Night Work Read Online Free

said. “I was teaching at Parsons for a while, but … Well, it’s a great place to live, but things got a little crazy.”
    “How was it crazy?”
    “I just needed a change in scenery. I took a year off, to see if I could get a business started up here.”
    “What kind of business?”
    “I was teaching jewelry design,” she said. “I’ve got some pieces at one of the stores on Wall Street. I was thinking maybe I could even open up a place of my own.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Good.” I nodded my head like an idiot for a few seconds, having no idea what to say to that. Jewelry design. Almost any other subject, I’d have a chance.
    The waitress saved me. We both ordered the beef bourguignon, with a bottle of red wine. Neither of us was up for the escargot appetizer.
    “Okay, we have that much in common,” I said. “We don’t eat snails.”
    She smiled again. She had a great smile. This was what they meant by “raven-haired beauty,” I thought,her hair so black but with every other color shimmering as the light hit it. Purple, red, blue, the exact blue of her dress. I straightened my tie again. It felt like it was strangling me.
    “So tell me about you,” she said. “No, wait, let me guess.”
    She leaned back in her chair and looked at me.
    “You look like you’re in really good shape,” she said. “So I’m going to say you’re a personal trainer.”
    “Nope. I do help out at the gym sometimes. I don’t think that counts, though.”
    “Which gym?”
    “Anderson’s. Down on Broadway, by the YMCA. It used to be the Kingston bus station. Now it’s just a place for boxers to work out and spar, that kind of stuff.”
    “You’re a boxer?”
    “Kind of. I mean, not really. It’s just something I’m doing these days.”
    “What, just for fun?”
    “No, I wouldn’t say for fun. It’s usually not fun.”
    “Okay,” she said. I could tell she wasn’t quite getting it. “That scar over your eye? Was that part of you not having fun boxing?”
    “Oh yeah,” I said, rubbing my left eyebrow. “That was just a couple months ago.”
    “You don’t seem to have any brain damage.”
    “I hide it well.”
    “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To hit the other guy in the head until he loses consciousness?”
    I waited a moment to see if she was joking. Apparently she wasn’t. I cleared my throat and waded right in.
    “You’re right,” I said. “And believe me, I’ve met a few retired boxers who can’t even speak straight.”
    “Because of too many concussions.”
    “Uh … Yes. I guess you’re right. But if you do it the right way …”
    “What, you mean never get hit?”
    “If you wear the right kind of headgear …” I said, “and you wear twelve-ounce gloves …” I knew I wasn’t going to win this one. I should have just done a Roberto Duran right there, taken out the mouthpiece and said, “
No más.
”
    The waitress brought over the salads and saved me yet again. It was like getting a long standing eight count. She even did the whole routine with the giant pepper shaker.
    “I’m sorry,” Marlene said when the waitress was gone. “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. I just never really understood boxing.”
    I had to smile at that one. That’s exactly what Laurel used to say.
    “It’s a great way to stay in shape,” I said. “That’s really all I’m doing now. All training and no fighting. Story of my life.”
    “Okay, I’ll buy that.”
    “And you can’t beat the ambience of an old bus station. It’s so great I even live there.”
    “Hmm.” She took a bite of lettuce and nodded.That was a good move on my part, telling her I live in a bus station. Like money in the bank.
    “Best thing is, it gives me something to offer my clients,” I said. “It’s something to keep them off the streets—you know, give ‘em something positive to focus on.”
    “Your clients?”
    “I’m a probation officer.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Kids mostly. My