The Walking Man, page 15
“Hey, did you catch the Shark’s game last night?”
After the movies, Steven visited at least twenty gift stores to find the perfect first date gift for Faith. He wanted something unusual and beautiful, but not too expensive. He did not want to scare Faith away. Eventually, Steven’s search ended at a boutique that featured an occasional interesting and original item interspersed among the usual hopelessly cute shit for the Hello Kitty and unicorn addicts of the world. The item that caught Steven’s eye was an amazing stickpin that bore the likeness of a rose. When he asked the boutique clerk about the item he was told it was called an “eternal rose.”
The dapper boutique man proclaimed, “It’s made by a very crafty lady in town. She constructs these pins by making gold leaf imprints of actual petals and then reassembling them into a rose. They are, without a doubt, the most exquisite item in my exquisite store. They are absolutely fabulous!”
“Perfect,” Steven said. “I’ll take it.”
Steven met Faith at the Applebee’s parking lot at precisely five o’clock. Faith was waiting. To Steven, Faith was beautiful, but she appeared to be underdressed. She was wearing gym shorts, a red Stanford University T-Shirt, and blue Ked’s sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a fanny-pack strapped to her waist, which was difficult to notice due to her exquisite fanny. No make-up was detectable on Faith’s flawless skin; no liner offset her blazing blue eyes; and no gloss coated her lips, which were naturally red like they’d just sucked the pigment out of a bowl of cherries.
“Howdy, Steven,” Faith said.
“Hi, Faith. I hope you don’t mind, but I bought you a first date gift,” Steven said nervously as he presented her with a small jewelry box containing “the eternal rose.”
“Steven. You shouldn’t have,” Faith said while opening the box.
“It’s just a little thing,” Steven replied.
“No, it’s not,” Faith said, as she inspected her gift. “It’s so cool.”
“It’s made from real rose petals,” Steven said with a look of concern.
“It’s so cool,” Faith said as she planted a kiss, that was not really a kiss, on Steven’s forehead.
An awkward moment of silence followed, then Faith said, “First stop is the Sports Authority! If you don’t mind, I need to buy some socks.”
Relieved, Steven smiled. “Socks it is! Linda, drive us to the nearest Sports Authority.”
When Steven bought the world-renowned luxury sedan he selected “pleasant female” as his voice option and named his “attendant” Linda, after an unobtainable high school beauty queen.
“Location found. Calculating distance,” the ever ready and efficient Linda replied.
“Linda is my virtual driving assistant,” Steven said. “She sounds like she hails from Redondo Beach, but she was actually born in Germany.”
Faith laughed. “I see. Hello, Linda.”
Linda did not respond.
“I think she’s jealous,” Steven said.
“What girl wouldn’t be?” Faith replied.
On the way to the Sports Authority, Steven gave Linda the music binder.
“Wow, lots of tunes,” Faith said. “Got any Tom Waits?”
Steven smiled. “Of course, look under ‘W.’ I got The Piano Has Been Drinking, Not Me.”
“Awesome!” Faith said.
As Tom Waits sang for the mentally deranged, Faith smiled and then said, “Steven, I somehow made a ton of money this week, so I want to stock up on socks. How big is your trunk?”
“Large for my size, but I have a good tailor,” Steven said.
“Car trunk,” Faith replied with a laugh.
“I don’t know…” Steven chuckled. “Big enough to hold a large cooler and a set of golf clubs.”
“Excellent,” Faith said.
While Linda guided Steven’s jet-black Mercedes to the Sports Authority, Faith told Steven about her day, which included a story about an obnoxious customer who called her “a trollop” for spilling his beer. Steven wanted the guy’s name, but Faith would not disclose it, citing bartender-client privilege.
Upon arrival at the Sports Authority, Faith said, “Steven, park in front. I’ll be right out.”
Within minutes, Faith returned with a shopping cart full of Nike branded tube socks. “Pop the lid, Steven,” Faith said. “Next stop is Dan’s Place.”
As Faith climbed back in the car, Steven said, “Dan’s Place, never heard of it. How’s the food?”
“It’s the best!” Faith said.
“Okay, to Dan’s Place, Linda,” Steven instructed.
“Calculating distance to Dan’s Place in East Palo Alto,” Linda mechanically responded.
“East Palo Alto?” Steven said.
“Don’t believe everything you hear about the street violence in East Palo Alto,” Faith said. “It’s a wonderful place!”
Steven was with Faith and she was happy, so he was not disturbed that his plans for a perfect date had been ruined.
Within minutes Linda arrived at Dan’s Place. It was a homeless shelter for men.
“We’re here!” Faith exclaimed. “And, it’s Sock Night!”
Steven was confused. “Sock Night?”
Faith smiled. “Yes, tonight we’re going to wash the feet of homeless men, give them new socks, and then share dinner and a movie. It’ll be great! Don’t worry about a thing, Steven. I brought you some rubber gloves. Come on. Let’s get the socks!”
As Steven helped Faith unload the trunk he was speechless. He was still sure Faith was “the one,” but he was also certain she was crazy.
When Steven and Faith entered Dan’s Place they were greeted like they were rock stars.
“Faith, who’s the dude?” yelled a homeless man, who Steven later learned was called “Copter.”
“Nike socks, all right, Faith! You’re the girl, girl,” yelled another guy who had dryer-lint hair and furry yellow teeth.
Faith turned toward Steven and said, “My men.”
After introductions, Faith went on to explain to Steven that many homeless men suffered from foot problems caused by malnutrition, alcoholism, mental health issues, or simple lack of access to proper health care.
Faith explained, “Gout is common, so is rot due to living in wet moldy shoes. So, once a week I wash the men’s feet. I powder them up, and give them new socks, if I can afford them.”
Dan’s Place was an old Travelodge. It slept one hundred men, and had a lobby that doubled as a soup kitchen. The shelter was run by a guy named Dan who used the borrowing skills he’d developed as a one-time heroin addict to solicit funds from various charities and restaurants. He used the money to keep the homeless men he served alive while he helped them search for a better life.
Being a self-centered survivor, Steven wanted nothing to do with street people. He considered them the world’s ultimate losers. But, he wanted Faith, so he played along with forced good humor – until the first man in a line of fifty removed his shoes. It was Copter.
Copter had a brown-gray-yellow beard that was matted like an old cat’s ass. He had blue eyes and twisted yellow teeth from smoking meth. He wore a green military jacket with the sleeves rolled-up. He had a tattoo of a Vietnam vet impaled by a screw on his right forearm. Below the image were the words: “Never Forget!” Copter’s feet were blue and covered with sores. He also had an ingrown toenail that was oozing bright-green pus. It looked like Nickelodeon slime, smelled like death, and could crawl on its own.
“My God,” Steven said to Faith.
“Who the fuck is this asshole?” Copter said while pointing his coal-colored hand at Steven.
“It’s my friend, Steven,” Faith politely responded.
“Your fucking midget friend is a fucking douche bag, Faith.”
Faith frowned. “Cut it out, Copter.”
Steven walked behind Faith and whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re not actually going wash this guy’s feet, are you?”
Faith smiled. “Of course I am, silly. Don’t worry. You don’t have to touch anybody’s toes. You’re the water guy. Your job is to bring me fresh hot water and dump the dirty water. Got it?”
“Got it, fuckface?” Copter growled.
“Got it,” Steven replied meekly while looking downward at his expensive knit shirt.
“Ohhh noooo, tiny man is going to get dirty, boo hoo,” Copter chortled.
“Alcoholic,” Steven said as he walked away to get the water.
“Alcohol is just my means of saying I don’t give a flying fuck about anything! Especially you, you little fucking cock sucker,” Copter snapped.
“Down boy,” Faith said to Copter. “Be cool.”
For the next three hours, Steven fetched water while Faith washed feet. After the men each had clean toes and new socks, Faith stood and asked the men to thank Steven for helping. A round of applause ensued, and then Faith gave Steven a big hug followed by a kiss on his cheek. As the men cheered, Steven waved like he was Lou Gehrig saying goodbye to Yankee nation, a tear even fell from his eye. Steven was stunned and confused by the unfamiliar emotion, having no prior experience with happiness.
At ten o’clock Dan arrived. He was driving a box truck loaded with food he had just collected from local restaurants and bakeries. Within minutes, the feast began. There was lobster bisque, fresh rolls, chicken Marcella, lasagna, several meat loaves, and a tray of homemade mac-and-cheese. For dessert, there were a variety of cakes and five gallons of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Drinks included coffee for all, a limitless supply of bottled water, and several two-liter bottles of cola that the men inevitably mixed with any form of available alcohol.
Faith and Steven ate with Dan, who was a low-key charismatic guy and a master of self-deprecating humor. As usual, the ten dinner tables in the lobby of Dan’s Place were fully occupied by half-starving men, some hurting so badly that they lacked the hand-eye coordination to eat without dropping half of their food onto their laps. There was just one seat open, and it was located to the left of Steven.
“I’m the Willy Wonka of street people, welcome to my factory,” Dan said. “You must be Steven.”
“Yes, I am,” Steven said without extending a hand. “This is quite a place.”
“It’s not much, but I call it home,” Dan said.
Faith smiled. “Steven, Dan feeds over one hundred men a day. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Yes, it is,” Steven said. “It must cost–”
“Mini douche bag,” interrupted Copter. “Great! I get to sit next to you. I gotta warn yah, I just took a nasty shit, little buddy, and I failed to wash my hands. So, I hope it don’t gross you out when I pass the mashed potatoes.”
Dan stared at Copter. “Cut it out, Copter!”
“Yeah, cut it out, Copter,” Faith said while turning toward Steven. “Come on, Steven. Let’s go cut the sheet cakes into little squares.”
“Good idea,” Steven said and he excused himself from the table.
“Come back quick, kiddies,” Copter said with a laugh before eating some lasagna with his hands.
“There is no sheet cake,” Faith said. “I just wanted to get you away from Copter.”
“I figured.” Steven smiled.
Faith sighed. “He’s a broken man. The rumor is Copter was a helicopter pilot who earned two silver stars and a purple heart in Vietnam. There is also a story that Copter was the sole survivor of a rescue that turned into a massacre. He has post-traumatic stress. The poor guy is a mess.”
“He certainly is,” Steven said, seeking to be polite in the presence of his beloved Faith.
“Just ignore him when we go back to the table, okay?”
“Okay,” Steven said with a faux smile as he walked back to the dinner table, “no problem.”
“I know there was no fucking sheet cake,” Copter said to Steven, his face covered with lasagna remnants, mainly ricotta and sauce. “I may be a drunk, but I’m not a stupid asshole.”
“Glad to hear you’re not a ‘stupid asshole.’ I was beginning to think otherwise,” Steven said.
Faith winced.
There was a moment of tension before Copter spoke again.
“Copter!” Dan said, but he wasn’t listening.
“I tell you what, Stevie boy, I was once a good-looking fuck like you,” Copter said. “But, somewhere along the line I stopped giving a shit, and let me tell you something, you little dickhead, once you really, really, really stop giving a shit, it is almost impossible to recover. For there is nothing more powerful in this fucked-up world than really, really, really not giving a flying fuck about anyone or anything. Got it, you little dog fucker? The freedom is – intoxicating.”
“Really,” Steven said with a glare that would have scared any man with a blood alcohol level below point three percent.
“Really, Stevie boy,” Copter said. “You heard it here first. No bullshit applied. Some day, if you’re really LUCKY, you’ll know what I mean…you lil’ fucking preppy ass shitbag.”
“Back-off, Copter,” Dan said. “You’re outta here.”
“Okay, Captain Dan,” Copter hissed.
“Sorry about that,” Faith said to Steven. “Most of these men have issues.”
“Not to worry, I’m not afraid of drunks,” Steven said, with a nod to Copter.
“Come here, Copter,” Faith said sternly as she stood and walked away from the table.
Copter followed without saying a word.
Steven could not hear the exchange, but he saw Faith’s finger in Copter’s face, and then to his utter amazement. He watched Faith give Copter a bear hug before presenting him with her “eternal rose.”
When Faith returned to the table, Steven politely asked, “Faith, what was that about?”
“I told him he had to leave without making a fuss and then I told him to always remember that I loved him, and to prove it, I gave him your rose. I hope you don’t mind?”
“You love that guy?”
“Yes,” Faith said. “I love all these guys.”
“You’re something, Faith,” Steven said.
After dinner there was a movie, The In-laws, starring Peter Falk and Alan Arkin. The howls of laughter from the men intensified the comedy. Both Steven and Faith were quite certain it was the funniest movie ever produced.
After the movie, the odd couple said goodbye to the men of Dan’s Place and then walked hand-in-hand to Dan’s parking lot where they found “Linda” tireless, sitting on concrete blocks.
“Why didn’t they steal the whole car?” Steven asked Faith.
Faith sighed. “They were probably too short or too young to drive.”
Steven started the car to make sure nothing else had been taken.
“Steven,” Linda said. “I have been violated.”
“Would you like me to call the police?” Steven asked.
“Too late, I just did,” Linda replied.
Steven turned to Faith and smiled. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”
Faith smiled, forever burning her image onto the surface of Steven Zangst’s soul. “I’m glad you had fun.”
For the next fifty-two weeks Steven helped Faith run Sock Night. On the first anniversary of Steven’s inaugural visit to Dan’s Place Faith consented to a real date. Twelve months later, Steven Zangst and Faith Inman were married.
~Chapter Two~
Dandy Andy
Andy “Dandy” McCormack grew up in a working-class neighborhood in South Boston. He was the youngest of eleven children and a great embarrassment to his family.
Where Andy grew up, men were considered good guys, douche bags, or fucking assholes. Andy’s problem was he was smart, so he was considered both a douche bag and a fucking asshole.
Although the family never spoke of Andy’s affliction, it was difficult to ignore because Andy was the youngest person ever to become a tenured physics professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Unfortunately, one day, Andy’s notable genius caused him to be profiled in the Boston Globe’s Technology section. The newspaper article, entitled “The Southie Savant” caused Andy’s mother to go into hiding for several months. The last thing June McCormack wanted was to be known as “the mother of a fuck’n nerd.”
Growing up, Andy tried to cover up his love of math and physics by out-daring his brothers. He often started fistfights at Boston Bruins hockey games and drank whiskey through his nose. At fourteen years of age, during one of his father’s legendary man-only Super Bowl parties, a drunken Andy mounted a seventy-six year old hooker on a pool table at the Hibernian Club; the act caused several witnesses to immediately join AA or the priesthood. And on his sixteenth birthday, for no particular reason, Andy stole a mail delivery truck and drove it into Fort Point Channel.
Normally, Andy’s youthful indiscretions would have been considered a standard rite of passage and excellent fodder for future barroom howls, but to his friends and family, Andy’s bad-boy act was recognized for what it was: a smart kid’s pathetic attempt to be a regular guy. Looking back, Andy was ashamed of his ruse. He should have known his fellow Irishmen were on to his act. As his grandfather, Paddy “Scratch” McCann once noted, “You can’t bullshit a bunch of bullshitters.”
Although he would never admit it, Andy knew visible electromagnetic radiation, a.k.a. “light,” was indirectly responsible for his juvenile delinquency. Since he was a young boy, for reasons he could never understand, Andy was greatly troubled by the nature of light and other physical phenomena.
Andy was bothered by the fact that a photon emitted from a ten-billion-year-old star could somehow end up on the backside of his eyeball. He also wondered why light rays were bent by gravity, and he spent many sleepless nights thinking about why people age at different rates depending upon their acceleration through “space-time.”
