Weekend at Bernie's

Summer 1977

Luke McCormick glanced at the road map of Suffolk County that was spread out on the passenger seat of his van, trying to judge how far he was from Exit 52, the point where he would turn off the Sunrise Highway onto the local streets. The crewcut nineteen-year old had been stuck in traffic for the last hour, turning what was supposed to only be a ninety-minute trip into one nearly twice as long. By the time the black-haired teen had gotten off the Southern State Parkway, he'd already decided that Patchogue in fact all of Long Island, might as well have been on the dark side of the moon and not just sixty miles from his home in Brooklyn. Or more specifically, he corrected himself, from Mad Mike's Electronics in Coney Island, where his odyssey had begun shortly before seven o'clock.

In the nine months he'd worked at Mad Mike's, Luke had made at least a hundred deliveries, and done an in-home installation on half of them. But this was the first time he'd ventured out of Brooklyn, much less the city, to do so. The store had a set fee for deliveries within a five-mile radius, and anything beyond that had a hefty per mile surcharge. Few customers were normally willing to pay the extra fee, since it usually was more than whatever savings they might have gained by going to the discount vendor.

Out of curiosity, and because his radio wasn't picking up his favorite station this far out, Luke had done the math and worked out that this particular delivery and installation would've been more than twice his day's salary. That was, of course, if the customer was paying it, which in this case they weren't. The reason why had been explained to him by Mad Mike himself before he'd left work last night.

When he'd first been told that Mad Mike, or as he was more formally identified on his driver's license, Michael Francis Kaminski, wanted to see him, Luke had felt a bit of trepidation. The way the store was organized, most employees rarely interacted with the store owner, unless of course you were in some kind of trouble. To the best of his knowledge, Luke hadn't screwed up anything of late, at least nothing major. In fact, one of the customers on a recent installation had gone so far as to write a nice letter of appreciation for his efforts, which had been added to his personnel file. Still, things like that didn't matter if Mad Mike got a burr up his ass and you were unlucky enough to wind up the cause of his dissatisfaction - even if you actually weren't.

-=-=-=-=-

Reaching the office located in the rear of the second floor, Luke found himself facing Agnes McCaffrey, Mad Mike's secretary and the guardian of his privacy.

"I was told that Mr. Kaminski wanted to see me," Luke said, his voice carrying just a bit of hope that the summons had been a mistake or that whatever had caused it had already resolved itself.

"Yes, dear," Miss McCaffrey said in a polite tone, adding her trademark smile. "He's been waiting for you so you can go right in."

"Thank you," Luke replied, reflecting her courtesy.

As he passed her desk and approached the short corridor that divided the outer and inner office, he took a deep breath and tried not to look too concerned at having been summoned.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Kaminski?" Luke asked cautiously as he stuck his head through the open door of his office.

The gray haired fifty-nine year old looked up from the pile of invoices on his desk and pointed to the chair off to the left, saying that he'd be with him in a minute. Then he turned his attention back to the paper in his hand, making a few marks on it with the same red pencil he had pointed to the chair with.

As Luke sat down, he tried to judge Mr. Kaminski's mood, deciding that at least he didn't seem to be angry. Then again, he reminded himself, he'd seen the old man fly off the handle at the drop of a hat after witnessing an employee doing something wrong, or worse, just plain stupid.

Finally, Mr. Kaminski put the pencil down and turned his attention to the Installation Tech. He then did something that worried Luke more than if he had yelled at him right off the bat - he smiled.

"I've heard some good things about you, Luke," he said, surprising the younger man who honestly was impressed that he even knew his name, "really good things."

"Thank you, Mr. Kaminski," Luke managed to say.

"Tommy Ryan thinks so too," Mr. Kaminski added, mentioning the store manager who was Luke's immediate boss. "In fact, when I asked him who he would recommend for a special job, you were the first person that came to mind."

The phrase 'special job' set off an alarm bell in the back of Luke's head. One of the first things he learned after being hired was that Mr. Kaminski really hated to see anyone just hanging around doing nothing. Never mind that there might not be any customers to deal with, if he was paying you, he wanted to see you working, and if you couldn't find something to do, he'd find it for you.

During particularly slow periods, when most businesses usually just cut hours if they didn't need you, Mr. Kaminski went out of his way to keep everyone working, even if it was outside the store. Earlier in the summer, during a particularly slow period, a couple of guys even spent a weekend painting the garage at his house. He hadn't forced them, they were free to take the days off instead, but both of them had preferred having a full check at the end of the week.

"You've set up a few of the new TX-5220s, haven't you?" Mr. Kaminski asked.

"A couple," Luke replied, relieved that whatever he'd called him in about, it seemed to be work related.

The TX-5220 was the most sophisticated, and hence most expensive, stereo system that Mad Mike's carried. In a good month, they might sell one, or if they were lucky, two - usually to an audiophile who had money to burn. Luke thought it was a really bad ass system that lived up to the hype, but the only way that he could ever afford one was to give up some things for a couple of months that he would probably really miss, like food and shelter.

"Good; like I said, Tommy Ryan said you had, but I wanted to be sure," Mr. Kaminski continued. "I need you to deliver and install a TX-5220 tomorrow. You are working tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Yes sir, " Luke replied, thinking that if he hadn't been, he certainly was now. "I work every Saturday."

"Good, good," Mr. Kaminski said, "and I understand you have your own van."

"Yes, I do," he replied. "It's not much, but it gets me where I need to go."

"Great," the older man said, "this job might take a while, and I'd rather not tie up one of the regular vans if I can help it. Don't worry, we'll pick up the cost of gas or anything like that. And I want you to take your time on this one and make sure everything is hooked up right the first time - no going back on this one."

That surprised Luke. On an average Saturday, he'd make at least a dozen deliveries, with half of them being installations. Each stereo system the store sold had an average assembly time and you were expected to keep to it. Better to have to come back to make a correction or repair and disappoint one customer than upset several by not making all of your deliveries.

"Of course, that's not to say that I don't expect you to come back for something else if you finish early," Mr. Kaminski added.

"Of course," Luke echoed, thinking that getting the afternoon off for doing a good job was a bit much to expect. Since the store was open seven days a week, Saturday wasn't treated any difference that a Wednesday.

"I guess I should mention that the woman you'll be setting up the system for is my wife's sister," Mr. Kaminski said. "It's a birthday present, so you see why it has to be done right the first time."

"I try and get every job right the first time," Luke offered, thinking that was what he wanted to hear. At the same time, he thought it interesting that he said his wife's sister and not his sister-in-law, as most people would've. It suggested that they didn't have the most cordial of relationships.

Luke really had no way of knowing, but he'd hit the nail right on the head, as the two had been at odds with each other from the day that the former Margaret Taylor had first brought her new fiancé home to meet the family. And in this case, Mad Mike had made things worse; in response to his wife's request that he pick out a nice stereo for her sister's birthday, he had gone the cheap route and picked out one that was hardly better than what one might pick up at the local Radio Shack. Somehow, Mrs. Kaminski had found out about it and read him the riot act, making it clear that not only did she expect him to replace the inferior model with something top of the line, but to also have it delivered and set up - no matter the additional cost or inconvenience. Until then, she'd further informed him, he'd be sleeping on the couch.

None of which he shared with Luke, of course, but he'd said enough to make it clear that this wasn't a job to screw up.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Kaminski," Luke assured him. "I'll make sure everything goes right as rain; there won't be any problems."

"Good, see that there aren't any," the older man repeated, the tenor of his voice carrying the implication that there would be serious consequences if there were.

He paused for a moment as he tore the top sheet of paper off his notepad and was about to hand it to Luke, only to stop as he again glanced at what had been written on it.

"Oh, I forgot to ask," he said. "How well do you know Long Island?"

"I know that it's out past Queens but that's about it," Luke replied, a bit confused by the question.

In the three years since he'd first gotten his driver's license, he'd only been to the adjacent borough a total of three times, and he'd gotten lost on two of those occasions.

"The delivery is in Patchogue," Mr. Kaminski said matter of factly.

The name meant nothing to Luke, other than an assumption that it was somewhere out on the Island. Whether it was twenty or a hundred miles out was beyond him. An ignorance he wasn't hesitant to voice.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Mike said as he once more smiled. "In fact, I don't think it's even half that," he added, referring to the larger figure. "But don't worry, we'll have a map and directions waiting for you when you pick up the system in the morning."

Obviously, Luke thought, there wasn't any question in the store owner's mind that he was going. There was, however, he further thought, one last chance to get out of it.

"I don't know if you know, but Chester goes out to Long Island all the time," Luke offered, bringing up the name of one of the other two Techs. "He has family out there and ..."

"Chester hasn't ever hooked up a 5220," the older man interrupted. "Besides, even if he had, he's not really the right person to send on a sensitive job."

That last part of Mr. Kaminski's remark wasn't one that Luke could find fault with. Unlike Luke, the store owner had good reason to remember the other employee's name, since his personnel file was filled with more customer complaints than most anyone else in the store. It was only the fact that he was the nephew of the store's second biggest supplier that kept him on the job.

With that, Mr. Kaminski finally handed Luke the sheet of paper in his hand. Written across the top was the name Bernadette Taylor, and below that was an address and phone number.

"She's expecting you about nine, so make sure you give yourself enough time to get out there by then," the store owner said, repeating once more that he was counting on Luke to make sure there weren't any problems.

Luke was about to again reassure him that he would take care of any problems, but hesitated as Mr. Kaminski had already turned his attention back to the invoices. Looking once more at the name on the top of the sheet, Luke wondered if she was Mrs. Kaminski's older or younger sister.

Not that it mattered, of course, but it also made him wonder what she looked like. He'd seen Mrs. Kaminski a number of times when she'd come to the store and, from what others had said, knew that she was about five years younger than her husband. Also, if he had to describe her in one word, stocky would be the one that came to mind - not that he would ever say that out loud.

But again, none of that mattered except to satisfy idle curiosity. As he exited the office, Luke's thoughts focused on more important matters, like what he would need to make sure that tomorrow's installation went error free.

'Might be a good idea to order duplicates of anything that might be a problem,' he thought as he headed for the storeroom, recalling times he'd gotten a bad connector or cable on previous jobs. It didn't happen often, but still something to plan for.

-=-=-=-=-

"Finally," Luke called out, even though there was no one else to hear, as he spotted the sign for his turnoff and worked his way into the right lane.

As he slowly drove down the side streets, carefully looking for his next turn, Luke had to admit this was a pretty nice area. Every block was filled with one- and two-story single-family houses, a far cry from the rows of apartment houses he was used to back in his own neighborhood.

'At least I won't have to lug all these boxes up some four-story walkup,' he thought as, having spotted the street sign he was looking for, he made the turn.

Slowing down even more, Luke began counting off house numbers, searching for number fifteen. Inexplicably, sixteen followed fourteen, which totally confused him. He backed up the street a second time and double-checked the sign to make sure that he was indeed on the right block. Finding he was, he retraced his steps.

On the second pass, he noticed that number sixteen had two mailboxes, one that, on closer examination, was indeed marked fifteen and had the name Taylor affixed to it. From the vantage point next to the post, he could also now see that what he'd first taken to be a driveway was instead a narrow road leading down to the shoreline. He got back in the truck and made his way down it until, after passing through a line of thick hedgerows, he found a small beach cottage a hundred feet beyond them.

'Talk about privacy,' Luke thought as he climbed out of the van and began to head up the short walk.

The first thing he'd learned on the job was to make sure that the party was home before you started unloading the equipment. It wasn't enough to know they were supposed to be waiting for you. He'd had her phone number, of course, but the last pay phone had been more than a mile down the road.

He rang the bell and waited. Finally, after a minute, someone appeared behind the frosty glass of the front door, an indistinguishable figure that took another half minute to look him over through that part of the window where a design had been etched. A figure that looked to be at least a couple of inches more than Luke's own five six. Finally, the sound of locks being undone was heard and the door slowly opened.

As it did, Luke was all prepared to give his standard, "Hi, I'm Luke McCormick from Mad Mike's" greeting, but once the woman behind the door came into full view, the words became stuck in his throat.

Tall and well proportioned, the woman standing at the door had long, reddish-brown hair tied back in a ponytail that reached to just below her shoulders. She was wearing a short sleeved, pinstriped button-down blouse, the buttons undone, over a light violet t-shirt, snug enough against her chest to show that she didn't have a bra underneath. A pair of white slacks and open toed sandals completed her outfit. If he had to guess her age, Luke would've said mid-thirties, but that would've been nearly a decade off.

"You must be the young man with the stereo," she said, looking past Luke to the van parked down by the curb.

"Bernadette Taylor?" Luke heard himself ask.

"That's me, but please call me Bernie; only my grandparents ever used that other name," she smiled, "and you're Luke, I presume?"

A surprised look flashed across Luke's face with her mention of his name, one that faded just as quickly as, recognizing his confusion, Bernie pointed out his name emblazoned on the breast of his company polo shirt.

"You are here to hook up the stereo, aren't you?" Bernie asked, her words now not as certain as she again looked past him at the old, nondescript and unmarked van sitting at the curb.

"Yes," Luke quickly replied, turning around just enough for her to see the company logo on the back of his shirt and adding, "The store vans are all booked up with regular deliveries, so I had to use my own."

"I guess this is somewhat of a bit out of your normal delivery range," Bernie again smiled. "Did you have any problem getting out here?"

Thinking that she was making reference to the fact that he was supposed to be here at nine, Luke apologized for the delay, mentioning the heavy traffic as well as his unfamiliarity with the area. Bernie brushed the apology aside with a wave of her hand, saying that she was referring to the fact that the house itself was hard to find, unless you knew where to look.

"It does tend to keep away salesmen and other unwanted visitors," she quipped.

"It is a bit hard to find," Luke finally admitted, adding that it took him two tries before he noticed the mailbox.

"Well, you can blame my grandfather for that," Bernie explained. "He built this house when there was almost nothing else out here, then held onto the land rights around it so that no one else could do the same. He liked his privacy, and I'll admit, I've found that it does come with its advantages."

Luke thought that interesting, but he had work to do and asked if he could come in and see where the stereo was going to go, so that he could see what he was dealing with.

"Of course," Bernie replied. "Do please come in."

She led him into the house and his first thought was that the interior certainly didn't match what it presented from the outside. Built around the turn of the century, the inside had been totally gutted and rebuilt twenty years before, at which time electrical and water lines had been added, finally made possible when the surrounding area was more fully developed. There was a lot of wood paneling, especially in the central room the older woman led him to, one filled with heavy wooden furniture, much of which looked to be handmade. Spaced between was a collection of plush, comfortable chairs and sofas. Luke was surprised not to see a television, not being able to imagine how anyone got along without one.

"Oh, I rarely watch television," Bernie said when he happened to mention that most people tend to put the stereo near the TV, "but if I have to, there's a small thirteen inch black and white out in the kitchen. I've always found it a bit of a distraction from more important things."

In place of a television, the centerpiece of the room was a large oak desk, on top of which stood an electric typewriter, flanked by two equally sturdy in and out boxes. One was packed nearly to the top with blank paper, the other partly filled with completed pages.

"Are you a writer?" Luke asked out of curiosity when he got a better look at both the desk and the small bookcase next to it. The was filled with reference books on one shelf and a collection of paperbacks on the other, all by the same author, whose name he didn't recognize.

"Actually yes," she replied. "I'm Bridget Collins, or at least that's the name I write under."

That had indeed been the name on the row of books, but it still didn't mean anything to Luke. In fact, it seemed to confuse him that she wrote under a different name. So, Bernie took a few minutes to explain.

She'd graduated college with a degree in English Literature and a plan to write the next great American novel. Unfortunately, no one seemed all that interested in her ideas. A friend of her father ran a lesser known publishing house and offered her the chance to finish a book that had been abandoned when the author suffered a fatal heart attack. The book was, in her opinion, a condescending piece of trash, written to titillate the hidden desires of housewives.