Everyman on the Everybus

Maxie was a New England working girl, living paycheck to paycheck. Things were tight and sometimes a little too close for comfort, but she made it work. She was average but well-kept. She was personable but gullible.

Up to a point.

She was gullible to the maximum degree, she had always felt, for anyone getting along with others in good faith. Good faith. That was her filter for credibility.

Maxie didn't like being judged. Being a bit of a recluse, however, most of her encounters with others involved the other person sizing her up with only the help of what she offered, which wasn't much.

She boarded the Everybus Line at the corner of Rank and File. She chose the only remaining seat, next to a quirkily dressed middle-aged man.

"Hello," he said brightly. Maxie sized the man up immediately, but only with what he had to offer.

She wasn't used to conversing casually with strangers. It wasn't because of any perceived danger. She just didn't see the use of extending her engagement range through windows that would seal behind her — forever — when she left such a transient encounter. Yet, the man spoke with a hopefulness — all in the one word, Hello — that demanded a response.

"Hello," she answered softly.

"I'm Roy Polloi," he offered, sticking out his hand.

She noted his clean nails and that they were short via chewing, but not neurotically chewed. More like a childlike self-manicure. Actually, he had done a fine job. So she shook his hand briefly and let go somewhat before he was ready. This, too, helped her size him up.

"Maxie," she announced. "Maxie DeGruy." Pleased to meet you, Mr. Polloi," she lied.

"Roy, please," he insisted. "May I call you Maxie?"

This was forward, Maxie thought. A first-name basis just from adjacent seats on a public bus. What would be the harm? she thought. She had sized him up further. Not dangerous, just nerdy.

"Sure," she responded, not quite sure where this was going but confident she could navigate any mid-course corrections necessary.

"Where are you headed, Maxie?" he asked. Now Maxie wondered if she had sized him up wrong.

"I don't mean to be rude, um, Roy, but that's a bit private, you see."

"Certainly," he agreed. "None of my damn business."

He said "damn." She wasn't sure how to take the inflection. Was he insulted?

Embarrassed at crossing some line? Or was he vulnerable, resentful at her reluctance to be sociable?

"Actually, Roy," she said, reconsidering her response. "I 'm going to see the doctor. Nothing wrong. Just a regular checkup."

"I see," he said. Then, "What kind of doctor?"

"Just a regular checkup type of doctor," she said, somewhat tersely. She regretted reconsidering her previous response.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I only ask because I'm a doctor, myself, you see. No longer actually practicing, though." Then under his breath, "If they don't want me practicing, that's fine." Maxie didn't catch his last comment.

"What kind of doctor?" she asked.

"Aha! It's OK for you to ask me 'what kind of doctor,' I see."

"Well, yes, I think so. Mine's personal, but yours is..."

"What? Not personal?" He smiled, so she didn't read any confrontation in his voice. "If you want to know, I was the royal family's psychiatrist."

"But this is Boston," she countered. "You mean the royal family...in England, do you?"

"When you're renowned like me, important people seek you out. And God knows those people need professional help from a psychiatrist of renown!"

"I see."

"Has anyone important ever sought you out, Maxie?"

"Just the Lord." Her rejoinder slipped out more quickly than she thought possible.

Somewhere in her unconscious brain was a smidgen of caution.

"Oh!" he said suddenly as they passed a certain corner, "here's where I met Stormy." He said it as if expecting her to know who this Stormy was. "Stormy Daniels," he added. "The Stormy Daniels."

"Really, Roy? You know Stormy Daniels?"

"Yep. Well, not anymore. She's heavily steeped into politics nowadays."

"So I heard," Maxie said, almost laughing out loud.

"No, it was the younger Stormy Daniels. Why, I knew Stormy when she was just a squall."

"I see."

"She was part of our threesomes." Maxie heard. She gasped, stunned.

"I beg your pardon?" she blurted.

Maxie noticed several people shifting in their seats to listen in. While crazy talk usually provoked the opposite, if you add a porn connection, all ears readily tune in.

"Yes, Stormy and me and Monica Lewinski. The young Monica Lewinski."

"Of course," Maxie smiled.

"There were more, you understand. I've had foursomes and even a few sixsomes. I suppose a sixsome would be a sexsome!" he laughed at his own joke. "Lorena Bobbit was part of it but we had to un-invite her because, well, there were problems. We replaced her with Tonya Harding."

"The Olympian?"

"Not anymore. Although, there are some moves that—"

"Spare me, Roy, please!"

"I'm so sorry. You're right. You hardly know me, so I shouldn't prattle on as if you were that kind of girl. Yet, I believe we're becoming good friends, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know, Roy."

"Just to be clear, you're not that kind of girl are you? Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Mr. Polloi, I believe this is my stop," she said curtly, clearly offended. What exactly had she done or said, she wondered, to have him size her up like that?

She rose to walk toward the bus door after it had reached the stop.

She was the only one getting off there, so she knew there was, again, only one vacant seat — right next to Mr. Roy Polloi. She laughed, because only one person boarded as Maxie stepped off the lower step onto the ground. She cheered her replacement. Mr. Polloi will be pleased, she thought.

She looked the incoming passenger over. She laughed again. She knew, intuitively, that the young woman who would replace her next to Roy Polloi was that kind of girl, and that soon those two would be getting off.