—Well, it’s nice to see you, Duchess. What brings you to town?
—Oh, this and that. I need to see a friend up in Harlem tomorrow, but I’m also looking for my old man. He and I have got a little unfinished business, as it were. Unfortunately, he checked out of the Sunshine Hotel in such a hurry, he forgot to leave me word of where he was going. But I figured if anyone in the city of New York would know where Harry was, it would be his old pal Fitzy.
Fitzy was shaking his head before I finished speaking.
—No, he said. I don’t know where your father is, Duchess. I haven’t seen him in weeks.
Then he looked at his untouched drink with a downcast expression.
—Where are my manners, I said. Let me buy you a drink.
—Oh, that’s okay. I still have this one.
—That little thing? It hardly does you justice.
Getting up, I went to the bar and asked the bartender for a bottle of whatever Fitzy was drinking. When I came back, I pulled the cork and filled his glass to the brim.
—That’s more like it, I said as he looked down at the whiskey without a smile.
What a cruel irony, I thought to myself. I mean, here was the very thing that Fitzy had been dreaming of for half his life. Prayed for even. A highball glass filled to the top with whiskey—and at someone else’s expense, no less. But now that it was sitting there in front of him, he wasn’t so sure that he wanted it.
—Go on, I encouraged. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.
Almost reluctantly, he raised the glass and tipped it in my direction. The gesture wasn’t quite as heartfelt as the one he’d shown my old man’s empty chair, but I expressed my gratitude nonetheless.
This time, when the glass made it to his lips he took a healthy swallow, like he was making up for the drink he hadn’t taken before. Then, setting the glass down, he looked at me and waited. Because that’s what has-beens do: They wait.
When it comes to waiting, has-beens have had plenty of practice. Like when they were waiting for their big break, or for their number to come in. Once it became clear that those things weren’t going to happen, they started waiting for other things. Like for the bars to open, or the welfare check to arrive. Before too long, they were waiting to see what it would be like to sleep in a park, or to take the last two puffs from a discarded cigarette. They were waiting to see what new indignity they could become accustomed to while they were waiting to be forgotten by those they once held dear. But most of all, they waited for the end.
—Where is he, Fitzy?
Fitzy shook his head more at himself than at me.
—Like I said, Duchess, I haven’t seen him in weeks. I swear to it.
—Normally, I’d be inclined to believe any word that fell from your lips. Particularly when you swore to it.
That one made him wince.
—It’s just that when I sat down, you didn’t seem so surprised to see me. Now, why would that be?
—I don’t know, Duchess. Maybe I was surprised on the inside?
I laughed out loud.
—Maybe you were at that. Though, you know what I think? I think you weren’t surprised because my old man told you I might be coming around. But in order for him to have done that, he must have spoken to you in the last few days. In fact, it probably happened while you were sitting right here.
I tapped the table with a finger.
—And if he told you he was hightailing it out of town, he must have told you where he was headed. After all, you two are as thick as thieves.
At the word thieves, Fitzy winced again. Then he looked even more downcast, if such a thing could be imagined.
—I’m sorry, he said softly.
—What’s that?
I leaned a little forward, like I couldn’t quite hear him, and he looked up with what appeared to be a genuine pang of regret.
—I’m so sorry, Duchess, he said. I’m sorry I put those things about you in that statement. Sorry that I signed it.
For a guy who didn’t want to talk, suddenly you couldn’t stop him.
—I had been drinking the night before, you see. And I get real uneasy around police, but especially when they’re asking me questions. Questions about what I might have seen or heard, even though my sight and hearing weren’t what they used to be. Or my memory either. Then when the officers began to express some frustration, your father took me aside and tried to help refresh my memory. . . .
As Fitzy went on, I picked up the bottle of whiskey and gave it a gander. In the middle of the label was a big green shamrock. It made me smile to see it. I mean, what luck did a glass of whiskey ever bring anyone. And Irish whiskey at that.