Nice Fox

Nice Fox – The Rosebuds(listen in new tab)

K comes in from the cold, into the only decent bar on the way home. It was once called the Fisher King. These days it’s called the House of Peers. It is one of those bars that must have held a hundred names since they built it. Nothing changes in it. The air is always a nebulous brume from a century of life. Though now it is almost always empty.

Earlier K watched January’s Wednesday sun set through the windows of the library. He stood outside at around 8:30 as the security guard lock the door behind them. It was then that K realized his hazy, diligent routine, his torpor, had evaporated.

Before him for the first time in a long time was a night without object. Getting a pint seemed to him the best plan.

The old bartender follows a movie lazily. It’s a black and white Spencer Tracey movie set in post-war Berlin. He serves K without taking his eyes off the old TV set.

On the screen, two old men sit in a glossy Mercedes as the ruins of the Reich pass by. The sound is too low to really hear what they’re saying. The crumbled city is fuzzy and washed-out as it moves past, sharing only a casual, disassociation with the actors and the car. K fishes out the term for the effect. Rear Projection.

K, to no one in particular: “Maybe that’s what Berlin felt like.”

The bartender grunts a low acknowledgement. The sound of it dissipates like ripples in water. K takes a slow drink. The bar sinks back into silence, both of them absorbed in the film.

After a while, K asks the bartender to turn up the TV. “Can’t. It’s busted.” K squints and can see now that the knob for the volume is missing.

The swinging doors to the kitchen creak open on old resistant hinges. K looks from the TV. Maura comes in, untying a stained white apron, sweeps the empty bar dramatically with her arm. “Besides, if it were any louder, it’d disturb all the other the customers.” The bartender grunts at the familiar irony.

K’s stomach leaps and falls. Seeing her pulls something up and out through his chest. She walks over to sit on the stool beside him. Gives K a coy, knowing smile. He tries to avoid eye contact, but she catches him.

K is stymied. He wants to escape, or fall through floor, or be sucked through the ruddy pressed tin ceiling. He looks at her through the mirror behind the bar, fidgets nervously with his glass. “You work here?”

Maura: “Teaching doesn’t pay for all my habits, you know.” She taps K’s empty pint glass smartly. “He’ll have another, Titus.”

K: “Uh. Yeah. One for her, too.”

Maura laughs: “Such the gentleman. I hear your life is a real shit storm. Brae told me what happened.”

K goddamns G.T. in his head, and then thanks him. “Well. Yeah. I am a real idiot.” He holds his apology out with his hands “I’m really sorry for everything. I mean, man, it all was a real mess. Some of which was my fault. Most of which not yours, by the way.”

Maura: “Hah. You’re something. I’d suggest we start over, but frankly I don’t think you’re smart enough to remember what you did right.”

K: “Likely. You want to start with what’s new, then?”

Titus comes with their beers. “Keep it down. I can’t hear.”

Maura: “Oh Titus. Can you even hear anymore?” and to K: “What’s new, huh?”

K fishes for a topic. “Well, um, like: how’s your grandmother?”

Maura leans forward, takes a drink. “She had a stroke at work. She was home from the hospital, but now she’s back in again. Everyone thinks she’s pretty screwed, but I’m holding out hope, you know?”

K: “I never asked her name. I think we got distracted last time we had a chance to talk.”

Maura motions dismissively, playfully at K with her glass. “Titus! This guy’s a real piece of work. Distracted!” K can tell she is more than a little hurt, despite her efforts to hide it.

Titus: “Christ, Maury. Keep it down.”

Maura: “He’s my great uncle, or something, Grandma Jenny’s brother. He let’s me help out around here when I need extra money. Unkie Titus is the bestest. Cheers.” She clinks K’s glass, drinks from hers, and puts down the class on a faded coaster.

K turns to her: “Jenny? This may seem like a weird question, but I work with a woman named Jenny who-”

Maura grabs him by his shoulders. Holds him in place. “This, this is exactly why I have so little hope for you. You can’t put two and two together. Lord, you don’t think Jenny told me all about you? Do you have any idea how much she loves coffee?”

K rubs the back of his head. “Well, um… heh.” He plots back in his mind the extent of Jenny’s conspiracy.

Maura: “She has high praise for you, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still pretty pissed at you.” Her eyes are bright and shine into his. Her hands are warm on his shoulders.

K looks at the floor, then at her holding him in the mirror. She has him fixed, and he feels himself unfasten. “That’s fair. I’m very ok with that.”

Maura lets go of his shoulders. “That’s the spirit. Now, drink up.” She taps his glass with hers.