Henry: Four
Henry snapped out of his locked stare and made his thoughts known.
Ira labored over the sign while his tongue shifted back and forth between the opposite extremes of his lips. Every twenty seconds or so he would raise his writing hand to wipe the gathering saliva from the corners of his mouth and regard his developing masterpiece with a fresh perspective, cocking his head this way and that. When he returned to his work he leaned in so close that he appeared cross-eyed to Henry. "They'll flock to us, Henry. They will! I'm devising greatness here." Ira was scrawling on a used scrap of cardboard he had fished out of a rubbish bin only seconds after its initial owner had deposited it there.
Henry sat wide-eyed on fixed seating in a reception area at Heathrow, oblivious and momentarily dazed by yet another internal assessment of their current circumstances. They. Were. Here. London!
Henry snapped out of his locked stare and made his thoughts known. "Ira, do you realize where we are? We're in London man!"
Ira glanced up from the sign and shot a quick mocking glance at Henry, tending to yet more saliva and leaning in with renewed dedication to complete the task at hand. He spoke while looking intently at the cardboard in front of him. "London? Shit. I thought we were in Morocco! That explains the confused looks when I busted out with my best Arabic on our way off the plane."
Henry just shook his head. He knew better than to attempt to counter Ira's sarcasm. Instead he preferred to compound it. "No, no; really. I think they speak English here."
Ira chuckled, "No kidding. Damn. All those classes for nothing." He held up the cardboard at arm's length, with the used side facing Henry. It read, upside-down: 'Mr. Jack Shmit.' Henry wondered if the driver had spelled the name wrong, or if that man really was just one letter away from a very unfortunate name. "Hey, check this out; I'm almost done."
Henry shifted from one seat to the next, grinning. He was delirious with excitement and lack of sleep. There was a dull ache in his head and a burning in his eyes that despite all his sensibilities to the contrary spoke of profound new experience and stories yet untold.
Henry read aloud in his best announcer's voice: "'Guide Needed.' That's it? Great. Sounds like we're first timers wanting to get initiated into the local S&M scene or something."
Ira shook off the chide. "I like it. It's to the point. The British don't like it when Americans beat around the bush, you know. Knowing you it would have been: 'Um, hello, how are you today? We're looking for a nice person to lead us through all of the wonderful ins and outs of London. Are you that person? If so, please state your name and occupation' or some such silly crap."
"Right. You've been in England, what, all of an hour and already you know what the British like and don't like." Henry elbowed his friend good-naturedly.
"It isn't hard. You just have to pay attention, Henry. It's all in the body language."
"Sure, sure; all this about body language from a guy who farted in a nice old lady's face on the airplane."
"For God's sake man, she wasn't a nice old lady. She was giving you the Evil Eye something awful. I just did my part to point that gaze in a safer direction. Maybe if you hadn't been snoring so loudly I wouldn't have even had to do that." This last sentence was delivered through a wide smile and followed by a quick wink. Ira always winked when he thought he had bested his competition.
Henry laughed wholeheartedly. "Let's do something before I redirect your face. I'm getting tired just sitting here."
"Okay. Now we stand over there holding up this sign," Ira gestured emphatically, "facing out to all the people waiting for relatives and friends. We're sure to have an audience of experienced drivers and natives, right? So that's what we're going to do." Ira was visibly proud of his plan.
"Sounds good. I'll wait here."
"Bullshit you'll wait here! People don't feel motherly, protective and endearing over a chubby little fellow like myself. Now you on the other hand: your tall, skinny ass elicits nothing but the greatest of matronly sympathies. Hold this sign. Let's go."
Henry had his theories to the contrary, but he let them go. "Alright, alright. Here we go."
Henry and Ira stood up and walked a few feet back into the mouth of the reception area holding their sign high just as a crowd of people were coming off a long flight. Many of those coming from the doors behind them to greet loved ones noticed this strange-looking pair and the 'Mr. Jack Shmit' side of the sign, and thought it odd that anyone should hold an upside-down sign while facing the wrong direction. It was somewhat like facing the wrong way in an elevator, and rubbed most of them the wrong way entirely.
Many minutes passed, and the crowd ebbed with parents, small children and the elderly trickling out at the end of the line. Still, no one came out of the sea of awaiting faces to Henry and Ira pledging their guiding services. Eventually they ran out of prospects.
"Ira. Everybody left, and my arms hurt. I'm going to lower the sign now."
"Hmmm. You're right. This was a bad idea. Remind me not to let you plan our attempts to infiltrate English airports." Ira winked again. "Let's move to a more high-traffic area."
"Do, let's," Henry quipped in his best (poor) English accent. "Trash the sign?"
"No, no! That sign is golden!"
Henry and Ira walked to the side of the reception area to read the maps to the train systems, sign in hand. 'Mr. Jack Shmit' was stowed, now fully upright, underneath Henry's right arm.
"Gentlemen, my luggage please." Henry and Ira looked at each other, mirroring each other�s furrowed brows. The voice sounded as though it were directed at them. "I believe that's my name on your sign?"
Ira smiled broadly to Henry and turned around, beaming. "Indeed it is sir. May I take that for you? Name's Ira. This is Henry," he said, tossing his head toward his friend. The pseudo-cockney accent Ira was flubbing came off surprisingly well. He shook the man�s hand, grabbed one bag and handed the other (larger) bag to Henry. "Have you ever been to London before sir?"
"Never. This is my first trip. I want to see it all! And call me Jack." Jack was from New York. Jack was excited and not all that observant. Jack had no idea.
"Excellent. We'll make sure you have a grand time. This way please." Ira walked confidently toward the trains with Jack's luggage, and paused at the information booth. "We'll be traveling by train sir, if you don't mind. It's part of the full London experience." As Jack bent down to tend to his smallest carry-on Ira grabbed as many tourist brochures as he could. Henry smiled and shook his head.
"Let me get that for you sir." Henry put forth his best (poor) French accent.
"Wow. What great accents! Lead the way!"
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