Chapter 4

A cello, it wasn’t hard to assume it was Andrew’s, was just audible upstairs on Thursday. It was obviously an unfamiliar piece of music, as I heard the cello start, stop, pause and repeat the same set of notes a few times. As I fumbled with my keys, a small section of music was played satisfactorily before another sequence of halting attempts began.

The weather had turned cold earlier in the week, even for early spring in New York. My workday had been nothing more exciting than the intermittent completion of minor tasks, along with the never-ending, but much more tiring, work of looking busy. I was exhausted and hungry and chilled as I returned to my apartment. I glanced at the kitchen, I glanced at the bedroom, I fell asleep for two hours.

Upon waking sometime near eight o’clock, my empty stomach told me to head to the kitchen. I opened a few cupboards, checked the refrigerator, looked through the drawers and eventually had to concede to myself that the very little food I owned could in no way be combined to form any sort of meal. Spaghetti but no sauce. Peanut butter and jelly but no bread. A variety of canned vegetables that would not go well with spaghetti or peanut butter or jelly. In addition, I had a wide selection of spices that would not make the aforesaid food combinations taste any better. Throwing in the supply of various meat Helpers, muffin mixes and a mysterious can of water chestnuts, I could only come to the conclusion that I was, for all practical purposes, out of food. The problem arising from this is that I didn’t know where I could purchase new food. Thus, I had to do exactly what I didn’t feel like doing: talk to Lori and Andrew.

Lori, if she were home, would undoubtedly still look very good and I didn’t feel like reminding myself just how good. Andrew, I was just as sure, would be irritating and I didn’t want to remind myself just how irritating. I walked up the stairs dreading the thought of seeing them again.

I stood at the door for a minute before I knocked. Andrew was playing the cello; quite beautifully, I had to admit. I wasn’t sure whether to knock or if I should wait, as I didn’t want to interfere with his practice. A pang of hunger led to my ultimate decision of "Fuck it." I knocked.

Shortly, Andrew opened the door as he was unrolling the sleeves of his shirt and asked, "Tom, how can we be of help?"

"Well, sorry to bug you while you were practicing, but I’m kind of out of food, and I just wanted to know where I can find a grocery store."

"Lori, we need to hit the market, don’t we?" he asked as he turned to face the inside of the apartment.

"Yes we do," I heard from the living room.

He turned back around with, "If you don’t mind the company we can go there with you."

Lori appeared behind Andrew, "Tom? Why yes it is! Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"No," I admitted, "I would have, but I don’t have anything worth eating."

"We’re going to grab some dinner along the way; you’re going to join us, aren’t you?" she asked me.

Unable to come up with a good reason not to do so, I agreed.

About five minutes later, I joined the usual cheery Lori and the usual sullen Andrew as we walked out of their door.

"What sort of food would you like?" Lori asked me as we reached the sidewalk. I was walking next to Lori; Andrew walked and smoked quietly behind us.

"God it’s cold out here," I observed aloud before I asked, "What’s good on the way to the grocery store?"

"We’ve got Chinese, Irish, Ethiopian, bar food, and a couple German restaurants. Close to the market we’ve got an Italian place, a deli and another German restaurant."

"Where were you going to go before I joined you?"

Andrew piped up from the back, "Probably the bar food."

I gave a questioning look to Lori, to which she answered, "More than likely, yes. You don’t look very excited by the idea, though."

"Well, not really," I told her, "bar food just doesn’t sound good" if for no other reason than the fact Andrew offered the idea. "And just so I know," I continued, "what’s Irish food?"

"Do you want to try it?" Lori asked me.

"Sure."

"Good for you."

#

The interior of the Danny Boy was what I had been expecting. A bar ran almost two-thirds of the length of one long wall, with the area behind filled with a collection of souvenirs hearkening the visitor to thoughts of Ireland and Notre Dame. Along the wall opposite the bar, a row of tall tables crowded against themselves, each surrounded by tall, backed barstools. We headed toward the more standard tables found in the area past the bar.

The room wasn’t well lit, neither was it ill lit. I suppose I would have to describe it as quietly lit. Several people had bellied up to the bar and the tables near it were full. The back, however, was about half empty. We doffed our coats onto a chair as a waitress hovered nearby, waiting for us to sit down before she gave us our menus and took our drink orders.

"That waitress certainly was happy to see us," I sarcastically noted to nobody in particular.

"It’ll get us in and out faster," Andrew noted.

"Why? What’s the big deal?" I asked.

"The Knicks are playing tonight," he explained, "They’re out on the West Coast, playing the Lakers. The quicker we eat and go the better. This place is going to be packed to the rafters in about an hour and those people are going to be downing drinks."

"Huh," I replied, a little surprised that Andrew would know much of anything going on in sports. "Do you watch much basketball?"

"Not really basketball, per se," he replied.

"Mostly just the Hoosiers," Lori happily chimed in.

"Indiana?" I asked, a little unsure if we were talking about the same Hoosiers that I was familiar with. It seemed like a strange team for a New Yorker to root for.

"Being surrounded by an avid following like that, it’s hard not to get at least a little caught up in it," Andrew explained. "I can’t say as I am really much of a basketball fan, but I do like my Hoosiers."

"I take it you used to live in Indiana?"

"He went to IU for his Master’s," Lori answered.

"How did you end up there?" I sort of asked them both, as Lori seemed just as likely to answer my questions.

"They have a very good music program," Andrew told me.

"I assume you went there to study the cello."

Andrew nodded, "Yeah, that was pretty much what I graduated with."

"Huh," I said, for lack of anything to add. I returned my attentions to my menu.

The meal passed relatively quietly. Andrew never seemed like the kind to speak much and Lori, though she always seemed happy, was not all that talkative during dinner, either.

#

"Don’t forget the French bread," Lori told me as I was wandering up and down the very short aisles of the market. It was a cramped little place, smaller than what I called a convenience store back in Kansas City. Short rows of shelves filled with all manner of foods ran at an angle contrary to the length of the store, as though they couldn’t have fit the shelves in the place unless they turned them thirty degrees. The shelves were filled with a surprisingly large variety of foods, though there was not very much of any particular type, thus discouraging customers from stocking up on anything. The only significant shelf space reserved for any one item was that supplied to the wine selections. A significant deli consumed the front of the store, however, and I had picked up a couple pre-made, wrapped sandwiches that I would later discover to be better than I would have ever imagined a bologna-based sandwich could be.

"What was that?" I asked her.

"French bread. It’s just not a bag of groceries unless you have a loaf of French bread sticking out the top," she told me with a broad smile.

"Is that some sort of law in New York?"

"I like to think so. You’ve seen the movies, you know how it works. Any bag of groceries needs to have French bread sticking out of the top."

"You buy French bread every time you go shopping for food, don’t you?" I asked her, finding myself entertained by this unusual quirk.

"Absolutely. I bought it once and found out it’s actually very good."

I smiled with a little shake of my head as I walked back up to the deli area and grabbed a loaf for myself. "Any other rules you can provide while we’re here?" I asked upon my return to the rows of shelves in the back of the store.

"No, that’s it for now," she replied with a grin.

Upon purchasing our respective stocks of food, we began our walk home.

"Can I give you a hand with that?" Andrew offered.

"That’s okay," I told him in a friendly manner, "I think I can handle two bags of groceries."

"Actually, it’s a real pain in the ass after the first block and the next three are worse. Here," he told me as he lifted a bag out from one of my arms, "That’ll make things much easier."

I had to admit it was quite a bit easier to handle only one bag of food and I thanked him for the help.

"Think nothing of it," Andrew replied. He and Lori were each carrying a smaller bag and I felt a little silly for his carrying two of them and I let him know that. "Eh, nothing to worry about, I just happen to have been doing it a little longer. If I’m used to it, I may as well lend a hand. Don’t worry, you’ll be doing it on your own soon enough."

As it turned out, I grew very tired of carrying half of my food supply, so I could not have imagined needing to carry two fully laden sacks for the entire four blocks. Upon arriving at my door, I thanked Andrew again for the help, which he brushed off amiably as he and Lori left me at my door.