“Nora.” Frank clears his throat. Everyone stops and looks at him, and he clears his throat again and then again. He’s been quiet, listening to all this. He owns the place after all, so it doesn’t seem so weird he’s observing but not saying anything.
She turns toward him, eyebrows raised, face open, completely unprepared.
“Nora, I took my name off too.”
“No you didn’t.” This is so impossible she doesn’t believe him.
“I had to.”
“What are you talking about? Why?”
His hands rise then fall back against his sides. “I couldn’t stand in their way.” He waves at his customers, the guys at the bar, the couples whispering at tables and trying to ignore us, takes them in, me too maybe. It’s my future more than anyone else’s here, after all.
“What about my way?” she hisses.
“You have a job. Two actually. I have a job. I can’t stand in the way of someone else having one too. I get it. These folks need the money, the bennies, the whole thing really.”
“And you get rich too,” she adds darkly.
“Not rich.” He laughs, mirthless, forced. “But yeah, Norma’s needs Belsum’s goodwill and patronage to stay afloat.”
“It hasn’t so far.”
“’Cause these guys never get off their stools.” That mirthless laugh again. “When they go back to work, think of the hit. And think of the business from execs just out of their last meeting, managers at the end of a long week, new wives in town, new families. I can’t just tell them they’re not welcome here.”
“They’re not,” says Nora.
“They’re not,” Frank agrees, “unless they’re coming anyway.”
“Russell said there were two names left on the suit. And one of them’s me.”
“I’m sorry,” Frank says.
“I just assumed—”
And then, out of the darkness by the door where the lights don’t reach, “It’s me. Okay? It’s me. I’m the other one. I’m sorry, guys.” This to the barflies. “You know—I hope you know—I’ll do whatever I can to support you. But I owe her. And I … believe her. It’s me.”
I didn’t see Omar come in. Nora obviously didn’t either. She looks not just stunned but like she might actually fall over. In fact, apparently no one noticed Omar’s entrance, everyone too busy arguing, stating their cases, standing up to Nora’s dressing-down. Now he’s standing behind me, behind all of us, and everyone’s turned to look at him.
“You can’t not have taken your name off the suit,” Nora sputters. “You were never on to begin with.”
That he understands this, which even I don’t follow at first, is saying something. “I signed on a couple weeks back. I told Russell not to tell you. Didn’t want to make a big deal. But it was time.”
There has been attrition over the years as people died or moved away. There have been abstainers, like Pastor Jeff, who believes in heavenly justice rather than the earthly variety. But it’s always been Omar’s holding out that’s most rankled her. He’s the one whose name and title seem like they would lend the whole thing weight and import. He’s as wronged as anyone. But he’s always refused, claimed he has to remain impartial, be available to appear as a witness instead should it ever come to that.
“Why?” She has actual tears in her eyes. “I mean, why now?”
He walks straight toward her like he honestly can’t help himself. Stops a few feet away and looks awkward and embarrassed. Smiles nervously around at everyone. Decides he doesn’t care and not only comes up to the bar but ducks under the flap and right over to her, inches away. Holds his hands out toward her then pulls them back in fists then tucks them in the back pockets of his jeans. “You were right. We can’t just let them back like nothing happened. Everything happened. They have to know we know it. They have to know we’re watching this time, paying attention.”
“What happened to ‘We have to be nice to them because it’s our best shot at being treated well’？”
“We tried that already. It didn’t work out that great. So I’m standing with you. We’ll try something else this time.”
“Tried that too,” Hobart grunts. “We’ve been suing them sixteen years now.”
“Omar has a job too, you know,” Tom says.