imagined himself the raffle winner. He whacked off like a teenager to put himself to sleep.
When he got to work the next day, early for his shift, the place was crawling with white hats. They were everywhere: talking to the crews, poking around. He assumed it was because of the accident, and Acey, but Kyle Jaker told him that one of the foremen had been caught diverting stainless steel to replace the pipes in his house.
“That’s all?” Steven asked. The place looked like a kicked-over anthill.
“When’s the raffle?” Jaker asked.
“I can’t do it with all these hats here.”
Jaker scanned the busy plant. “I should’ve bought more tickets,” he finally said. “You got any left?”
“No.”
“You got your own?”
“I didn’t buy any.”
Jaker raised his eyebrows at him.
“I forgot to,” Steven admitted.
“So when’s the raffle?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “After the white hats clear out.”
“Hey,” Jaker said. “I was just asking.”
The white hats didn’t clear out, and everyone was jittery. There were too many men on the floor, and they got in each other’s way, with no one sleeping on the scaffolding. Steven kept waiting for someone to clap him on the shoulder, charge him with pandering, and throw him in jail.
Word started going around that the drawing would be at the bar, and the rumor became a kind of groundswell, it had its own momentum. The guys had given him ten bucks, or twenty, and they wanted a raffle. By the end of his shift, he had sweated through his shirt, and he changed to a new one.
He’d never seen the bar so packed. Kyle Jaker produced a hard hat and offered to do the drawing, so Steven gave him the cards. Jaker stood on a barstool and grinned down at the men standing shoulder to shoulder in the bar, staring up at him. He held the hat over his head and drew out half a card, slowly, as if performing a blood ritual. Then he held the card so everyone could see it. “Red-backed three of clubs,” he announced. “Fuck, that’s not me.”
Everyone in the room dug in his pocket or looked at the stub in his hand. Finally Frank Mantini came forward. He’d left the plant, and Steven hadn’t sold him any tickets. He handed Jaker a stub, and Jaker held it up to match the card he’d drawn. A sigh of disappointment rose up from the crowd, and there was a round of applause for Frank. Acey’s ruined foreman seemed to have some kind of right to the girl. Then the men poured out the door to go home to their families, or to bed. The built-up, waiting tension in the room was gone.
“Congrats, Frankie,” Kyle Jaker said. He clapped him on the shoulder and moved off.
Frank Mantini turned to Steven, still holding the cut card.
“Where’d you get that?” Steven asked him.
“I had twelve of them,” Frank said. “Someone called me. I came down and bought what I could off the guys. I’ve got daughters her age.”
“Don’t start,” Steven said. “I didn’t want to get involved.”
Frank handed him the halved three of clubs. A vein stuck out of his temple. He seemed to have more white in his hair than he had two weeks ago, but Steven could have imagined that. “You were Acey’s friend, right?” Frank asked.
Steven nodded.
Frank shook his head. He looked hollow-eyed. “When you see her,” he said, “would you tell her to knock this shit off ?”
Steven said he would.
He drove by Rita’s apartment after leaving the bar. He was thinking that if he had bought a ticket and won, he would have wanted his prize. He’d been thinking of her the way everyone else had, of her small hands and her wide mouth, of her straddling him with her skinny legs. She was the girl in the Springsteen song, if anyone was. Wrap your legs round these velvet rims, and strap your hands across my engines . Now he could wake her up and tell her she was free—he could be the good-guy hero. Or, he realized as he sat in the dark in his truck, he could pass off Frank’s three of
When he got to work the next day, early for his shift, the place was crawling with white hats. They were everywhere: talking to the crews, poking around. He assumed it was because of the accident, and Acey, but Kyle Jaker told him that one of the foremen had been caught diverting stainless steel to replace the pipes in his house.
“That’s all?” Steven asked. The place looked like a kicked-over anthill.
“When’s the raffle?” Jaker asked.
“I can’t do it with all these hats here.”
Jaker scanned the busy plant. “I should’ve bought more tickets,” he finally said. “You got any left?”
“No.”
“You got your own?”
“I didn’t buy any.”
Jaker raised his eyebrows at him.
“I forgot to,” Steven admitted.
“So when’s the raffle?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “After the white hats clear out.”
“Hey,” Jaker said. “I was just asking.”
The white hats didn’t clear out, and everyone was jittery. There were too many men on the floor, and they got in each other’s way, with no one sleeping on the scaffolding. Steven kept waiting for someone to clap him on the shoulder, charge him with pandering, and throw him in jail.
Word started going around that the drawing would be at the bar, and the rumor became a kind of groundswell, it had its own momentum. The guys had given him ten bucks, or twenty, and they wanted a raffle. By the end of his shift, he had sweated through his shirt, and he changed to a new one.
He’d never seen the bar so packed. Kyle Jaker produced a hard hat and offered to do the drawing, so Steven gave him the cards. Jaker stood on a barstool and grinned down at the men standing shoulder to shoulder in the bar, staring up at him. He held the hat over his head and drew out half a card, slowly, as if performing a blood ritual. Then he held the card so everyone could see it. “Red-backed three of clubs,” he announced. “Fuck, that’s not me.”
Everyone in the room dug in his pocket or looked at the stub in his hand. Finally Frank Mantini came forward. He’d left the plant, and Steven hadn’t sold him any tickets. He handed Jaker a stub, and Jaker held it up to match the card he’d drawn. A sigh of disappointment rose up from the crowd, and there was a round of applause for Frank. Acey’s ruined foreman seemed to have some kind of right to the girl. Then the men poured out the door to go home to their families, or to bed. The built-up, waiting tension in the room was gone.
“Congrats, Frankie,” Kyle Jaker said. He clapped him on the shoulder and moved off.
Frank Mantini turned to Steven, still holding the cut card.
“Where’d you get that?” Steven asked him.
“I had twelve of them,” Frank said. “Someone called me. I came down and bought what I could off the guys. I’ve got daughters her age.”
“Don’t start,” Steven said. “I didn’t want to get involved.”
Frank handed him the halved three of clubs. A vein stuck out of his temple. He seemed to have more white in his hair than he had two weeks ago, but Steven could have imagined that. “You were Acey’s friend, right?” Frank asked.
Steven nodded.
Frank shook his head. He looked hollow-eyed. “When you see her,” he said, “would you tell her to knock this shit off ?”
Steven said he would.
He drove by Rita’s apartment after leaving the bar. He was thinking that if he had bought a ticket and won, he would have wanted his prize. He’d been thinking of her the way everyone else had, of her small hands and her wide mouth, of her straddling him with her skinny legs. She was the girl in the Springsteen song, if anyone was. Wrap your legs round these velvet rims, and strap your hands across my engines . Now he could wake her up and tell her she was free—he could be the good-guy hero. Or, he realized as he sat in the dark in his truck, he could pass off Frank’s three of
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