Read Online Marine Park: Stories by Mark Chiusano - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Chiusano
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Disney campus. All-Star Sports Resortâalthough I liked Movies better. Sometimes they let us transfer. It wasnât so up-class as it is here, but I liked it.
Courtney continued looking out over the porch.
I had a friend there, the valet said, whose job was to be one of the walk-around characters. One night it was such a long day, around the Christmas holidays, that after the parade, when he finally got off work, he wore his costume directly to the restaurant we were meeting at in Downtown Disneyâhe was one of those monsters from
Monsters, Inc.
At the place, he kept the mask from the costume between his legs next to a bar stool, but he stayed in the costume all night. And when parents came out of the restaurant with their kidsâwho Iâd think should have been in bed by that time of night, but the guests always try to get as much in as they canâtheyâd cover their kidsâ eyes when they walked past me and my friend. Like, seven or eight times. It wasnât a coincidence.
Courtney had started paying attention in the middle of the story. The scene appeared in front of her above the porch railing. She realized that she was almost crying. She felt the tears coming up, like an epiphany or a revelation, which would clear her head and make everything sensible then; help her order her more or less acceptable life, she thought levelheadedly, an all right life even though it seemed problematic then. Was he all right, your friend? Courtney said, but the valet took it the wrong way.
I can put you in touch with him, if youâre looking for some acting work, he said gently.
Courtney gave him a tight smile, and nothing else.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
On the wharf Timothy turned back around again, looked away from the hotel, looked out on the lighthouse blinking red, and off, and red, and off. He was too old to be jealous of someone talking to Courtney. He concentrated on a docked fishing boat whose cabin was covered with Christmas lights, not plugged in. It wasnât like that when they met. It was at the Mariners, on Fillmore, where Timothy was watching a Rangers game with his lovesick cousin Eamon. Eamon lived in Carroll Gardens then, off the F train, but he came back to the Mariners sometimes since his girlfriend left. The whole bar noticed Courtney when she walked in. For some reason she came right up to Timothy. Hi, sheâd said. Letâs talk for a little while. He wanted to tell her that he didnât usually go to the Mariners; there was just the Rangers game. For the rest of the time there he tried to explain that. It had been a hot night, like this one, when they walked outside of the bar, leaving Eamon behind. It was muggy. Fillmore was the same distance from the water as here, practically, if Timothy thought about it geographically.
They had reservations at this hotel for three more nights. They were staying in the annex. It was a fifteen-minute drive away, and they would be here until the end of the week. Then there was nothing else. He guessed they would drive back home. They still rented their condo. He was OK with that, didnât itch for anything different, which was why Courtney called him a fool, off and on again. There was all the time in the world, though. The water confirmed: all the time in the world. Timothy stayed at the end of the wharf for a while, waiting for Courtney to come back, but she didnât, and at a certain point he didnât dare turn around and look for her. It would have admitted defeat.
He looked out over the water. In the reflection of the lamplight, and the intermittent glow of the lighthouse, the bay between the island and the land shimmered, just a few lights on the other side of the coast. Timothy thought he saw something surfacing and disappearing in the waves, and when he looked closely he was sure he saw something, and heard a corresponding animal sound to go with it, but then he couldnât be sure it wasnât driftwood.
Courtney continued looking out over the porch.
I had a friend there, the valet said, whose job was to be one of the walk-around characters. One night it was such a long day, around the Christmas holidays, that after the parade, when he finally got off work, he wore his costume directly to the restaurant we were meeting at in Downtown Disneyâhe was one of those monsters from
Monsters, Inc.
At the place, he kept the mask from the costume between his legs next to a bar stool, but he stayed in the costume all night. And when parents came out of the restaurant with their kidsâwho Iâd think should have been in bed by that time of night, but the guests always try to get as much in as they canâtheyâd cover their kidsâ eyes when they walked past me and my friend. Like, seven or eight times. It wasnât a coincidence.
Courtney had started paying attention in the middle of the story. The scene appeared in front of her above the porch railing. She realized that she was almost crying. She felt the tears coming up, like an epiphany or a revelation, which would clear her head and make everything sensible then; help her order her more or less acceptable life, she thought levelheadedly, an all right life even though it seemed problematic then. Was he all right, your friend? Courtney said, but the valet took it the wrong way.
I can put you in touch with him, if youâre looking for some acting work, he said gently.
Courtney gave him a tight smile, and nothing else.
 â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
On the wharf Timothy turned back around again, looked away from the hotel, looked out on the lighthouse blinking red, and off, and red, and off. He was too old to be jealous of someone talking to Courtney. He concentrated on a docked fishing boat whose cabin was covered with Christmas lights, not plugged in. It wasnât like that when they met. It was at the Mariners, on Fillmore, where Timothy was watching a Rangers game with his lovesick cousin Eamon. Eamon lived in Carroll Gardens then, off the F train, but he came back to the Mariners sometimes since his girlfriend left. The whole bar noticed Courtney when she walked in. For some reason she came right up to Timothy. Hi, sheâd said. Letâs talk for a little while. He wanted to tell her that he didnât usually go to the Mariners; there was just the Rangers game. For the rest of the time there he tried to explain that. It had been a hot night, like this one, when they walked outside of the bar, leaving Eamon behind. It was muggy. Fillmore was the same distance from the water as here, practically, if Timothy thought about it geographically.
They had reservations at this hotel for three more nights. They were staying in the annex. It was a fifteen-minute drive away, and they would be here until the end of the week. Then there was nothing else. He guessed they would drive back home. They still rented their condo. He was OK with that, didnât itch for anything different, which was why Courtney called him a fool, off and on again. There was all the time in the world, though. The water confirmed: all the time in the world. Timothy stayed at the end of the wharf for a while, waiting for Courtney to come back, but she didnât, and at a certain point he didnât dare turn around and look for her. It would have admitted defeat.
He looked out over the water. In the reflection of the lamplight, and the intermittent glow of the lighthouse, the bay between the island and the land shimmered, just a few lights on the other side of the coast. Timothy thought he saw something surfacing and disappearing in the waves, and when he looked closely he was sure he saw something, and heard a corresponding animal sound to go with it, but then he couldnât be sure it wasnât driftwood.
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