—Ingenious. You must have the market to yourself.
—For a time, we did, he admitted. But soon enough our competitors were following suit.
—So you’ve got to keep one step ahead.
—Precisely. That’s why this year, I’m proud to say, we became the first blender manufacturer in America to introduce a fourth stage of blending.
—A fourth stage? After mix, beat, and whip?
The suspense was killing me.
—Puree.
—Bravo, I said.
And in a way, I meant it.
I gave him another once-over, this one in admiration. Then I asked him if he had fought in the war.
—I didn’t have the honor of doing so, he said, also for the ten thousandth time.
I shook my head in sympathy.
—What a hoopla when the boys came home. Fireworks and parades. Mayors pinning medals on lapels. And all the good-looking dames lining up to kiss any putz in a uniform. But you know what I think? I think the American people should pay a little more homage to the traveling salesmen.
He couldn’t tell if I was having him on or not. So I put a hint of emotion into my voice.
—My father was a traveling salesman. Oh, the miles he logged. The doorbells he rang. The nights he spent far from the comforts of home. I say to you that traveling salesmen are not simply hardworking men, they are the foot soldiers of capitalism!
I think he actually blushed at that one. Though it was hard to tell given his complexion.
—It’s an honor to meet you, sir, I said, and I stuck out my hand even though I hadn’t dried it yet.
* * *
? ? ?
When I came out of the bathroom, I saw our waitress and flagged her down.
—Do you need something else? she asked.
—Just the check, I replied. We’ve got places to go and people to see.
At the phrase places to go, she looked a little wistful. I do believe if I had told her we were headed for New York and offered her a ride, she would have hopped into the back seat without taking the time to change out of her uniform—if for no other reason than to see what happens when you drive off the edge of the place mat.
—I’ll bring it right over, she said.
As I headed to our booth, I regretted making fun of our neighbor for his attention to receipts. Because it suddenly occurred to me that we should be doing something similar on Emmett’s behalf. Since we were using the money from his envelope to cover our expenses, he had every right to expect a full accounting upon our return—so that he could be reimbursed before we divvied up the trust.
The night before, I’d left Woolly to pay the dinner bill while I checked into the hotel. I was going to ask him how much it ended up costing, but when I got to our booth, there was no Woolly.
Where could he have gotten to, I wondered, with a roll of the eyes. He couldn’t be in the bathroom, since that’s where I had just come from. Knowing him to be an admirer of shiny and colorful things, I looked over at the ice cream counter, but there were just two little kids pressing their noses against the glass, wishing it wasn’t so early in the morning. With a growing sense of foreboding, I turned to the plate-glass windows.
Out I looked into the parking lot, moving my gaze across the shimmering sea of glass and chrome to the very spot in which I had parked the Studebaker, and in which the Studebaker was no longer. Taking a step to my right—in order to see around a pair of beehive hairdos—I looked toward the parking lot’s entrance just in time to see Emmett’s car taking a right onto the Lincoln Highway.
—Jesus fucking shitting Christ.
Our waitress, who happened to arrive with the check at that very moment, turned pale.
—Excuse my French, I said.
Then glancing at the check, I gave her a twenty from the envelope.
As she hurried off for the change, I slumped down in my seat and stared across the table to where Woolly should have been. On his plate, which was back where it had started, the bacon was gone, along with a narrow wedge of hotcakes.
As I was admiring the precision with which Woolly had removed such a slender little slice from the stack, I noticed that under the white ceramic of his plate was the Formica surface of the table. Which is to say, the place mat was gone.
Shoving my plate aside, I picked up my own place mat. As I said before, it was a map of Illinois, with major roads and towns. But in the lower right-hand corner there was an inset with a map of the local downtown area, at the center of which was a little green square, and rising from the middle of that little green square, looking as large as life, was a statue of Abraham Lincoln.
Woolly