He could tell she wanted to argue. But her need for an extra pair of hands and some elbow grease won out. “If you really want to help, the wooden Indian would make a good start. He’s covered with so much nicotine I can’t even tell what color he’s supposed to be.” Then she added, “But you won’t soften me up. I won’t change my mind about the tea-room. So if that’s your agenda…”
“Agenda? You’ve got to be kidding,” Tony said, his conscience pinching him a bit as he picked up a cleaning rag. At least if he helped her clean, he had an excuse to stick around and get to know her better. And she could get to know him. Once she thought it through, she’d realize what a great guy he was—saving her life, helping her scrub this place down—and she might be more willing to listen to his reasons for wanting to revive Brady’s Tavern.
Or he might just make love to her. Right now, that seemed a far more intriguing goal than changing her mind about keeping Brady’s intact.
“I’m not sure how Sir Edward will feel about taking a bath,” Tony said as he tackled decades of filth.
“Sir Edward?”
“The cigar man. He used to belong to an Englishman who owned a cigar shop down on Jefferson. When that gentleman fell on hard times he closed the shop—and he didn’t have enough money to pay off his bar tab. So Brady—that would have been the second Brady, your grandfather—took the Indian as payment.”
Tony watched Julie from the corner of his eye. She paused in her efforts to clean years of scum off one of the high round tables that dotted Brady’s. “Really? How interesting.”
She didn’t sound sarcastic, at least. So she enjoyed local history. That had to be a good thing for the campaign to save Brady’s.
“Are there more stories like that?”
“Dozens.” Tony gave up on the Indian and walked back to the bar. “Where’s the ashtray that was sitting here?”
“The big ugly one that possibly used to be brass?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t figure anyone would want it, so I threw it away.”
Tony clutched at his chest and pretended to gasp for air. “Threw it away?”
“Was it special?” She actually sounded concerned.
“It was the Daryl Jones memorial ashtray. Jones was a legendary fire chief, back in the days of prohibition. When he died, they took the old fire bell down and made an ashtray out of it. He and Brady—that would be your great-grandfather—were good friends.”
Julie winced. “And they made his bell into an ashtray? Isn’t that kind of disrespectful?”
“Since Jones was a chain-smoker, no. I can’t believe you threw it away. I’d have bought it from you. Any of the firefighters would have.”
Without a word, Julie disappeared into the back room. He heard her digging around and a minute or so later she emerged triumphantly with the ashtray in hand. “If you’ll help me clean, you can have the ashtray for free.”
“Deal.”
As they worked, Tony told her more stories. The billiard table had come from Dallas’s first bowling alley just before it was torn down. The dartboard had been a gift from a baseball player in the 1950s.
Tony showed Julie a bullet hole in the wall that was reputed to have been put there by the famous bank robber Clyde Barrow, of Bonnie and Clyde fame, when Brady’s had been a speakeasy.
Julie paused often to take notes.
“That popcorn machine behind the bar came from the Texas Theater down the street.”
“No kidding? Hey, they’ve renovated that theater, haven’t they?”
“Yeah, and it looks great.” Now he was getting somewhere. “Oak Cliff is renovating everything. People are really starting to appreciate the history of this area. Preserving rather than tearing down.” Hint, hint, Julie.
“That’s marvelous! I bet the theater owners would love to buy back this machine and display it there.”
Tony sighed. “What are you writing all these stories down for?”
“The auctioneer says that anything with historical significance will get a better price. So tell me more.”
Tony realized his efforts to convince Julie not to tear up Brady’s might actually be counterproductive. His stories made her even more inclined to parcel out all these wonderful old things.
Watching her as she scrubbed the filth off an old hurricane lamp—probably something left over from the days before the bar had electricity—he had a hard time remembering what his mission was. He just wanted to kiss her.
Still, he made one more try. “I understand your wanting to get money for all this stuff,” he said carefully. “But doesn’t sentimental value count for anything? Separately, you have some semivaluable collectibles. Together, you have a legend—your family’s legend at that. This is the place your great-grandfather opened a century ago. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
She looked stung by his harsh question, at first, and then she looked mad—and he knew he’d gone too far. She threw down her rag and marched over to him, getting right in his face.
“I’m sorry that you guys have lost your hangout. Truly I am. But I have to do what’s right for me and my family. My living family, not a bunch of dead guys. And even if you try to deny it, it’ll be good for the neighborhood, too.”
He started to say something, but she cut him off.
“I am not going to change my mind. What do I have to do to convince you?”
Bluto chose that moment to jump against Tony’s leg and yip.
“Maybe you should take him for that walk,” Julie suggested, her voice softening.
“Yeah, I’ll take him back to his mom. He’s looking for a good home, by the way.”
“That’s all I need—a dog to make my life complete. Why don’t you keep him?”
Tony laughed. “I already adopted one.” He hooked Bluto’s leash to his collar and the dog proceeded to drag him toward the door. “Goodbye, Julie. But I’ll be back.”
As he stepped out into the August heat, he acknowledged that this battle was going to be a lot harder than he’d first thought. But Julie wasn’t immune to him. She’d enjoyed the stories he told. Maybe, after she had time to think about it, she would change her mind. And if not…
He could at least get the word out about the auction. Every off-duty cop and firefighter in Oak Cliff would want to attend and grab a piece of Brady’s.
As Tony crossed the street, intending to return Bluto to his dog run behind Station 59, he realized he’d forgotten to take the Daryl Jones memorial ashtray.
JULIE HAD BEEN HOPING for a good crowd
