Right after I landed in the 20th century, I knew I needed some help. I didn't know anyone, didn't have any prospects, didn't have anything, really.
It was July 8, 1988. My little ship crashed on Long Island, in the middle of Rocky Point. It was kaput. I basically salvaged a few belongings and then hiked away from it. Took a little bit before I made it out of the woods and into "civilization." Found what I later learned was a gas station. Some guy took pity on me and handed me a twenty, told me to call a cab and not come back. I was probably a sight at the time.
Can you imagine being sent back a hundred or so years and trying to figure out how to do basic things with no knowledge of how anything works? Obviously, some things are obvious. You can tell a store when you see it. But I had to figure out how to use their money, buy something at the convenience store--because I needed to use the payphone and it didn't take notes--and then make sure I had enough change to make phone calls.
Who were you calling?
So, remember I said a relative hooked me up with the job at Cosimo's? That was Phyllis Maxwell, my great-grandmother. She knew Cosimo through my great-grandfather, who was from Chicago, but after my great-grandfather died she moved to the Big Apple. Didn't like all the memories she had in Chicago.
Anyway, there were eight Phyllis Maxwells in Queens. I didn't have some grand system, I just called them one by one. After several false leads, I got to one that was quite interested to hear my name was Robert Maxwell, as if she was expecting me.
You left a note to her in the past at some point, didn't you?
You're catching on! Obviously, I didn't do it, but one of the previous versions of me did. Anything to make the next guy's run a little easier, right? So, she'd actually been waiting for my call, which made convincing her to help me that much easier. The note from the prior me had a list of dates but not their purpose. One was the date on which she'd meet her future husband. The next date was when they'd get married. The date after that was when he would die. And the final date was July 8, 1988--the day I called. It had been typed up on a typewriter from the 1950s. Hard to say exactly how it was all pulled off, but clearly, he did it. I did it. Whatever.
Anyway, she drove out and picked me up. On the drive back, I told her the truth. Given the predictions of the note, she wasn't inclined to think it was too crazy. I actually found out she'd taken the day off work before I called, suspecting something would happen and she wanted to be at home for whatever it was.
She had a cute little house where all the furniture was covered in bright flower print. She introduced me to Miller Lite. We shot the shit for a little bit, talked about her son, Peter--my grandfather, who was at school at that moment--and I showed her my Focus charm, and of course she had the one from her husband, too. That would pass to Peter, then to my father, then to me. One piece of information she had that I didn't was that the charm was an heirloom that went back to the first Earl of Nithsdale, in Scotland, who was also named Robert Maxwell.
Tell me that wasn't one of you.
Oh, it was definitely one of me.
Suffice it to say, she had plenty of reason to believe I was telling the truth, even if a lot of what I said sounded insane. So, she let me stay with her for a little while. She needed the help, to be honest. She was kind of a mess after Clyde died, and being a single mother isn't easy in any era. To Peter, I was Uncle Robert. It was surreal to play with my own grandfather while he's still a child. It's hard to imagine that's where he came from, you know?
Phyllis worked in a legal aid office. Clyde's life insurance paid off the house, so between her job and his Social Security benefits, they survived. Money was tight, but they made do. I did odd jobs around the neighborhood, some under-the-table stuff. What I wanted to do was use some of my money to invest based on my knowledge of future events. By that point, I didn't know anything about time travel ethics yet, so the idea of just making a few bucks by doing stock picks I already knew would work out just seemed obvious. The problem was getting somebody to work with me. I was a guy with no papers, no accreditation, dealing in cash. How many brokers do you think want that kind of customer?
Not many, I assume.
Yeah. And if you don't already know somebody, you're out of luck. I was at a bit of a loss. Things also started to get... weird. With Phyllis.
Oh no. This is going to be gross, isn't it?
Look, I didn't fuck her. Let me be perfectly clear on that point. But there was tension. Let's face it, I was doing the kinds of things a husband and father would do. Hell, at first I was wearing some of her dead husband's old clothes because I didn't have anything else! It was easy for her to project her grief over Clyde onto me, and easy for me to imagine her solving my own time-lost loneliness. We kissed one time and that was it. We knew this couldn't go on.
I can't believe you made a mature, adult decision.
I am capable of it, now and then.
She helped arrange me moving to Chicago. That's where I started working in one of Cosimo's restaurants as a dishwasher. It was at that point in time I met Paul and did the whole soldier-of-fortune thing.
What happened to Phyllis?
Well, after things in Peru went tits up, I needed to see a friendly face, so I dropped in on her. Turns out she found a new boyfriend and was pretty happy with him. She also had a letter, from me to me. Naturally, it was cryptic and just said to be at a specific address in Los Angeles on a specific date. That was a whole separate ordeal.
As for Phyllis, I never saw her again. Technically, I'm older than her. She's still out there, as far as I know. Should be living with her new husband in Queens, still. I say "new" but they've been married for what, 30 years now? Jesus Christ. God, I'm old.