Back in the 1950s
The bell above the newsstand door chimed softly as Jimmy secured the latch, the sound swallowed by the hum of Flatbush Avenue. Evening was settling over Brooklyn, smudging the city’s edges with blue shadow and glimmering neon. Jane tucked her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat, watching as Jimmy methodically wound the stand’s canvas awning and stacked the last of the unsold evening editions.
She’d always associated newspaper sellers with a kind of restless energy—voices calling “Extra! Extra!” into the dawn, nimble feet dodging trolley tracks, especially in the world of Stone P. I which Jane was currently living in—but Jimmy moved with a gentle deliberation.
Jimmy turned and caught her gaze, a shy smile ghosting across his features. “Never thought I’d see you back in these parts, Jannie. Last I heard, you were heading for the bright lights across the river.”
Jane managed a laugh, a little too high, too brittle. “You know me, Jimmy, I could never stay away too long,” Jane said, trying to make it sound like something that Rebecca would have said.
He gestured toward Duffy’s, its battered green awning glowing like a promise on the corner. “Come on, let’s get out of this wind. Duffy keeps the place warmer than a potbellied stove.”
“You know,” Jimmy said, glancing sidelong, “I still remember that time you and Tommy snuck into the old Rialto to see ‘Double Indemnity’ while you were supposed to be at chorus practice,”
“We were sure nobody would recognize us in those ridiculous scarves. The usher nearly threw us out when Tommy spilled his soda.” Jane said.
The door to Duffy’s yielded with a complaining creak. Inside, the bar was alive—a cocoon of smoke and laughter, Sinatra coming from the jukebox, the air perfumed with whiskey and frying onions. The red leather booths were mostly full, men in gray suits and their sweethearts in bright lipstick crowding close, but Jimmy steered Jane to two stools at the far end of the counter.
Eddie the bartender, with his suspenders and perpetual five o’clock shadow, gave them a nod as he dried glasses. “Evening, Jimmy. Who’s your friend?”
Jimmy’s eyes sparkled. “Eddie, this is Jannie Gibson. Another survivor of DeWitt High’s. Class of ’43 like me.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up, then he grinned. “First round’s on the house for an old classmate. Of Jimmy’s.”
Jane smiled graciously, sinking onto her stool. “Thanks, Eddie.”
Jimmy ordered a root beer, and Jane raised an eyebrow. “Giving up the hard stuff?”
“Gave it up after the war. Didn’t suit me no more.” He ran a finger around the rim of his glass.
Their drinks arrived, icy and bracing. Jane sipped hers, letting its chill settle her nerves.
“So when did you get back?” Jimmy asked, voice soft over the din.
Jane traced the rim of her glass, considering. “Oh, a while back, I have not been this way for a while, though.” She smiled, but her eyes were far away. “Life’s gotten complicated, Jimmy.”
He didn’t press her, just took a long pull of root beer and let the silence settle, companionable and unhurried.
The conversation wandered towards what should have been safe territory—old classmates, except they were not Jane’s old classmates, they were Rebecca’s
“You remember Tommy Russo?” Jimmy asked, swirling the ice in his glass. “He runs a shoeshine now over on Atlantic. Has three kids and a wife who keeps him in line.”
Jane laughed, trying to picture who Jimmy was talking about, but she couldn’t put a face to the name.
Jimmy’s face grew serious. “The war changed a lot of things.”
She looked at him, searching for the right words. “Did you—did you ever think about leaving, Jimmy? Brooklyn, I mean.” Jane asked, trying to make the conversation a little less one-sided.
He shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Once. My uncle offered me a job selling insurance in Chicago. Went as far as the ferry outta Hoboken, then turned around. Couldn’t leave Ma, couldn’t leave the old neighborhood. Besides, the newsstand’s all I’ve ever known.”
"So what happened to Johnny? I remember him saying he was going to Chicago," Jane asked Jimmy.
"You didn't hear he died at Normandy." Jimmy told Jane, "I know you had a thing for him. Sorry to be the one to tell you, Jannie." Jimmy said softly
"It's ok, Jimmy. That thing we had was a long time ago," Jane replied, her voice a little softer, her eyes clouding with a distant memory. "Still... Normandy. It took so many of the good ones, didn't it?" Jane replied, feeling upset at the death of a man she had never even met.
Jimmy nodded silently.
“I had better get going, Jimmy,” Jane told him, still upset at the death of her old classmate. She had enjoyed the evening with Jimmy; it was great catching up with him again and finding out what had happened to her old school friends.
No they weren’t her old classmates they were Rebeccas’ weren’t. She hadn’t went to school with Jimmy and they others had she. It must be the alcohol she had drank in the bar that was why she was confused yeah that was it. Wasn’t it?
“I will walk you to the bus,” Jimmy told her.
“That’s so nice of you, Jimmy,” Jane said to him.
They stepped out into the night, the city quieter now, rain beading on the windows and glistening off the trolley tracks. Jimmy offered Jane his arm, and together they walked past shuttered storefronts, the comforting chaos of Brooklyn settling into sleep.
Jimmy tipped his cap, a gesture from another era. “Goodnight, Jannie.”
She watched as he disappeared into the drizzle, his silhouette swallowed by the city that had shaped him. She remembered Rebecca saying once in an episode that Jimmy had a crush on her at school, but never did anything about it. After spending a night with him, Jane wondered why.
Jane arrived at her apartment a short time later and started to get ready for bed. It had been fun to hear about DeWitt High’s class of 43. She had enjoyed her time at school that much, she knew. It didn’t matter if it was at DeWitt High other another school whose name escaped her at the moment, she had enjoyed her time at school
