Chapter 37 First Public Offering
Michael had to stop to see Mr. Foley before he could see his beloved Gabriella. He knew that if he put off his financial problems any longer his worry over them would preoccupy him and ruin his first visit with her. He hated asking Mr. Foley for any portion of the lottery money, but the idea of asking him for a loan eliminated the guilt, a loan that he would pay back with interest. What else was he to do? He had no other alternative. The credit card company threatened to ruin his credit and sue him. Moreover, Mrs. Dooley hinted at evicting him because he was three months behind in rent, and if that happened, he would have to return home and live with his Mom and Dad. He did not blame Mrs. Dooley, she was a single mother with two small children who depended on his rent to help pay for her mortgage.
He stood on his stoop and closed his eyes trying to remember Mr. Foley's address from the checks that he cashed for him at the bank. While standing there with his eyes closed and his hands over his face trying to remember where Mr. Foley lived, a limousine silently pulled up to the curb in front of him. The huge automobile filled his line of vision and, when he opened his eyes, its tinted windows reflected his curiosity about it back at him. He wondered who died or was getting married, the only time you ever saw a limousine in South Boston, not realizing that someone inside the limousine stared out at him from behind its darkened windows.
He looked up and down the street trying to see for whom the limousine was waiting. No one was around, the streets were devoid of people and nothing in the neighborhood appeared out of the ordinary. He put his hands in his pockets, whistled a tune, smiled at the chauffeur behind the wheel, and nonchalantly walked up to the passenger side window of the limousine inspecting the shiny vehicle. Too dark to see within, he leaned forward for a closer look pressing his face against the glass trying to see in the car.
The rear window lowered and Michael jumped back in embarrassment. He could see only the chest and the legs of a man sitting in the back seat.
"Sorry, I was just curious about who—"
Little Ralphie poked out his head and smiled.
"Do you know how ridiculous you look from in here with your ugly puss pressed against the glass of my window? You got smudges all over my clean window," he said laughing.
"Ralphie! Where've you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you and have left messages at your house and on your cell phone."
"I've been," Ralphie let out a big expulsion of air, "on Cloud Nine."
"Cloud nine? What is that a new bar? That explains why you haven't returned my calls," said Michael scolding him. "You turn 21 and like all the other drunks, you start drink—"
"Do you need a ride?" He said interrupting Michael's tirade. Ralphie moved his hand across the interior of the car, as if he was a model at a car show.
"What's this?"
"It's a car, Michael, a limousine, a brand new Cadillac."
"Yeah, I know that it is a car but what is the occasion?"
"Get in, Pop. We need to talk."
With that, the chauffer emerged from the driver's side and appeared at the passenger side door opening it for Michael. Ralphie slid across the leather seat to make room for his best friend.
"Thanks," said Michael looking at the chauffer resplendent in his stiff cap and navy blue uniform complete with shiny, brass buttons. He got in the car and the chauffer closed the door with a thud. The car felt like a sealed tomb it was so quiet. He sat back making himself comfortable and ran his hand across the blue, soft leather of the seat while admiring the shiny crystal bottles and glasses neatly arranged at the bar.
"First time in a limo, huh?" He asked Michael while holding a champagne glass like a trophy.
"This is my first time riding in a car that did not have a meter running driven by some middle-eastern man named Ahkmed." Michael played with the power door locks, power windows, and the power partition that separated the chauffeur from the passengers. He opened the sunroof and stood up looking out. "Wow, this is nice. I feel like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman." He sat back down and closed the roof, as the car pulled away from the curb.
"Yeah," said Ralphie, "only the limo in Pretty Woman was a white Lincoln. This is a Cadillac done in Pearlescent Metallic Midnight Blue."
"Oh, still, it's a limo."
The car pulled from the curb and Michael buckled his seatbelt.
"Michael, no one wears a seatbelt in a limo. It's sacrilegious."
"I do," he said giving Ralphie a look that made him turn and reach for his seatbelt.
"You would," said Ralphie buckling his seatbelt.
"If Princess Diana and her fiancée had been wearing their seatbelts, they would have survived their horrible crash and would be alive and well today," said Michael.
"Michael," Ralphie said giving Michael a look of old money, "sometimes, you just have to go along for the ride without the worry. Sometimes, you just have to let go and trust others."
"I'll remind you of that when the EMT's pick your lifeless body off of the pavement." Michael looked around the car. "So, what's with the limo?"
"I'm celebrating and I could not think of anyone else who I would want to celebrate my good fortune, correction, our good fortune with, than my best friend, my mentor, my idol, you."
"Thanks, but what are we celebrating?"
"We are celebrating," Ralphie put down his champagne glass, handed Michael a glass, lifted a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne, vintage 1984, from the ice bucket and poured. He waited for the bubbles to settle and topped off Michael's glass before refilling his own.
Michael picked up the bottle from out of the ice bucket.
"This is the good stuff. This must have cost you a few hundred dollars a bottle."
"Chump change, my dear man, chump change," said Ralphie taking a sip of champagne. "We are celebrating my decision not to go into business, after all."
"Not go in business, but why, Ralphie?" He paused, waiting for Ralphie to answer him and continued when he did not. "That's crazy. Won't you lose the one hundred thousand dollar prize money? What about your idea? Don't you want to see that to fruition?"
"The one hundred thousand dollars is a mere pittance, my surrogate father, a mere pittance."
"A mere pittance?" Michael smiled with relief. Now, he would not have to ask Foley for a loan. "Then, you can give me back my $35,000."
"Sorry, that's impossible. I can't do that. That was the money you gave me to invest in my idea."
"Hey, easy on that stuff," said Michael reaching for Ralphie's glass but Ralphie pulled it out of his reach spilling some of it on the thick blue wool carpet.
"I am 21, I am not driving, and I am celebrating."
"I'll remind you of that when your hangover doubles the size of your already too big of a head in the morning."
"Cheers," Ralphie lifted his glass to his lips and took another sip.
