“Shall I call Albany Savings for you? I could have someone walk you over there.”
“Don’t bother,” said George, and he went out. He looked up State Street at the Capitol, which he had watched burn in 1911 and he wondered if they ever finished rebuilding the damn thing. Yes, and maybe no. He had worked in the Document Room when Jimmy Walker was a senator and Al Smith ran the Assembly. Big Bill Sulzer wasn’t around yet, was he? It was Al who was the big man. Get me the World, the Sun, the Times and the Tribune, Georgie, Al would say. Big smile on his kisser. Here’s a dollar and you keep the change.
George crossed State and looked at Van Vechten Hall and thought of going to Beauman’s to meet the ladies, but it’s early, isn’t it? He felt for his vest pocket watch, no vest, no pocket, no watch. Wrist? There it is and it’s three o’clock, too early. Beauman’s musicians don’t set up until seven.
“Hello, George,” a fellow said.
“Hellee, helloo Brzt, Bitts, Billdy,” what the hell is his name?
“Where you off to?”
“The Club,” George said.
“You got time for a cuppa coffee?”
“All right,” said George. Bradz, Bonzi, Bunzy turned into the Waldorf Cafeteria and George followed him in, took a ticket. Crenzy ordered the coffee.
“I was talking to the sheriff yesterday,” Renzi said when they sat down. Renzi. “He says you’re not coming back to work. I told him, George’ll come back when he’s well. I don’t think so, he said. I told him, you don’t go through two cataract operations and get right back at it. George is recovering.”
“That’s how it is,” George said. “I got these new glasses, and eye drops,” and he showed Renzi his eye drops.
“Just passing on what he said. Just so you know, George. I don’t think it’s good news. Give him a call.”
“I’ll do that,” George said.
“What’d you think about Bobby Kennedy?”
“I voted for him. Patsy passed the word to cut him, but I voted for him. I’d vote for anybody named Kennedy.”
“They shot him.”
“Who shot him?”
“Some guy, I don’t know who. But they caught him right away. He’s probably a communist.”
“Kennedy’s not a communist.”
“Get the paper, Georgie. It’s all in the paper. After midnight last night, out in L.A. He just won the primary and they shot him.”
“Who won the primary?”
“Bobby.”
“They shot him because he won the primary?”
“Probably.”
“I voted for him.”
“Call the sheriff and ask him when he expects you back to work,” Renzi said. “I’ll pay for the coffee,” and he took George’s ticket.
“They don’t shoot you when you win a primary,” George said to Renzi’s back. But Renzi kept walking and George didn’t like the coffee. He went back out onto State Street and stared up at the Capitol. I saw that burn in 1911, the State Library. Two or three days it burned, maybe a week. He walked toward the Capitol and looked over at The Tub, the hotel where Al Smith stayed. The sign is down. Al doesn’t have to stay there anymore. Al didn’t have much money then but he’s got it now. When Bobby Kennedy came to Albany, George was there. Wasn’t I? I was there for Truman when he came in on the back end of a train. I was there when Adlai’s train came in and he talked to the crowd from the station platform at Columbia Street. When did Bobby come? His old man owns the Standard Building. Bootlegging, that’s how the Kennedys got their money. It was Jack they shot, not Bobby. I was there when Jack came to Albany to have lunch. His father asked Patsy for an endorsement, and Patsy backed him all the way. Patsy never liked FDR, but he backed Jack. That’s how Jack got to be president. They didn’t cut Jack. George crossed State at Eagle Street and walked toward City Hall and past it. Here comes somebody. Vih. Vivuh. Viv. Vivian. Nice Vivvie.
“Hello, Georgie,” the woman said. She was wearing a yellow straw hat.
“Hello, Vivvie,” George said, and he tipped his hat. “Going to Beauman’s, are you?”
Vivian stopped. “Oh, I wish,” she said. “Beauman’s. Those were the days. No, Georgie, just going over to Cody’s and meet a friend.”
“Cody’s.”
“Cody’s Havana, you know it well. No Beauman’s. No more.”
“Havana? I know it. Beauman’s.” Vivian walked on and George watched her go. She had legs like. Legs. Like. I’m tying the leaves so they won’t fall down and Nellie won’t go away. Pag. Pog. Legs like Peg. George turned and saw the Court House and he stopped. Can’t go there. Why not? George turned back toward City Hall and saw the Chedge coming out. Chedge Epstein and somebody. Fitz. No. Fitzmayor. No. The Mayor. They saw him coming and waited at the corner. George crossed to meet them.
“Hello, Chudge, hello Maaa,” George said.
“George, where’ve you been? We miss you.”
“Been in and out, up and down,” George said.
“Damn it all, George, let’s get you up to the lake. Get a few fellows together and play a little golf.”
“You said it, Judge. Golf. Haven’t played golf in quite a while.”
“You feeling all right, George?” the Mayor asked. “I heard they operated on you.”
“New glasses, Mayor, new eyes.”
“That’ll improve your putting,” the Mayor said.
“Putt-putt,” George said. “Going over to Havana.”
“Havana Cuba? I love it down there, but that’s a long way to go to play golf,” the Mayor said.
And George sang:“Cuba, that’s where I’m going,
Cuba, that’s where I’ll stay.”
“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” the Mayor said.
“Stop in my chambers, George,” the judge said. “We’ll talk about you coming up for some golf.”
“I will, Judge, I will. I’ll say a prayer for you.”
“A prayer? You think you can beat me?”
“Two Hail Marys,” George said.
“That’s the wrong religion,” the Judge said and he and the Mayor both laughed and walked up the street.
Judge. Epstein. Morris. Always wants me to play golf. Mayor Fitz. Fitz what? George watched the Judge and the Mayor walk up Washington Avenue. Going to have a beer, that’s what they do after work. Up to the Club. Fort Fitz. The Fort. Mayor Alex Fitz. George decided he wanted a beer, wanted it cold, the foam sliced off the top by the bartender and the glass with frost on it. He did not know where to go to get such a beer. Fort Fitzgibbon? Fort Orange? The Club has beer. Where is it? He walked down State Street past the Elks Club and turned onto Lodge Street, down past the old Christian Brothers Academy. Brother who, taught reading and writing, arithmetic, taught to the tune of the hickory stick. Brother. . I never liked him. . Knocko. Brother Bernardine was a good fella. Brother William Knocko. He walked past Jack Shaughnessy’s old Towne Tavern, but it’s not there, new place there, don’t like the looks, a dump. He walked down Beaver Street past Rudnick’s, Jack’s old Oyster House, Apollo Billiards, that’s where Billy won the candy store. We booked numbers in the back of the store and Billy dealt poker. George crossed to the other side of Beaver and walked back the way he came and up the hill to where Beaver met Eagle. He saw the second police precinct, stay out of there, and across from it he saw a word in the window that he liked, Stanwix. Patsy. He went in and stood at the bar. People on barstools were watching television. Bobby Kennedy is out of surgery. It’s shocking. In critical condition. The nation is stunned. Big colored fella behind the bar looked at George.
“What can I get you?”
“What’s in the window.”