So, Dave, I’m thinking Natilli’s on Crawford Avenue for lunch today. You know the place with the green awning that just opened up near Culp’s Nursery? Holly and I decided to go there on a whim for dinner a couple nights ago and we really enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. Good menu, not too dressy, definitely more on the business casual side of things. You don’t need a jacket or anything.
Oh, Dave, real fast before I go, I ran into a guy at the grocery store yesterday who said he knows you—a Jack Spencer.
Yeah, Jack Spencer. Um, he was a tallish guy, about my size, brownish-black hair, looked like he was in his early to mid-40s, pretty decent shape. We didn’t talk too long because I had to get going, but he seemed like a really nice guy. He said he knows you. Jack Spencer.
I guess he must have seen the company ID hanging around my neck, because he asked me if I worked at Duraloy, and when I told him I did, he asked me if I knew a David Cartwright, and I said, “Of course I know Dave. He’s my boss. See him every day.” And then he said you shouldn’t be the boss of anybody, and we both had a pretty good laugh at that. Anyway, he told me to tell you that Jack Spencer says hello.
Jack Spencer. Nothing? I guess he had kind of a nasally voice but not really. Let’s see, pretty white teeth, normal jaw. Wait, you know what, he looked sort of like that actor in, um, oh God, what was that movie? Shoot. It was the same one with the guy from that baseball movie that came out in like the mid-’90s. It was a comedy. They don’t win at first, but then they do win. It was pretty funny. It’s on TV sometimes. Shoot.
Are you sure you don’t know who I’m talking about? Because he definitely seemed to know you. He asked how Diane was doing, made a little wisecrack about your golf game, and before I left he told me to tell you that his son graduates this month. Or maybe it was his daughter. Anyway, he said you’d want to know.
C’mon, Dave, Jack Spencer. Seemed like a good guy. Good build. He was wearing a black shirt.
You know what, now that I think of it, maybe his last name wasn’t Spencer. The cashier was ringing up my groceries and there’s a good chance I didn’t hear him right. Jack Spence, maybe? Spitz? How about Spitzman? Spitzer? Speakman? Pembrook? Do you know a Jack Pembrook? I knew a Josh Pembrook once.
What about when you went to the Bahamas last year with Diane? Didn’t you say you ran into that really nice couple, and you hit it off because both your kids were in the musical together, and then you went out to eat with them at that seafood place? Remember, she was in finance, and he was…what business did you tell me he was in? I think you said he was a CPA? Or maybe he was in scaffolding? Cranes? Didn’t he own a bunch of construction cranes or something?
Are you sure that wasn’t Jack Spencer? I could have sworn…. Wait a minute, didn’t we go to high school with a Debbie Spencer? Debbie Spencer, remember? She lived in that brick house on Shenley—the one with that patio thing in the backyard. I’m pretty sure she had an older brother named Jack. Or a cousin named Jack. An Uncle Jack. I remember her telling us that she had a relative in Tucson named Jack, and we thought that was weird. I guess I’m not sure if those relatives were on the Spencer side or the Glickman side. You remember Steve Glickman, right? Real nice guy. Remember? He ended up marrying Marcy Gemitter of all people.
Damn it. Jack Spencer.
You know what? I’m starting to think maybe his first name wasn’t even Jack. Sometimes I’m so focused on shaking hands with somebody that I completely forget their name and then I’m too embarrassed to ask what it is later. What about Jim? Do you know anyone named Jim? What about in college? Did you know a Jack, or Jim, or even a Pete Spencer in college?
No?
What about a Bob Stillwell? Does that ring a bell?
Jack Spencer…Spencer…Spencer. Well, okay, Dave, I’m going to get back to work on this stuff for a bit. I’ll see you a little later.
