The Age of Cities by Brett Josef Grubisic Page A

worse than all that.”
    Winston had never before dedicated a second of thought to the secret lives of cocktail lounges and beer parlours. Were they like Dot West, something other than what they appeared? After hearing Dickie’s revelations about perversion and managerial backstabbing at the Hudson’s Bay, he guessed it was possible; nothing was impervious. Winston felt suddenly eager to hear vignettes of cocktail lounge confidential.
    But the silence hinted that now was not the time for Ed’s revelations. Winston turned to the silent Contessa. He lurched slightly, eyes still closed.
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    Winston was unable to keep pace with the thoroughbred conversationalists who surrounded him. He felt tongue-tied. As always that trait worried him; but he soon discovered that while he was frequently the object of attention—“Hush now, we’ll give the farmer a bad impression,” “Listen up, Hayseed”—he needed only appear alert and engaged. It was enjoyable listening to the racy talk that cemented their strange fraternity. The experience was reminiscent of sitting in a movie theatre and watching outlandishly bad characters interact with supremely heroic ones. Part of the pleasure came from knowing that their moral extremes bore little relation to the daily life of ordinary men.
    Besides, Winston could feel that his throat was scratchy from all the cigarette smoke; speaking at their rate would render him hoarse in short order. He envisioned them transplanted to the staff room and smiled at the quiet outraged responses they’d inspire. Mrs. Pierce would be beside herself, huffing and completely outgunned.
    â€œWell, we’d better get you back to your hotel before they lock up this town and throw away the key.” Dickie was already sliding back his chair so that he could stand. “Okay, boys, it was enchantant as ever. I’ll be seeing you.”
    Winston followed. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. Depending on my foot, it may be that we’ll meet again soon.”
    â€œThe pleasure was ours,” Johnny said intently, then smiled. “See you, Hayseed.”
    â€œAu revoir.” Pierre’s eyes remained closed as he mumbled the words, “To be divine is your task and mine.”
    Ed stood and shook Winston’s hand energetically.
    The air outside was brisk and sharp with seashore decay. The breeze had picked up. Dickie told Winston that they would never find a taxicab; had they chosen to, they could have walked along the middle of the street without a single car passing them by. After he assured his guest that the fifteen-minute walk would be over in no time, Dickie offered up no additional words.
    â€œEd’s a bit of a lush, hey?” Winston said, trying on Dickie’s cattiness for size.
    â€œHe’s a close friend,” Dickie said. “I prefer not to speak of him in that way. He can’t help himself; he’s had a tough time of it.”
    Winston waited, thinking that Dickie was soon to launch into a fresh salvo of gossip. A dead or delinquent child maybe, lost jobs, or a wife who’d cruelly abandoned him. Dickie chose to elaborate no further.
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t know.” That was all Winston could think to say.
    â€œIt’s nothing. We go a long way back, that’s all.”
    Winston felt confused like a bounding breed of dog with a master who let him roam free and then abruptly kept him tightly leashed. He was itching for Dickie to entice him with another story of epic misdeeds, but could never guess when one might surface.
    â€œIt’s their benediction, in case you’re wondering.”
    â€œPardon me?” Winston was relieved, glad to offer encouragement.
    â€œThe Contessa belongs to the Queen For A Day Club, and corresponds with other winners in the States. When they have their luncheons they chant, ‘To be divine is your task and mine’ before they