CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: From Montauk to Morningside Heights
ONE YEAR LATER.
The wind bit into Tommy as he waited for the E-Train out of Jamaica. It didn’t bother him though. If Rachel had told Tommy that he would one day enjoy the two and half-hour train ride from Montauk he would never have believed her.
The train station was full of sketchy and unsavory characters, but Tommy didn’t mind them either. A pair of homeless men huddled in the corner, ignored even by the security guard who wandered listlessly on patrol. The two men could have been twins for all Tommy knew; with their scruffy beards, drab monochrome clothing and matching New York Islanders hats. He had bought a wholly unspectacular Spartan apple at the station, paying for it with a crisp twenty, and Tommy tossed the men all of the change that had been rattling in his pocket ever since. They probably weren’t really Islanders fans, he thought in an attempt to justify his own charity.
Tommy had surprised the Ponzinis that morning when he showed up on their doorstep asking Dick Ponzini for his daughter’s hand. Patrick told him the whole scenario sounded a little old-fashioned, but he didn’t want to dissuade his friend from making any life changing decisions. Tommy’s father had done it the same way, as did his grandfather before him. No one in the family was quite sure how Leyland Mueller had proposed but Tommy imagined it must have gone down in the exact same fashion. Just a day before, Tommy visited Ellis Island to find his great-grandfather’s name; he felt it would serve as some sort of familial approval of his proposal to Rachel. It took him well over an hour to find the tiny name etched into the Wall of Honor. It was both comfortable and unsettling to read his own moniker nestled in amongst thousands upon thousands of faceless, long-dead immigrants. A year ago, Tommy considered going by his proper birth name, but the truth was that he still hated it. He decided to stick with Tommy rather than pretend things were any different than they had always been.
Heeding Patrick’s advice from the day of the tennis match, Tommy agreed to simply tell Rachel he loved her. He paid her Columbia professor fifty dollars to give him ten minutes at the start of the lecture, Rachel’s Socio-Cultural Anthropology class. Tommy put on a smelly tweed jacket and a fake mustache and proceeded to bore the entire lecture hall by bull-shitting about the societal merits of Super Mario Land for a full seven minutes. He hadn’t practiced any of it, but the majority of students weren’t really listening anyway. Rachel knew it was him right from the start, but she was simply too dumbfounded to do anything but smile at the man’s lunacy. Eventually Tommy just wrote “I love you Rachel Ponzini” on the whiteboard. He asked her to see him after class, and then he left. Rachel moved into Tommy’s 113th Street apartment exactly four days later.
The E-Train finally pulled in and it was even colder inside because somebody thought it would be a good idea to leave the air conditioning on. Still, Tommy refused to let anything bother him. The cars clack-a-lacked beneath Forest Hills and Queens Boulevard and Hunters Point before thundering through the East River. Tommy loved the ease of the subway system, but if there was one thing he missed when riding into Manhattan from Long Island, it was seeing the glorious skyline of the world’s greatest city coming into view. New York City never ceased to stand guard, ever vigilant as its people perpetually changed. They continued to face new ordeals every day, but the wisest of them knew it would always be so. Their ebbs and flows were not pre-determined but they were also not entirely unexpected. The city would always breathe in and out.
John Galloway died suddenly in his sleep on Christmas morning. By then he’d entirely forgotten who he was, but he never forgot how much he loved his wife. Keekee Kaufman awoke one evening to discover she was perfectly fine; her schizophrenia was simply no more. She walked out of Bellevue and made her way across the Triboro Bridge. As she looked down onto the East River she found no desire within herself to jump off. Troy “The Shark” Dunlop was found dead and shirtless on the floor in the men’s room after suffering a severe heart attack from massive energy drink consumption. Apparently he had been practicing some ultimate fighting moves in the bathroom mirror when it happened. He never did find his missing Randy Couture bobble head doll. Dwayne Reamer eventually found himself in an editing position at Pendulum Publishing. He even garnered his own small office overlooking West 39th Street. His office was big enough for a mini-fridge, so nobody could steal his yogurt anymore. He had also been putting the finishing touches on his own book: Catch Me if You Can: the Next Generation of American Catchphrases.
Tommy transferred subways at the 50th Street Station, taking the 1-Train north. The station smelled particularly grimy that afternoon, but the grimier the better. To Tommy, that only meant the city was running as it should. It was comforting. He sat as far back as he could in the train’s very last car. A beggar with no legs slowly patrolled the subway, pushing himself on a skateboard with his calloused hands. Tommy had no change left in his pocket, but he did find a pen which he dropped into the coffee tin hanging from the man’s neck, claiming everyone could always use a good pen.
An unfunny lawyer named Hugh Morris contacted Jesse Classen one day in February, letting him know that something had been left for him in John Galloway’s will. It was a comic book collection, still mostly unsorted and piled up in the basement of the Gramercy Park home. When Jesse went to collect it, he was astounded by the sheer volume of valuable rarities. At first he refused to take them, but once his friends managed to convince him that it would represent the final stage of the healing process, Jesse finally succumbed. There was a copy of The Amazing Spider-Man #1, an assortment of rare Buck Rogers and Lone Ranger comics, a three-hundred issue run of the newspaper edition Spirit comics from the Forties, and most incredibly of all, a near-mint copy of Detective Comics #27. Jesse quit his job as assistant manager at Midtown Comics and used the value of the collection to open his own comic book shop in the Lower East Side. He called it Edie’s Bunker, and he was the store’s sole employee. When Jesse was ready to see Sharona again he did just as he was instructed and went to the streetlight on MacDougal Street to find the necessary information regarding her next show. But there were no posters to be found. There was an ad for free computer lessons, and two of the nine phone numbers had already been torn off the bottom. And there was another girl there, taping up her own poster for a lost cat. It wasn’t her cat, Jesse learned, but her friend’s. Betty Bentley hated musicals and chicken wings and black licorice and comic books, but the two of them decided to give each other a shot anyway. Jesse soon found that compromising was far better than living alone with regret.
The 1-Train came to a slow stop somewhere between Columbus Circle and Lincoln Center. The lights went out and most everyone onboard panicked. Tommy could easily tell which of the passengers were tourists and which were not by the levels of alarm they displayed. It was funny to him just how obvious people could sometimes be. He took the moment to appreciate the artwork spray-painted onto the tunnel walls just behind the window. There were areas of New York that Tommy knew he would never get the chance to see, which bothered him more than most anything else. It was moments like these that he savored, considering himself even luckier than he was just the moment before.
Kate Prince and Gene Schneider divorced in March. It turned out that Gene had never had an affair, nor did he want one, but Kate was done either way. She took enough time for herself to finish her first novel, The Falling. She self-published the book but failed miserably in promoting herself. She wasn’t looking for fame or notoriety; she was just happy to have finally finished it, and she was proud of herself. When The Manhattanite eventually did end up being a success, just as Tommy predicted, Kate still did not let it get to her. Tommy deserved all the accolades he got. Eventually, she found an editing job at another publishing company and the very first book she pulled from the slush pile turned out to be an award winner. Kate finally returned to the gym, but balanced her new lifestyle out by taking up smoking. She claimed to have curbed her Nicorette addiction through cigarettes. For her birthday, Jesse made Kate a collage. It was a collection of GAP ads taped together with the addition of comic book word balloons glued above Kate’s head. The many denim-clad Kates were saying such things as “Bow before the might of Doom!”, “Walloping web-snappers!” and “By Odin’s Beard!” It was very Warhol-esque. Kate kept the collage above her desk at home, proudly showing it off to anyone lucky enough to spend time with her.
From the Cathedral Parkway Station it was only two more blocks to the coffee shop, but Tommy leisurely took his time. He was looking forward to meeting with his friends and telling them the big news, but he’d been in much less of a hurry lately than he usually was. Besides, he knew his friends weren’t going anywhere. New York was no longer just his; it was all of theirs. They still continued their attempts at convincing Patrick to get out of Brooklyn and move back to Manhattan, but they didn’t push him too hard since they all knew it was bound to happen eventually. Sheldon was already starting to show the signs of a budding Thomas Mueller. The boy loved being in the city, he loved hearing the trains underground when he passed a station stairwell or a grate on the sidewalk, and he quivered a little bit before heading back home to their apartment on India Street. Sheldon was quick to make friends with hotel doormen; he helped Uncle Jesse out every Saturday at Edith’s Bunker; and once a month he would bug Tommy enough to take him on the three hour sightseeing boat tour around Manhattan. He loved listening to Tommy tell the stories of every building and every street and every bridge they passed, and never ceased in suggesting Tommy give tours for a living, since it sometimes seemed Uncle Tommy had nothing else to do with his time. Tommy’s only response would be to challenge the boy to do the same.
As he approached the corner or Broadway and 112th, Tommy stopped for moment to process everything that had gone through his mind that morning. He thought about his brother and how much he would have loved to have had the chance to share the city with him. Everything was perfect there; it no longer mattered how much things changed or whether or not they remained the same. Tommy would continue to love New York City forever. Patrick, Kate and Jesse watched him from the window of Tom’s Restaurant. I couldn’t help but watch him too. His passion would never cease to astonish and baffle us all. Patrick almost gave Tommy another second to collect himself, but he chose to bang on the glass instead, snapping him out of his fervor.