Kissing the Beehive

"Hello?"

"Patricia, it's Sam Bayer."

"Sam! Is Aurelio holding you prisoner?"

"Better, Patricia, much better! Listen to this . . ."

I told her the idea for the book. When I was finished, there was a long silence that could have meant anything coming from the formidable Chase. She has a strong, impressive voice but when she did speak, it was the softest and most tentative I had ever heard it. "You never told me about that, Sam."

"It happened a long time ago."

"It doesn't matter. It's still a hell of an experience!"

"It is, but what do you think of my idea? Do you like it?"

"I love it and so will Aurelio."

"But it doesn't necessarily mean I'll find anything, Patricia. I'm just going to look."

"I think it could be that big book we were talking about today, Sam. The gods must be happy with you to offer this idea seven hours after we talked. Where are you, by the way?"

"In Crane's View! I just had a California burger at Scrappy's Diner and am going down to the river now to see what I can remember."

"I think it's going to be great, Sam. I'm very excited."

"You never say that!"

"You never wrote anything like this."

I was about to answer when I saw something that knocked me back into my past with the force of a punch.

While we spoke I had watched the comings and goings at the gas station. My window was down so I heard the constant mutter of traffic and street noise outside. Nothing special, until someone nearby started speaking in a deep, dead monotone that part of my brain recognized instantly. It was repeating word for word a Honda Accord commercial I had seen on television so many times that, against my will, I'd memorized the words to it, like a terrible pop song that will not leave your head. I recognized the slogans a moment before recognizing the voice. That voice doing exactly the same thing it had always done when I was a kid – perfectly repeating the words of television commercials. Thirty years ago it had been ads for Cocoa Marsh and Newport cigarettes, Tide detergent and Rambler cars. Today it was a Honda but that made no difference: It was a Crane's View ghost alive in my ear. Shocked, I slowly turned to look for the face.

There he was, still walking in those big glumphing steps, arms swinging too high up from his side, his feet encased in shoes that looked as big as the boxes they'd come in.

"Holy shit, it's Club Soda Joh

"What, Sam? What did you say?"

"I'll call you tomorrow, Patricia. I gotta go. My past just walked by, doing a Honda ad." I put the phone down and jumped out of the car. Joh

He was forty pounds heavier and had lost most of his hair. The rest was a crew cut that made his face look even larger and squarer.

"Joh

He stopped and turned around. When he saw me he only stared.

"Do you remember me? Sam Bayer? I used to live here a long time ago?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. How are you, Joh

"Okay."

"Whatcha been doing?"

"Not much."

Joh

Being near him now was like bringing a bouquet of fresh flowers up to my nose. The smell of nostalgia was overpowering.

He looked to the left and right. Then in an exaggerated gesture, he pulled up his sleeve and looked at his wristwatch. I noticed the dial face was a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator. "I have to go now. I have to get home to watch television."

I put out a hand and touched his arm. It was very warm. "Joh

He narrowed his eyes, touched his chin and looked at the sky. He began to hum. For a moment I wondered if he had forgotten my question.

"No. I don't remember her."

"Okay. Well, it was nice seeing you again, Joh

"It was my great pleasure." Surprisingly, he put out his big hand and we shook. His face didn't change expression when he abruptly turned and strode off.

Watching him walk away, I remembered the old Club Soda Joh

Joh

"That's right, Joh

I drove past Sacred Heart Church, Stumpel Ford, Power's Stationery Store. It's interesting how some shops, no matter how many times they change owners, always stay the same. Most locations go from pizzeria to boutique to whatever every few years. The stationery store in Crane's View had a new owner but was still the place to buy a newspaper, rubber bands, candy. As a kid, my first allowance had been twenty-five cents. Enough to buy a Payday candy bar and a Sugar and Spike comic book there. I'd walk out not knowing what to do first – open the comic or the Payday. Usually I'd do both at once – read, eat, cross the street without looking and not realize until I got home that I'd finished everything.

At the traffic light in the center of town, Main Street forked. If you went straight, you took Broadway uphill toward the nicer sections. If you veered right, Main Street continued through the heart of beautiful downtown Crane's View, all six minutes of it. When I had brought Michelle on our pilgrimage to my roots, she'd said, "But what did you do for fun here? There's nothing."

Which was almost true. A pretty town an hour up the Hudson River from Manhattan, Crane's View had a Waspy name but was populated by mostly lower-middle-class Irish and Italian families. People there needed only a good hardware store, market, clothes store that sold chinos, Maidenform brassieres, housedresses, Converse sneakers. The most expensive thing on the menu at the best restaurant in town was surf and turf. There was a decent library but few used it. The Embassy movie theater too, but you went there to make out because it was dark and usually empty as a tomb. The bars were named Shamrock and Gino's. Michelle was right – it was a town where people worked hard during the day then went home at night, drank beer and watched the game on TV.