That night I decided to get on the MAX line and ride it to the first stop – to do a bit of exploring by foot. The train ran along side the 405 loop – a busy freeway that looked just like I-35 to me – and I was reminded that Portland isn’t beautiful everywhere.
I exited at the first stop, 42nd Street, and followed the crowd, ending up on Broadway. I passed lots of small businesses but nothing retail or restaurant oriented, and was about to give up and go back to the train stop when I saw what looked like a liquor store. I decided to explore.
The place – I don’t know what it was called – was actually a wine bar. I ordered a glass of Kriter and the antipasti plate (bread, cheese, pears and olives) and sat at the counter. A woman changed places with the man behind the bar, explaining that she worked for a wine distributor and was there to pour for a wine tasting that was about to start.
An older man, thin and grey in corduroy slacks and a flannel shirt, came in for the tasting and ordered the first wine on the list. I remember that the wine was very clear, and so cold the outside of the glass immediately frosted up. I offered to share the antipasti with him and he sat down next to the me. The three of us talked about wines and wine country through his 6th or 7th tasting, and I ordered another glass of Kriter.
He was a shy man, and I pegged him for an architect and a bachelor, and I was right. He was born and raised in Portland and had grown up in the neighborhood. I asked him to recommend a restaurant within walking distance and he and the woman behind the counter talked about the few choices in the area.
I stepped outside for a smoke and noticed a billiards hall across the street. When I returned the man asked if he could join me for dinner and I said sure. If he was expecting something romantic he never let on, and I was grateful for the company. We exchanged first names, his was Jack. I asked him if he played pool and he said he did. I tabbed out and we walked to the billiards hall – Sam’s Billiards — I’d seen.
“I used to play here when I was in elementary school. They’d let us play for free. Can you believe that? It looks just the same.”
I practically fell in love with the place from the moment we walked in. It was relatively small, only 5 or 6 tables, but large enough to be comfortable. Smoking was allowed but the ceiling was high enough to keep the smoke from overwhelming the atmosphere. An old, wood bar ran the length of the left side of the place, which was filled with a few colonial-style tables and chairs. Large windows on the right side of the room – the side with pool tables – let in natural light, and the only other lighting came from the dozens of neon beer and liquor signs on the walls and ceiling.
Jack was a great player and kept trying to get me to change my grip. We played three games before tabbing out and heading to the restaurant he’d chosen, a place called Chameleon.
The restaurant was candle-lit; white table clothes and upholstered seating. High prices. I ordered the Risotto, which was delicious. We shared desert. By now the conversation was dwindling and we were both ready to call it an evening. He walked me back to the MAX line and we said goodbye, neither asking the other for contact information or even a last name.
The next day I woke up with a mouth full of canker sores and a slight fever. This happens to me when I’m under a lot of stress. I felt lousy and lingered in my hotel room for hours before walking across the street to the mall to search for beach-friendly clothing. I finally found a pair of Capri khaki’s on sale at the Gap and a sleeveless blouse at Macy’s and headed back to my room to change. I was feeling worse by the minute, and the clothes looked odd together. I decided to eat some lunch and walked back across the street to a restaurant the bellman had recommended. Their menu was full of things I had no interest in. I finally settled on an open-faced turkey sandwich, which turned out to be pulled turkey (tasted like it was from a can) underneath a mound of mashed potatoes and gravy and topped off with cranberry sauce. The first few bites were ok but that was about all I could stomach, so false and buttery and salty did it taste.
I left the restaurant and walked to my rental car, determined to try to make it to the coast. I finally (after an hour or so of going the wrong direction and backtracking to the 405 and 26) made my way out of town, but about 20 miles out realized how late in the day it was. I didn’t want to have dinner with Tony and his wife but I’d promised that I would. I turned around and headed back to the hotel to wait for his call.
I never heard from Tony, which was both a relief and an irritation. I ate dinner at a fast-food Chinese place in the mall, and drank an entire bottle of wine in my room, and read the book I brought with me.
And that was my trip. It’s about 7:30 in the morning, now. I’m going to pack, and then head to the airport for the long ride back to Austin.
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