himself up, he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. He had to believe. It was that or accept the fact he’d descended into total madness. He wasn’t about to concede to madness. Not yet, anyway.
Putting on his new sport shirt slowly, he ran his fingers through his hair, patted down the high spots, and bent carefully to put on his shoes. He raised the shade to let the light in, and saw that the room was both better and worse for it. Better because it chased away the awful gloom of the gruesome ceiling light, and worse because it magnified the flaws in the scarred furniture, the dingy wallpaper, the cracked plaster ceiling. Taking his package off the dresser, he tore the wrappings away, reached in, separated a watch from its cardboard container, pulled it out and tried to put it on, but the band was too small. He put the watch in his pocket, reminding himself to get another band.
From the small shelf above the sink he took his razor, toothpaste and toothbrush and crossed the room, mindful of making no sudden moves that could cause him pain. Closing his door behind him, he headed to the landlady’s apartment, but before he could knock-- his hand still in the air-- the door swung open.
“I heard you coming,” she said, thrusting out a towel, washcloth and a bar of soap. “You’re not so light on your feet.”
He took his things, wanting to say, Neither are you, lady. Instead he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Harmon,” and went down the hall to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, back in his room, freshened and clean-shaven, he put his things away and slipped on his jacket. He felt intimidated by the prospect of a new day. But what was the alternative. Until he could get back to his own time, he’d have to stay cool, bide his time and, above all, make no mistakes that could get him in trouble. That might be harder to do than it sounds.
Twisting the knob a time or two after locking his door, he shoved the key in his pocket and went out past Mrs. Harmon’s apartment, down the porch steps to the street.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later, winded, his ribs aching, he stepped inside the restaurant, where Toby was busy behind the counter, whistling to himself as he flipped the bacon, writhing and spitting grease at him. Toby glanced over his shoulder. “Tyler… Bill?”
“Gary,” he said, moving to the booth he’d occupied the last time there.
“What am I talking about, sure, Gary, Gary Tyler….I talked to my sister. She said you’re all set up. Glad she had room for you.” He chuckled. “Don’t let her put you off with her tough talk. She’s really a sweetheart.”
“That’s what she says about you, that you’re a sweetheart.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” a man at the end of the counter said, “this time burn the bacon instead of the toast.” He laughed.
Toby dropped his spatula on the sideboard and wiped his hands on the half apron he wore tied around his waist. “Coffee, Gary?”
“Eggs, too, and bacon, well done,” Gary said, taking out his watch, setting the time by the wall clock and winding it.
“Hey, Toby, what’s the difference between burnt bacon and well-done bacon?” the man down at the end called. He laughed again.
“Funny, Earl, very funny,” Toby said, going back around the counter.
“Looking for work today, Gary?” Toby asked.
“Not on a Saturday. Anyway, I have some errands to run first. Maybe you can tell me, is there a store nearby where I can get some odds and ends stuff?”
“Sure,” he said, cracking eggs on the grill and covering them with a metal lid. “A little shop that sells all kind of things, only a block from here. You probably passed it and didn’t even notice. Kind of pushed back off the street. Used to be blacksmith shop when I was a kid. A couple of doors from the corner gas station.” He pointed with the spatula. “You’ll see a sign in the window… unless you want to go downtown to a Five and Dime store. Stuff could be even cheaper there but it’s a longer walk.”
“There you go, Earl,” he said, setting his order in front of him. “Like you said, burnt bacon…. More coffee?” he asked, automatically taking up his mug and going over to refill it.
His double chin resting on his chest, Earl picked up his fork and poked at the bacon. “Burnt doesn’t mean make it disappear,” he said, brooding over the dish.
Toby sneered. “You want me to make you up some more?”
“I don’t have the time to spare,” Earl said, pouting his displeasure.
“One more thing, Toby,” Gary said, “is there someplace I can get some clothes cleaned around here?”
“You mean dry cleaning or just plain washing?”
“I’m not sure, maybe both.”
“Well, Overnight Cleaners ain’t too far, maybe three, four short blocks from where you’re staying. Just washing, ask my sister. She’ll do it in her cellar for you.” He chuckled. “But not for nothing.” He chuckled again as he fixed up the plate. “She’s a real business woman.” He went back to whistling a tune while he finished up Gary’s order and placed it before him.
Gary scarfed down his breakfast in record time.
“Why didn’t you say you didn’t like it,” Toby said, his smile showing brown teeth as he cleared the table.
“A quarter, right?” Gary said, reaching into his pocket.
“Twenty-five centavos it is.”
Gary laid down the quarter and a dime tip. He motioned Toby close. “Tell your friend at the end there,” he whispered into his ear, “tell him that burnt bacon is loaded with carcinogens.”
Puzzled, Toby whispered back. “What’s that?”
“Carcinogens. Chemical change in the bacon. Can cause cancer. Can kill him.” He got up.
Toby took up the money. “Thanks,” he said, moving away toward the door with Gary.
Gary stopped near the register to get a toothpick as Toby leaned over to Earl. He was just closing the door behind him when he heard Earl’s strained voice: “Who the fuck made him a doctor!”
* * * * *
Gary found the little sundries shop without any trouble, went inside and picked out what he needed, including a pocket knife he spied at the last minute and thought might come in handy sometime. The lady scrolled up the bag, handed it to him and he left.
Snugging his package against his chest as he walked slowly past rows of neighborhood houses, Gary wondered if his ribs would have popped out by now if the doctor hadn’t taped his chest the way he did, good and tight. He slipped his watch from his pocket and checked the time: 9:25. Much as he wanted to see if he could return home, he didn’t want to go back yet. He’d hardly tasted the flavor of the period, and he still had a mission. If he was to save Dolly, he needed to stay about a week.
Leaving the neighborhood and entering the industrial area sent a shiver through him. If he were able to fight or run he’d have felt better, but he had to get back to the warehouse and could only hope that he wouldn’t run into that wild gang again. Now the world grew quiet, with the stark faces of buildings lining the street, wire fences protecting the open spaces alongside and behind them. Shadows of white clouds in blue skies mottled the pavement before him. He tried to hurry.
Rounding the corner, he saw the building from the North Division Street side where his car should have been parked, the side he had entered the building from. Nervous and out of breath with walking, he approached the door as apprehensively as he had the first time. He rang the doorbell, shifting from one foot to the other, looking around, waiting. Impatiently he stabbed the buzzer again and held it until his finger hurt. Come on, come on, dammit, open up!
After a couple