Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [73]
"Jesus!" she said. "It's you. I was about to go for my can of mace."
"Sorry," said Tommy. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"This is a surprise," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"I figured I'd come by and meet you, maybe take you downstairs to the Oyster Bar for some Wellfleets and a bottle of wine," said Tommy.
She handed over the plastic trash bag. "Sweaters," she said. "My mother. She goes to some flea market up there with her friends and buys me sweaters. I say, 'Ma, no more sweaters please,' but she won't stop. I got sweaters with ducks on them, sweaters with moose, elk, reindeer, little bunny rabbits. I thought, maybe she'll run through the animal kingdom and it'll stop. But she's back on ducks. I got four more of them in the bag."
"Do you ever wear 'em," asked Tommy.
"Are you kidding me?" said Cheryl. "I give them to the church on the corner. I walk around my neighborhood now, I see these guys with cardboard cups bummin' money in my sweaters."
"So how do you feel about some oysters? They've got Wellfleets," said Tommy.
"How did you know which train?" asked Cheryl.
"I knew you were coming in this morning so I just hung out. There were only two trains."
"You waited here for two trains waiting for me? What are you being so nice for?"
"I don't know," said Tommy. "I felt like it. I missed you." He avoided her gaze.
"You're acting suspicious," she said, stopping in her tracks. "Did something happen? Somebody die? Am I fired?"
"No, no, no, everything's fine," said Tommy. "C'mon, let's get some oysters, I'm starving."
"Did the restaurant close?"
"No. I just felt like meeting you at the train, taking you out to lunch," said Tommy as he turned toward the stairs.
Cheryl cocked her head and spoke to Tommy's back. "Did you fuck somebody? Is that what this is about? You fucked somebody, didn't you?"
Tommy stopped and turned around. He started to say something, then hesitated.
"You fucked somebody didn't you?" said Cheryl. "You can say so, I won't be mad."
Tommy attempted an ingratiating smile. "Well..."
"Who did you fuck?" asked Cheryl. "Somebody at work?"
"C'mon, please," said Tommy, half turning. "Can we talk about it over lunch—"
"Did you fuck STEPHANIE?"
Tommy looked down at the floor and didn't deny it. "Well he said. He put down the plastic bag and moved toward Cheryl.
"You fucked Stephanie!? " she said. Cheryl coldcocked him with a right hook that seemed to come up off the floor. Tommy stumbled backward, tripped over the plastic bag, and went down. He ended up sprawled flat on his back on the crowded station floor. Hurrying commuters stepped over and around him saying "Sorry" and "Excuse me." One chunky woman in a blue dress with running shoes stubbed her toe on Tommy's head. It took him a few seconds to get to his feet. He looked around for Cheryl. She was gone. Tommy picked up the bag of sweaters and headed for the exit.
He managed to wave down a taxi on Forty-second Street and directed the driver to Cheryl's Perry Street address. She had hit him below the left eye, and he reached up and felt the swelling. The left eye was tearing, and his vision out of that side of his head was blurry. He wiped a tear off his cheek with his sleeve and saw the driver looking at him in the rearview mirror. Tommy twisted in his seat so he could catch his own reflection. There was a large reddening welt and the eye itself was bloodshot. Tommy tried to smile, and shook his head ruefully.
The cab driver, a pale, craggy-complected man with a greasy blond ponytail, caught his glance in the mirror.
"Somebody really popped you one there, buddy," he smiled. "You want to go to Emergency?"
"No, I'm fine," said Tommy. He slid down a ways in his seat and tried to avoid the driver's