JoJo, the security guard at the diamond exchange, was a betting man. He gambled the left-overs from his monthly NYPD pension on baseball, basketball, and football. His losses outweighed his wins. JoJo also wagered on odd parlays and on March 1st in 2010 I said that there wouldn’t be another snowstorm. Two days ago the city had been buried by a blizzard. It was raining outside on West 47th Street.
A hard rain.
The sleety wind peeled ferules from cheap umbrellas like bananas. The piles of snow were slush in the gutter.
“It ain’t gonna snow.” The big Pole/Mick was a native of the Bronx. The weather was colder up in that northern borough than Manhattan and the retired cop was certain of his prediction.
“I say that we get one more dusting.” I was counting on ‘global weirding’. The last decade had seen three snows in April, TS Eliot’ ‘cruelest month of all. March offered an even better chance for a blizzard.
“Dusting is bullshit. It snowed a little last year.” JoJo was a knowledgeable gambler.
“Okay, 2 to 1 odds that New York gets another four inches of snow before the end of April.”
“In Central Park.” JoJo was fixing the wager. Manhattan is 5 degrees warmer than the outer boroughs thanks to a micro-climate created by concrete, steel, and carbon emissions along with the body temperatures of fat people. JoJo had lost fifteen pounds in the last month by ending a BId Lite drinking binge.
“Okay.” I had a good hunch. Cops like hunches too. His was a sure thing. Mine was more a feeling and I started singing the Arrowsmith hit MORE THAN A FEELING.
“Hey, no fair.” JoJo was a rock fan. Red Sox too. “Keep that Boston stuff out of the bet. This is New York.”
We grasped hands. A bet was a bet. JoJo went downstairs to the vault. It was lunch time. Manny my boss shook his head.
“What?”
“That was a stupid bet.” Manny had lost every wager on the Superbowl since 1967 or so he told his son, Richie Boy, who always bet the toher way. We all did. Manny was an expert at stupid bets.
“It’s only ten dollars. Plus you never know.”
Like the lottery you can’t win unless you play.
“No way it’ll snow in the next two months.” Manny returned to his paperwork. A purgatory of bills and invoices. I pulled out the job box. Not a single envelope was from my sales. Money was tight same as last year. There was no recovery for the middle-class from the 2008 bank collapse, although Manny’s son was selling fast and furious to his rich friends. Their sins had been forgiven by the Fed buy forcing the peopple to pay off their losses.
March passed with the temperature rising every day. On March 14 the thermometer hit 70. I studied the meteorological map of the USA. Snow in the Rockies. Canada nothing. The Red River was cresting with ice floes in the Dakotas. The trees in Fort Greene Park showed red buds on the equinox. The planet was on an even keel. I wore shorts. This weather is no good.
“Looks like I’ve lose my bet,” I said at the breakfast table to AP, my landlord.
“It was a stupid bet.” He had won a bet on St. Patrick’s Day for when our party of four would see a green plastic hat. $5 from each of his three friends. Another $5 for one plastic har worn by a female.
“It might snow in April.” His wife was from San Diego. Coronado Beach had never experienced a snowfall.
“Thanks for the optimism.” Snow crowned the thrones of the mountains east of San Diego. I was positive too. Ten more days of March and another 30 in April. The odds are heavily in JoJo’s favor, then again he had bet that the Red Sox would sweep the Yankees in 2004. $100. He was right the first three games of the playoffs and dead wrong the last four games. That was a bet I loved seeing him lose. The Curse of the Bambino no more in 2004. My snow bet was a goof, but neither of us were welshers and $10 will buy three beers in the East Village bar on May 1.
They will taste good.
Win or lose.