No loser he.
While Cheri stood in the shadows, shook, stared at Rackshack, and hovered between suicide and homicide, she heard something to her left. Sounded like a flutter of wings.
Angels of death?
Pigeons.
She glanced quickly and saw the rows of trees edging the walkway. There was a man sitting on one of the folding chairs that littered the path. There was a row of such chairs beneath the trees facing away from the street, a body here, a body there sitting in them. Partygoers getting a splash of cold air before navigating home, lovers meeting on the sly, bums, homeless. This man was different. His was a double chair. Loveseat. The view from that vantage point was of another row of chairs with their backs against a concrete balustrade, the dark empty center of the park, and above it the buildings along West Fortieth, the top of the Bryant Park Hotel all lit up like an aging Christmas tree. But the man was looking at Cheri.
He had shiny shoes: black, glossy, expensive-looking. The cuffs coming down to them were dark blue with a thin pinstripe. Cheri walked over to him. Only two kinds of men wore pinstripes in Bryant Park after eleven: big shots looking to buy and stoned Yankee fans. This guy didn’t look like baseball. He wore a dark overcoat and a pearl-gray homburg, the hair beneath it white. She stopped in front of him, her arms folded across her chest, her hands in her armpits for warmth. He had a big white mustache with pointy ends like the man in the Monopoly game. “Mister,” she said quietly.
“Yes?” he answered. His eyes were sharp blue. “Something I can do for you, my child?”
“You got ten dollars I could borrow—I mean, I could, you know, whatever you want. I really—”
“I’m sorry, my dear.” He turned his head to the right and nodded in that direction. “Are you familiar with that building?”
She looked to her left, her heart sinking. “Yeah. The Bank of America building.” She looked back at him. “What about it?”
“All my money is in there.”
“All of it?”
“With the exception of some funds my daughter spent, lost, and gave away, and other funds she now has for traveling, it’s all right there.”
Another chilly breeze stirred the leaves on the walk, and Cheri shook the man’s answer out of her head and sat next to him. “Look at me, man. Look at my face. I been beat up, robbed, I got no way home, I’m freezing, and I need something so bad right now I’d do anything. I feel so awful.”
He took his hand, touched her chin, and studied her face. Pulling back, she covered her face with her hands. “Don’t look at me, man. God, I look terrible.”
He laughed, and it was a pleasant laugh. “Well, I have neither money nor credit cards, but I can help you a little.” He stood, removed his overcoat revealing an expensive dark blue double-breasted suit, a blue silk hanky in the breast pocket that matched his necktie. He bent over her and wrapped the overcoat around Cheri’s shoulders. “Here, stand up so you can get it under you.”
Cheri stood, and the coat’s hem touched the ground it was so large. She felt lost in it, but it was so very warm, so clean, and smelled faintly of some kind of cologne. “Thanks, mister. Thanks, but—”
He motioned for her to sit down, she did so, and he sat on the seat next to her. “You were saying.”
“This is warm. So warm. Thanks. I was going to say I need something—you know, some stuff.” Cheri thought very hard about what she needed. “I don’t know. The crawlies went away.” Her confusion transformed into weariness. “Tired,” she said. “Need some rest. That’s what I need. I need a new life, but first some rest. Man, am I tired.”
“Pull your legs up so the coat covers your feet.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Get your feet warm and if you feel like taking a little nap, I’ll stand guard.”
Cheri looked long and hard into the man’s face. “I’m not a fool, mister. If you want me to do something for you, just ask.”
“I want you to take care of yourself. That’s all I ever want.”
Her eyes welled with tears at his answer because, although it had to be crap, it sounded genuine. She bent over, removed her heels, held them tightly in her hand, and pulled her aching cold feet up on the seat next to her beneath the coat. She realized she was leaning against his left arm. He lifted it and put it around her shoulders. “Mister, really, I mean if you want to reach in and cop a feel or something that’s okay—” she yawned. “Really that’s okay.”
“Thank you, Cheri.” He patted her arm with his left hand. “I’ll be too busy watching over my fortune.”
She felt herself falling asleep, wondering how much money the old guy thought he had and how this man knew her name.
There was a moment during the night when voices half-awakened her. Cop voice.
“Good evening, sir.” Cops say that to people who look like they got money. The rest they tell, “Move along, dirtbag. This ain’t no hotel.”
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, officer,” replied the man in a quiet voice.
“Is everything all right?”
“My daughter has had a remarkably tiring day. She thought she’d rest for a moment. I don’t have the heart to wake her.”
“You from out of town?” asked the cop.
“Mamaroneck now, but I grew up right on Central Park West.”
“Then you know late at night in a New York City park is not the safest place to be.”
“We’re safe enough. You seem to have things well in hand, officer.”
The cop chuckled. “Good night, sir. Have a pleasant stay in the city.”
“Thank you, officer. Good night.”
Cheri opened her eyes and saw that she had the man’s overcoat pulled up around her ears. The man had called her his daughter. It was a scam to get rid of the cop, but it felt good. For a little mini-fantasy, it felt good. Cheri snuggled in and fell asleep.
When Cheri awakened daylight was coming through a window to her left, she was sitting in a chair before a desk, and there was a young woman on the other side of the desk. The desk accessory on the edge of her desk identified her as Kelly Brandt. She looked like a Kelly Brandt: blonde and blue, slim and perky. Kelly smiled brightly at her, pushed a stack of books and bound report forms at her, and said, “Good luck, Cheri.”
Kelly smiled at the next person sitting in a chair against a wall to Cheri’s right and motioned for the woman to take Cheri’s place. The newbie was wearing blue pajamas. Cheri saw that she was wearing blue pajamas as well. Kelly, on the other hand, was wearing a red turtleneck over gray slacks. Besides Kelly’s name, her nametag said that this was a place called New Beginnings, which sounded suspiciously like a drug rehab.
That edge of panic rose. “Doesn’t this cost money?” Cheri asked.
Kelly’s eyebrows went up. “You bet it does. You’re paid in full, though, provided you complete treatment.”
“Who?”
“I’m sorry. The donor is anonymous.”
“What? How does that work?”
“It’s been going on ever since I’ve been here. A graduate from New Beginnings takes on the payment of two uninsured patients, provided they successfully complete treatment. Usually the new patients go on to fund two more and so on.”
“And you never find out who paid?”
“No.”
“And if I don’t finish treatment?”
Kelly smiled. “The next piece of mail you get will be a bill for the time you spent here.”
“What if I walk out right now?” asked Cheri.
“We’ll refund your misery with interest, no charge.”