All of my writing is fiction and the characters of products of my imagination. All characters in this story are 18 years or older. Hope you enjoy the story, and please take the time to rate and comment if possible.
***
"So, who's turn is it to pay for this feast we're about to devour?"
"Joe, you ask me that every time," Franco replied, shaking his head and laughing. If you didn't bring any money with you just say so. I'll get it."
"Who uses money anymore? I have the magic plastic card. Trouble is, even with the card, you eventually have to have money."
We were laughing in unison now, after completing the usual opening of our Wednesday night dinner.
"Who's watching the restaurant tonight?" since Franco was here, someone had to be filling in for him.
"Dina's doing it, bless her heart. She always tells me I need my night out with the guys, even though 'the guys' is just you, and she knows that."
"Ah, yes, the good wife. She's a treasure."
"I know, and when we open the second
Wain's Ribs and Chops
she said she'd be willing to give up her job and run it for us."
"No shit?" Well, with her HR experience, you shouldn't have any staff problems there."
"She's really anxious to do that, you know, to help out in any way she can. I'm not sure I could give up a career like she's willing to do."
"You'd do it for someone you love like she's doing."
"You're probably right."
"Plus, she's a fairly impressive greeter, if that's what she's going to be doing."
"I know. She'll be doing that some, but she also has to oversee the whole operation, resolve disputes, and all that stuff. At six foot two, and an ex-volleyball player, she's built to handle it."
I knew Franco was referring to Dina's height and the natural bulk that went with it, but it also applied to the other connotation of the word "built." Having been an athlete, she was trim and solid, even shapely with larger breasts than you'd expect from a Division I volleyball player. Dina had been an outside hitter, and my wife, Sasha, at five-foot-eight, was her setter. Franco and I were spectators, neither of us being blessed with athletic ability. We always claimed we got an extra batch of handsome instead. Whatever it was, we both landed good-looking wives.
"I've said before, Franco, I'm way too conservative to ever take a chance of starting my own business. And now, you're risking it all to open a second place. You've got more guts than I have, or balls, or whatever."
"Funny you say that because, when the thought of a second restaurant came up, I wasn't going to do it, but Dina talked me into it. She's willing to take a chance. She said it comes from being an outside hitter. You take a chance at that position, and, like a quarterback, you're a hero or a bum." He laughed. "She's my hero."
"Look, here comes Harvey. Must not have a dinner to serve tonight." Like Franco, Harvey was concerned with food, but from a different perspective. Harvey ran a shelter for the homeless where food was their main, but not their only, service. Volunteers often provided evening meals for the people at the shelter, and Havey was usually there to help.
"Havey, not serving tonight?" Franco said.
He laughed. "Should be, but Ada told me to get out and go do something else for a change. She'd take care of the dinner."
"Sit down, man. You're always welcome here," I said, pushing a chair out from the table with my feet.
"Thanks," he said, sitting down and waving at the server. "Bring us a pitcher of Coors Light, would you please," he said when she came to the table.
"You don't need to be buying us beer," I said. "Use it for the shelter."
"I would, but there's something I'm going to need help with, and you two might be right in the middle of it."
"In that case, I'll drink your beer," Franco quipped. "What's up?"
Harvey sighed. "Something that's been on my mind for a long time, and I decided to grit my teeth, dig in, and take it on."
"Whoa, sounds serious."
Our beer came; Havey poured three glasses, then settled back in his chair, a sort of determined look on his face.
"We've always been centered on food, lots of food, for all our clients, and I can't complain about that at all. But, you know, on a cold night when we serve a dinner, at a church usually, and it's over, they all leave. I wonder if one or two of them are going to be found frozen to death in the morning. It's happened."
"Shit, Harvey, that's terrible. Sounds like we need to find a way to get them someplace to stay that's at least warm."
Havey smiled broadly. "You walked right into that one, and thank you."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yeah, don't get me wrong, but lots of them don't want it that way. They don't want an apartment or a room somewhere. They're happy with their tent and sleeping bag, usually with other similar tents in an enclave somewhere. They have no hopes and dreams of improving themselves or getting to a better place. Life, as they're living it, is the only life they can see or understand, so they're content with it."
"You mean, they don't want to, well, get ahead somehow, and live the "good life," whatever that is for them." I'd kind of heard Harvey's idea before, but it was so foreign to what I knew that it was difficult to comprehend.
"Yep. But not all are like that. Some don't have a tent or a sleeping bag, and when they go out in the cold at night, they're the ones that might not wake up in the morning."
"So," Franco said, "you're not laying this on us just out of the blue, are you?"
"I said before that I was going to need help. The building next to ours is ready to be sold. I've known the owner for years, and he's willing to sell it to me for a reasonable price. But, a reasonable price is still not free," he added.
"So," I said, figuring out where Harvey was headed. "You want to buy the building and use it to supply that warm place for your clients."
"Exactly. But, and here's where I need the help, the shelter gets just enough money to survive day-to-day, with nothing much left over. I didn't have rich parents or rich uncles, so I'm not much help. I need someone to help raise a bunch of money so we can buy the building, update it and fix it up for lots of people to sleep there."
"Us?" I asked hesitantly since I certainly wasn't a fundraiser.
Harvey looked from me to Franco.
"You're my best hope," he said.
He'd sprung the trap, and I think Franco and I were caught. Did he really think that two average guys like us could raise enough money to do what he'd just talked about? I looked at Franco, who seemed a bit dumbfounded. Still, he'd been able to start two restaurants now, so he had to know something about raising money. We'd helped with the shelter before, but this was different.
Having accomplished his main purpose, Harvey was happy to talk about football and other subjects, only occasionally going back to talking about the shelter, usually to answer a question from Franco or me. Finally, his cell phone rang, and he excused himself, thanking us again for our anticipated help.
"Well, what now?" Franco said with a shrug.
"Yeah, I wish I knew. I think he needs
plenty money
for this project. You think we could use the club?"
"Plenty of money in that club if we can figure a way to pry it loose."
"Let's aim our thoughts in that direction then and see if we can come up with anything."
We parted, each of us challenged to find a solution if one existed.
***
I discussed the problem with Sasha, hoping for one or two ideas to build on. But, everything we thought of was fairly mundane, and while they would generate money, we were sure it would be far short of what was needed. We vowed to keep thinking about it.
The next day, I was staying a little late at work trying to finish a slightly past-due project, but, as usual, my mind had drifted to thoughts of raising money for the shelter. I was concentrating on that when the sound of my wastebasket banging against the desk startled me.
"Sorry, boss. Trying to get the trash done."
"No problem, Mitch. Just startled me."
"Yeah, you looked like you were
way out there.
"
I laughed. "Just trying to think up a way to raise money--a lot of money."
"Glad I don't have to do that, boss. Not my thing, yanno."
"Mine either, Mitch. We've got a men's club with lots of money...but how to get them to let loose of it."
"Men's club, huh."
"Yeh," I answered, noting the subtle grin on his face.
"Naked women."
"What?"
"Naked women separate men and their money."
I burst out laughing. "You speaking from experience, Mitch?" I teased.
"A little, boss. Been to the strip club a few times and stuffed a few bucks into a g-string. Saw a bunch of very nice skin, though."
Mitch and I both laughed as he finished with the wastebasket and moved on to the next office.
I continued to chuckle at his "strip club" story, remembering a couple of adventures of my own. It had been a while since I had tucked way too much money into the g-string of a stripper once I recognized her as being in one of my math classes. It had been...
I grabbed my cell phone and called Franco.
"What's up, Joe?"
"I just got an idea for raising money...from our custodian."
"I don't give a good shit where it comes from. We just need an idea."
"Don't laugh until you think about it, okay?"
"Must be really bad, Joe."
"Naked women," I said as seriously as I could.
"We opening a brothel?" he said after a few seconds.
"Think strip club," I prodded.
Okay, thinking, but not getting anywhere, so, go on."
"Remember the second time we went to that strip club, and you climbed all over me for giving so much money to the chick from my math class."
"Yeah, I sure do. You'd have given her more if I'd have loaned you what I had."
"Sure would have. So, I think we should have a stripper party for the club and part those guys from their money."
