by Nick Poff
“Oh, yeah,” Ed said in a sweet-as-honey voice. “Thanks for reminding me. I need to have that looked at.”
They glared at each other. The drive to Ed’s house was completed in silence.
* * * * *
Ed stopped by Claire’s after his last job of the day. He wasn’t feeling terribly inclined to do Rick any favors, but hoped if Rick had his book to read it might keep him quiet. Claire met him at the door, book in hand.
“So how’s it going?” she asked.
Ed debated a moment about how truthful he should be. “Oh, not too bad,” he finally lied. “We’re getting through it.”
Claire smirked at him. Ed saw a twinkle in her eye. “You, you,” he sputtered. “You set me up.”
“Who, me?” she giggled.
Ed grabbed the book from her, resisting the urge to hit her with it. “I will get you for this someday.”
Claire’s giggles broke into laughter as she closed the door. “Thanks again, Ed. Bring him home when he’s human.”
Ed stormed back to his truck and threw the book on the seat. How do you like that. That crafty broad sure knew what she was doing when she dumped Uncle Rotten on me.
He headed back across town, and his anger began to fade. Despite the current hostilities with Rick, Ed still loved him. In some weird way he thought he loved him even more, now that he knew Rick was just as capable of being a jerk as anyone else, including himself. Ed had been around long enough to know that you really don’t get to know a person until you’ve seen him at his worst. I hope, he thought, entering his own driveway, this is the worst Rick gets.
Ed went in the house and pulled some hamburger out of the refrigerator for dinner. Then he walked back to the bedroom to give Rick his book. Rick looked up apprehensively. Ed handed him the book.
“Thank you, baby,” Rick said softly.
Ed found himself smiling back at the jackass. “You’re welcome. I’m going to make some hamburgers for dinner. And a big salad, I think. Do you want some fries? I think I have some in the freezer.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine, but do you think you could help me out to the couch? I sure could use a change of scenery.”
Ed helped Rick off the bed and into the living room. On his way back to the kitchen he turned on the stereo and restacked his Beatles records. He was tearing lettuce for the salad, happily humming along with “Help!” when Rick called to him from the living room. Ed walked back to see Rick staring with annoyance at the stereo.
“Hey, do you suppose we could hear something else for a while? I mean, enough with the John Lennon tribute already.”
“What do you want to hear?” Ed snapped, his good mood crashing and burning once again.
“How ’bout ‘The Sounds of Silence,’” Rick retorted.
“Aw, crud.” Ed took the needle off the record just as he heard a knock at the back door.
“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Norma called.
Ed groaned. Oh, this is just what I need. He turned to Rick. “So help me God, if you give her any ammunition, I will flush your pills down the crapper.”
Norma came in through the kitchen. “Well, there you are. Looks like you’ve got supper going so I won’t stay. Rick, how are you doing? That back giving you fits?” She barreled on without waiting for a reply. “My father had a bad back so I know how you feel. Oh, he had terrible pain. We all suffered with him, believe me.” She turned to Ed. “Everything okay here? I just brought over some cookies I baked for poor Rick here.” She handed Rick a paper bag.
Ed narrowed his eyes at his mother. Cookies, maybe, but the real reason she was here was to gloat. He was sure of that.
“We’re doing just fine, Mom,” he said smiling at her.
Norma narrowed her eyes right back at Ed, telling him she knew better. “That’s good to know. Well, Rick, I hope you feel better. Enjoy the cookies. Oh, don’t bother to thank me. It wasn’t any bother. Chocolate chip. Ed’s favorite, you know, so make sure he gets some. I’m sure you’ll be back on the mail route in no time.”
Rick looked inside the bag and grinned. “I’ll thank you anyway, Norma. That was very nice of you. Probably nicer than I deserve. I’ve been a bit of a creep today, as I’m sure Ed will tell you.”
Norma looked surprised. “Oh, now, Rick, I’m sure that’s just not so. You misbehaving? I’m sure you’re handling this much better than that. I’m sure you’re handling it much better than my father did. In fact, I told Ed that very thing when he said you’d be staying with him. ‘Take good care of that Rick,’ I told him. I just hope he’s doing a good job.”
Ed glared at her, his mouth open to respond, but Rick beat him to it.
“Ed’s doing a wonderful job. I’m very grateful to him.”
“Is that so? Well, I like to think I raised him right. You take care now, Rick. I’m just going to run along.” She walked back in the kitchen, with Ed on her heels.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Mom?” he said, grabbing her arm by the door.
Norma looked at her son innocently. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to your mother.” She glanced at the stove, where Ed had the skillet ready for the hamburgers. She shook her head. “I knew it.”
“Oh, now, Mom, I—”
Norma cut him off. “Don’t bother explaining to me. I know all about it. Just don’t do something you’ll regret later. I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you’re both still alive. Good night,” she called, letting herself out the back door.
“Mothers,” Ed muttered. He looked in the living room, where Rick was stuffing himself with cookies, and right before dinner. “Boyfriends,” he snorted. “I give up. I just give up.”
* * * * *
Ed bedded down on the sofa for the second night in a row and waited apprehensively for a command from His Royal Highness in the bedroom, but apparently Rick’s pills had once again knocked him out.
Ed shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy sofa. He looked at the ceiling and sighed, strangely grateful for the discomfort. He reminded himself that he was learning a good lesson in cohabitation, and how lucky he was to get a look at Rick’s darker side before they considered more permanent living arrangements. He thought of his own Mr. Hyde behavior during past sick spells and winced. The marriage vow “in sickness and in health” took on an all new meaning.
Ed got up and walked to the bedroom. Rick was flat on his back, asleep and snoring. A great wave of love and tenderness swept over Ed. He remembered Hilda Penfield’s words about compassion, and how they would need more than their share of it to overcome adversity. He made a promise to himself to love Rick even more through this bad spell, even if it meant putting up with a lot of whiny bitching.
Still, he thought as he went back to the sofa. I have no problem with bouncing him over another railroad track if I need to shut him up again.
* * * * *
They had a few more tense moments, but by the end of the week Rick’s pain was lessening, and he was slowly returning to his usual amiable self. By Friday night his apologies were beginning to get on Ed’s nerves as much as his bitching had. Ed played “The Sounds of Silence” over and over on the stereo, until Rick finally agreed to cease with the I’m-sorrys.
“I mean, if nothing else, at least we know each other a little better now,” Ed said, settling next to Rick on the sofa. “And you haven’t seen me sick yet, so I’d really better watch what I say.”
Rick grinned at him, then grunted painfully as he tried to put his arm around Ed. “You know something? I am really, really missing my hunky handyman at night. Do you think you might want to crawl back into bed with me tonight?”
“Okay, if you think my tossing and turning won’t hurt your back,” Ed teased him.
Rick pulled him closer. “Well, I guess we’ve had a serious lesson in taking the bad with the good. I think I could put up with some serious bad if it means keeping you close to me.”
Ed sighed happily. “Me too, darli
n’, me too. But I’ll warn ya, the next time your back goes out, I’m putting you in a nursing home.”
Chapter Twelve
Ed woke up Saturday morning to delicious odors from the kitchen. He reached for Rick, but the other side of the bed was empty. Ed stumbled into the kitchen to find Rick standing stiffly at the stove, frying bacon.
“Consider it a peace offering,” Rick said, taking in Ed’s sleepy, surprised face.
“Darlin’, you didn’t have to cook,” Ed protested, but Rick waved it away with a spatula.
“I know I didn’t, but after a week of lying around, I needed some physical activity. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Oh, it still hurts, but nothing like the other day. Now, go put on some clothes, and we’ll have some breakfast in a few minutes, okay? The sight of my handyman naked is making me think of something other than food.”
“Oh,” Ed exclaimed, realizing he hadn’t bothered to grab his bathrobe as he usually did. To the sound of Rick’s chuckling, he fled back to the bedroom.
Dressed in his usual Saturday attire of jeans and sweatshirt, Ed joined Rick at the table, eager to dive into the bacon and eggs Rick put before him.
“It’s so weird to have you here on a Saturday morning.”
“‘Come Saturday morning,’” Rick sang, slowly sinking into his chair. “What comes after that? Where are the Sandpipers when you need them?”
“I think I have that record. I’ll look after breakfast.”
“You mean I’ll look, while you clean up the kitchen.”
“Yes, dear.”
Ed enjoyed the easy morning banter and Rick’s cheerful presence. Rick seemed to have truly returned to his old self, and Ed relaxed in the knowledge that Rick would be staying through the weekend, the first entire weekend they had ever spent together.
“Can you believe it? A whole weekend, and just the two of us. No jobs, no kids, no nothing.”
“Umm-hmm,” Rick agreed, his warm and tender special on his face. “I was thinking that myself. I wish I felt up to something big, but I think I’d better take it easy. Still, we’ll be together, and that’s pretty big in itself.”
“I was thinking, if you’re up to it, today would be a good day to visit Mrs. Penfield.”
Rick’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea. I’ve been wanting to meet her, and once I go back to the routine, God only knows when I’d get the chance.”
Ed nodded. “I’ll call her after breakfast.”
“After you clean up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Once Ed was busy at the sink, Rick slowly settled himself on the floor in front of Ed’s record cabinet.
“You’re dad’s workshop must have really been something,” he called to Ed. “This cabinet is great.”
“Dad had a real feeling for wood,” Ed said over the sound of running water in the sink. “I always thought he could have made a living at it. I mentioned it once, and he said he didn’t think he was good enough at it to support a wife and two kids. I think he was wrong, though.”
“You ever think about doing this kind of stuff, baby?”
“Oh, sometimes. I really don’t have the patience he had with it. It would be fun, though, to have a place in the basement to fool around. I haven’t really thought about it since he died, and considering how wet the basement in this place is, I wouldn’t even bother. Mom put most of Dad’s tools in storage, so I suppose they’re over there, waiting for me to use them someday.”
Rick pulled a stack of records out of the cabinet. “Maybe someday we’ll have a place where you could do that.”
Ed dreamily washed a plate, enjoying that idea. “Yeah, someday. Do you really think we’ll have a place together someday?”
“I hope so, baby. I’d love to have a place all our own, when the time is right.”
They both fell silent. Ed was so lost in the idea of being with his Dream Man in a Dream House that he put a plate still sticky with bacon grease in the drainer. He looked closer, then put it back in the dishwater, shaking his head back to reality.
“You know, baby,” Rick called to him. “I think this is the first time I’ve really gone through these records. You’ve got some cool stuff here. Did you ever spend your allowance on anything other than records?”
Ed laughed. “Well, don’t tell Mom, but Dad used to slip me extra money for them. We’d go on errands—on Saturday mornings, come to think of it. Somehow we always seemed to end up at Woolworth’s. Dad would say, ‘Well, Eddie, what’s the big hit this week?’ Then he’d usually buy it for me, telling me not to tell Mom. Dad liked a lot of them—the Beach Boys, the Mamas and the Papas, and some of the girl groups. He said the Mamas and the Papas had better harmony than some of the groups he liked when he was young.”
“Speak of the devil.” Rick laughed, as “Monday, Monday” began to play. “He was right, though.”
Ed paused in his dishwashing for the moment, enjoying the song and the memories. “I still get chills from Denny Doherty’s voice on this one. There’s just something wrong with anyone who doesn’t like the Mamas and the Papas.”
“Agreed. I sure wish I could have known your dad. He sounds like such a cool guy. Hey, I found it,” he shouted, waving a record where Ed could see it. “‘Come Saturday Morning.’”
Rick put it on when “Monday, Monday” ended. Ed walked into the living room and they both listened—smiles on their faces—to the gentle tune.
“My senior year in high school,” Ed said. “Oh, I would have killed to have you with me back then. Remember the movie this song was in, The Sterile Cuckoo?”
“Yeah. I loved that one.”
“Me too. I loved those scenes with Liza Minnelli and Wendell Burton, spending all those Saturdays together. I almost cried every time I heard this song on the radio, wishing I had someone to do that with.”
“I’m here now, baby,” Rick said, pulling Ed to the floor. “Will you be my Saturday friend?”
Ed kissed him. “I’d love to have you for my Saturday friend. I’ll take you the other six days of the week, too.”
One kiss followed another as the song ended, then repeated.
“I love you so much, baby. Thanks for taking care of me this week. Someday it will be my turn, and I promise to do just as good a job as you did.”
“I love you too, darlin’. And I’m gonna hold you to that.”
After Ed made it back to the kitchen to finish the dishes, he called Mrs. Penfield.
“Why, I’d be delighted to have you over today,” she exclaimed over the phone. “Tell you what, Ed, you both come over late this afternoon, and we’ll have an old-fashioned high tea. Effie Maude is here,” she said, referring to her housekeeper, “and she’ll help me with everything. Can you be here around four?”
“Sure, we’d love to. We’ll see you then.” Ed hung up the phone, then grinned at Rick. “We are invited for high tea at four o’clock.” He frowned. “What’s high tea?”
“High tea,” Rick explained, pulling Ed back to the floor, “means it’s high time we had something to eat. If we stuff ourselves enough, we won’t have to get all worked up about a big dinner.” Rick frowned, though. “You said she has bad arthritis. Is she up to this?” he asked.
“Oh, sure,” Ed replied. “Effie Maude is in for the day, so she’ll do most of the work.”
“Effie Maude?” Rick asked in astonishment.
Ed laughed. “The housekeeper. Wait till you see her. She’s a real trip, believe me. So what are we going to do until four?”
Rick slid a hand under Ed’s sweatshirt. “Well, I can think of a thing or two.”
“Or three or four,” Ed said, kissing him.
“Did you ever imagine your Saturday friend doing something like this?” Rick asked, his hand sliding lower.
“This and a whole more, darlin’.”
* * * * *
Ed’s truck rolled to a stop in front of Mrs. Penfield’s house at the corner of Spruce and Race Streets at ten minutes before four. Rick whis
tled. “Some place.”
“Isn’t it? Of all the houses I work in, this is my favorite,” Ed said, getting out of the truck. He went around to the other side and gently helped Rick to the sidewalk.
They paused for a moment, admiring the house. It was a three-story brick Second Empire style, right out of the late nineteenth century. A huge porch ran from the front along the west side, and the late afternoon sun reflected off numerous stained glass windows. Oak trees in the front yard, now bare, promised plentiful shade on hot summer days. A tall blue spruce protected the house on the east side by Race Street, and a line of pines grew between this house and the one to the west.
“What do you think, baby?” Rick whispered in awe. “You want a place like this someday?”
“Only if Effie Maude sticks around to clean it,” Ed said, knowing the dust battle she routinely fought in the big, old place.
Mrs. Penfield greeted them at the door and ushered them through the front and back parlors to the dining room. The table was indeed set for tea, with plates of finger sandwiches, cakes, and muffins.
“Gosh,” Ed exclaimed, taking it all in.
Rick chuckled at his reaction. “Mrs. Penfield, this looks wonderful, but you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
“Good heavens,” she replied. “Trouble? Not at all. I’d much rather go to the effort for you young gentlemen than for my stuffy book club. Let’s sit down, shall we?”
Effie Maude, a large, gray-haired woman, brought in the tea tray. “Will this do ya for the time bein’?” she asked in her raspy voice.
Mrs. Penfield nodded.
“Good enough. I’ll go get to that washin’ then, since I won’t be here Monday.” Effie Maude ducked through the swinging door to the kitchen.
Rick watched her go, a look of incredulity on his face. “Great shades of Marjorie Main,” he muttered under his breath.
Mrs. Penfield nodded, chuckling, but Ed looked puzzled. “Who?” he asked.
“Oh, Ed, you remember Ma Kettle . . . those Ma and Pa Kettle movies?”