I thought I saw her
doubts begin to vanish in the rain. “Hey, you can
mail it back to me when you’re flush again.”
She gave a dry little laugh and said, “That’ll
probably be never.” I shrugged and said,
“You’re on a bad roll, that’s all Look, I
don’t want you to get any wrong ideas, but I’ve
got a car right across the street. I could drive you
home…as long as you don’t live in Portland or
someplace.”
She seemed to be considering it. I knew I didn’t
look like anything out of the Seattle social register, so
sincerity was probably the best I could hope for. I leaned
in close, crossed my arms against her window, and talked to
her through the crack. “Look, miss, you can’t
stay out here all night. If you’re broke, I’ll
loan you the money for a place…a cheap place,
okay?…no strings attached. Call it my good deed for
the year, chalk it up to my Eagle Scout days. If
you’re worried about me, I can understand that,
I’ll slip you the money through the window and give
you an address where you can send it back to me when your
ship comes in. What do you say?”
“I thought Good Samaritans were
extinct.”
“Actually, I’m your guardian angel,” I
said, trying for a kidding tone to put her at ease.
“Well, you’ve sure been a long time
coming.”
“We never show up until the darkest possible
moment.”
“Then you’re right on time.”
“I could spare thirty dollars. You won’t get
much of a room for that, but it’s better than sitting
in your car all night.”
She leaned close to the crack and studied my face.
“Why would you do something like that?”
“Because you look like you’ve just lost your
last friend. Because I know you’ll pay me back.
Because once or twice in my life, I’ve been so far
down it looked like up to me.”
“Richard Farina.”
I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised she had
made that connection.
“That’s the title of a book by Richard
Farina.
Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me
.”
I said, “Oh,” and pretended not to know it.
I’d have to watch that, keep the literary metaphors
out of my talk until I saw where we were heading.
“So what do you say?” I asked.
“I won’t take your money…but, yeah,
maybe a ride…I could use a ride if you’re going
my way.”
“I’m sure I am.”
I told her to stay put and I’d drive up close so
she wouldn’t get wet. Then I had her, snuggled in the
seat beside me. No wonder monsters like Ted Bundy had it so
easy. That thought crossed her mind too and she said,
“I guess I’m a sitting duck if you’re
some wacko from a funny farm.” She shrugged as if
even that wouldn’t matter much. I gave her the big
effort, a smile I hoped was reassuring. “Ma’am,
I don’t blame you at all for thinking that, I’d
be thinking it myself if I were in your shoes. All I can
tell you is, you’re as safe with me as you’d be
in a police station.”
I hoped this wasn’t laying it on too thick, but it
didn’t seem to bother her. “My name’s
Janeway.”
Her hand was warm and dry as it disappeared into mine.
“Eleanor Rigby.”
I was surprised that she’d use her real name: she
probably hadn’t had time yet to get used to being a
fugitive.
“Eleanor Rigby,” I repeated. “You mean
like…” and I hummed the staccato
counterpoint.
She tensed visibly at the melody. For a moment I was
sure she was going to get out and walk away in the rain.
“You’ve probably heard that a million
times,” I said, trying to make light of it. “I
imagine you’re sick of it by now.” Still she
said nothing: she seemed to be trying to decide about me
all over again. “Look, I didn’t mean anything
by that. I grew up on Beatles music, it was just a natural
connection I made. I sure wasn’t relating you to the
woman in the song.”
Her eyes never left my face. Again
doubts begin to vanish in the rain. “Hey, you can
mail it back to me when you’re flush again.”
She gave a dry little laugh and said, “That’ll
probably be never.” I shrugged and said,
“You’re on a bad roll, that’s all Look, I
don’t want you to get any wrong ideas, but I’ve
got a car right across the street. I could drive you
home…as long as you don’t live in Portland or
someplace.”
She seemed to be considering it. I knew I didn’t
look like anything out of the Seattle social register, so
sincerity was probably the best I could hope for. I leaned
in close, crossed my arms against her window, and talked to
her through the crack. “Look, miss, you can’t
stay out here all night. If you’re broke, I’ll
loan you the money for a place…a cheap place,
okay?…no strings attached. Call it my good deed for
the year, chalk it up to my Eagle Scout days. If
you’re worried about me, I can understand that,
I’ll slip you the money through the window and give
you an address where you can send it back to me when your
ship comes in. What do you say?”
“I thought Good Samaritans were
extinct.”
“Actually, I’m your guardian angel,” I
said, trying for a kidding tone to put her at ease.
“Well, you’ve sure been a long time
coming.”
“We never show up until the darkest possible
moment.”
“Then you’re right on time.”
“I could spare thirty dollars. You won’t get
much of a room for that, but it’s better than sitting
in your car all night.”
She leaned close to the crack and studied my face.
“Why would you do something like that?”
“Because you look like you’ve just lost your
last friend. Because I know you’ll pay me back.
Because once or twice in my life, I’ve been so far
down it looked like up to me.”
“Richard Farina.”
I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised she had
made that connection.
“That’s the title of a book by Richard
Farina.
Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me
.”
I said, “Oh,” and pretended not to know it.
I’d have to watch that, keep the literary metaphors
out of my talk until I saw where we were heading.
“So what do you say?” I asked.
“I won’t take your money…but, yeah,
maybe a ride…I could use a ride if you’re going
my way.”
“I’m sure I am.”
I told her to stay put and I’d drive up close so
she wouldn’t get wet. Then I had her, snuggled in the
seat beside me. No wonder monsters like Ted Bundy had it so
easy. That thought crossed her mind too and she said,
“I guess I’m a sitting duck if you’re
some wacko from a funny farm.” She shrugged as if
even that wouldn’t matter much. I gave her the big
effort, a smile I hoped was reassuring. “Ma’am,
I don’t blame you at all for thinking that, I’d
be thinking it myself if I were in your shoes. All I can
tell you is, you’re as safe with me as you’d be
in a police station.”
I hoped this wasn’t laying it on too thick, but it
didn’t seem to bother her. “My name’s
Janeway.”
Her hand was warm and dry as it disappeared into mine.
“Eleanor Rigby.”
I was surprised that she’d use her real name: she
probably hadn’t had time yet to get used to being a
fugitive.
“Eleanor Rigby,” I repeated. “You mean
like…” and I hummed the staccato
counterpoint.
She tensed visibly at the melody. For a moment I was
sure she was going to get out and walk away in the rain.
“You’ve probably heard that a million
times,” I said, trying to make light of it. “I
imagine you’re sick of it by now.” Still she
said nothing: she seemed to be trying to decide about me
all over again. “Look, I didn’t mean anything
by that. I grew up on Beatles music, it was just a natural
connection I made. I sure wasn’t relating you to the
woman in the song.”
Her eyes never left my face. Again
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