YOU CAN QUIT TOMORROW

From the R.M. Dolin novel, “An Unsustainable Life – The Book of Isaac”

Chapter 3: You Can Quit Tomorrow

With warm-up pitches in the books and the bullpen exuding confidence, today’s gonna be an easy outing, at least that’s how the faithful see it. The exciting Chicago Cubs take the field for the final contest in their three-game home stand as Isaac attempts to pin Murphy down for resolution on the important matter that they’ve been discussing all afternoon. “Have you had a chance to mull things over?” Isaac asks. He watches Murphy wipe condensation rings off his end of the old oak bar stained black from years of spilt Guinness and beguiled expectations.

“Look lad,” Murphy casually states as he finishes topping off a pint of Guinness that’s been wanting to settle. “Ya picked a bad time to open negotiations don’t ya think?”

“Not from where I’m sitting in the bleachers,” Isaac fires back. “You need me pretty bad these next nine innings, so I’d say my timing’s perfect.”

“I concede that point sure enough,” Murphy admits while pocketing the cash from his last two pours as thirsty faithful queue up for their lead-off pint with the game about to get underway. “The whole lot of you Olinski’s have always been shrewd negotiators. For the life of me I don’t even know why I even ever allowed your clan in here in the first place.”

Isaac’s undeterred by Murphy’s insult masquerading as a complement, in part out of his manic need for resolution but equally due to his understanding that every negotiation has a winner and loser and he’s not above charming his way to a win. “You’re just saying that cause you like me.” He follows Murphy to the till even though there’s a line of faithful queueing up at his end of the bar. “I’m not asking for anything different than what you do for the other bartenders and they won’t even work game day; too many pours for not enough tips they say.”

“Maybe laddie, but they didn’t get on by saying they’ll work for free then try changing the agreement as soon as they become necessary.”

“Isn’t that the nature of employer/employee relationships or do I have my union history wrong?”

“No, you got your God-damn union bullshit down plenty proper.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Isaac states. “In addition to being paid, I need to keep my tips and my side hustle wagers, but I’ll still cut in on the Vig.”

“Whoa now lad, you’re erasing the very reason I have for letting you work here.”

“Then I quit.”

“Oh no you don’t. The game’s about to start and I ain’t got no back up. You can quit tomorrow.”

“What about today?”

“Today we’ll figure it out.”

“I only agree to stay today if there’s a tomorrow.”

“What are we, lovers? Should I give you a bloody promise ring or some such foolishness?” Murphy pours a pint for a patron, stopping at the precise point where the foam can no longer be supported above the glass rim. He looks at Isaac embracing that this is a learning moment. “Let me tell you how the real-world works lad. Plain and simple, you need me more than I need you, maybe not at this moment but long term for sure. You show up every day and work hard at reminding me through effort and attitude why I should keep you on and in exchange, I do. There’s no forever, or until death do us part. You provide what I need and in return I give you what you need. If you don’t quit or I don’t fire you today, we figure out tomorrow, and then the next day after that. That’s how this whole bloody work thing works. Maybe along the way I learn to like you and you learn to respect me but even that don’t guarantee happily ever after.”

Isaac extends his hand. “I accept your terms, and just so we’re clear, I’m needing to be paid in cash, can’t afford to be giving both you and Uncle Sam a vig.”

Murphy looks sternly at Isaac’s extended hand before grasping it firmly. “I don’t tolerate no union bullshit lad, and no politics neither, quickest way to lose customers is talking that bullshit. Neither group’s got a damn thing worth saying, but they damn sure like saying it.” He smiles at his newest paid employee. “You sure you ain’t Darwin’s kid? Seems ya got a lot more of him driving ya than you do his brother.”

Isaac laughs with relief at successfully securing his first paid job. “I’m sure if that were true the family scandal would have long ago come out.”

“They have tests ya know, happy to oblige if you’ll let me run a wager on the outcome?”

Isaac sighs. “It’d be like taking money from Lenny since I already know the outcome.”

“You’re call, but here’s our deal lad; since you formally never worked here, no point putting ya on the books now, so cash it is. Just don’t be saying any of this to Gallo; ten thousand accountants in this crazy corrupt city and I gotta have the one who’s honest.”

Isaac laughs, “No worries, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I got a job. This’ll just be between you and me.”

“And Lenny.” Murphy adds in a hushed whisper as he carries four pints to the queue station at his end of the bar. “And of course all the other disappointed investors.”

Isaac follows. “What investors?”

“We had us a little wager lad and Lenny won.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know how this bar works; we run wagers on just about anything. The current big pot bet is about when you’ll be forced to get a paying job. After you took up with that rich woman we could all see you was living beyond your means and that sort of shit ain’t sustainable. It was just a matter of time before ya burned through your trust fund with the rest of your life falling like dominoes.” Murphy places his hand on Isaac shoulder and looks at him with stern seriousness. “While I’m having my mea culpa moment, I might as well tell ya lad, there’s another pot building on a follow-up wager. It’s an over/under on how long miss fancy-pants stays with you after finding out you’re broke. The current line is four days and Lenny’s the only one taking the over; it’s got something to do with some bullshit British preacher and his new betting strategy.

Isaac is more than annoyed. “You’re saying this bar’s betting on my misery?”

“It ain’t like that lad, betting on a likely outcome has nothing to do with hoping for that outcome, it’s seeing what’s likely to happen and trying to profit from it. No different than what those bloody bastards on Wall Street do. The longer you lasted lad, the more takers we got; pretty much everyone here’s in on the wager Lenny just won; the jammy bastard. For the record, I had ya at mid-October, thought you were richer than you apparently are.”

Isaac signals to the guy’s growing inpatient at his end of the bar that he’ll be along soon. “You’re saying these bastards are actually betting on when me and Gabriella break up?”

“After you tell her you’re broke, that’s the wager. Current line is four days, which would be next Tuesday if you tell her tonight.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you got a job. The clock starts once she finds out. Most betters say it’ll be right away, but more cautious money is on it being a few days. Lenny’s the only one betting it’ll be beyond four.

“Well, bet away to your hearts content cause Gabriella and I are in love.”

“Oh, you naive little bastard,” Murphy laughs. “I’ll give you odds if you tell her tonight you just got a job, you’re eating re-hydrated Ramon alone in your apartment by Tuesday.”

“I’ll take that bet.” Isaac declares as he starts back to his end of the bar no longer able to ignore the growing line of impatient faithful queued up for refills. “And for the record,” he turns and shouts back to his boss, “I’m not broke, I’m having a cash flow crisis.” He walks the rest of the way to his station mumbling to himself. “Whatever the hell that means.”

It’s not until the bottom of the second inning Isaac’s worked through his backlog of patrons needing pints. It helps the Cubs mount one of their patented ‘almost-rallies,’ because nobody orders refills during a rally. Once caught up, he saunters over to where Lenny’s sitting in the same chair, he’s occupied the last twenty-some-odd years. “Care to wager on your Cubs?” Isaac sarcastically inquires while setting an unordered Guinness on the bar.

“Why,” Lenny abruptly answers, “you just give the winnings to Murphy anyway, which I have to tell you is a bit insulting.”

“Not anymore,” Isaac states without hesitation or embarrassment. “From here on out I’m in it for me. Murphy still gets his Vig, but other than that, I’m an independent operator.”

Lenny gets out his phone to check the date, then looks up with a shit-eating grin. “I won, didn’t I?”

“Won what?” Isaac pretends not to know.

“Ya finally crashed, didn’t ya? We all knew it was just a matter of time given how you carry on. I had you back in June to start with but re-wagered once I saw you rally after the cocktail tossing incident on the Pier.”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“All the way back in May,” Lenny continues, we’ve been picking dates. Most of the bar’s in on it. Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to come work at my shop back in June. I figured I could buy my way to victory, but you were stubborn. So, tell me, did you give your uncle a call to hook you up with a fancy high-tech gig downtown? I hear those jobs pay big bucks.”

“It’s been more than a minute since we talked. Besides, I don’t have the credentials for that kind of work.” Isaac gestures towards the other end of the bar, “Murphy’s putting me on full time with pay, plus, I get to keep all tips and wagers.”

“I’ll be damned.” Lenny laughs. “We all knew you’d crash kid, but I don’t know that anyone had you working here full time. What’s the current over/under on things with Miss Fancy Pants?”

Isaac looks at Lenny with a cold sternness. “You boys need to get a life, you know that? This living vicariously through me is not sustainable.”

“I don’t know,” Lenny teases. “Your life just made me a shit-ton of money, so what’s the over/under, I got money riding on this wager.”

Since the bar’s gonna vicariously live through him, Isaac decides it’s better to join them than be pissed about it. “Murphy says if I tell her tonight I now work here full time because I’m broke, he’ll give her until next Tuesday to pull the plug.”

“You know you can’t wager, right?” Lenny lectures. “On account of the obvious conflict of interest. However, since you’re a betting man, if you could get in on the action, would you take the over or the under?”

Isaac laughs while pouring patron pints. “No way in hell I’m giving you inside information after the way you got stinky rich off my misery.” He pauses to consider how best to market his drama in a way that creates community interest while leaving him with the ability to get in on the wager. “I’ll tell you this, Gabriella and I are in love and we’re going to survive my temporary setback.”

“Oh, for fucks-sake,” Lenny laughs. “It’s enough we’re betting on your downfall, don’t pissing make it worse by embarrassing yourself. Fetch me another Guinness so I can talk some sense into ya.”

“What can I say,” Isaac smirks with deceptive charm while pouring Lenny’s refill. “I am if nothing else, a hopeless romantic.”

“I definitely am gonna wanna up my wager.” Lenny states after taking the pint’s first taste and wiping foam from his lips. He laughs while considering wager parameters. If there’s one thing he’s learned from Darwin after the Shovelhead incident it’s that wagering an Olinski requires careful consideration of all contingencies. “How we gonna know you tell her truthfully about your situation?”

“Situation,” Isaac laughs. “It’s a job for crying out loud, I’m not getting drafted to go kill stinky Russians in Ukraine.”

“From where she sits, your fate’s far worse than simply shipping off to war. The reason I sit on this stool night after night instead of being at home with some beautiful bride is because I know about such things. So, back to my question, how are we gonna know you truthfully tell her?”

Isaac grins. “I yield to your obvious expertise.” He takes a moment to consider parameters of a potential wager relative to what’s at stake but is quickly distracted by the third inning ending, causing customers to line up for refills with eager impatience. “I’ll tell you what,” he says to Lenny between pours, “if I can get in on the action, I’ll call Gabriella down here right now and give her the exciting news in front of the entire bar.” Isaac delivers three pints to a guy wearing a pocket T-shirt with the logo ‘Ralph’s Pretty Good Plumbing, We Fix Your Shit.’ He gives the plumber a thumbs up on the logo and goes back to filling more pints. Again, he talks to Lenny while pouring. “After she gets the news, I’ll promise not to have any contact with her until Tuesday; no text, no talk, no messaging, and no third-party intermediaries until just before deadline, then her and I will meet here to see where things stand.”

Lenny jumps up. “Save my seat, I’m gonna talk this over with Murphy. Beware though, if he gives the okay, the whole damn bar’s gonna want in on it.”

Isaac motions Lenny along. “Sally forth thee troubadour and set thy conditions for our tournament as I ready my phone to lay down the opening gauntlet.”

Lenny looks oddly back at Isaac as he picks his way through the packed crowd on his way to engage Murphy. Immediately, Isaac shifts focus on his customer queue. Now that tips are on the table, he works extra hard to charm his way through the backlog of thirsty optimists. It takes until midway through the fifth inning before the growing committee of dedicated faithful around Murphy work through the details of the latest Northshore wager. Once done, word quickly spreads as early book opens, leaving the more seasoned betters to wait for Isaac’s impending reveal before finalizing their wagers.

It’s the top of the seventh with the Cubs up two runs and their starter still on the mound when Gabriella arrives looking as out of place as a princess at a garage sale. Per agreed-to wager rules, Isaac’s only been allowed thus far to tell Gabriella he has exciting news he wants to share. Another overarching rule is that Isaac will be allowed to bet but must place his wager in a sealed envelope in Murphy’s safe so no one knows his likely outcome. A third stipulation agreed to in the earlier huddle is that Isaac must deliver the news to Gabriella in front of Murphy so he can validate that everything is on the up & up. In addition, the news needs to cover both his work and financial situations.

The usual intra-game wagers the faithful can be counted on to make have been subsumed by the only bet that matters in the moment; Gabriella’s reaction to Isaac’s devastating news. The odds-on favorite is she’ll immediately storm out in a rage. Medium money has her slapping Isaac in the face before storming out and improbable long-shot odds have her acting supportive. So far, only Lenny’s taken the long-shot bet and he only does that because he just won a shit-ton of money off Isaac’s demise so can afford to be reckless.

A never-before-heard hush descends on Murphy’s Northshore Bar as Gabriella stands in the entryway sporting a look that unequivocally states “anywhere but here.” In a biblical parting of the seas, a pathway pries open through the packed crowd of blue-collar faithful allowing Gabriella to make her unfettered way to the end of the bar where Isaac waits with Murphy. Gabriella’s certainly no rocket scientist, but it doesn’t take one to know something’s not right. Isaac smiles warmly as Gabriella hesitantly approaches, he takes both her hands in his and lightly kisses her on the check, which is allowed according to the ad hoc rules of the reaction-wager.

From the moment Gabriella enters the bar until Isaac kisses her on the check, every movement causes one side bet to end and another to start and so far, she’s keeping to the odds-on script. Like mice at a Sunday sermon, no one utters a sound as the biggest drama in Murphy’s history since Lenny lost his prized Shovelhead to Darwin in that silly Sammy Sosa bet is about to go down. According to the rules of the reaction-wager, Isaac must enthusiastically present his news. Equally important is Murphy must play his role well. The problem with this stipulation is that no one has the stones to tell Murphy what that means, so there’s now a wager about whether Murphy will step into his role or just be grumpy old Murphy. The only one taking the long-shot odds Murphy steps up is Lenny and again, only because he has a shit-ton of money to wager recklessly.

No one is going to accurately remember but according to the legend that’ll likely grow out of the next few moments, even the Cubs over at Wriggly pause to witness what’s about to transpire. “Hey honey,” Isaac charismatically says in a voice hopped up in enthusiasm. “Thanks for coming down so quick, I have great news and just have to share it with you.” He lets go of Gabriella’s left hand to motion toward Murphy. “I don’t know that I’ve ever introduced you to Murphy, but this here is his bar. Murphy, may I proudly present the lovely Gabriella Cummings from Chicago’s Gold Coast District. Gabriella, this is Murphy.”

According to the rules of the demeanor-wager, Murphy will either be elegantly charming or his usual grumpy self. Evidence of charm is his not using any Irish slang or accent, but again, only Lenny has this long-shot wager, which means, most expect Murphy to be plain old grumpy Murphy. What the faithful don’t know is that Murphy took the under in the Gabriella break-up bet, so he has a vested interest in his behavior. “Miss Cummings,” Murphy says while gallantly taking her hand to kiss it. “Isaac has told me so much about you, it is indeed an honor to finally meet.”

The stunned crowd of blue-collar faithful who have so confidently wagered now understand the odds on the Gabriella breakup-bet have shifted, which leads to a massive wave of re-betting to cover prior mistakes. “And,” Murphy adds with continued charm, “I am so glad to welcome Isaac into my family.”

Gabriella is of course cordial, that is after all how Gold Coast girls are raised. With introductions over, she turns to Isaac in bewilderment. “I think,” she calmly says as her delay causes the bar’s drama index to escalate, “you should tell me why I’m here.”

“Certainly honey,” Isaac says maintaining his previous level of enthusiasm. “Murphy here, has just offered me a full-time position that I’ve accepted. Isn’t it wonderful!”

With thousands of dollars about to exchange hands based on Gabriella’s reaction, the drama meter is pegged to ‘Max’ as everyone waits to witness their wagered conclusion. When Gabriella, probably due to shock, doesn’t immediately react, Murphy puts his finger on the scale. “Indeed Miss Cunningham,” he conveys in genteel sophistication, Isaac will be assisting me behind the bar for all the Cubs games and in the off season, depending on how the Bears, Bulls and Blackhawks do, he’ll either tend bar or we’ll find him work in the kitchen.”

A dispute ensues for days as to whether Murphy’s comment about Isaac being relegated to the kitchen was a penalty. Consensus sentiment is that either way, he shouldn’t have said it. It really doesn’t matter because Gabriella’s too stunned at the news the man she’s dating, the man she wants to run off to Paris with, has become a lowly fry cook. Her reaction, the one no one bet on, is frozen silence. She stands in front of Isaac and Murphy like a statue, not moving, not talking, and most of the spectators in the crowded bar are certain, not even blinking. Finally, after what seems like forever, Gabriella pushes past her shock. “I don’t understand,” she softly says looking at Isaac in bewildered confusion.

“That I have a job?” he asks.

“No,” Gabriella says as much to herself as to her boyfriend, “I don’t understand why you’d want a job.”

“I like working here,” he says with unrequited certainty. “There’s always something going on.” Quietly a soft but solid affirmation echoes through the room as everyone concurs with that assessment.

From Murphy’s perspective, it doesn’t seem Isaac’s stepping up to fulfill his obligation, so he decides he must do the heavy lifting. “You have to tell her lad.”

“Tell me what?” Gabriella asks.

“The job’s only until I figure things out.” Isaac preemptively deflects because he’s torn between the rules of the wager and minimizing the heartless trauma he’s inflicting.

According to the rules of both the reaction- and over/under-wagers, Isaac must tell Gabriella about his financial situation. There’s some disagreement as to the exact words he must use, so Murphy’s been delegated as the referee. He’s to give Isaac free rein to explain his predicament but if at any point Murphy feels Isaac isn’t meeting the spirit and intent of his obligations he’s to deliver the fateful news.

“The thing is,” Isaac restarts. “It’s recently come to light that my expenses are no longer in sync with my resources and the quickest remedy to realign my circumstances is to get a job. It’s not forever but is for the foreseeable future.”

“What about Paris?” A stunned Gabriella inquires as an even deeper hush descends on the crowded bar causing one patron to grab the forbidden TV remote to turn down the volume.

“We’ll always have Paris.” Isaac says without thinking. As soon as he says it, he remembers it’s a line from some old black and white movie his mom would watch every year with Aunt Gwen, but he can’t remember the movie’s name.

“Here’s looking at you kid.” An old man at the bar says as he raises his pint and winks at Gabriella. His equally old buddy on the next bar stool over straight away adds, “Of all the gin joints in all the world she has to come to mine to hear his horrible news.”

Isaac glares at the two old men angry about their unsolicited commentary as much as he is their easy reference to a movie whose name he can’t remember. He once again takes both of Gabriella’s hands in his and looks deep in her eyes. “The thing is,” he struggles to say.

“He’s broke.” Murphy abruptly states with the same morbid fluidity he’s used for years to deliver tragic Cubs news to faithful patrons.

Isaac sternly turns to his boss, “I had this.”

“Didn’t look that way from the bleachers.” Murphy retorts.

Isaac bears down even more resolute. “The deal was I would tell her in my own way.”

“Unless you didn’t and it didn’t look like you did.”

“Wait a minute!” Gabriella interrupts as she bounces her stare between Isaac and Murphy. “What the hell do you mean you’re broke.”

“His words not mine.” Isaac quickly caveats. He pauses to redirect his charm in a softer tone. “The assertion that I’m broke has been blatantly mis-characterized. I have what accountants call a cash flow crisis that causes me to-.”

“Get a job and work like the rest us lackeys.” Murphy again interjects. While none of the observers in the crowded bar who will later be relied on to retell this tale for years to come say anything in the moment, the clinking of beer glasses suggests Murphy not only nailed his delivery but fulfilled his obligation in accordance with preset rules.

“What does that even mean?” Gabriella asks as she withdraws her hands from Isaac’s and defiantly folds her arms to contain growing anger.

“I don’t have an easy answer to that,” Isaac attempts to explain, “other than-”

“He ain’t jet-setting to Paris anytime soon,” Murphy once more interjects in brutally blunt terms.

Isaac again glares at his boss holding back as best he can. “Seriously?”

“Okay,” Murphy says putting his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to help ya out is all.”

Isaac shifts attention back to Gabriella. “These past few months with you have been wonderful and we certainly did have ourselves a grand old time but apparently there’s a limit to my resources that has been exceeded. So, between now and the end of the year I have to resolve my cash flow crisis by other means.”

“Like getting a job!” Gabriella assertively states.

“Yes,” Isaac humbly answers.

“Here, of all places!” she presses.

“Yes,” Isaac confesses. He looks away from Gabriella’s glare to avoid having to face his executioner.

For several tense drama filled moments that seem to capture the collective breath of every Cubs fan packed into the crowded bar, Gabriella stands in stunned silence processing emotions easily imagined but difficult to comprehend. Then, like a scene from a forties film noir, she turns and the sea of Cub fans once again parts, allowing her to gracefully exit while retaining as much dignity as the crisis allows. Her leaving without words leaves reaction-wagerers to argue well past the ninth inning as to which side won. Consensus tends to concede that because Murphy’s is a friendly bar, they should call it a draw, however, there’s little doubt that with Murphy’s help Isaac did in fact meet his obligations in accordance with the over/under-wager rules.

With Tuesday set as the day Gabriella will break up with Isaac, her dramatic departure casts the entire over/under betting in new light with clearly skewed odds leaning decidedly toward the under. Even Lenny who has a shit-ton of money with which to recklessly wager agrees Isaac’s doomed relationship with Gabriella will be over way before the Tuesday deadline but that doesn’t keep him from taking the over anyway.

Lost in all this intensity is the one thing no one bet on because Murphy won’t allow it, and that’s poor Isaac’s reaction to the dramatic churn of events. It’s something the sympathetic faithful packed into Murphy’s Northshore Bar can relate to because the reason they’re here is they too don’t have somewhere else to be with someone else.