by Nick Poff
“Good night, darlin’.”
Chapter Nineteen
The rest of February passed quickly. Ed soon found himself hard at work on his usual end-of-the-month chore of preparing and mailing invoices. By the last day of the month, which also happened to be a Saturday, he was nearly finished. He spent the early part of the afternoon licking envelopes and stamps until his tongue went dry. He wanted the work finished before Rick arrived to begin their weekend together.
He smiled as he sealed the envelope addressed to Herb and Gwen Hauser. Their invoice was marked “paid in trade.” Herb Hauser, an accountant, had agreed to take over Ed’s tax preparation in exchange for snow removal services. Ed loved the barter system and used it whenever possible. Considering his frustrations with the tax code and arithmetic in general, he felt he was coming out ahead on this deal.
Despite the purchase of thirty-seven red roses for Valentine’s Day, February had been a good month financially. Ed looked forward to his next stop at Porterfield First National, where he’d recently opened an additional savings account. He called it his Super Secret Savings, or Triple S for short. Into this account went every extra dollar he earned. It was, in his mind, money saved for his future with Rick.
Although they hadn’t discussed it since that cold night at the cemetery, Ed was constantly thinking about the day he and Rick would merge their lives and their incomes. He agreed with both Mrs. Penfield and Rick that, financially speaking, a good offense was a good defense. Every dollar deposited into his Triple S, he felt, was a dollar protecting Rick and himself against anyone who might object to their relationship.
Ed’s financial plans for 1981 had changed considerably. Before Rick came into his life, Ed had thought about buying a new truck and a new stereo and blowing a huge wad of cash on some kind of exotic vacation. The only big expenditure he would even allow himself to think about these days was the purchase of the coveted snow blower at the lumberyard. He had a hunch they’d mark the price down when spring arrived. Because its purchase would allow him to take on more snow removal work, he planned to buy it and be ready for next winter. By the time the snows of 1982 arrived, Ed was convinced he and Rick would be together, working toward their dreams.
Ed had even been doing a little snooping in his mother’s basement, investigating boxes of his father’s tools. The idea of working with wood, making things good enough to sell, had captured his imagination. He did not mention this to Rick, nor did he tell him about his Triple S account. They had agreed to table any discussion about their future until spring, so Ed kept his plans close to his heart, their warmth as comforting as Rick’s love. When spring arrived, he would tell Rick, showing him with both words and actions how much their life together meant to him.
With a big sigh of accomplishment, Ed placed the last stamp on the last envelope. He went to the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi, chugging a good third of it over his dry tongue. He wanted his mouth refreshed and ready for the kissing soon to come.
He stole a quick look into the living room and smiled. He had another surprise for Rick, but this one couldn’t wait. Rick would see it the moment he arrived.
He turned at the sound of Rick’s car in the driveway. He stretched in contentment, watching Rick pull his usual overnight bag out of the car. Oh, this was his favorite time of the week. Every job, every chore, every movement of the past five days led to this moment, the beginning of his weekend with the man he loved.
Rick burst through the back door, smiling broadly. Ed’s own smile was just as relaxed and happy. It was now officially Ed and Rick time.
After greetings, kisses, and hugs had been exchanged, Rick glanced into the living room. His eyes widened in wonder.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Ed laughed. “You bet. Come meet my new roommate. I was kind of hoping it would be you, but he’ll do for the time being.”
He took Rick’s hand and led him to the sofa, where a young black tomcat was yawning, awakened from his nap by all the commotion. He looked at Rick with suspicion at first, but then relaxed for the hand eager to pet him.
“Where in the hell did you get this?” Rick stroked the soft, black fur.
“Mrs. Ilinski. He was a stray she took in over the winter because she felt sorry for him. Every time I went over there to shovel her walks she’d say”—Ed imitated the old woman’s voice—“‘Now, Ed, I just can’t afford to keep this cat around. Why don’t you take him home? You live all alone, and he’d be good company.’ Well, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t short on company these days. I’ve been stalling her for the last month, but today when I was over there, getting her TV antenna reanchored to the roof, the cat kept hanging around the bottom of the ladder, staring up at me. So I thought, what the hell, and brought him home with all the cat food she had on hand. She was thrilled.”
A thought suddenly occurred to Ed. “You’re not allergic, are you?” he asked anxiously.
“Nope.”
The cat tested Rick’s lap. Apparently he found it hospitable, as he settled there and began to purr.
“Cute little guy,” Rick remarked. “What’s his name?”
“Mrs. Ilinski was calling him Blackie. I was hoping, between the two of us, that we could come up with something a little more interesting.”
“Hmm.” Rick stroked the cat, looking thoughtful. “How ’bout Jet? He’s jet black, and we could say it was after that old Paul McCartney song.”
“Jet,” Ed said, nodding. “I like it. Hey, we could spell it with two T’s, make it like Jett Rink in Giant.”
“Ah,” Rick said, chuckling. “James Dean. Indiana’s favorite son. Oh, that’s too perfect for a cat owned by a Hoosier gay man.”
“Jett it is, then,” Ed said, pulling the cat out of Rick’s lap. “Hey, Jett. You like your new name?”
The cat kicked away from Ed with annoyance and stalked to the end of the sofa, where he licked his disturbed fur with great disdain.
“Even acts like a gay man,” Rick noted with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, then he’ll fit right in around here, as long as he keeps the drama to a minimum.” Ed turned his attention to Rick. “Man, am I glad to see you. And I get you all to myself until tomorrow night.”
“I don’t know, baby,” Rick said, still looking at Jett. “Looks as though you’ll have to share me from now on.”
Ed gave him a lusty look. “There are some things I can do for you that the cat cannot.”
Rick reached out, pulling Ed to him. “Now, how did you know I spent the day dreaming about my handyman all warm and naked. Come ’ere, you. It’s been a long week.”
Ed began unbuttoning Rick’s regulation work shirt. “What do you say we go take a little nap in the bedroom and leave the cat to his?”
“Now, there’s an idea.”
It wasn’t long before clothes were shed and they were stretched out on the bed, engaged in some passionate necking. Rick suddenly broke away, looking toward the door.
“Uh, Ed?” he tentatively asked. “Tell me. Have you ever had an audience before?”
Ed followed Rick’s glance. Jett was standing by the bedroom door, calmly watching them. Ed began to giggle.
“I don’t think so.”
Rick shook his head. “Not only is the cat queer, he’s a voyeur.”
They looked at the cat, then at each other. Ed shrugged, reaching once again for Rick.
“Oh, what the hell. I’ve waited all week for this. As long as he keeps his paws to himself, I don’t give a shit.”
* * * * *
Their weekend progressed happily and affectionately, the novelty of Jett adding to their enjoyment of being together. Saturday afternoon’s exuberant lovemaking seemed to kick them into a higher gear that only rock and roll could satisfy. Their mushy love songs were banished to the record cabinet, and Ed keep the record player stacked with everything from the Rolling Stones and Cream to Boston and Foreigner. By midafternoon on Sunday, however, they had both calmed down and wer
e stretched out at opposite ends of the couch, legs intertwined, reading. Jett, unable to find a comfortable spot between them, had staked out one of the easy chairs for himself.
Rick was engrossed in his latest mystery novel, and Ed was struggling a bit with an Agatha Christie mystery Rick had brought him from the library. The combined influence of Rick and Mrs. Penfield had Ed turning to books for entertainment more often these days. On the evenings he spent alone, the television was usually quiet as he curled up with a book either Rick or Mrs. Penfield had suggested. He had to admit, though, that he found Dame Agatha rather challenging. So many of the British idioms and customs were unfamiliar to him that he had to disturb Rick occasionally for clarification.
Ed looked up when he felt Rick change positions on the sofa. Rick glanced at his watch, sighed, and his “Thinking about Going Home” look, as Ed privately called it, spread across his face. Rick returned to his book, the look fading slightly.
Ed’s eyes were on the book in his hands, but his mind wandered elsewhere. He knew Rick hated to leave on Sundays, and his self-imposed guilt at ignoring Claire and the kids usually propelled him out of Ed’s house earlier than was really necessary.
Ed enjoyed their cozy domesticity as much as Rick did, and hated to see the weekends come to an end as well. However, the pragmatism that had steered Ed well through his life allowed him to accept the situation for what it was. Rick, on the other hand, seemed to feel constantly torn between his responsibilities at home and his desire to be with Ed as much as possible.
Ed sighed softly, not wanting to grab Rick’s attention. That same pragmatism told Ed their weekends together were not unlike romantic getaways, or even a grown-up version of playing house. He knew that when they decided to cohabitate, some of the heat of their relationship would cool in the day-to-day routines of living together. Ed wanted very much to sustain the heady excitement they had shared these past four months, but a part of him also longed to wake up next to Rick every day.
Even as practical as Ed was, he had known he was in love with Rick almost from the moment they had met, and after four months, no doubt remained in his mind that he wanted to be Rick’s partner in life, for life. He was certain that Rick felt the same about him, but their mutual fears—exposing their relationship to the small-town eyes around them, Rick’s potential abandonment of Judy, Josh, and Jane so soon after their father had abandoned them, and the plain old fear that they would find themselves making a mistake—were keeping them in this holding pattern. Oh, it wasn’t a bad place to be, Ed thought; two guys in love spending as much time together as they could, but it was a holding pattern all the same.
Ed watched Rick absentmindedly scratch his nose. Don’t worry about it, Ed told himself. Right now I’ve got more than I ever really allowed myself to hope for. Enjoy it. We said we’d talk about it in the spring, and we will. Ed knew, though, without looking at the calendar, that the first day of spring was less than a month away.
Rick slapped his book shut, startling Ed. “I think it’s time for a cookie break,” Rick announced, pulling his legs away from Ed’s.
“Boy, it’s sure a good thing Mom dropped those off yesterday,” Ed teased, following him to the kitchen. “You’ve been hoovering ’em down like crazy.”
“You can’t beat your mother’s chocolate chip cookies.” Rick dug into Ed’s panda-shaped cookie jar. “Norma could start her own bakery on the strength of her cookies alone.”
“Yeah.” Ed went to the refrigerator for the milk. “Mom has her talents, all right. Just steer clear of her fudge, though. For some reason, she’s never quite gotten the hang of that.”
They settled at the kitchen table with their snack. “I s’pose I should think about going home pretty soon,” Rick said, chewing slowly.
“Yeah,” Ed mumbled, knowing what was coming next.
“Man, I hate to leave, but—”
Ed waved a cookie in Rick’s face to stop him. “Enough. You play this guilt scene every Sunday. Geez, we oughta set it to music.” He dropped the cookie, stood up, and went around the table to Rick, putting his arms around him. “Darlin’, I love you so much that watching you bash yourself with guilt every week kills me. You’re just going across town to the Westside Hills subdivision, not around the world. Do the handyman you love a big favor, and let it go, okay? Besides,” he said in a softer tone, “with you grabbing all the guilt, there’s none left for me.”
Rick played with a cookie, looking at the table. A faint grin twitched his mouth. “What do you have to be guilty about?”
“Oh, just my own selfish thoughts where you’re concerned.”
The grin widened a bit. “I have some pretty selfish thoughts about you, too, baby.”
“There, you see? If we’re gonna share our lives, we need to share the guilt, along with everything else.” Ed’s hand snuck into Rick’s cookie pile. “However, I see you are not sharing the cookies, so permit me to take these to my side of the table.”
“Hey,” Rick shouted, grabbing for the cookies.
Ed tried to get away, but Rick tripped him. Ed stumbled and fell, sprawling into Rick’s lap.
“Oof,” Rick exclaimed as Ed’s dead weight hit him. “Damn, baby, when did you get so heavy? I think you’ve had enough cookies.”
They broke into laughter, holding on to each other, covered in cookie crumbs. Rick reached a sticky hand to Ed’s face, stroking it, pulling Ed to him for a chocolate chip kiss. Ed returned the kiss, thinking that even five minutes with Rick was worth five days of waiting.
* * * * *
Monday morning found Ed back at work, installing a series of shelving units in the garage of a younger couple, the Rhodeses, who had just moved into his neighborhood. Ed seldomly found himself working for people near his own age, and he enjoyed Becky Rhodes’s lively personality, and even more so, her teasing but wicked comments about how inept her new husband was with all things mechanical. Ed couldn’t help it; he felt smug every time he learned of a straight man who was hopeless with tools. It always seemed a victory of sorts over their supposed superiority.
Ed finished the job by lunchtime, and with Becky Rhodes’s fervent thanks, payment, and promise to call the next time she needed help, he drove home for a bite to eat, basking in an exceptionally good mood for a Monday. The air was still cold, but fresh with a hint of spring. March was, Ed thought, coming in more lamb than lion.
The phone was ringing as he entered the house, and he ran to answer it, assuming it was a call for more work. Much to his surprise, the caller was Gordy Smith.
Ed hadn’t seen Gordy since his confrontation with Jim Murkland at the post office. Back in January, Ed had tracked down Gordy’s home phone number, had called to thank him for his backup that day, and had invited him to join Rick and himself for a meal sometime. He’d heard no more from Gordy, however, and had just assumed Gordy was uncomfortable with the idea of spending time with them, although he was now Rick’s favorite co-worker. Rick had told Ed they usually shared a cup of coffee and conversation before Rick left on his mail route each day.
“Ed, I was wondering, are you free for lunch today?” Gordy asked now. “I feel a little stupid about this,” he continued with obvious embarrassment, “but I could really use someone to talk to.”
“Sure,” Ed said cheerfully. “You’re more than welcome to come over here. We can talk in private that way.”
“Well . . .” Gordy seemed to be weighing that idea in his mind. “Okay,” he finally said. “Tell you what, though, I’ll make a McDonald’s run for us. The least I can do is bring the food. What would you like?”
“Oh, just grab me a Big Mac and fries. That oughta hold me. I’ve got lots of pop to drink here, or stronger stuff, if you like.”
“Not while I’m working,” Gordy said, sounding more like himself. “Hell, the last thing I need is to sell stamps with beer breath. Thanks, Ed. I’ll be over in about a half hour.”
Ed hung up the phone, puzzling over the unexpected turn of even
ts, wondering what was on Gordy’s mind. Jett came out of the bedroom, meowing for attention. Ed picked him up, amazed at how quickly he was getting used to having a cat around the house.
“We’ve got company comin’, cat,” he said, petting Jett. “So behave yourself. No drama, and whatever you hear, keep it to yourself.”
By the time Gordy arrived, Jett was parked in a living room window, enjoying the sunshine, and Ed had, as usual, another stack of nostalgia on his turntable. It seemed appropriate, as most of Ed’s memories of Gordy were from high school.
Gordy Smith, Porterfield High class of ’68, had not been one of the standouts on the football team, but had been a strong and enthusiastic player. Ed, two years behind him, had always admired Gordy, not for his athletic ability, but for his general all-around nice-guy attitude, a definite departure from the behavior of the other jocks in school. They’d never been more than acquaintances, but Ed was eager to make friends with the only other gay man in Porterfield he was aware of, other than Rick and himself. Oh, he knew there had to be others, but small towns being what they are, he’d never made an effort to seek them out.
Gordy came into Ed’s kitchen rather tentatively, and Ed did his best to make him feel at home. They spread their lunch over the table, and Ed went to the refrigerator to fetch a couple of cans of Pepsi for them. Gordy nodded toward the music coming from the living room. “Time of the Season” by the Zombies was playing.
“Man, that sounds great. I can’t decide, though, if it makes me feel ten years younger or ten years older. ‘Who’s your daddy!’ I always loved that song,” he said with a grin, apparently beginning to relax.
“I pulled out all my old 45s right after Rick and I got together,” Ed said, opening his Big Mac box. “He likes those old songs as much as I do. Sometimes we talk about what it was like for us in high school. I think the only thing we really enjoyed from that time was the music.”
Gordy munched on some fries, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Oh, high school was great for me. I wasn’t any brain, but I didn’t mind the classes, and I liked playing ball. But I’ll tell you,” he said, shaking his head, grinning again, “that locker room could really be a problem for me. All those naked guys. Man! And they’re all talking about pussy, and there I am, trying not to look at their dicks, eyes always on the floor. Now, that sucked.”