Play dead

THIRTY-ONE

Antoinette Ruolo hated tuna fish. Especially the kind that had those funky purplish brown streaks in it. Even though the can said "Solid White Albacore," you always got some pieces affected with what Antoinette figured had to be some kind of fish disease.

Some kind offatal fish disease.

And yet she ate tuna fish for lunch once a week. Every Friday. She was raised Catholic and, even though the Pope said you were allowed to eat meat on Friday these days, she never had, not once in her fifty- nine years.

As the elevator climbed upward, she felt the reflux of the sandwich. She wanted to belch, but she dared not. The elevator only held five people, and she figured the four other occupants, all strangers, might not appreciate it.

The car stopped on the forty-fourth floor. They emerged onto the observation deck, and its breathtaking views of Philadelphia. Antoinette took a deep, fishy breath, and continued the tour.

"Originally, it was supposed to be the tallest building in the world at just over 547 feet, but was surpassed by both the Washington Monument and the Eiffel Tower. Both were completed first," she said. She'd been a tour guide at Philadelphia City Hall most of her working life, having started in 1971 as a "City Hall Bunny," a silly promotional gimmick someone had come up with in the 1960s, a la Hugh Hefner, the idea being to hire pretty young things to give distinguished city visitors a personal tour.

It had been a long time since anyone had considered Antoinette Ruolo a pretty young thing.

"It was the tallest building in Philadelphia for many years, of course, and was to remain so forever, until the City and Arts Commission broke an eighty-five-year-old 'gentleman's agreement' and allowed the construction of One Liberty Place, which measures 945 feet," Antoinette said. "Since then, of course, the Comcast Center has eclipsed that honor at a height of about 975 feet, making it not only the tallest building in Philadelphia, but in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, as well."

As her charges gazed out over the city, Antoinette considered them. Mostly middle-aged, casually dressed.

"Now, the tower of William Penn is a marvel unto itself," she continued by rote. "It stands thirty-seven feet tall and weighs twenty-seven tons. It is still the largest statue on any building in the world."

At this point a man at the back of the group raised his hand, as if he were in junior high school. He carried a huge backpack, the kind hikers carry on long treks.

"I have a question," he said. "If I may."

Wow, Antoinette thought. A polite person. "Please."

"Well, I've done a little reading in my Fodor's," he said, holding up the tour book. "The book goes into great detail about the building, but it doesn't say too much about the clock. I've always been fascinated by timepieces."

Antoinette brightened, gave a quick bob to her graying hair. Lord, she needed a perm. "Well, you've come to the right person…" Joseph Swann tuned the woman out. It was an ability he had developed as a child, listening to his father's well-oiled patter during his close-up routines, the facility to not listen to someone, but still be able to comprehend and recall everything they said.

He realized he was drawing attention to himself by asking questions, but he just couldn't seem to resist. Besides, he had learned the art of makeup and costuming from a master. No one knew what he really looked like, and before they would be able to connect him to the events of the next twenty-four hours, it would be far too late.

The truth was, he knew everything there was to know about the massive timepiece at the base of the tower at Philadelphia City Hall. He knew that the clock had begun running on New Year's Day 1899. He knew that the faces had a diameter of twenty-six feet, and were larger than even those of Big Ben. He knew that each hour hand was twelve and a half feet long.

He also knew that the door he needed to get in was just on the other side of the tower, opposite the elevator. He had taken this tour once before, posing as a much older gentleman, a man with a thick German accent, and knew that the lock on the door was a standard Yale deadbolt. With his skills, it would take him less than ten seconds to open the door. Probably much less.

Swann knew that if anyone noticed he was missing and called security, he would quick-change his clothing and return to the ground level via the south stairwell.

Most important, he knew about the clock's lighting. He had detailed drawings of the schematics, had pored over them for years. Originally, the clock's faces were lit by 552 individual lightbulbs. Now gold-colored fluorescents illuminated them.

Yes, he knew everything Antoinette was going to say about the legendary timepiece that graced architect John McArthur's garish, breathtaking building.

And yet he only cared about one of the clock's faces.

The one facing north.

The one facing the Badlands. "…

Was a story that began in 1906. It seems that so many people relied on these clocks for time, because they could be seen from great distances, that each evening, at 8:57, the lights in the clock tower were turned off," Antoinette prattled. "Do you know why they did that?"

Everyone on the tour exchanged a bemused glance.

"Because three minutes later, when they turned the lights back on, the entire city knew it was exactly nine o'clock!"

Antoinette Ruolo glanced at her watch. "Speaking of time, I'm afraid we have to wrap up this tour in a few minutes." This was her favorite segue. "I'll meet you all back at the elevator in ten minutes."

Antoinette walked over toward the elevator, a low grumbling in her stomach. She sat down on the bench, thought about taking her shoes off and giving herself a quick foot massage, but decided against it. It wouldn't be right for a former City Hall Bunny to be seen with holes in the toes of her support stockings, would it?

Ten minutes later Antoinette found herself in the lobby, waving good-bye to her last tour of the day.

She looked around the reception area. Had the nice man who had asked about the clock come down with them? Of course he had. Where else would he be?

Antoinette Ruolo signed out, then headed for the exit at the south portal. As she pushed open the door, and stepped into the steaming afternoon, she felt a little better. For at least a dozen reasons, Antoinette was glad it was Friday, one reason eclipsing all others.

No more tuna for a week.