elena stood beside them, holding a coffee pot.

"We'll have a little more coffee. And my son here, the real estate tycoon, has just given me this pile of cash. I haven't toted it up yet but I'm pretty sure it's a substantial sum."

"Maybe I should charge you double, you got so much," she said. She topped their cups and returned once again to the counter, stopping on the way to say hello to the two cops.

Patrick squared the pile of bills with the tips of his fingers, tapping one corner of the stack and then the other.

"Just so Kevin, just so. Now, I'm thinking here, why is my son, the tycoon giving me this stack of bills. There must be, well I don't know how much." He picked up the pile of bills and fanned them close to his ear. "I'd say close to two hundred dollars in ones and fives."

"There's two hundred and forty three dollars there, to be exact."

"To be exact. Now I don't understand. I get told that a lot. 'You know Patrick, you just don't understand.' So where did this largesse come from?"

"You don't go to the club any more."

"I don't go there very much. I wouldn't say I never go."

"You haven't been in at least a year. Everybody says so."

"Well, if everybody says so, it must be. And I take it you still go on a regular basis."

"I go once a week, have a beer and say hello."

"Good for business, of course."

"That's not the main reason."

"Well, you're right, I don't go to the club any more, now that I think of it."

"People ask about you. They say they miss you down there."

"They miss me buying them beer. And besides, I have a telephone, they could call me up anytime."

"You men," Elena called from behind the counter, "how much you got there."

"My son will gladly fill you in." Patrick leaned out of the booth.

"Two hundred and forty three dollars," Kevin said, leaning back over the top of his seat.

"Exactly," Patrick said.

"You two should go on the TV," Elena said.

Patrick slid the bills into the envelope and left it sitting on the table between them.

"So, Kevin, what about this money. Are my old friends paying me back for all the beer I bought them?"

"No, it's not that. Remember the pool on Friday night?"

"I remember paying a buck every now and then."

"You played every week."

"Ok, I played every week."

"Well, Dad, when you stopped going over there, I picked up the slack, so to speak."

"You played the pool for me."

"I did. Every week I put in a dollar for you, and guess what? Last Friday you won."

"Well I'll be a son of a bitch."

"So that's the pot. Two hundred and forty three dollars." Patrick picked up the envelope, folded it over again, and put it in his shirt pocket.

"This a very welcome surprise, Kevin. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome."

Both finished their coffee in silence.

"How many weeks do you think I played that pool for you?" Kevin asked. He kept his eyes away from Patrick, running his hands inside his jacket, rummaging through the pockets.

"What are you digging for?" Patrick asked.

"How many weeks? Take a guess."

"What difference does it make?"

"It was eighteen weeks. I put in a dollar for eighteen weeks."

"Exactly?"

"Exactly."

"Now I might not understand, but I think that adds up to eighteen dollars."

"That's right. I put in eighteen dollars for you."

"Well, that was an act of real generosity on your part, and as I said, completely unexpected."

Patrick stood up, slid out of the booth, and zipped up his coat. Kevin sat there looking at him.

"Kevin, did I ask you to play the pool for me?"

"No."

"Well let that be a lesson for you."

Patrick turned to the counter.

"Hey, Elena. My son the tycoon will pick up the tab."

"That's a good boy, buying a coffee for your father. It's too bad my daughter isn't here to see what a gentleman you are."

Patrick pulled up his collar and walked outside. He raised a hand and waved the envelope as he walked by the window, then disappeared down the street.

Copyright 2005 by Ray Regan

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