Meet At Joe's

1 A Mysterious Stranger Part 2 Not Ishmael

I was pretty sure his name was not Ishmael. He was just using another famous opening line. This time from Moby Dick. If I may paraphrase Somerset Maugham's opening line from the Razor's Edge, I have never begun a conversation with more misgiving.

Despite his well-groomed looks and apparent literary acumen, there was something suspicious about this stranger.

I shook his hand and using my own limited familiarity with literature, jokingly introduced myself, "Call me Jonah. My parents did, or nearly did. They called me Joe."

The stranger burst out laughing. "The opening line from Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle! I love it."

I returned his laughter and explained, "It is one of my favorite books. It seemed appropriate." "So, do you really want me to call you Ishmael?" I asked.

"If you want. Although, the name on my credit card is John."

"So, what can I do for you, John."

"I belong to a group that is looking for a place where we can hold a weekly meeting in relative privacy and still get dinner and drinks. Can you help me?"

I took a second to size this guy up. I really wasn't looking to tie up out our extra room on a regular basis. It gets a lot of use as is. We use it for overflow, the occasional birthday, retirement party, or bridal showers and various special activities like our Monday night open-mike.

"I'm not sure we can guarantee much privacy. We do have an overflow room, food and drink but it is pretty booked. Can you tell me more about your group? From your greetings, I'm tempted to guess some sort of book club?

"Not really. More tech than literary types. Does it really matter?"

"It does," I frowned. "You can understand that I'm not really interested in hosting any wackos, or terrorists."

"Do you get many terrorists up here?" he chuckled.

I don't really think terrorism is anything to joke about, but I tried to manage a half-hearted grin to acknowledge his attempt at humor. Then I explained, "I'm sorry, we are kind of slammed right now. I have to tell you, most of our evenings are already booked up. Monday, Destiny hosts an open-mike night for musicians and singers. Wednesday, Miri conducts psychic readings. Friday Red makes book on the weekend sports games. On Sunday, the staff of the Tahoe Environmental Appeal meets to layout the next week's edition."

It was his turn to give me a puzzled look. "Really? Musicians, psychics, gamblers, and environmental extremists, but no wackos?" he asked sarcastically.

Since I didn't respond he could tell I wasn't that interested in more business. He decided to get to the point. "Sounds like Tuesdays are open? Could you give us Tuesdays if we promise to keep our subversive activities to a minimum?" He concluded with a pleading boyish grin.

I raised an eyebrow and said, "Tell me more about your group."

"We're just some Silicon Valley nerds looking for a place to do some work on a pet project we've got going. We will be bringing some laptops with us but I promise we will keep all talk of sedition on the down low."

Again, with the joking about terrorism. I guess it was just in his nature to try and make a joke even about sensitive subjects. He seemed harmless enough, not the first time I've misjudged someone.