The Company You Keep

Our “not quite a friend” John was into his cups one night. We were sitting around our usual table at the Harvard Gardens. It was a Tuesday, and the bar traffic was almost as slow as our elderly waitress, Evie, was at filling our orders. We sat nursing our beers and waiting for the next round to appear. John started wailing that he couldn’t believe that he, a master of the con, a swindler par excellence, could have fallen for one of the oldest cons. He was a master of stolen art frauds, the broken vase con, the pigeon drop, lost jewelry scams, the Flop, and insurance scams. Being leery of John’s honesty in small and large things, we couldn’t help but feel that this emotional outburst was an attempt to finagle a free round of drinks.
But eventually, our curiosity won out. We ponied up for the next round, and the story poured out about how a female swindler had taken him for thousands as part of a sweetheart scam. He’d met her at another nearby bar, and over days, love had bloomed. Then the telegram arrived that she had to leave and go to see her dying father in Ohio. He gladly choked up the busfare for his love.
But the course of true love was not easy. A week later, she called to say that the bus home had broken down in Indianapolis and needed money for the hotel and train. John wired her the money. After that, there was a string of other difficulties until he finally realized that what had drawn him to her was that she was a con artist just like him, but maybe a bit smarter. He had only been a frolic for her.
That evening before his “friends,” he swore an oath to reform, go straight, and redeem himself.

Well, that was many years ago. One by one, the old group drifted away, and the Beacon Hill neighborhood of Boston first went through a round of “Yuppification” and then gentrification. Our old digs on Grove St. are now smart condominiums. I passed by not long ago and looked in the window of the Harvard Gardens. It was upscale and smart. Not at all the dive bar it had been in 1965.
But some things are more challenging to change. John had drifted away and moved to Washington. He had done well in the Swamp and had worked as an aide to Representatives and Senators for years. He then moved to New York City to work for a large real estate corporation.
The other night on the news, I saw him standing behind a Republican candidate for the presidency – all floofed hair and coppertoned skin. John was older, grey-haired, and heavier. But judging from the company he was keeping, he was still very much the con artist he had always been.

Some things don’t change. And some activities you never give up. Once a con artist, always a con artist. And you wind up keeping company with others of your ilk.

Daily writing prompt

Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

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