Gallagher
was black Irish; he had a swarthy complexion and jet dark hair he kept combed
back in a 50’s pompadour. His wiry frame
surged forward surely and even aggressively as he moved, and yet there was
always something furtive in his manner.
“The whole idea sounds totally crazy,” he said now after Connor had
described to him in detail the meeting he’d had that morning with Elicott. “I don’t know why you’d want to get involved
in something so screwed up in the first place.
You’re flat broke and have nothing solid lined up. You don’t even have any interviews scheduled,
at least none that you’ve told me about.
Don’t you think you’d do better to be out looking for a real job instead
of wasting your time on this pseudoscientific nonsense?”
“They’re
going to be paying me,” replied Connor.
“That’s one thing. The money
isn’t very good, I’ll give you that much, but it will at least help me make the
rent until something better comes along.”
The
two friends were drinking Guinness at a bar called the Rose of Shannon on East
41st Street. When it had
opened, decades before, it had been a genuine Irish pub filled with hard
drinking construction workers from Galway and Killarney, but over the years it
had lost its identity. These days it was
nothing more than another generic midtown watering hole that served preheated
tacos and lasagna to a white collar crowd during lunch hour. The only reason Connor could see that Gallagher
wanted to meet there was the convenience it offered. Not only was the rundown establishment – it
had a “C” rating from the Health Department pasted on its front window –
located close to the Madison Avenue law offices where Gallagher was employed as
a paralegal, but it also had a reasonably priced happy hour that continued
until well into the evening hours. Not
that that amenity helped bring in much business. At half past six, the two had the place to
themselves.
Connor,
who had been staring idly at a drooping string of cardboard shamrocks hung over
the bar, finished his second Guinness and turned his head toward
Gallagher. “I don’t know why you’d want
to refer to legitimate research as ‘nonsense.’”
“You
know perfectly well what I’m talking about.
I’ve heard all about this lucid dreaming. There’s at least one article a month on it in
the Sunday supplement. It’s just the
latest fad. Last year it was crystals,
and this year it’s controlling your dreams.
There’s no more scientific basis to it than there is to astrology.” He gave his companion a pitying look. “Face it.
There’s no difference between this and the ‘new age’ shit you were into
in college.”
“It
wasn’t on the curriculum as far as I can remember,” Connor snapped back.
“Stop
jerking my chain. I remember what it was
like when we were undergraduates. While
the rest of us were smuggling kegs of beer into the dorm, you’d either be
practicing Tibetan meditation or else telling fortunes with the I Ching.
You were always a dreamer. You
haven’t got a practical bone in your body.”
“Actually,
I consulted The Book of Changes
before I went to the interview this morning.”
Connor was all at once effusive. “The
hexagram that came up was the first, ‘the Creative,’ with no changing
lines. That’s as favorable an answer as
anyone can expect when asking the oracle about a course of action he’s
considering.”
“See
what I mean? That sort of crap is
exactly what I’m talking about.”
“And
what’s wrong with pursuing my interests even if they don’t fill my pockets with
gold? Is it so terrible of me to want
more out of life than just getting rich?”
“Being
out of work is what. If you spent more
time trying to find a job you wouldn’t be where you are now. And before you ask, down and out is where you
are now.”
“You
don’t get it,” said Connor. “I’m hoping
that taking part in the project might actually help me find a job somewhere
down the line.”
Gallagher
made no attempt to hide his impatience.
“Great. So you’re going to dream
yourself into a good job. Now I’ve heard
it all.”
“That’s
not what I meant and you know it. Stop
being such an ass.”
“If
one of us sitting here is an ass, it’s not me.”
Connor
twisted slowly about on his stool and gave Gallagher a searching look. It was as though he were seeing his friend
for the first time and not liking at all what he found. “What’s come over you lately?” he asked
softly. “You and I used to be close. We were best friend for years. Remember?
Lately, though, you start riding me without any cause and get all over
my case no matter what I say or do.” He
paused long enough to think back over the last several times he’d met with
Gallagher. “You’ve been like this ever
since I got out. Is it because I’ve been
inside that you’ve changed toward me so much?
Is that it? Maybe you don’t feel
comfortable hanging with an ex-con. I
can understand that. Just say the word
and I’ll be gone.”
“Hey,
you’ve got it wrong, my man.” Gallagher was
immediately defensive. “I’m just worried
about you, that’s all. If I’m giving you
some tough love it’s only because I hate seeing you on the skids and want to do
what I can to help.” There was an edge
of rebuke in his voice. “I’m sorry if
you’re not able to see it that way. If
you ask me, you’re getting way too sensitive in your old age. You should be more appreciative when the
people around you take the time to give you some solid advice.”
Connor
wasn’t having any of it. All the anger
and resentment that had been building for weeks inside him came spilling
out. “I don’t need any encouragement
from anyone. I go out every single day
looking for work, and you know that’s the truth. I’ve emailed more resumes than I can count
and put on a suit and gone to every single interview I’ve been able to drum
up. And you know what I’ve gotten for
all my efforts? Nada, that’s what. No one even calls me back a second time. Most just push me out the door the first
chance they get. They tell me I’m
‘overqualified,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean, and let it go at that. They’d spend more time talking with a
terrorist than they do with me.”
“So
what do you think the problem is?”
Gallagher took another sip of his Guinness. “Is it because they know you’ve got a
record?”
“No. It never reaches the point where they’d do a
background check. That would only come
after a second interview. I’d have to
consent to it beforehand, I think. And
they wouldn’t bother checking anyway unless they were getting ready to make an
offer.”
“So
what gives then?”
“Oh,
it’s not any kind of conspiracy.” Connor
shook his head sadly. “I’ve just got the
wrong background for today’s job market.
I think the biggest problem is that I was a liberal arts major. No one’s looking for that kind of degree any
longer. Everyone wants to hire techies
who can write code, or else some fool who’s got a business degree in
accounting. How intelligent or reliable
I am doesn’t count for shit these days.”
“I
can understand that. That’s why when I
was in college I only signed up for courses that looked good on my resume and
then made sure to find something secure as soon as I graduated. Otherwise I’d be standing out there on the
street right beside you.”
“And
it doesn’t help that I’m in my forties,” Connor went on. “As far as potential employers are concerned,
I’m already over the hill. Not that
they’ll ever say it. They’re too smart
to risk getting sued for age discrimination.
That doesn’t mean I can’t see it in their eyes, though, the whole time
they’re talking to me.”
“Don’t
get paranoid. It’s just that there are
too many people looking for not enough jobs.
Everyone says the recession is over, but I certainly don’t see any
recovery coming down the road. People are
desperate.”
Connor
shrugged. “The world’s changed.”
Gallagher
finished his Guinness, knocked back a shot of Bushmills, and went back to where
the conversation had begun. “But what
got you interested in this sleep project to begin with? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“I
told you…”
“Yeah,
I know what you told me. I’m not
deaf. It’s just that there’s got to be
more to it than what you’re letting on.
What’s the real attraction that’s pulling you in?”
“Nothing,
except maybe that taking part in a project like this will give me a break from
what’s going on in the real world. If
nothing else, it’ll help me get away from my problems, at least for a few
hours. That’s something anyway.”
“Pretending
your problems aren’t there isn’t going to solve them. You’re just looking to escape reality.”
“Is
it really such a bad thing to want to get away for a while?”
“It
is if you starve,” Gallagher replied.
“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”
“Stop
taking everything I say so seriously, will you?” Gallagher laughed out loud. “Well, one good thing about this gig is that
if worst comes to worst and your roommates throw you out for not paying your
rent, you can at least be sure of a place to sleep. You won’t have to worry you’ll end up in some
homeless shelter with a bunch of crackheads.”
“Anything
has got to be an improvement over where I am now. Three roommates sharing a two-bedroom
apartment in Bed-Stuy is as bad as it gets.
It’s not some upscale condo either.
Everyone talks about how the neighborhood is improving, but there are
mice and roaches crawling all over the place.”
“What
you should really do is to stop crying in your beer and find yourself a good
looking girlfriend you can shack up with.
That would solve a lot of your problems right there.” Gallagher’s expression quickly dissolved into
a leer. “With a little luck, she’d have
a pretty sister you could introduce me to.”
“Oh,
please.” Connor groaned. “The last thing I need right now is another
relationship. I’ve had enough to do with
women to last me a lifetime.”
Gallagher
was insistent. “You shouldn’t be so
negative, my man. If you had someone
there for you, you wouldn’t feel so alone.
It’s good to have another person to share your problems with. Someone besides me, I mean.”
“Bullshit. It’s bad enough having you sitting here
telling me how low I’ve fallen. It would
be a hell of a lot worse if I were living with some woman who had high
expectations for me; then I’d have to listen to her night and day giving me
grief because I was still out of work.
No, thank you. I don’t need that
at all.”
“Being
alone all the time isn’t healthy for you.”
Gallagher delivered this last piece of advice in a solemn tone. “You’ll end up a misanthrope. Mark my words.”
“Hell. You know I just got divorced. That job I pulled and got sent away for was
all Jocelyn’s idea in the first place.
If it hadn’t been for her pushing me I’d never have tried it. And then, after I’d been caught and
convicted, the bitch decided she didn’t want to wait around while I finished my
sentence. She had the papers served on
me while I was still inside. Do you have
any idea what a punch in the gut that was?
I still can’t figure why she did me dirt that way. It doesn’t make sense. I keep wondering if she didn’t have some
other guy on the side all along. That’s
the only thing that would explain it.”
“What
did I just tell you about getting paranoid?”
Gallagher had stopped smiling.
“Weren’t you listening to a word I said?”
“Yeah,
yeah, I heard you. But I’ve got to tell
you, it’s going to be a long time before I can get over what Jocelyn did and
bring myself to trust another woman.”
Connor looked pointedly at his companion. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Oh,
you are just full of faith in the human race, aren’t you? Well, whatever you say, man. I’ll tell you, though, I’m not in the mood to
listen to any more of your self-pity right now.” Gallagher finished off his Guinness in a
hurry and stood up. He beckoned to the
bartender, a heavyset bald man who had spent the past half hour watching the
news on the overhead TV. “Hey, Igor, are
you awake over there? I guess you think
if you stand there long enough another customer is bound to walk in sooner or
later.”
“How
did you know my name was Igor?” asked the man in a heavy Slavic accent. He moved slowly toward the pair while giving
them both a dirty look.
“Ha. I must have heard it once in a dream.” Gallagher laughed uproariously at his own
joke. “That’s got to be it.”
“That’s
not very funny,” said the barman. He definitely
didn’t appear amused.
“Lay
off him,” said Connor to Gallagher.
“He’s not bothering anyone.”
Igor
regarded Gallagher suspiciously. “You
guys all finished?” Without waiting for
a reply he took their glasses and placed them in the sink behind him.
Gallagher
tossed a twenty on the bar. “My treat,”
he said to Connor. Then he added, “Maybe
you’re right. Maybe this crazy project
is what you need after all.”
Connor
looked at his friend sharply. “You
certainly changed your mind in a hurry.”
“Anything
to get you off your ass and back into the real world. It’s getting me depressed sitting here
listening to you. You need some kind of
break in your life, that’s all I know.”
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