Read Online The Music of Chance by Paul Auster - Free Book Online Page B

that he was wearing one of those snappy camel-hair coats and smoking a big cigar. It had nothing to do with James Bond. He looked like some guy who’d stepped out of an Al Capone movie.”
    “It was winter this time.”
    “The dead of winter, and it was freezing out. We drove through the Lincoln Tunnel, checked into the Plaza, and then went out to Gallagher’s on Fifty-second Street. I still remember the place. It was like walking into a slaughterhouse. Hundreds of raw steaks hanging in the window, it’s enough to turn you into a vegetarian. But the dining room is okay. The walls are covered with photos of politicians and sports guys and movie stars, and I admit that I was pretty impressed. That was the whole idea of the weekend, I think. My father wanted to impress me, and he wound up doing a good job of it. After dinner, we went to the fights at the Garden. The next day, we went back there for a college basketball doubleheader, and on Sunday we drove up to the Stadium to see the Giants play the Redskins. And don’t think we sat in the rafters either. Fifty-yard line, friend, the best seats in the house. Yeah, I was impressed, I was fucking bowled over by it. And everywhere we went, there’s my old man peeling off bills from this fat roll he carried in his pocket. Tens, twenties, fifties—he didn’t even bother to look. He gave out tips like it was nothing, you know what I mean?Ushers, headwaiters, bellboys. They all had their hands out, and he just flicked off the bucks like there was no tomorrow.”
    “You were impressed. But did you have a good time?”
    “Not really. I mean, if this was the way people lived, then where had I been all these years? Do you know what I’m saying?”
    “I think so.”
    “It was hard to talk to him, and most of the time I felt embarrassed, all tied up in knots. He kind of bragged to me the whole weekend—telling me about his business deals, trying to make me think what a great guy he was, but I really didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. He also gave me a lot of advice. ‘Promise me you’ll finish high school’—he said that two or three times— ‘promise me you’ll finish high school so you don’t turn out to be a bum.’ I’m this little runt in the sixth grade, and what do I know about high school and shit like that? But he made me promise, and so I gave him my word that I would. It got to be a little creepy. But the worst thing was when I told him about the hundred dollars he’d given me the last time. I thought he’d like to hear how I hadn’t spent it, but it really kind of shocked him, I could see it in his face, he acted like I’d insulted him or something. ‘Holding on to money is for saps,’ he said. ‘It’s just a lousy piece of paper, kid, and it won’t do a goddamn thing for you sitting in a box.’ ”
    “Tough guy talk.”
    “Yeah, he wanted to show me what a tough guy he was. But maybe it didn’t work out like he thought it would. When I got back home on Sunday night, I remember feeling pretty shook up. He gave me another hundred-dollar bill, and the next day I went out and spent it after school—just like that. He said spend it, and so that’s what I did. But the funny thing was, I didn’t feel like using the money on myself. I went to this jewelry store in town and bought a pearl necklace for my mother. I still remember what it cost. A hundred and eighty-nine dollars, counting the tax.”
    “And what did you do with the other eleven dollars?”
    “I bought her a big box of chocolates. One of those fancy red boxes shaped like a heart.”
    “She must have been happy.”
    “Yeah, she broke down and cried when I gave the stuff to her. I was glad I did it. It made me feel good.”
    “And what about high school? Did you stick to your promise?”
    “What do you think I am, a dumbbell or something? Of course I finished high school. I did okay, too. Had a B-minus average and played on the basketball team. I was a regular Mr. Hot