But on that Monday evening up on the second floor
among the fabrics, Jimmy appeared pale and worn and fidgety.
“How are things at the fish pole factory,” I asked.
“Oh, fine,” he said.
“I guess.”
“Have they promoted you to company President
yet?” I asked with a smile.
“Far from it,” he answered. “I think they’re going to fire me.”
“Oh, Jimmy, whatever for? I’m sure you’re a real asset to that
company.”
“They don’t think so,” he said “and they have people
watching me … at work, at home, probably even here.”
I laughed, thinking he was making a joke. But his eyes had a serious cast to them and
he didn’t stay long. He smiled when he
said good bye and I said to him
laughing, “Well don’t forget I’m always right here on the second floor to serve
your tablecloth needs!” I hoped he got
the message to come back anytime.
After he rounded the corner into the main aisle that
ran the length of the second floor, I stepped from behind my counter. I wanted to watch his broad shoulders from
behind as he walked to the stairway at the opposite end of the floor. He was more stooped than I remembered and
when he turned to go down the stairs he was talking to himself, or to someone I
couldn’t see.
