“Nothing bores us as much as boredom.”
– Josh Resnek talking to the mayor’s Blue Suit
By JOSH RESNEK
I drove up Elm Street. I turned left onto Abbott Avenue. There he was. The Blue Suit smoking a cigarette waiting for me in the doorway of the mayor’s mansion. I’ve never been inside. Some say it’s all polished marble inside the mansion, just the same look and feel like the casino. The mayor, I am led to believe, loves white polished marble.
“Put it out before you step into my car,” I ordered the Blue Suit.
He hesitated for a moment. He took a long puff and a deep inhale, and he let it out as he fell into the passenger seat of my 2007, red and bruised, Honda Fit. He tossed the cigarette before closing the door.
“I can’t believe you won’t let me smoke a cigarette in your dump of a car, Josh. What’s up with that, Josh”
‘I turned to him.
“It’s my car. It’s old and ugly but it’s my car and it’s paid for, and it works, and what’s better, you’re sitting in it talking to me.”
“Wow! I guess I should be privileged.”
“I know it’s not like being inside the mansion. It must be difficult to go from the polished grandeur of the mayor’s Abbott Avenue mansion, to step outside and then to be inside my car. What a contrast for you. Are you going to be alright?” I asked the Blue Suit.
He smiled. He laughed just a bit.
“I’ll survive. But hey, why don’t you act like the mayor and get yourself a brand new white Mercedes. Come on, Josh. You can afford it. He drives a Mercedes to look rich. I don’t think he owns it outright. I know he feels a rush of power driving that Mercedes around the city. It makes him feel like someone,” the Blue Suit added.
Back on Elm Street, I had to stop because of the construction going on on the roadway – new piping and all that.
“I’ve never needed an automobile to feel important or to prove my stature in life or to show off. My father always thought that was ridiculous. I was not allowed by my father and my uncles to be ridiculous. They would all have tossed Carlo out of the family and disinherited him because he’s made such a muddle out of his life. Mainly, they would have nothing to do with him because of the accusations made against him, his days in court, the alleged payoffs to women that make them keep their mouths shut. If Carlo’s last name was Resnek, he would have been disowned more than a decade ago. His laziness would have driven my father nuts. However, it is his ignorance of everything having to do with literature, art, and culture that would have done him in with my family. But hey, back to the car…does he owe anything on that Mercedes? Do we know who owns it?” I asked the Blue Suit.
We were now in Glendale Square. I turned left onto Broadway.
“I don’t know who owns the car. I think he owes money on it, but he couldn’t have financed it,” the Blue Suit said. “Why not?” I asked.
“He has bad credit. He doesn’t have a checking account or a savings account. He spends everything he makes and then some. Let me tell you a secret, Josh. Anyone partner- ing with the mayor is nuts.”
I nodded my head in agreement.
“I understand. He’s got a bad reputation when it comes to handling money. I heard this week from someone who claims to know that he just “borrowed” $100,000 he was meant to pay a partner in a real estate deal.”
“I understand. He’s got a bad reputation when it comes to handling money. I heard this week from someone who claims to know that he just “borrowed” $100,000 he was meant to pay a partner in a real estate deal.”
The Blue Suit perked up.
“You’ve got that wrong, Josh. He didn’t borrow the money he owes from the partner. He stole it and he’s not giving it back.”
“Come on. Who are you talking about? Who’s the partner that got robbed?” I asked the Blue Suit.
“That secret stays with me, Josh. You can try to figure it out. Good luck to you. You won’t find any- thing written anywhere.”
“I bet I know who it is,” I answered.
“Forget about it, Josh.” We passed McKinnons. “Stop here. Pullover,” the Blue Suit demanded. He jumped from the car.
He stepped into DiBlasi’s.
He was back in the car in less than ten minutes carrying a sandwich that appeared to be about a foot long.
“I love DiBlasi’s,” the Blue Suit said.
‘What’d you get?” I asked.
“Large Italian with everything and hots,” he replied. “I can’t wait to eat this monster,” he added.
We passed city hall. I turned right onto Church Street. I parked. We went into the Leader Herald’s office.
“Wow,” the Blue Suit said to me. “This is much nicer inside than outside, Josh.”
My desk is old school with Mont Blanc gold-tipped pens, a bit of sculpture, some artwork here and there, a few books including an opened first edition of James Joyce’s, “Ulysses” and the front pages of Leader Heralds plastered everywhere on the walls. There are oriental rugs, big old leather chairs. The office is comfortable.
“Come here,” I ordered the Blue Suit.
I raised the shade covering the window on the Liberty Street side of our building.
“Check out the view. What do you think of that!” I asked the Blue Suit.
“Holy shi..!” he exclaimed. “I can see the mayor’s office from here as clear as can be. Wow!”
I said this real quick.
“Yeah. The lights are on but no one’s home. He’s never there. He spends more time in Aruba than in his city hall office.”
The Blue Suit settled into a high back chair with his large Italian with everything. He gulped down the sub.
“Come on, man. It tastes better in your mouth than in your stomach.”
The Blue Suit sneered at me.
“Don’t tell me how to eat a large Italian, Josh. If I want to eat it in three bites, I’m gonna do just that.”
I watched him devouring the sub.
“You know he came down here and threatened me. You know this, right?” I asked.
“You talkin’ about Carlo?” he replied.
“Yup,” I said.
“He said he was going to put me out of business in four weeks.”
“OK. OK. You’ve told me that story several times,” said the Blue Suit. “Do I have to hear it again?”
“No,” I replied. “But I’ve been thinking…when he threatened to put me out of business three years ago, I shrugged it off. He’s caused a bunch of advertisers to cancel with the Leader Herald. He can’t put me out of business. You know what I mean?” I asked the Blue Suit.
He nodded as if to say yes.
He was chewing and swallowing the last bite of the large Italian. For those of us who love subs, the last bite is usually among the best.
“How was it?” I asked.
“Can we go back and get another one?” he joked.