Bertram Davis crossed his leg and clasped his knee with his hands. He smiled at the quality of his last answer, assured that all of his ambitions would soon be realized. “Bertram Davis crossed his leg and clasped his knee with his hands. He smiled at the quality of his last answer, assured that all of his ambitions would soon be realized.”

“Yes, be that as it may, I only wanted to know why you feel you are qualified for this job.”

“Bertram met his piercing gaze with defiance. He sensed the interviewer’s doubts, but formulated a plan to allay any of his concerns. Teetering at the edge of the abyss was where he felt most confident, but for this corporate lackey he would have to be the model of normality. I would have to say my ability to inspire others and the depth of my experience in the food service industry, he replied with confidence.”

“What are you doing?”

“…he asked with suspicion. Bertram had known his kind before. Men of small minds and even smaller genitals saw him as a personal threat. Perhaps it was Bertram’s rugged countenance or maybe his superior mental ability. It was obvious that this backward, middle management toady was already plotting his career demise before it even had a chance to take flight. I don’t understand. I’m interviewing for the waiter’s job, he replied.”

“I can hear you. You do know I can hear you.”

“Bertram was taken aback by this sudden subterfuge.”

“You’re doing it again. Look, I think we’re finished here Mr. Davis.”

“…said the voice of mediocrity rising up from behind his desk.”

“Out! Get out now!”

“…he shouted pointing at the door. For a man with no testicles, he had a surprisingly deep voice. Bertram rose from his chair and returned eye contact with this newest soldier in an ever-growing army of petty minded fools. They may have won the battle… Thank you for your time sir… but they will never win the war.”

“I swear to God I’m calling the cops if you’re not out of here in 10 seconds.”

“Salvaging what dignity he could muster, Bertram Davis walked to the front door with his chin held high. He could almost hear his retreat, beat to the sound of a thousand military drums.”

The unnerved restaurant manager remained standing behind his desk, with both fists firmly planted on its surface. Hiring good wait staff has always been challenging, but this was beyond unacceptable. He followed the man with a stern gaze as he watched him walk through the empty dining room and out into the world beyond- May God help it.

***

“Bertram walked out into the summer morning sun defeated, but not broken.”

“Didn’t go so well, huh.”

“Bertram’s little friend Marty looked up at him with sympathetic eyes, somehow sensing his interview did not go well. No Sancho, it didn’t.”

“That’s okay, you’ll win the next one.”

Morning rush hour traffic had evaporated since the initial Baltimore city rush hour. Offices were now filled with people busily working to make the world turn, while only those who were left to sadly observe, sullenly passed outside their windows along the sidewalks.

Bertram was once one of those busy people, a valued star in an investment firm. His fall began with the emergence of concealed snickers and passing remarks, building into the full barrage of Flipper jokes. It finally culminated with a large Sea World poster of bottlenose dolphins in mid jump, with the inscription ‘We Love Bertram.’ And that was just from the patrons at his building’s coffee shop.

The real humiliation came from his co-workers and ‘friends’ through emails and social networking sights. TV morning shows hounded him for weeks, desperate to parade his embarrassing ordeal before all of America. Mammalian biologists actually staked out his apartment, waiting to confront him and gain some new insight into the sexual peculiarities of this potential aquatic, serial rapist. The phone calls, the needling, the web posts and comments relentlessly churned out dubious public speculation every day, leaving Bertram with nowhere to turn for sympathy or comfort.

His final implosion occurred over the phone at the office, with an especially important client. It was made purposefully, and with the sole intent to convey what he had been internalizing all this time- the words ‘Fuck You’ screamed twenty-seven times, followed by what eyewitnesses confirmed to be a complete conniption. Following an extended sojourn in a sanitarium north of the city, Bertram was mostly restored, except for the career ending disability of externalizing every thought his mind produced, and some that even lay beneath his conscious thought.

“I know you’ll do better on the next one, Bertram. You can do anything.”

“Yes Sancho, I will. I am indomitable, he replied with absolute confidence. Forward my faithful companion. There are three more restaurants left on my list.”

“Bertram, why do keep calling me Sancho?” he asked meekly. “My name isn’t Sancho. My name is Marty. I know my name is Marty, because it says so on my social security card. The social security card is made by the government, and they wouldn’t lie, would they?”

“Of course they lie Sancho. It is their raison d’être to lie. Why, the very fabric of our existence would unravel at the seams if they started telling us the truth. As citizens of this great nation, it is our responsibility to assume that everything they tell us is a lie, and to assume the opposite to be the truth. No my friend, your name is Sancho, and you are my sidekick. Together we shall re-acquaint this savage land with the civil propriety it lost long ago.”

“Oh, I see. When you explain it that way, I think you must be right.”

“Right? That is absolute nonsense little fellow. Your own mother named you Marty at your birth, after your uncle.”

“Oh, yes… of course. The government lies, and my mother tells the truth. Okay, I’ve got it.”

“Of course you don’t got it. Your own mother gave you up at age 14.”

“Oh yes, yes she did.”

“So how could you ever trust a woman like that?”

“No, I don’t suppose I should.”

“But why wouldn’t you try man. After twelve years of battling demons and insobriety, she finally wants to reconcile with you.”

“Yes, that is important. I should trust her.”

“Are you a crazy man? Caution is required here. How can you know for sure that she is fully reformed?. He shuddered at the thought of where his agreeable little friend might It brought Bertram tremendous satisfaction to be the sole light of reason in Marty’s existenceend up without Bertram’s valuable guidance and strength of character. So which one on the list should we hit next?”

“I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind. Where do you think we should go next Bertram?”

“I’m thinking the one up Charles Street.”

“Sure, of course. Charles Street. That must be the best one. Good choice.”

“Of course it is. I made it,” Bertram boomed.

“But we’re late for group.”

“Group? The needy, addle-minded fools in group therapy were the curse in Bertram’s life. Twice a week he had to endure their unimaginative lives an hour at a time, time he would most certainly never get back. Yes, of course- group. Well, it’s on the way to the next restaurant, isn’t it?”

“Well, no… it’s three blocks out of the way.”

“Only if you strike a rhumb line dear fellow. Today, we shall endeavor upon a great-circle route of discovery.”

“I knew it had to be something. Sounds exciting.”

“Of course it’s exciting, I just said it was. And together the two intrepid explorers set out upon their quest for sanity at group.”

Chapter 2

The McClory-Pratt Medical building on Calvert Street offered the best pre-natal, substance abuse, and mental health care the state of Maryland could provide for its pecuniary challenged citizens. In previous lives, it served as a city estate for a wealthy attorney through the latter part of the nineteenth century, then a boarding house, public housing, and finally a crack den. The state eventually took ownership and resurrected the building into its current identity.

Bertram and Marty checked in at the front desk, and then quietly slipped into the session in the meeting room on the second floor. Four other people in various states of mental and social decay sat in a semi-circle around Michael, their counselor.

“Late for their meeting, Bertram and Marty tried unsuccessfully to sneak in unnoticed. Hello everybody. Sorry we’re late.”

“Welcome Bertram, Marty. Have a seat. Janet was talking about her week.”

“Bertram sighed heavily at the prospect of enduring one of Janet’s rants. Her entire existence revolved around two small, noisy, shitting dogs whose mission in life is to piss off her neighbors and reduce their collective property value. Thanks Michael. Go ahead Janet. Please continue.”

Janet scowled at him and then returned to her original train of thought. “So the son of bitch called the cops… again. Why would he do such a thing? I know he hates me, I can see it in the way he looks at me. I don’t know what I could have done to provoke such hatred. And insensitive? You bettcha he is. Since my Barry died, I swear those two special little dogs are all that helps me hold it together. They and this group, that is. Why does he hate them so Michael?”

“Now Janet, these feelings of persecution are unfounded,” Michael began. “In all fairness, small dogs may be an annoyance to some people, especially your neighbors. Did you ever have the hole in your fence mended?”

“No, I have not,” she replied defiantly. “My little darlings stay within the confines of my own yard… most days.”

“It was clear to everyone in the group that the dogs were not the source of her neighbor’s angst, but in the inadequacy of her role within the human race. That neighbor must hate her with a burning passion that could only be painted in the deepest shades of black.”

“Bertram, please stop,” asked Michael. “Janet, you need to take some ownership in this. Each of us live within the circle of our own existence, but that does not necessarily come without overlap into someone else’s circle. The key here is to recognize the elements of your life- your dogs- which are having a negative impact on your neighbors. How would you feel if they were to start throwing their trash over the fence onto your lawn?”

“Yeah man, what if they hopped the fence and took a big ‘ol shit on your roses Janet?” asked Jerald sitting next to her. Janet visibly reddened and tried to look away. “That shit ain’t right, you know what I’m saying?”

“Thank you Jerald, for that interesting perspective,” said Michael. “So Janet, you need to work on your compromising skills this week, and learn to respect the lives and boundaries of those around you.”

“But Michael, this clearly isn’t my fault. Why would these things happen to me? I’m the victim here, I’m the…”

“Bertram was now officially exhausted by Janet’s endless rants, and drifted away in thought. His attention turned to Chris.” Upon hearing his name, Chris turned to Bertram sitting next to him with a growing look of concern on his face. “What?” asked Bertram.

“You said my name,” replied Chris.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re mistaken.”

“No Bertram, you were externalizing again. Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing Chris, except your foil is showing under your hat.”

“Oh… thanks.” Chris tried to discretely push the telltale edge of aluminum foil back under the edge of his knit hat, but not without Michael’s detection and disapproving glare.

“Chris, why?”

“Why what Michael?”

“Why the foil? This is the first session in ten you’ve worn foil on your head.”

“I’m sorry Michael, but yesterday they re-activated the chip implant in my head again. I really don’t want them tracking me.”

“There is no chip in your head, and the CIA is not tracking you. Something happened to you. What was it?”

“Nothing,” he replied shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Although he lacked the psychiatric skills that Michael had acquired during his eight years of community college, even Bertram could tell there was something wrong with Chris.”

“Bertram, be nice,” cautioned Michael. “We talked about insults last time.”

“What you talking about Doc?” Bertram replied defensively.

Michael scowled at him, and turned sympathetically back to Chris. “Tell me, what happened yesterday?”

“Um… I was offered a job.”

“That’s splendid Chris, good for you! Tell me about it. What is the job, and where will you be working?”

“Uh, dishwasher. It’s in Fells Point, at the Hanover Street Tavern.”

“I know the place well.”

“It was obvious to everyone that Michael was intimately familiar with each of Fells Point’s many bars from his long history of binge drinking.”

“Bertram, enough!” Michael snapped.

Melany laughed quietly to herself. Michael can be such a self-righteous ass. Every time I come to this place, I have to put up with his phony sincerity and basset hound eyes. ‘That’s splendid Chris, good for you.’ Oh puh-leeeeze. Somebody just kill me now and get it over with.

“Is there something on your mind Melany?”

“Nope.” Just a big ass barbiturate to get me through this mind numbing hell.

“Sorry, it just looked like you had something you wanted to say.”

“Nope.” Yeah asshole. Just sign me the fuck off with the state so I can get back to my miserable life and finally get away from this episode of America’s Craziest Degenerates.

“That’s fine, but when you’re ready, I really need you to contribute. Group therapy works best when everybody works as a group, okay?”

Fuck you! “Okay.”

“She replied in her sexy whisky voice. That’s right everybody. Here, we put the group in group therapy. There is no I in group. United we are a group, and divided we are… not a group. Good Job Michael, you the man, replied Bertram in his best attempt to rally his fellow mental defects behind their quack doctor.”

I could tear your clothes off with my teeth! God I love you.

“Thank you Bertram for your less than sincere support of my program. Perhaps I should take this as a sign of some improvement.”

“Thanks Doc, he replied in triumph over the petty dictator leading the session. Michael’s mindless attempts at eliciting sanity from this broken bunch of morons was a true testament to his mediocrity.”

“Hey man, that’s not cool,” replied Jerald. “The man’s just trying to help, you dig?”

“Yeah Bertram, that wasn’t very nice,” Marty meekly chimed in.

“What are you all talking about? I just complimented him. Didn’t you hear me say ‘you the man?’”

“No, you insulted him with that out-loud thinking you be doing all the time,” replied Jerald.

“Yeah,” added Marty.

“I was out-loud again?” Michael mustered his most withering glare, and directed it at a finite point in Bertram’s frontal lobe. “I apologize Doc, for something that was probably taken way out of context.”

“Fine Bertram,” Michael spat. “Now Jerald, how has your week been going?”

“Oh man, not good. I think I’m disappearing.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, turns out my materializing was only temporary.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Okay, you know them GPS things for your car?” he started, addressing everybody in the room. The group returned acknowledging nods of agreement. “Check it out- I tried putting in the address on one, and the screen buttons wouldn’t work for me… like my fingers weren’t there,” he continued, with eyes widening over this new concern.

“I can assure you Jerald, you are quite visible to us all… No, stop holding up three fingers. I’m telling you I can see you.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come when I passed this big ‘ol white lady on my way to this meeting, she looked right through me, like I wasn’t even there?”

“Jerald?” asked Marty, looking for his attention “She did that because you’re black… and big. You’re even a little scary.”

“Thank you Marty,” replied Michael. “Yes Jerald, I think Marty is right. It may not be an appropriate way to meet someone passing on the street, but I think she was trying to avoid eye contact with you.”

“The doctor was doing very little to convince Jerald, who by now was quite invisible to the rest of the group. With only his clothes to betray his presence, Jerald was apt to undress so he could move unseen through the city streets outside.”

“If you don’t stop that Bertram, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” snapped Michael.

“Why would you do that Doc?” asked Bertram in defense.

“I knew it, I am disappearing!”

“Jerald, you are not disappearing. Please, put your shirt back on.”

This is fucking great! I can’t pay for entertainment like this.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Janet cried out. “Oh my God, he isn’t wearing underwear. Why is he doing this to me Michael?”

“Nobody say another word,” yelled Greg, now standing at the far end of the semi circle. “I don’t think I’ll be attending many more of these meetings soon, because…” he paused for full effect “I am dying.”

“No Greg, you are not dying. Jerald, get away from that door! Put your clothes on now, and sit back down in your chair.”

“Nobody can see me. Y’all can’t see me,” Jerald sang as he danced and pirouetted about the room. Michael quickly rose, grabbed him by the arm, and led him back to his clothes.”

“Did anybody hear me? I said I was dying!” shouted Greg, now walking into the center of the circle. “I awoke with a doozy of a headache today, and after consulting with various members of the Internet medical community, I am quite certain that I have a brain tumor, or perhaps an aneurism. I know, I know, it’s hard to believe that I could be cut down so tragically in my prime.” He began stifling tears, and raising his chin to better display his courage in the face of this new adversity “But I will soldier on. I want you to know how important you all are to me, so I have prepared a will.” He withdrew a folded paper restaurant napkin, stained with grease and handwriting, and then held it out before him as if to read a royal decree. “To Janet, I leave you my cable remote control unit, because you said yours was broken. To Jerald I leave…”

“Greg, as flattered as I am that you are leaving me your remote control, I really don’t think you are dying, dear. You got hammered again last night, didn’t you?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” replied Greg with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I just know, okay? It’s a tumor, and I am dying.”

“What are you leaving me?” asked Jerald buttoning his shirt.

“My collection of Las Vegas ashtrays.”

“All three of them?”

“Two. One of them broke.”

“Greg,” began Michael crossing the room, and then taking ahold of both of his hands “look at me, and feel the calm I am trying to give you. Now, believe me when I say you are not dying.”

“But…”

“You are not dying. Say it.”

“But…”

“You are not dying.”

“Okay, I am not dying.”

“Now believe it as you say it.”

“I am not dying.”

“Did you go out drinking last night?”

“Well, maybe.”

“Was it a bender, like last time?”

“No, no… well… maybe. I don’t recall.”

“Did you have more than three drinks?”

 I had a few… at many places. I kind of blacked out after 10 o’clock, so I’m not sure. There was no money in my wallet this morning, and I woke up on my living room floor. I couldn’t have been too loaded if I made it home, right?”

“You’ll be fine Greg, you just have a hangover. I thought we were past that kind of behavior. What brought this on?”

“Oh, that. I figured why not, with the world coming to an end and all.”

“And why do you think the world is coming to an end?”

“Well, after the last meeting, Bertram and I started talking, and he told me about some Mayan prophesy, and…”

“Bertram could see that Michael had visibly reached the end of his patience with him.”

Michael let go of Greg’s hands and took a step back into the semi-circle. “Bertram, please stay behind. Everyone else, I’ll see you all next time.”

“So do I still get the ashtrays? Just saying, man,” said Jerald filing out of the room with the rest of the group.

Marty fell out of line and stood sheepishly by the door.

“Marty, I need to speak with Bertram privately.”

“Okay,” he replied without moving.

“That means alone Marty.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t tell anyone what you guys talk about.”

“Please Marty, I need you to wait out in the hall.”

“Alone?”

“It’s okay Marty, we’ll be here, just on the other side of the door. You’ll be alright, go on now.”

“Oh, okay,” he replied inching his way to the door. “I’ll be just be outside… in the hallway… just a few feet away… not listening, or anything.” He walked out of the door and stood with his toes on the threshold, watching Michael and Bertram in quiet desperation.

“Very good Marty, now close the door.”

“All the way? All the way shut?”

“Yes please. It’s alright, we’ll be right here.”

“Okay.” Marty reached into the room and pulled the door closed. His form was now cast in silhouette against the frosted glass.

“Marty really looks up to you, doesn’t he?” asked Michael.

“I guess so Doc, he isn’t very tall.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

 “We’re friends. Bertram shifted in his stance, assuming a more defensive posture. We hang out a lot.”

“It’s more than just ‘hanging out,’ isn’t it?”

“Bertram was now certain of Michael’s homosexuality, with his subtle suggestion of a threesome with two of his patients.”

“I won’t let you get me mad Bertram, so you can knock it off. You and Marty are clearly close friends, correct?”

“Well sure Doc. Why do you ask?”

“You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him, now would you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Which is exactly how I feel about everyone in this group, and although I have trouble saying it, even you.”

“Well thanks Doc, you know I feel the same about you. Bertram sneered inwardly at Michael’s phony display of concern and his vain attempt at connecting with the woman inside himself.”

Michael gritted his teeth, and quietly counted to ten. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I am responsible for the mental health of everyone in our group, and I will not let you sabotage my work. Your belittling of me and manipulating my patients’ insecurities comes to an end today.”

“But Doc…”

“It ends, today. Your transition back to society is dependent upon my final assessment of your mental faculties. Like it or not, you need me if you ever want anybody to give a shit about your MBA, or your financial genius ever again. Instead of your Federal Hill townhome, you could just as easily find yourself back at Shady Oaks, medicated and drooling in front of the television all day. Am I making myself perfectly clear Bertram?”

“Bertram said nothing. Perfectly, Doctor.”

Chapter 3

Bertram left the McClory-Pratt Medical building in a mood most foul, beyond any words he could muster consciously or subconsciously. Marty followed in tow until they were down on the street, and then hustled to fall in step alongside his friend.

“What did you two talk about Bertram?”

“The good doctor lost something, and he needed help finding it.”

“Really? What did Michael lose?”

“His mind.”

“Oh, I see. That’s pretty important.”

“Yes it is, especially if you are pretending to be psychiatrist.”

“So what do you want to do now?”

“Now, I am going to conquer this next job interview.”

“That sounds good Bertram. Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I am feeling confident Sancho. I have a feeling that this one is in the bag.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is. Isn’t that what you said what about the last three?”

“I was clearly qualified for the positions, but the managers were intimidated by my mere presence. I don’t know if you can see it from way down there Marty, but I beam with an aura of success. They were more interested in preserving their own careers than by being touched with my greatness- the petty minded fools. I’ll own them one day.” Marty started walking sideways, scrutinizing Bertram from head to toe. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for your aura of success.”

“You need special glasses for that. Now remind me, where is the next restaurant?”

“It’s a new one up on Charles Street.”

“Oh right, The Library; a guy from New York- five star chef in a three star town- with a book themed venue. Wonder how long he’ll last.”

“At what? Holding his breath? I can hold my breath for a long time Bertram, watch.”

“Better not Marty, you might explode.”

 “Really? Gosh. That was a close one.”

They continued walking in the direction of Bertram’s next interview, Marty taking two steps for each one his friend took. They came to a busy intersection just as the light turned red, and took up position at the curb. Marty repeatedly pushed the pedestrian button, each time hoping for an outcome that differed from the last.

Across the street, a man carrying a briefcase waited patiently for the amber ambulatory figure to appear on the display above Bertram and Marty. His attention drifted down to Bertram, and with a slight tug of recognition, studied him more closely. Bertram was familiar with the look on the man’s face, and tried to conceal his identity by devoting his full attention dow to his shoes.

“Hey,” the man finally yelled from across the street once the clouds in his memory had finally parted into full recollection. “I know you. You’re the dolphin guy!” He pointed now, and looked for anyone around him with whom he could share this discovery. “What do you know,” he started laughing “the dolphin guy. You’re like famous.”

“And you sir, are like an asshole. Fuck you very much for reminding me of something very horrible that happened to me. Is there something terrible in your life you would like share with me dick head? Perhaps a dead parent, or maybe some ongoing spousal abuse wrought by your domineering wife?”

“Sorry,” replied the stranger in near disgust. “It’s just that… forget it, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The light turned green, and Bertram stepped off the curb with a look of grim purpose on his face. The man, who by now had lost his inappropriate sense of humor, elected not to cross the street with him, instead opting to brave the now swiftly moving traffic across the street perpendicular to theirs.

“That’s right, thought Bertram. You have good reason to flee in the face of my wrath.”

“That’s okay Bertram. Don’t let that guy get you down.”

“Never, dear Sancho. I am indomitable, remember?”

“Indomitable, yes. What does that mean Bertram?”

“Bertram stopped, and smiled for the first time that day. It means Marty, that with a friend like you, I can do anything.”

“Oh. That’s a good thing, huh.”

“It’s a very good thing Sancho. Now let’s go topple some windmills.”

                                                           ***

“Bertram Davis crossed his leg and clasped his knee with his hands. He smiled at the quality of his last answer, assured that all of his ambitions would soon be realized.”

The restaurant manager and owner of The Library looked up from Bertram’s resume, and regarded him curiously. The two men were seated across from each other at a linen covered table in the empty restaurant.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You just said ‘your ambitions would soon be realized.’”

“I think you are mistaken sir. The last thing I said, was that I possessed natural leadership and a positive can-do attitude, he replied. Strange, he thought, it’s as if he could read my mind. Now Bertram wondered about the man that held the key to his recovery. A stranger to Charm City, would he bring his New York ways, or try to assimilate to the Baltimore culture? And what of this library theme? Were the vast number of books that covered the walls of the restaurant meant to inspire a love of literature, or were they merely décor? Hmmm, he thought to himself, what if life wrote it’s own novels?’”

The manager sat back in his chair, and tried to wrap his mind around this bizarre applicant. Like all restaurant owners, he expected wait staff to come with certain eccentricities, but this? In New York, struggling actors were common in the restaurant business. He had personally witnessed a King Lear, three cats and a Lion King waiting on tables in a single shift.

“About your resume. It says here you were in business?”

“Investments, yes.”

“I see. And since your last job in the financial district, I am not seeing any real restaurant experience.”

“I have extensive experience in the food service industry from my days before college, Bertram replied. With his natural love of gourmet, an uncanny ability to pair wines with meals, and the tremendous number of restaurants he had personally patronized, he was a natural for this job. Now, if only he could convince this manager of his talents…”

“There, you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Amazing. Throughout this interview, you have been providing your own narrative, and I don’t think you are aware of it.”

“Oh, that. I was externalizing again. Damn!”

“No, no, no. I find it very interesting. Are you in therapy now?”

“Bertram shifted uneasily in his chair in the face of this new line of questioning. It would seem that the interview was going south very quickly, and for the first time since he sat down, he was unsure of how to proceed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I was in therapy for almost a year after my divorce. That woman messed me up bad, but I really think I needed it. I found the whole experience to be, well, cathartic.”

“I’ve been in therapy for almost a year now, Bertram replied. In a way, he felt like he had suddenly unloaded a tremendous burden. Since that fateful night with the dolphin on Miami Beach, he finally felt just a little at ease in the company of someone outside of his group meetings.”

With that last statement, the light of recognition went off over the manager’s head, and his expression of realization was one that Bertram immediately understood, and regretted. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“Go ahead, get it out of your system. Try to stump me with some barb or joke I haven’t heard yet.”

“Why on earth would I do that? Why would I joke about something so horrific? I can’t even imagine how that must have affected you.”

“Bertram was stumped. After all the humiliation he had endured from the countless people who recognized him, this vote of sympathy was a real first. It was horrific, and it is the reason I am the way I am. I thank you, really I do. But now that you know what you know, I guess this interview has officially come to an end. Thank you very much for your time sir,” he said rising to his feet. “I’ll show myself out.”

“Bertram, can I call you Bertram? Please, sit back down.” Bertram cautiously returned to his seat. “You said something a few minutes ago that kind of sticks with me. You wondered if life could write its own novels.”

“You know, I was just thinking that.”

“Yes, I know. Anyway, that has me thinking about the whole book theme. Bertram, I want to hire you- as is.”

“What do you mean ‘as is’?”

“I want to use your externalizing as an asset to this operation. It says here you graduated Hopkins, from their school of business?”

“Yes.”

“Were they pretty big with liberal arts?”

“They believe in a well rounded education.”

“Take any English classes, maybe some creative writing?”

“All of the general ed requirements, and creative writing as an elective. Why do you ask?”

“This narrative thing you have going on really intrigues me. What if you could harness it into a kind of living novel?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“I mean, just be you. Do what you do, but try to make our customers into characters of a living novel, and provide their narrative. Draw them into your life, as it were, but try to spice it up a bit.”

“Bertram considered the manager’s words for a moment, and then tried to figure where his motives lay. Was it possible that he was running some bizarre social experiment, perhaps for some shadowy clandestine branch of the government?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I want.”

“What is?”

“What you just said, about the clandestine branch of the government.”

“Oh, you heard that.”

“Yes, I heard that, and that is what I want from you. The more I think of this, the more potential I see. You’ve really got me jazzed. I open in two days. When can you start?”

“You mean I have the job?”

“Of course you have the job!”

“Wow, I did it.”

“Yes you did. So what is your answer?”

“Yes. I can start tomorrow.”

“Fantastic. I really think this is going to make for an interesting dining experience. Oh, by the way. That little fellow with his face pressed up against the window behind you…”

Bertram turned around in his chair to see Marty with his hands and nose pressed up against the glass. “Yeah, he’s with me. He’s my best friend in the world. Actually, my only friend in the world. He can be a little insecure… at times.”

“Doesn’t like being far from you I guess. Will he be doing this while you’re working?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, this is my first job since I’ve known him.”

“I can’t have him doing that with a full restaurant. Is he working right now?”

“Marty is currently between careers.”

“I don’t have a dishwasher yet…” the manager said, considering his options. “If I put him on your shift, do you think he’d be interested? I mean, you’ll be able to check in on him all throughout the night.”

“Yes, I think I can convince him.”

“Terrific. Now, one last thing.” The manager sat beck in his chair and clasped his hands across his stomach. “Some men like to bet on the horses, others in a casino. I like to day-trade.”

“Is that so.”

“I’ve been doing it for the past few years, and I’ve built up a pretty decent portfolio.”

“How much?”

“About 20K. I used it for the collateral on this place.”

“Bertram laughed quietly to himself, at another civilian trying to make a name in a world where he was quite outside of his realm. Really. Twenty thousand in five years, not bad.”

“Okay, so I’m a conservative investor. Perhaps you could offer some advice?”

“Bertram smiled to himself at the thought of getting back into a game from which he had been sidelined. Little did this man know, that there was a time when he was the most successful investment analyst in his firm, who went on to become their biggest commissioned broker.”

“I do now.”

“I might be able help you out.”

“Yes, I think this is going to be a very interesting year Bertram.”

“Yes sir, if you say so.”

“Please, call me Kyle.”   

Chapter 4

“Bertram walked out onto the street having vanquished his foe.”

“Didn’t go so good, huh,” said Marty stepping away from the large plate glass window of the restaurant. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged over to Bertram’s side. “That’s okay Bertram, you’ll do better on the next one.”

“Dear Marty, loyal Sancho, have you so little faith in me? I just said that I got the job.”

“Oh, is that what vanquished means?”

“No, silly. By vanquishing my foe, I have soundly beaten him.”

“Like I was once beaten in foster care?”

Bertram took pause at Marty’s question. There were times he forgot just how brutal his friend’s childhood had been, and how deeply those scars still ran upon his soul. “No Marty, not like that,” he said placing a re-assuring hand on his shoulder. “I was being figurative. What I was trying to say is, I won.”

“What did you win Bertram?”

“I guess you could say I won against myself.”

“How so?”

“Well, as you naturally assumed earlier that I didn’t get the job, since I haven’t been very successful in landing one lately.”

“That’s because you externalize.”

“Yes Marty, I externalize. I guess I was beginning to think that maybe I was broken, and I would never find a job.”

“But you’re indomitable.”

“I AM indomitable!” he boomed. “And what does that mean?”

“With friends like me you can do anything?”

“That’s right. By getting this job today, I have proven to myself that I am not broken. I won.”

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed. And as for you my little friend how would you like to be indomitable?”

“Why, am I broken?”

“Only slightly damaged, but we can fix that. How would you like to work in the same restaurant as me?”

“Really? The same restaurant? Gosh.”

“Bertram could tell by Marty’s enthusiasm that the answer would be yes. But wait, now he looks crestfallen. What’s wrong Marty?”

“I don’t think I could be a waiter like you. I… I’m not a good talker like you. No, I don’t think I could be a waiter. I don’t want to be slightly damaged, but I can’t be a waiter.”

“Hmmm, I see,” said Bertram stroking his chin. “So you want to work in the same restaurant as me, but you don’t want to be a waiter. Let me see… what other jobs are there in a restaurant?”

“There’s the girl who says hello at the front door and gives you a table.”

“Why of course! The hostess. How would you like to be a hostess?”

“I’m not a girl Bertram.”

“No you’re not. Besides, I don’t think a dress would become you. No, that just won’t do. How about a bartender? Why I’m sure you would make a splendid bartender.”

“I don’t drink Bertram. I don’t think I would make a very good bartender.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would. I guess that would be like inviting a Shiite to a pig roast. A chef then! How would you like to be the Chef and cook everyone’s meals?”

“Isn’t the guy who owns that place the chef?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“Besides, I don’t know how to cook. This is no good Bertram. I guess I’ll just have to stay slightly damaged.”

“Don’t give up Marty, we’ll think of something. Say,” he said snapping his fingers “I think I have it. It’s a big responsibility for someone so small, but I think you could handle it.”

“What, what is it?”

“You would get to work in the same restaurant as me, and I could check in on you throughout the shift.”

“What is it, what is it?” he asked, his excitement barely contained.

“How would you like to be in charge of the scullery?”

“My goodness, the scullery! And I would be in charge. I’ve never been in charge of anything, except maybe myself. It would be like I was a boss, huh?”

“Why yes, you would be like a boss.”

“I don’t know, it sounds very important.”

“It is very important. Upon your shoulders will rest the successful outcome of The Library. You will be the most important cog within its vast works. Without you, the waiters will have no meals to carry out to the hungry customers. Without you, the cooks can’t cook, and without you, the bartender cannot serve any of his delicious cocktails. Like I said, it is a big responsibility.”

“Gosh, that sure is. Hey, Bertram?”

“Marty?”

“What is a scullery?”

“It is the room where the all of the plates, bowls, flatware, glasses, pots, pans and cooking utensils are cleaned.”

“Oh, you mean where the dishwasher works.”

“The exact place.”

“Oh, a dishwasher. I can do that. I know how to wash dishes. I could be a good dishwasher, and work in the same restaurant as you. I’d like that. Do you think he would give me a job as well?”

“I already negotiated on your behalf.”

“You did? You’re a good friend Bertram.”

“I know I am, and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. I almost had to threaten him with physical harm. We went back and forth like two titans battling over the fate of the human race. At last he conceded and offered you any position you may want, and at a full dollar above minimum wage I may add.”

“So, I have the job?”

“Weren’t you listening? Yes you have a job, the job.”

Marty walked along in silence for while as he considered his newfound place in the universe. “I am indomitable.”

“Indeed.”

“You know what I think?”

“What’s that Sancho?”

“We should go to our happy place.”

“What a truly inspired idea. Let’s go celebrate- you’re buying.”

“But I don’t have any money.”

“Alright then, it’ll be my treat. When you’re flush again, which will be very soon, then you can treat me. What a great day this has turned out to be, if only I could shake this nagging feeling.”

“What feeling is that Bertram?”

“That I am being followed. Perhaps this is a manifestation of some new kind of psychosis added to my already full plate.”

“Oh, that’s because we are being followed. Melany has been following us since we left group.”

 “Really?” he asked turning around to look. “I don’t see her.”

“She’s across the street and ahead of us. See? She’s wearing the black hoodie and the pink sneakers.”

“How clever she is, and perhaps a little creepy, Bertram thought.”

As Melany walked in step with her quarry, she discreetly turned her head down and slightly backward to verify she was still following Bertram.

Shit! He sees me.

“Melany,” Bertram called out.

Don’t look. Pretend you don’t hear him.

“Melany, please stop.”

“Yeah Melany, please stop,” repeated Marty.

Okay, don’t panic. He’s just a guy… that you can’t stop thinking about. He’s a little weird, but then so are you. All right, let’s do it. Melany stopped in her tracks and turned to face Bertram across the street. She pulled her hood back and shook out her shoulder length brown hair. Across the street, Bertram and Marty smiled and waved.

He is just too cute, girl. Well, what are you going to do next? You can’t just stand here like a cigar store Indian. Melany checked for traffic and quickly crossed over to Bertram. “Hi,” she squeaked, holding her balled up hands to her mouth.

“I see you’re going our way. Would you like to walk with us? Bertram asked, hoping this quiet nymph would say yes.” Melany nodded her head vigorously. “We’re off to our happy place, care to join us?” Again she enthusiastically agreed, then fell in alongside her two new travel companions.

Happy place? What are they, seven? What could their happy place be? God, I hope it’s a bar. I don’t think I can do this sober.

                                                             ***

Dunkin’ Donuts? Seriously?

“Dunkin Donuts!” announced Bertram, arriving at the happy place. “Amid the chaos of life and the cruel blows of fate, there is a soul restorative oasis where the weary and downtrodden may find a safe haven. Today, however, Marty and I have come to celebrate. Both of us now have jobs in Baltimore’s next chicest restaurant.”

Melany smiled, feigning interest. Carbs- just what I need. Then again, I would love to eat a doughnut off your chest. Whoa chic, be cool! Not the place or time.

Bertram held the door as Melany and Marty entered the bakery. Behind the counter, the Pakistani owner broke out into his best sales smile, until he saw Bertram walk in behind them.

“I don’t want any trouble from you today, dolphin man,” he cautioned, adjusting his round wire rimmed glasses, and taking a step back.

“Relax Gandhi, I’ll be on my best behavior, he said to the doughnut man, who called the police to break up his lesson in civility the last time he was here.”

“First of all, that was a very racist statement sir. Ghandi was from India, but I am from Pakistan.”

“My apologies sir.”

“And you bet I called the police on you… you crazy man. You broke many things here, many things.”

“For which I paid you already. I apologized, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but then you said I had no testicles.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Yes you did mister.”

“You did say he had no testicles, Bertram. But you were externalizing,” said Marty.

“There, you see? I was externalizing. It was like you were listening in on my thoughts. If anyone should be offended, it should be I for your blatant disregard for my privacy.”

The owner finally shook his head in disgust and leaned onto the counter. “What may I get you?”

“Marty? asked Bertram, sweeping his hand across the vast riches of doughnut goodness from which his friend could choose. Which will it be?”

Marty chose the chocolate with chocolate sprinkles, as he always chose chocolate with chocolate sprinkles. Marty was a man whose life ran on rails, taking great comfort in his very predictable waypoints. He was not one to easily break from routine. Every time he came to this joyous place, he routinely made the same selection: chocolate with chocolate sprinkles.

“And as for you Melany, what will it be? No, wait. Let me guess- the blueberry scone.”

Melany nodded in assent. I really do want a scone. Go figure.

“A scone for the lady, and I will have the… let me see… um… why don’t I get the…no, not that…hmmm maybe the… Bertram could see that the little, wrinkled, copper colored man was growing increasingly impatient over his indecision.”

“I cannot hear your thoughts crazy man, for I am not listening to them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was asking if you have made up your mind sir.”

“Yesssssss… it will be the… the… THE ÉCLAIR!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the counter. “No, no wait. I’m hungrier than an éclair. I could get two, but I mean who wants to look like a pig, right? No, I’ll have… the… fritter.”

“Will that be cherry or apple?”

“You’re screwing with me now, aren’t you.”

“No sir. Most assuredly I am not screwing with you.”

“Do you have a mango fritter?”

“No sir. I have apple fritters and cherry fritters.”

“That’s too bad; I really like mango. You may want to talk with your doughnut superiors about that. Now, what will it be,” said Bertram. He grabbed the counter and gently started banging his head against its surface. “What will it be, what will it be. What… will… it… be. CHERRY!” he yelled, rising back up with a raised finger. “NO, APPLE.” The owner stood with one hand on his hip, now officially tiring of Bertram Davis. “Yes, the apple. And three coffees. One black. Two with room for cream and sugar. That is, two packets of sugar for Marty and one artificial sweetener for Melany. So, to sum up and simplify the complexity of our coffee order, two sugars and one artificial sweetener.”

“Will that be all sir?”

“Yes my good man. Why are you still just standing there? Can’t you see how eager we are to delight in your sumptuous sweets? Be quick about it, and I will see that you are amply rewarded.”

The owner sighed, and turned to fill their order.

After Bertram paid for the pastries, rewarding the owner with the thirty two cents change, the three found a booth next to the window looking out onto the busy city street.

He even eats sexy, thought Melany bighting into her scone. Is that possible? What do I look like when I eat? Do I have crumbs on chin? Oh my God! I think I have crumbs on my chin.

“Bertram couldn’t help but notice Melany as she nibbled away at her scone. My God she is adorable, he thought. How is your scone Melany?”

“Mmm,” she said between bites “Good.” He thinks I’m adorable? Little sisters are adorable. Why couldn’t it be sexy? Then again, I’m really not putting much effort into it. It’s not like I’m licking my lips or anything. Should I lick my lips? Maybe a little lick.

“Bertram wondered if he was the only one aroused by her mastication. How are you doing over there Marty?”

“Mmph orgh ploph,” he replied with a smiling mouth full of chocolate with chocolate sprinkles.

“You have some chocolate right here,” Bertram said, indicating a spot on his chin “and here. All over here… yeah that’s got it. Now you have some right here. That’s it, all clean. Oh, there goes the nose.”

Melany giggled at Marty’s failed attempt at eating his doughnut with any dignity.

“A laugh! Bertram never thought he’d hear that coming from her. So Melany, how’s work? You’re a photographer, right?” She flopped her head from side to side to indicate sort-of. “Are you with the newspaper?” No. “Weddings?” No. “Freelance?” she nodded her head while stirring her coffee. “That is interesting. Small talk was where Bertram had the least success with women. He had confidence enough to move the earth off of it’s axis in any situation, except this. I recall, in one of our past sessions, Michael referring to your job at the Medical Examiner’s office?”

Melany’s lips drew together tightly and she lowered her head to hide from the question.

“Oh, I guess you don’t want to talk about that.”

Do I want to talk about that? Do you want to talk about dolphins? Let me see… being held captive in a cadaver drawer and repeatedly raped over the course of a weekend, or sex on the beach? What do you think Bertram, do I have you beat? Then again, at least I had my say about the matter. I can still feel his eyeballs collapsing under my fingernails. I don’t know which screaming I lose more sleep over, his or mine. What am I doing? He doesn’t know about all that. Somebody please change the subject.

“Melany, I am indomitable,” said Marty wiping the last of the chocolate from his face.

Melany looked to Bertram for meaning.

“That’s right, he is. You are sitting next to the newest dishwasher at The Library.” Melany tried to understand why Marty would be washing dishes in the city’s book repository, returning Bertam’s statement with a look of confusion. “Oh, The Library is a restaurant that will open in three days. It’s up on Charles Street, where the piano bar used to be.”

Melany gestured to Bertram to hear about his new Job. “I will be a waiter and personal financial advisor to the owner.” She nodded her head in approval. “I know, waiter isn’t exactly at the top of my list of career choices… replied Bertram. The truth was, since his discharge from Shady Oaks, nobody was willing to give him a chance at anything. He finally rationalized that in life there are no small jobs, so long as someone is willing to take a chance and give you a purpose. I’m pretty excited about the whole thing, and I’ll share my experiences in the next group. This should get Michael off my ass for a while.”

Melany smiled and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I know what you mean Bertram. I couldn’t leave my bedroom for six months, and I certainly couldn’t ever go back to that horrible place. Two years later, it still takes everything I have to utter a single word. Oh, how I love the way you drink your coffee. Why am I like this around him? You’d think I’d be put off men for good, but I could look at him for the rest of my life. I’m pretty sure he digs me. If only I could put up some kind of signal. Why can’t people do that? Hang out a Bertram flag or something. Maybe a flare. Anything would be sooooo much easier than talking. Bertram talks, a lot. He could talk for the both of us. It’s not fair- I want to talk. There is so much I want to say. Why don’t I work right?

“Hey, check it out,” said Bertram directing everybody’s attention to the window. Across the street, a man wearing a football helmet casually walked along the sidewalk.

“It’s Chris,” said Marty.

How do you know, shrugged Melany.

“Chris likes the Detroit Lions,” Bertram replied. “I think Chris is the only man in Baltimore who likes the Lions. The chip in his head must be very busy today. Bertram liked Chris. As with the rest of us, he had his flaws. A little paranoia is a good survival skill, of which Chris had enough for everyone. He joined the group to become normal, but who are we to judge what is normal. He doesn’t seem burdened by the helmet; in fact he looks rather serene. Doesn’t he look magnificent!”

“Looking out the window like that, is like watching a fishbowl, huh Bertram?”

“What a profound notion Marty. Check out the school of clown fish coming down on our side. Oooo, check out the great big grouper walking out of the cigar store. Hmmm, you know Marty, from their perspective it is we, who are in the a fishbowl.”

“Gosh. Then we’re pretty boring fish, huh?”

“Nonsense. I think we make far more interesting fish than what is parading outside.”

“But we’re not doing anything, Bertram.”

“Sometimes, my little friend, it is not about what people see, but about who you really are.”

“Gosh.”

                                                                 ***

After a thoroughly successful afternoon at their happy place, Bertram, Marty and Melany set out to walk off their afternoon snack. They headed south to the Inner Harbor, where they could observe mentally challenged homeless people in their natural habitat. These souls were the urban denizens that slipped through the cracks of the city’s social fabric, either of their own volition, or through some unfortunate oversight.

Not all of the panhandlers near the waterfront were challenged, or necessarily homeless. There were those of some means, albeit a few, who capitalized on the consciences of good people, but the rest were without any kind of permanent home address.

After crossing the intersection of Pratt and Calvert streets, they stopped to take in a sermon, passionately delivered by Uncle Jedidiah. The tall, lean man stood in a tattered state of disrepair, reading and yelling from a large, soft book he held in one hand to passing motorists. The sermon was from the gospel according to Jed, in the P section of a Baltimore phone book.

“Triple A Plumbing,” he boomed, pointing at a Corolla stopped at the traffic light “can respond to your emergency in thirty minutes or less. Abernathy Plumbers will clean your pipes and septic system for less than anyone else. For public events that require any number of portable toilets and sanitation truck services, you MUST call Adams Plumbing and Sanitation.”

“Look at him,” remarked Bertram to no one in particular. “Isn’t he marvelous? Such passion for his mission. Amazing!  He doesn’t miss a single car.”

“He scares me,” said Marty taking a half step behind Bertram. Melany agreed and joined him.

“Nonsense. He speaks loudly, but he’s actually very nice. Sometimes I play Gin with him. Good afternoon Uncle Jed,” Bertram called out.

“Bryant’s plumbing will assist you with new house construction! Oh, hi Bertram. Didn’t see you standing there.”

“You have a pretty big congregation today.”

“Rush hour’s just starting. In another half hour I’ll have a full house.”

“Hey, thought you might want something to eat later,” he said, approaching Jed. He withdrew from his pocket a $20 gift certificate from a local fast food chain, and discreetly slipped it into his hand.

“Bless you son. I’ll dedicate the rest of my sermon to you. It’s good seeing you again Bertram, but I have to get back to work- Conner’s Sewer and Septic will take care of ALL your underground repairs.”

“See you later Jed,” replied Bertram. “Come now, lets be away to the harbor,” he said to his companions, taking the lead to the waterfront.

The Inner Harbor is Baltimore’s busiest center of tourism, and the centerpiece of the city landscape. Along the roughly rectangular body of water are shopping centers cast in a design pleasing to the eye, historic ships, a tall trade center, a large aquarium, museums, and a former power plant filled with restaurants and nightclubs. Cutting between the shopping pavilions, they made their way to the west side of the harbor.

Not far from the edge of the wharf was a small black man walking very slowly in a tight circle. He muttered quietly to himself, perhaps trying to settle some inner dispute.

“Why, it’s Slow Moe,” announced Bertram.

“Yes,” said Marty “he does move very slowly. And he’s small, like me”

“You should try playing chess with him. He’s very good, but you can actually feel yourself getting older while he makes his moves; he takes forever. Visiting the city’s forgotten was a regular habit of Bertram’s. Some might think he took delight in their bizarre behavior, like some weird circus performance. Bertram saw in them something familiar, like kindred spirits, and on some level he identified with them. Hey there Moe,” he called out. “Got another card for you.”

Moe never broke his focus from the spot on the ground around which he walked and muttered. He acknowledged Bertram by holding out his hand as he slowly shuffled by.

“We are in luck!” said Bertram pointing to a pair of men twenty yards away. They were seated on a bench singing That’s Amore to the tune one of them played upon an old accordion. “The Stosh brothers. They’ll take requests for any song you want, but they will always sing That’s Amore.”

“But Bertram, one of them is white, and the other is black. How can they be brothers?” asked Marty.

“You can’t pick your family Sancho, especially when you share two different mothers.”

“Oh, I see.”

Melany giggled. “Bertram was captivated for the second time in as many hours by her wonderful lyrical expression of joy. He earnestly hoped that he might hear it a little more often. What time is it Marty?”

“It’s 5:27 annnnnnnnnnnd thirty seconds. PM.”

“It’s almost time to get you back to the Tyler House.”

Marty sighed at the certainty of Bertram’s statement. The Tyler House was a halfway house for substance abuse patients finishing up their initial stretch of sobriety, and for those emotionally challenged enough to find difficulty in coping with the feverish pace of the world outside. For men like Marty, their rules were few but strictly enforced, like returning home by 6 o’clock, unless they had a job.

“Yes Bertram, it is almost time. It is now 5:28. PM. I have thirty two minutes left.”

“Maybe, or you might have thirty two Bertram minutes left.”

“What are Bertram minutes?” asked Marty with wondrous awe.

“I find that the passage of time is best filled with an element of adventure, and sometimes a little danger.”

“Danger?” said Marty, now showing concern.

“I know of a passage through this urban jungle that will take us across a sky bridge at a dizzying height of two whole stories, through an unwelcoming office building where we will face a gamut of overweight senior citizens disguised as security guards, and across the roof of the Mechanics Theatre where we may find truant stage-hands skulking about smoking marijuana cigarettes.”

“Oh, I don’t know Bertram. It sounds very dangerous. I don’t think we should be….”

“Nonsense Sancho. Have you forgotten? We are indomitable.”

“Oh, that’s right. We are indomitable.”

“So are you game?”

“I don’t know. What do you think we should do?”

“I think we should spend a few Bertram minutes getting you home.”

“Oh, okay then.”

“Melany, care to join us?” Melany shook her head. “Oh, you have to go home as well?” She nodded in return. “Very well then. Thank you for your most excellent company,” he said with a slight bow. “I hope we will have the pleasure of your company again soon.”

He watched as Melany walked away. “Bertram felt a pang of regret at the loss of her company. He couldn’t help but feel that this reclusive creature had made some kind of progress while in his company. He hoped that she may one day open up for the group.”

“Bertram, do you like Melany?”

“Sure I like Melany. I like all the people in our group, except for Michael.”

“Yeah, but do you like her, you know, as a girl.”

“Oh. Sounds to me like you have come to a rather worldly conclusion Marty.”

“Huh?”

“You know about men and women?”

“Well, sure. I’m a guy, right? I’ve read some magazines,” he said with a mischievous smile.

“Methinks little Marty is not as innocent as he seems. Have you ever been with a woman?”

“You mean like in the magazines? Like sleeping in the same bed together? Nooooo. No, I’ve never done anything like that.”

“Do you ever think you might?”

“Bertram?

“Yes?”

“It’s 5:33 and 19 seconds. PM.”

“Excellent parry my friend. Off to the sky bridge!”

Chapter 5

“As Bertram approached the steps leading up to his house, he noticed his neighbor Lisa Brown bending over to pick up her dog’s most recent contribution to the neighborhood sidewalk. It was obvious to him that her new diet was working, for her backside appeared to be less substantial since the last time he saw it. Good evening Lisa, he said with his winning characteristic charm.”

“I swear Bertram, there are times I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted when we meet.”

“How’s that?”

“You were thinking again.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“You never do.”

“Bertram liked Lisa and her husband George, a city councilman. They had been good neighbors for the past few years, and his biggest fear was that he may one day alienate them.”

“That’s alright, dear. We all have our crosses to bear in life. Today, mine is a certain German Shepherd who ate an entire loaf of bread.”

“So I see. Was it whole wheat?”

“It was.”

“Well, at least he’s getting his fiber.”

“So it would seem. Oh, there was a man at your door earlier today.”

“Did he say who he was?”

“I didn’t ask, but he rang your bell and knocked on your door for a good ten minutes.”

“Huh. Perhaps he left a note. Having exhausted his limited supply of pleasantries, Bertram turned to his house looking to end this personal encounter. Goodnight Lisa.”

“Goodnight Bertram.”

Bertram’s townhome was 180 years old, in a gentrified community of the city, Federal Hill. After neighborhood wide renovations decades before, the area became home to residents of some affluence. Bertram’s own wealth was derived from his past life, and was enough to sustain his lifestyle for the foreseeable future. Upon entering his home, he always felt some measure of safety from the world outside.

There was no evidence of any note, and his answering machine was empty. There was a time when its memory was maxed out from crank phone calls and those wanting to exploit his story. Sadly, since having his number changed and unlisted, the number of messages was always zero. As for the stranger knocking on his door, he reasoned it wasn’t likely to be someone with whom he would be interested in knowing.

He paused at his office door and looked at the desk that had sat idle since before his committal the year before. Many times he had tried to enter this space, giving up each time. Re-building his life was harder than he originally estimated, especially when everyone he used to know had lost any of the faith in him they once had.

He leaned against the doorframe and sighed. The conversation he had with the restaurant owner earlier had triggered something inside. Kyle was legitimately the first person who showed any interest in his financial opinion. He had a deep longing to return to the life he once had, and perhaps this would be his first step in that direction.

“Bertram finally decided to muster up what strength of character he had left, and venture into this forgotten chamber.”

He sat down behind his desk, and turned on the computer. From information available on the World Wide Web obtained from various financial journals, through customized search engines, he was once deeply embedded in the world of money. He knew how it ebbed and flowed, and in time could easily predict the gains and losses of specific companies with an eerie degree of accuracy. In his own way, he was an accomplished artist.

Research always begins with a simple click of the mouse followed by a few keystrokes. It means starting with the big picture, and eventually breaking it down into all of its components. The sensation of buttons yielding to his nimble fingertips, and images flashing across the screen were familiar and welcome. Some of life’s greatest rewards come from earnest and exhaustive research.

The web page for which he had been searching now loaded onto the screen, displaying a wealth of information. After some navigation through the website, he found a contact number. Picking up the phone, he hastily dialed and waited for an answer.

“Uh, yes. Do you deliver?... Great. I’d like to order the Kung Pao chicken dinner… uh huh, and does that come with white rice?... Can I substitute that with vegetable fried rice?... Great! I’m at 107 Somerset… Thank you.”

Bertram hung up the phone and looked at his computer monitor.

“Baby steps,” he quietly said to himself.

***

After Marty finished his dinner of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes, he spent the rest of his evening watching television in the common area of the Tyler House with residents in various stages of recovery. Across the room and behind him, five men sat around a table playing poker for stale saltine crackers. The mostly subdued conversation was punctuated by occasional laughter and lighthearted trash talk, until the most recent hand.

“That’s bullshit man!” screamed one of the players, pushing himself away from the table and rising to his feet. “You fucking cheated. No way in hell you were dealt four aces.”

“Calm down brother,” the target of his accusation replied. “It’s just a friendly game of cards. Nobody cheated; those were the cards dealt.”

“You mean the cards you dealt. Probably pulled them off the bottom.”

“Would you chill the fuck out dude?” replied the dealer now rising to his feet. “Four of a kind beats a full house, and I did not cheat.”

“I’ve killed for a whole lot less than that motherfucker.” He reached down and threw the table out of the way into the wake of the three other men who promptly fled. “Are you prepared to die?”

Upon hearing these words, Marty sunk deep down into the sofa, trying very hard to be small and unseen. Over his head sailed a coffee cup that hit the cinderblock wall behind the television and exploded into countless ceramic shards.

As the last pieces of the coffee cup settled onto the floor, three members of security ran into the room to break up the fight. With every sound of fist and baton striking flesh, Marty tightened up into a smaller ball on the sofa. He kept his eyes shut, and quietly whispered “I am indomitable,” as he wished the episode away.

Unfortunately, this occurrence was commonplace at the Tyler house. It was once a safe refuge. However, with the current condition of the state’s budget, several halfway houses had been shut down, increasing the house’s population with residents who barely avoided sentences in prisons that were even more overcrowded.

Soon it would be over, and he would run to his room. It had been his room alone until three months ago. His roommates have come and gone in numbers too big to track. In some ways- the good ways- it reminded him of foster care when he roomed with someone nice. In other ways- the bad ways- it also reminded him of foster care when he roomed with someone not so nice. His current roommate was currently being dragged down the hall in handcuffs after stabbing someone over a game of cards.

***

Melany was a night owl. Living in her head was a full time experience, and sometimes when she lay down in her room at night, she could literally feel the world closing in around her. It dared her to close her eyes amid its chaos and malevolence. To take the edge off of the experience, she was apt to play her favorite vinyl recording, Hunky Dory by David Bowie. The lyrics of every song were intimately familiar to her, which she quietly sang to herself in her rare moments of vocalizing.

Since her horrific life changing experience, the road to normalcy had been long and disjointed. Melany had lived her whole life in the city, and had no desire to live anywhere else. Upon losing her cozy apartment for failure to pay rent, she ultimately retreated to the one place in the world where she felt safest: her childhood bedroom.

Her parents were as supportive as they could be during those early weeks, but after the police arrested their daughter clutching a long kitchen knife outside the residence of her attacker who was free on bail, they begrudgingly let the state intervene in her recovery.

Upon her release after being mostly ‘fixed,’ she started her new life with an old hobby. Her eye for photography had been quite keen since she first started in high school. In her portfolio were stunning landscape and portrait shots, candidly taken along her long walks throughout the city. Some found their way into newspapers and magazines, while others appeared in commercial brochures. A precious few even found their way into a local gallery. The new job was perfect, in that she was her own boss, could pick her own hours, and communicated with her customers solely through email and couriers.

Although she would never get rich from her new vocation, she did make enough money to eke out a basic existence, starting with her studio apartment over a mom and pop Korean owned bodega. It was small, sparsely decorated, and above a busy street corner, but it was all hers.

Most nights she busied herself at her computer, working with customers or developing pictures. Although most of her equipment was state of the art electronic gear, she still loved the outcome of a perfect film-developed shot. Melany was a night owl, but didn’t like idle time.

Once darkness fell on this evening, she bundled up her gear into a backpack and set out into the night for a little photography. Her twenty-year-old Ford Taurus carried her from her Washington Village home to a quiet side street in a neighborhood just south of the inner harbor.

Since that night the police arrested her, she had become an expert at melting into her surroundings. She could become invisible to an extent that even Jerald would envy. She easily dissolved into the shadows and held her breath as the woman walking her German Shepherd passed within six feet. The dog could sense her and pulled at the leash, but his master pulled him back to her side, eager to finish the job and return to her home.

Melany chose a vantage point she reconnoitered earlier in the day. She had chosen well, for she could observe her subject in three different rooms of the house. She removed the camera from her bag and focused the lens on the second story bedroom window. The window filled the viewfinder and required only minimal adjustment to bring the man removing his shirt into perfect clarity.

Hello Bertram.