Lenny is watching his colleague, Jim Whitecraft, eat a ham sandwich. He is taking enormous bites and making monstrous chomping sounds. Lenny looks away in disgust and when he glances back, Jim’s face is flushed and bewildered. For a brief moment, Lenny considers pretending he doesn’t notice. But when Jim stands and points at his throat, Lenny comes behind him, wraps his arms around his pendulous stomach and pushes upward. After a few thrusts, a remnant of a sandwich lands on the carpet of O’Hare Airport. Jim collapses and supine, he stares at Lenny with the grateful eyes of a rescued animal.
On the flight to Philadelphia for a conference (“Welcome To Tomorrow: Life Insurance and Annuities Reimagined”), Jim lifts his scotch and soda in an unspoken toast. As they touch cups, Jim shakes his head and Lenny smiles awkwardly.
Jim’s muteness on the subject of Lenny’s Heimlich rankles, but doesn’t surprise Lenny. Lenny, who works in the actuarial department, doesn’t know Jim well but he’s had enough contact to take his measure. An insurance salesman of the old school: arrogant, crude, loud, shallow, possibly alcoholic. Probably a former jock who has grown lazy and corpulent. Lenny puts away his copy of The North American Actuarial Journal and basks in what he’s done. Little red-haired Leonard Reister, detester of gym class and organized sports, human punching bag at Harrison Elementary School, has become a hero.
Lenny’s reverie is interrupted by the rattling of the plane and a stomach-heaving drop in altitude. When the seat belt sign illuminates with a sharp ding he looks over at Jim, who takes a long, unperturbed swallow of scotch. Jim’s nonchalance makes Lenny more anxious.
The plane hits another patch and as Lenny fiercely clutches the armrest, his hands start to tremble and numbness creeps into his extremities. His heart pounds. Jim stares at him.
“You ok, buddy?”
“This is it. We’re going to die,” Lenny says.
Jim laughs, spitting scotch on the seat in front of him. “Nobody’s gonna die. It’s just turbulence.”
“I’ve always known I would have a violent death.”
The panic moves Lenny’s mouth like a ventriloquist manipulating a dummy.
Jim looks at him with a mixture of wonder and bemusement. “Calm down, pal. Have some of this.” Jim passes the cup and Lenny, who rarely drinks, slugs it down.
A few more minutes of terror, then the turbulence subsides. As the anxiety leaks out of him, Lenny asks the flight attendant for a scotch. Jim smiles his approval. He finishes it then orders another. As the plane starts its descent, Lenny is close to euphoria. The narrow aisles seem to have expanded. The clouds outside the window, fluffy and soothing, smile at him, wishing him well.
At the hotel in Philadelphia, Lenny sleeps the dreamless sleep of the redeemed.
The next morning, the conference is packed. Lenny bobs and weaves through the throng to get to his sessions: The Future of Underwriting; Claims in an Unstable World; Taking Behavior-Based Pricing to the Next Level.
At the after-session cocktail hour, Lenny surveys the crowd, focusing on those alien creatures, extroverts, who glide across the room, effortlessly dropping in and out of conversations. Jim spots him and ambles over. Lenny reddens as he remembers his meltdown on the plane. “How about we get outta here?” Jim says, stuffing two shrimp in his mouth. “Let’s hit the town. There’s no law that says we have to hang out with a bunch of insurance geeks.” Lenny doesn’t argue. He’d rather face Jim than a crowded room.
“My mother always said that one day I’d choke if I didn’t stop shoving food in my face like it was a race.” They’re sitting at a bar a couple of blocks from the hotel. “You saved my life. I should’ve thanked you. I wanted to, but…” He raises his palm skyward in bafflement.
“It’s ok,” Lenny says. In an instant, Jim has been transformed from a giant lout into a vulnerable boy being hectored by his mother.
“I’m sorry…” Lenny searches for the right words. “About what happened on the plane.”
“We all have our problems. You’re afraid of flying?”
Lenny nods. “Also crowds, tight spaces, and dogs.” He has other fears but figures he’s divulged enough.
“If it weren’t for fear there would be no demand for insurance.”
Lenny raises his scotch. “I’ll drink to that.”
“I’m afraid of spiders,” Jim says.
Lenny squints, confused. Is he making fun of him?
“When I was a kid, I was rambunctious. Bouncing off the walls from ADHD. When my dad had enough he’d lock me in the basement. There wasn’t anything in the basement except darkness and spiders. Big ones.”
“I have panic attacks,” Lenny says. “They come out of nowhere. Like tornadoes.”
After this rapid exchange of secrets, silence. Jim taps his forehead, trying to summon a thought. “The whole world is a very narrow bridge and the important thing is not to be afraid. That’s Nachman of Breslov, an 18th Century rabbi.”
“You’re Jewish?”
“No, but I minored in religion at U of I. I’m not as dumb as I look.”
Three hours later, they stumble out of the bar, their arms around each other. Jim picks Lenny up, rocks him in his arms for a few seconds then gently puts him down. “You’re a skinny son of a bitch. But I like you.”
This strikes Lenny as hilarious and he bursts into drunken high-pitched titters.
They can’t remember the way back to the hotel. It seems like days ago since they were there. Was it to the right or the left? They pick a direction and lurch along until Lenny notices that the streets have become darker and the neighborhood more decrepit.
“This is the wrong way,” Lenny says.
“Life is a journey, not a destination, Lenny,” Jim says.
Somewhere in the distance there is a shout and then the clang of something metallic hitting the pavement. “This is not a neighborhood we want to be in.”
“Ok buddy, relax. We’ll turn around. Let me just rest here a second.” Jim leans against a graffiti-filled wall.
A gravelly voice comes from behind them, saying something about money.
Lenny wheels around. All he can see in the dark street is the outline of someone in ill-fitting clothes and a flat cap.
“No money for you, friend,” Jim says. “We spent it all at the bar. You’re out of luck.”
The guy comes closer, walking with a limp. He’s missing most of his teeth and has the beginnings of a salt-and-pepper beard. He’s probably in his fifties.
“Bullshit. Gimme your wallets.”
Jim moves off the wall. “Are we supposed to be afraid of you, my good man? Is that the idea? Because you’re not an imposing figure. And I’ll have you know I wrestled in high school. Heavyweight. Undefeated in my senior year.”
The guy lifts a gun from under his jacket and points it at them. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“What you must realize, sir, is that we are first-time visitors to your city and you are being a terrible ambassador. We are seasoned insurance men from Chicago and deserve respect.”
“Cut it out,” Lenny hisses. He reaches into his back pocket, takes out his wallet and with a trembling hand, offers it.
“Cough it up,” the guy says, pointing at Jim.
Jim raises an index finger. “You can have my wallet on one condition. Give me one goddamn reason why you deserve it more than I do.”
The man lifts the pistol and angles it at Jim. Lenny watches. He can’t feel his legs.
“One last chance, asshole. I’m not playing with you.”
Lenny lunges at the guy and the gun goes skittering across the pavement. Jim picks it up as its owner turns and runs, his shirt tail flapping behind him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lenny gasps. “He could have killed you.”
Jim drops the gun in a nearby garbage can. Then he puts his arm around Lenny, bringing him in close. “It wasn’t my time. And you are a fucking hero. Twice over.”
After Lenny stops hyperventilating, they start back toward the hotel. They walk in silence, the booze and adrenaline still coursing through them. A thought, like a jagged piece of glass, pokes at Jim: did he have a death wish? If not, why the taunting of a desperate, armed man? Lenny’s befogged brain examines a new image of himself, unfamiliar and jarring, as if inspecting a diamond he has found in the gutter.
As they walk into the lobby, the clock behind the front desk reads 12:01. A banner advertising the conference greets them: “Welcome to Tomorrow.”
