Copyright© 2013
Chapter 3
I didn't recognize the number so I answered it in my official business voice.
"Dalton Conrad," I announced.
"Hi, Dalton, this is Judy Anderson, how are you?" she asked in a pleasant tone.
I felt a little guilty hearing her voice; I had really intended to ask them over for a back yard cookout or something but never got around to it.
"Hi, Judy, I'm fine, how about you and Carl and little Stephen?"
"Everyone is doing good," she answered, "Listen, Carl's sister was over last month; she's the one who has the gallery on State Street, Tracy's her name..."
"Yeah, you mentioned her that day when I dropped off the print; did you ever really hang it up?" I asked not meaning to interrupt her.
"We sure did, it's right on the back wall of our living room, we just love it," she said.
I was a little surprised; I remembered her as being kind of shy in the park, and although there was absolutely nothing dirty or erotic about the shot, it did show almost her entire left breast as well as a portion of her right. I really thought they would hang it up in their bedroom or maybe the baby's room.
"That's actually why I'm calling," said Judy, "when Tracy saw it she went bonkers, she said she loves the way you captured the innocence of the scene; in fact she suggested we name it, 'Essence Of Innocence.'"
"Wow," I said, "I like that."
"Yeah, we do too, Carl is going to get a little brass plaque with that engraved on it and tack it to the wall under the picture; but there's something else I wanted to ask you; Tracy just called and wanted to know if she could display it in her gallery for a while; she'd give you credit of course; I know you don't normally do that kind of photography so I said I'd have to check and see if you had any objections before I said okay."
"Judy, the photo is yours. It's a present, you can do whatever you wish with it, but to answer your question...no, I have no objections at all, in fact I'm honored," I told her.
"Oh, Dalton, thank you, I was hoping you'd say that. We have received so many compliments on that picture I can't even begin to tell you; Carl and I really want to thank you again, we will cherish it forever," she said with an excitement in her voice.
Up until that call, my days and nights had just run together in one solemn hour after another. What's that adage, 'There's no joy in Mudville?' Well, there was sure no joy in Conrad-ville either, not since I split with my wife ...except for that call. As an industrial photographer I don't get much praise, only money; it was really nice to hear from someone who appreciated my work like that.
Another month passed and things really weren't getting any easier, in fact if anything, things were getting harder. The more routine coming home to an empty house became, the more I hated it. I thought maybe once it was over, once I could start fresh, I might feel better; right now it was a waiting game, it seemed like my whole life was in limbo, but the closer it came to the end of my marriage the more I found myself sitting at the bar in Plato's Place at the end of the day. I've had several friends tell me it's just going to take time; I suppose they're right, but what to do in the meantime?
It was at that bar in Plato's Place that I had a little excitement; short-lived as it was, it broke up the monotony. I had been there about an hour talking to Pete, my favorite bartender, when a guy neither of us had seen before, came in and sat down a couple stools away. He seemed like the sociable type so we struck up some friendly banter until nature called. As we all know, you don't buy beer you just rent it; I excused myself to my new buddy and wandered to the little room where all men hang out now and then. On my way back I noticed Pete talking to Big John, he's the bouncer and was just coming in for his regular night shift. The two looked like they were in the middle of an important conversation when John caught my eye and motioned for me to join them.
"Hi, John," I greeted him, "what's up?" From the look on their faces something was going on.
"That guy at the bar," Pete said motioning with his head toward my new best buddy.
"Yeah," I said wondering what this was all about.
"When I turned my back and went to the other end of the bar he slipped something in you drink," Pete told me.
"What; are you sure?"
"Yeah, I saw him in the mirror," said Pete nodding to one of the two mirrors in the corner of the ceiling. From those mirrors the bartender could see anything going on in the bar.
"I never saw that guy before in my life, why would he spike my drink?" I asked rhetorically.
"That's the sixty-four dollar question," whispered Big John, "Pete and I were just discussing the best way to handle this; we can call the cops, or take him in the men's room and find out ourselves." He looked at me like he wanted me to tell him what to do...so I did.
"I'd like to find out what's going on gentlemen, I vote for a little men's room persuasion."
"Then let's do it," said Pete.
The stranger had just glanced over his shoulder in our direction as we all started walking toward him. He tried to make a run for it but Big John was on him before the guy got three steps from his stool. We dragged him into the washroom to, 'talk.' At first he denied drugging my drink, then Big John cracked his knuckles and the guy started singing like a canary.
It seemed the drug was phenobarbital; when taken with alcohol a person tends to get dizzy and sleepy making the person look very much like he's had too much to drink. My new chum was supposed to watch me and I when I started to exhibit those effects he was going to waltz me out to my car where my old friend Irv Peterson was waiting; it seemed Irv was bent on that revenge he promised. Between the two of them I would have been toast.
"What do you want to do, Dalton, call the cops?" Pete asked me.
