Where has all the money gone?

March 1984

Jimmy’s jacket hung from his outside door when I came into the car port, a slightly distracting detail that stopped me as I fit the key into the door of the apartment next door. I had chores to do before I wandered off to work, the dog moaning for his walk, and my laundry basket overflowing just inside. For a moment I thought of knocking on Jimmy’s door to ask if he’d forgotten it there, as the result of heavy partying the night before -- although I knew better. Jimmy was more hermit than socialite. Perhaps the heavy rain earlier had caught him unawares, and he’d left the jacket out to dry. But this did not explain the whiff of mothballs. But at 9 a.m. Jimmy would not appreciate my waking him to ask questions. I figured it could wait until noon when he naturally rose.

 A half hour later, after I’d walked the dog and now prepared to cart my clothing across the river to the laundry, I found the man himself, standing in his doorway wearing that very jacket. Jimmy Garland standing, not only fully away, but with jacket and tie, looking as if he was off to an office in some bank or stock exchange. I had never seen him dressed so well, even for my wedding. As for the time of day, he’d not risen this early, even when his father suffered his heart attack, or when he needed me to drive him to the library to avoid a fine on his books.

 Jimmy didn’t seem to see me at first, though he stared in my direction. His dreamy, maybe thoughtful expression indicated that he had something on his mind.

 “So, what gets you up this early in the morning?” I asked, causing him to blink, and re-focus his stare on me.

 “Up? Up? Am I up?” he said glancing up at the sky, blinked, then shook his head. “I suppose I am. Just thought I would enjoy some of this Spring-like weather before it gets cold again.”

 Spring-like? While the rain had ceased finally after a whole night of icy downpours, the thick gray clouds promised more. Even I had put on an extra sweatshirt anticipating the chill. But before I could ask Jimmy anything more, he turned back into the house, and I had no time to pursue him.

 An hour later, when I was returning with my laundry, I found Jimmy outside again, though now nearer to the street, dressed in that same think corduroy jacket, smelling mothballs, hair cream and fresh mouthwash. If he saw me, he said nothing, and when I called, he stirred a little and stepped back into a narrow depression beside the driveway, where the girls upstairs sometimes waited for the school bus.

 “Jimmy Garland!” I said, marching over to him, my duffel bag of folded laundry hanging from my side. “What the hell is going on here?”

 When he glanced up at me, Jimmy actually looked embarrassed, along with his usual expression of annoyance. He seemed uncomfortable with my acknowledging him.

 “Well?” I asked.

 He sighed. “I can’t tell you.”

 “Why not?”

 “It’s a secret.”

 “A secret? What kind of secret?”

 “For Christ’s sake, can’t I have a secret? Why do my friends always have to give me the third degree about everything I do?”

 While I had grown used to Jimmy’s exaggerated need for privacy, this new aspect was many degrees more acute than usual. Most of the time, he just refused to answer his door when I knocked, or if I persisted, he would whisper for me to go away. Yet something in his stare told me more than he would have, confirming the rumors I had heard about him over the last few weeks, rumors generated not among us, his friends, but from the staff who worked with him at the Fotomat.

 “Jimmy’s in love,” Virginia told me.

 “In love?” I said. “That old Curmudgeon?”

 “He’s only 37,” Virginia reminded me. “And that’s a ripe age with men. They start thinking they’re losing something in the virility department, and they have to go out and prove themselves.”

 “And just who is the victim?”

 “Jessica,” Virginia said.

 “You mean the part time girl who works the morning shift at his both once a week?”

 “No other.”

 “Don’t believe me,” Virginia said with a shrug. “But I see him more than you do lately and I’m telling you, he’s smitten.”

 And he was. Everything about him said as much, from the unusual slump of his shoulders to the odd twist of his lips. Part of his normally icy exterior seemed melted. I laughed, he frowned.

 “I’ll see you later,” I said and walked back to my apartment.

 I had barely started to put away my clothing, when the tap came at my door, and Jimmy, not bothering wait for my answer, came right in saying: “I need to use your telephone.”

 “For what?”

 His faced reddened. “For a phone call, obviously,” he snapped, dialed a number from memory, then mumbled the name “Jessica” into the mouthpiece. After a pause, he nodded and said more clearly, “I thought she might still be home.”

 Without thanks, he hung up and barged back out, leaving the door open behind him.

 Sometime later, I called Virginia to find out about my own hours for the following week.

 “I was going to call you,” Virginia said, a bit smugly.

 “Don’t tell me you’ve got me assigned to a morning shift. You know I can’t work in the morning...”

 “Nothing so simple,” she said.

 “Oh?  And what exactly did I do wrong now?”

 “Not you, your friend.”

 That was how she referred to Jimmy when she was angry with him.

 “All right. What did Jimmy do?”

 “There’s four hundred dollars missing from the night deposits.”

 “There’s what?”

 “Four despots are missing,” Virginia said more slowly. “Three are your friend’s, one is Jessica’s.”

 “Are you suggesting Jimmy would steal?”

 “That’s the way it appears.”

 “Well, you’re wrong. Jimmy wouldn’t take a nickel.”

 “Maybe he’s not the same friend you thought you knew,” Virginia suggested.

 “Oh, come on, Jimmy’s in love, not insane. Have you checked with the bank?”

 “Numerous times.”

 “Then make them check again, Jimmy’s no thief!” I shouted and slammed the phone down, then dialed our area manager, Bob, who suggested Jimmy might have taken the deposits home by mistake.

 “You know how lazy Jimmy is when it comes to walking up to the bank. He probably has the bags.”

 “Four of them?”

 “He has been rather absent minded lately,” Bob said, making no effort to mention Jessica by name.

 Yet Bob’s words implied something that sent chills through me. I couldn’t help thinking how strangely Jimmy had acted that morning. Could love to have caused him to do something rash? Had he made plans to, well, abscond with his new-found love? Had he already absconded? I had seen him carrying no bags that morning, but he could have stashed them somewhere without my knowledge. Yet $400 seemed a paltry sum upon which to build a life.

 It was a ludicrous assumption, but one I half wished was true. Jimmy had grown so crusty lately, lacking all the touches of romance and adventure he had displayed when we were young. I wanted him and Jessica to be happy together, to shape love out of their poverty, to grow closer as they grew older together.

 A few hours later, Jimmy reported to work, heard the news, then marched up to the bank, telling them if they didn’t check their deposit chute again, he would crawl down into it and check it for himself. After a brief investigation, the bank manager apologized profusely, saying he had found the four Fotomat bags as well as a dozen other bags from other companies, stuck halfway up.

 Jimmy was vindicated; I was rather disappointed.