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The Night Visitor - Part 2
Second in a five-part fictional holiday tale.
Everyone laughed, beaming at the old man. It was the 24th time they'd heard that story; Old Milt had told it every year since he'd sold the shop. He'd sold his life's work, the place he'd started after getting back from the Big One, to the two young Turks he'd brought up in the craft, Tony and Bart. Every once in a while, when he got bored with Sudoku, he'd stop by to do a simple oil and lube job. Just to stay tuned.
"Speaking of giving it up . . . " Johnny T.'s voice, so modulated and elegant for so huge a man, began. "Got a little announcement for you, boys. Come Dec. 31, that's it for Tomasso Hardware. I'm shutting down. The Home Depot was hard enough to fight, but when Lowe's opened, too . . . " He shrugged. "Ending 31 years on the 31st. Kind of full circle."
Cries of "Oh, no!," "Damn!" and "Jeez, Johnny, I'm sorry" ran around the ring of chairs like The Wave circling Citizens Bank Park. Johnny held up a hand: "Hey, weep not for Johnny and the missus. We've socked a little away. In fact, did I ever tell you my Charlotte has an eye for the stocks? She bought Intel way back in the day, Google at the IPO. In fact, Jan. 2, we leave for an Alaskan cruise, 17 days. I'll send postcards."
A hubbub of surprise and mock anger rose from the group. Hands clapped Johnny on the shoulder, just as a greasy rag hit him on his gray beard. Old Milt still had excellent aim. "Forty years we know each other and you couldn't of clued me in on this here Google thing?" Old Milt grumbled.
"Milt, you never bought a share of stock in your life, you old miser. You still got the money from your first oil change in your mattress."
"True, that." "Amen, brother." "Milt, ya gotta admit . . . " bubbled up from the circle as Old Milt waved a hand in mock disgust.
Tony's eyes spied some internal horizon as he sipped his Chianti: "I suppose we'll be next, Bart, if we're not careful. The business is changing; change is the constant. All these new makes and models, we spend more time in class now than we ever did at the high, right, Bart? The customer has no idea what repairs really cost, with all the electronics now. And the dealers, with their free inspections and oil changes, they lure them in, then hammer 'em. The pirates! And these people who lease, Lord, they act like, 'I'm leasin', why should I have to change the oil or put on tires.' You gotta have a lot of grit to survive today, a will to persevere."
"Uh-oh, there Tony goes again, going all sobby with histwilight of the giants riff," someone said. "Cut off his Chianti."
A cell phone rang. The room froze. With a flourish, The Kid pulled hisphoneout, looked on the screen and said, in a singsong, "Ton-eee, it's your wiiii-ife!"
"Damn," Tony said. "Buyin' again next year."
Club rule: Once the party starts, every man gives his cell phone to another. First guy whose wife calls telling him to come home now, or he'll be sorry, has to buy the beer next year.
As the others high-fived, Tony hit the green button on his cell. It was Colleen: "Tone, hon, I know it's early but I just wanted to remind you about the Christmas pageant tonight. Bridget has her solo first thing. We've got to get there early to get seats."
"Yeah, hon, I know. I know. Don't worry. I'll be there."
Seconds later Bart's cell rang in Scootch's pocket (Scootch never had to worry about buying beer; his wife didn't want him home). Nicolena just wanted to remind Bart that the feast of the seven fishes was starting at 7 at her mother's house, and they had to swing by to pick up Aunt Elvie first.
"God, Nicolena, you couldn't have called a minute sooner?" Tony pleaded to the ceiling.
Still, some time remained for seconds on the pork and the slaw, a new round of drinks, a new round of old stories that aged better than a good red. Friends drifted in, drifted out as the regulars held court on the ring of chairs.
A little before 4, Tony put hands on thighs and pulled himself up. "Well, I'd better be off - "
" - or you'll be sorry," a chorus replied.
Tony walked to the door that connected the shop to the office just as a banging clatter rose at the front door.
