Edward entered the crowded Art Deco lobby of the landmark New York City building, pushed along by the rush, through the revolving doors. Once inside, he weaved back and forth, in a kind of embarassed paranoia, avoiding the people that raced past him in all directions. He was an old-fashioned-looking man, short, stocky, wearing a dark suit and dark overcoat, with only his glowing white shirt for sharp contrast, along with the red splash of his tie. He waited, ostensibly for an elevator, staring ahead, thinking.
The ride was over; and she was gone. They had worked well together, ever since they had bumped into each other in another crowded lobby at the airport. She was trying to pick his pocket; he was trying to pick her purse. Her pattern mirrored his as they approached each other in the performance of their theft. They caught each other, bursting into laughter at the recognition of their mutual larceny; and, in that instant, something other than stolen property passed between them. Later, in the dimly-lit airport bar, watching airplanes take off and land in the dark, they surrendered their loot to one another. He embarked on the happiest year of his life.
She was half his age, if that, and had a lot to learn. But they hit it off right away. They had had a great time; so many laughs. He taught her everything he knew, and she was a good student. In turn, she made him giddy and twitchy like the teenager he never was; he couldn’t imagine that it would end. Best of all, they never got caught.
But one day he did get caught, while working alone, in a bank downtown. Go where the money is. The cop at the precinct told him he found his “tell”: sidestep, sidestep, bump. Edward was devastated. The cop knew, but he let Edward go anyway, for the time being, a kind of professional courtesy, as though he appreciated Edward’s skills, but knowing he could reel him in any time.
“If they know you, then they’re going to know me,” she told him later on hearing the news. The next day she was gone, no note, no goodbye.
And now, as people milled about waiting for the elevators, Edward appeared to avoid them. If someone wandered near him, he would step away. He seemed awkward, ill at ease in the crowd, in it, yet trying to avoid it, always yielding his space to the next person. As he stepped away from yet another person going past, he bumped into a woman walking past him on the other side. He just couldn’t resist; not this one last time. He apologized charmingly to the lady, but she brushed him off and took the next elevator. He reached into the pocket of his overcoat, took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, and wrapped it back up into his pocket. One can imagine him at the pearly gates, politely yielding his place in line to the next person arriving.
Edward continued to wait, performing his awkward dance against the crowd that ebbed and flowed around him, while the elevators came and went. Finally, a tall thin priest entered the lobby and moved toward the elevators. Dressed in a full-length black cassock, he took his place a slight way from Edward and stood in front of the bank of elevators, his hands hidden, waiting.
Edward noticed the priest and quickly pushed the elevator call button. He was about to address the priest when an elevator arrived; the crowd moved toward it taking both Edward and the priest along in its flow. The doors opened and closed several times on the way up, one or two people exiting each time. No one entered. Neither Edward nor the priest had pushed a floor button; clearly, they were not leaving the elevator.
At last they were left alone as the final passenger exited the elevator at the next-to-last floor. Edward quickly hit the number of the top floor, the doors opened and Edward and the priest exited onto the building’s observation deck. In the bright, hazy sunlight they moved to the center of the open space and turned to face each other. Edward lowered himself to his knees in front of the priest, and crossed himself while saying, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I haven’t gone to confession since high school.”
“Damn it, Eddie, I know when your last confession was,” said the priest taking his hands out from under the black cloth, holding a worn leather Bible. Why can’t you just come to the church and I’ll hear your confession there?”
“Because…look around, isn’t this a great place for a confession? The priest had to admit, looking up and down the Manhattan skyline, that it was. Eddie murmured low now, the priest blessed him and turned for the elevator.
“The cops tell me I can’t work anymore; what am I supposed to do? I am an artist! Besides, it’s kinda lonely now.”
“Get a job, maybe? You coming?”
“Nah…I’ll think I’ll enjoy this view a bit. By the way,” Eddie reached into the pocket of his overcoat and took out the white handkerchief into which he had wrapped a largish silver pin than he had taken from the woman in the lobby, “would you put this into the box for the poor?”
The priest took the offered package, turned and rode the elevator non-stop all the way to the lobby. Exiting the building, he turned to go back to St. Mary’s church, intending to stop at the precinct first with the pin. Behind him, a crowd gathered noisily on the sidewalk.
