by Nick Poff
“Thanks, baby. For that and the massage.”
The last of a stack of records that Ed had put on the stereo earlier slapped into place and began to play. Three Dog Night’s “One Man Band” poured out of the speakers.
“What can I say, darlin’?” Ed said, turning his man around for a kiss. “‘I just wanna be your one man band.’ And if I can’t play for you all the time, I’ll play for you when I can.”
“Me too, baby,” Rick murmured. “I just wanna be your one-man band too. And you know what? I could really use a little music right now.”
Ed looked at Rick’s watch, noting it was almost Rick’s usual bedtime. He sighed. He sometimes felt every minute of the time he was allowed to have with Rick was measured by that timepiece. Despite his wise, comforting, parental words, he had a childish desire to rip it off Rick’s arm and throw it out the front door.
“I want to make some music with you, too,” Ed found himself saying, “but it’s late for you. I suppose you should go home.” Goddamned watch, he thought.
Rick looked at his watch, obviously thinking much the same thoughts. Ed watched him struggle to make a decision between what he wanted to do and what he needed to do.
“You know what, darlin’?’ Ed smiled at him. “Spring’s only three weeks away.”
Rick looked puzzled, then smiled back at him in comprehension. “How ’bout that.”
“I guess what I’m saying,” Ed continued, “is you don’t have to stay here and make love to me tonight to prove anything. I think they need you at home, and someday I’m going to have you full-time. I know that because I know how much you love me.”
“Baby, when you talk like that, I wanna pack up and move in here right now.”
Ed kissed him softly. “I know, but we agreed. We’d wait until spring. It’s so close, and”—Ed shrugged helplessly, trying to express himself—“I just know something’s gonna happen that will let us know it’s time. So go on home, okay?” He kissed Rick again. “We’ll be together this weekend. Are you forgetting? You turn thirty this week. We’ve got your birthday, and your parents are coming up. Besides, there’s something I want even more than making love with you tonight.”
Rick’s warm and tender special was glowing on his face. “What’s that, baby?”
“I want my lion to go home and get a good night’s sleep, knowing his pride is safe. That’s all.”
It was Rick’s turn to go for a kiss. “I don’t think any lion who ever lived had a more beautiful pride than I have.” He hugged Ed as tightly as he could. “Okay, baby. I’ll go home, and I promise to sleep worry-free. I’ll see you when I deliver your mail tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
Ed watched Rick climb into his car and drive away, back across town to the sister, nieces, and nephew that he loved—as big a part of that pride as Ed was. He knew that Rick was a good man, as only a good man would worry he wasn’t caring deeply enough for those he loved.
Ed shook his head, looking out into the frosty night. Was it even remotely possible for him to love Rick more now than he did just a few hours ago? He wasn’t sure, but he knew seeing Rick’s vulnerability somehow increased a love that was already bigger than anything Ed had ever imagined.
Jett came up from behind him, meowing at the door. Ed scooped the cat up for a light hug.
“Ya know what, buddy? I think we’re gonna have another roommate soon. I predict it. Before the tulips in the yard bloom, you’re gonna have another lap to sit in and someone else to bug for food.”
He set the impatient cat down and opened the door for him. Jett walked into the yard, sniffing the night air. Ed stepped outside and took a good sniff himself. Yep, no doubt about it. Spring was on its way.
Chapter Twenty
Ed danced around the kitchen as Honey Cone’s old hit, “Want Ads,” blasted from the living room, and since no one was around he allowed himself to sing out loud for a change. Well, Jett was around, and he made his reaction to Ed’s singing voice quite clear. He asked to be let out. Ed didn’t care; he was in too good a mood.
Damn, was there ever a more cheerful breakup song? he thought . If he and Rick broke up, he’d probably slit his wrists. He did a little shuffle of his own invention as he boogied toward the stove. He pulled open the oven door for a quick check. Yep, all was well for his birthday dinner for Rick. He slammed the door shut, spun around, and nearly collided with his mother.
“Mom,” he yelled, grabbing on to her before he fell down. “Jesus Christ, don’t you know how to knock?”
“Knock,” she hollered over the music, pushing Ed away and depositing a bag on the kitchen table. “Why would a person bother to knock with this racket going on? And what business do you have, taking the Lord’s name in vain?”
Ed was about to remind her she hadn’t attended a regular church service in almost twenty years, but she wasn’t finished.
“As for your singing, Ed Stephens, now I know why you were kicked out of sixth-grade chorus. Aren’t you worried the neighbors will hear this ruckus? Why, I’d call the police.”
Oh, Mom,” he groaned, throwing his hot pad on the counter. “I’m having a good time. Give me a break already.”
“Good time,” she huffed. “With that noise? Honestly, I had hoped your taste in music might improve as you got older, but I was sadly mistaken. Who is that caterwauling, anyway? That Diana Ross you like so much?”
“No, but I think she’s on next,” he said, trying to tweak her and succeeding. “Sorry, Mom. Fresh out of Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey over here.”
“Honestly. There hasn’t been a decent recording made since Elvis shook his pelvis. Turn that noise down right this very minute.”
Putting on his most wounded look, Ed went to the living room and took the needle off Diana Ross’s “Surrender,” which had just dropped onto the turntable.
“That’s better,” Norma remarked in a normal tone of voice as he reentered the kitchen. “Well, here’s your cookies. You tell Rick I hope he had a happy birthday today.”
“Actually, yesterday was his birthday.” Ed peered into the bag. “Thanks, Mom. Rick loves your cookies, you know. I thought two birthday cakes would be a bit much.”
“Yesterday? Two cakes?”
“He spent his actual birthday, yesterday, with Claire and the kids,” Ed clarified. “They had a big cake and a party for him. Since today is Friday, and he doesn’t have to work tomorrow, I’m celebrating his birthday with him tonight.”
“I see.” She nodded. “What do you have in that oven there?”
Ed sighed. Here it comes, he thought. “Meatloaf, baked potatoes, and green bean casserole. It’s one of his favorite meals.”
“Meatloaf?” Norma queried, eyebrows raised. “I don’t seem to recall you asking for my meatloaf recipe.”
“I called Rick’s mother for her recipe. That’s the one he’s used to.”
“Humph.” Norma stalked over to the oven, hot pad in hand. “I’d just better see this meatloaf.” She pulled the door down and stuck her nose as close to the pan as she could. “Well, it looks all right,” she conceded. “Let me see the recipe.”
Resigned, Ed handed over the scratch pad page with his scrawled notes on it.
“Bread crumbs,” she read, scandalized. “Why, I never stretched a meatloaf with bread crumbs in my life. Your father would turn over in his grave.”
“Guess what, Mom? Dad’s not coming to dinner tonight. And neither are you. And I don’t think Katharine Hepburn or Sidney Poitier are either, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“Watch your mouth,” she warned him, handing over the paper. “Well, if that’s what the poor man is used to. I’ll just have to have him over sometime for a real meatloaf. Speaking of dinner guests, though, I thought you said his parents were coming to town.”
“They are, tomorrow. They’re stopping here in the morning, and then we’re supposed to go to lunch at the Wood Haven. Then they’re going to spend the afternoon with Clai
re and the kids.”
“Hmm.” She inspected the newly scrubbed kitchen floor. “I thought it looked awfully clean in here for a change.”
“Yeah,” he confessed, “I was at it all day today. I was really glad no one called for a job.”
“Humph. You’ll clean for strangers, but not for your mother. That figures.”
“Mom-m-m-m!”
“Well, just the same, you make sure you make a good impression on these people.”
“I’ve already met them, Mom, you know that. I’m just a little uptight ’cause they’re coming here.”
Norma, scowling, rubbed at a grease stain Ed had missed on the wall. “Just like meeting your in-laws,” she grumbled. “Can you beat that?”
“Well, that’ll be one to tell ’em at garden club.”
“The garden club won’t hear about this, believe me. I still haven’t told them about you. I figure what they don’t know won’t hurt me.”
Ed was ashamed. Norma had been wonderful about his relationship with Rick, so he knew he really shouldn’t tease her.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I know this is all pretty weird for you.”
Norma turned around from the wall and looked at her son. “Yes, it is. Your father had his mind pretty well made up about you a long time ago, but actually seeing you with some man is still a little shocking for me. And I’ll tell you, if it were anyone other than that Rick, I don’t know how I’d feel. But he’s a good man, and better than you deserve. You just see to it that you treat his parents with respect. Even with that awful meatloaf, they did a good job with him.”
“I will, Mom,” he said, smiling at her.
Norma sighed and shook her head. “Sometimes I do wonder what your father would say about all this. Oh, well. I’ll just be on my way. I’m due over at your sister’s to babysit while they go bowling in that silly league.”
“Just keep your hands off their Froot Loops, okay?” He walked with her to the door.
“Oh, you. Think I’m such an ogre. I baked cookies for them, too.” She turned around, hand on the doorknob. “Well, tell Rick ‘happy day after’ or whatever, and I hope he likes the cookies.”
“He will. He always does. Thanks again, Mom. I really appreciate it.”
He closed the door behind her, sighing. Bossy and domineering as she was, Norma was doing her best to accept a situation she had not wanted for Ed, and he appreciated it much more than her cookie-baking. He wished he had a better way to show it, but nothing immediately came to mind. After all, tonight was for Rick, he thought, returning to his stereo. He’d pull a Scarlett O’Hara and worry about that tomorrow.
* * * * *
“The cookies were inspired, baby,” Rick said later that evening. “In fact—”
“No! You’ve had enough. We are dancing. Shut up and dance.”
“Yes, sir, but I thought it was my birthday.”
“It’s your birthday, but it’s my house.”
“But are you my man?”
“Absolutely. But sucking up to the host will not get you more cookies, at least not until this song is over.”
The lights were dim, the Stylistics were singing “Stop, Look, Listen,” and Ed and Rick were indeed dancing, or at least holding each other close, swaying from side to side. Rick had thoroughly enjoyed his birthday dinner and Ed’s present of a gift certificate to the Bookworm Nook in downtown Porterfield, and he had managed to eat his way through half of Norma’s cookies.
“You know the reason I really love those cookies so much tonight?”
“Why’s that?”
“No candles. I thought the kids were gonna set the house on fire last night. Thirty-one damned candles blazing on that cake. One for each year and one to grow on. It took them so long to light ’em that we ate candle wax with the icing.”
“My mailman is getting old.”
“Oh, yeah? Take those clothes off, baby, and get into bed. I’ll show you a thing or two about age and experience.”
“Sure you don’t need a shot of Geritol first? Ouch,” Ed exclaimed as Rick purposely stomped on his foot.
The Stylistics faded out. The record changer clicked, and Gordon Lightfoot began to mournfully sing “If You Could Read My Mind.”
“I’m wounded. I need to sit down.”
Ed dragged Rick to the sofa. They collapsed in a heap, one big tangle of arms and legs.
Rick sighed. “Thank you, baby, for tonight. This has been the nicest birthday I’ve had in years. I don’t even care that I’m thirty. Last night was great, but tonight is . . . really special.” He put a hand to Ed’s face, then gently pulled him close for a kiss. “If you could read my mind right now, what do you think you’d find?”
Ed giggled. “Probably wax from all those candles. No,” he said, suddenly serious. “I think I’d see how much you love me, if the look on your face means anything.”
“That’s right. That’s the tale my thoughts would tell, all about you and how wonderful you are. I love you, and that’s all I care about right now. Well, that and the fact I think you missed your calling. Sometimes I think you should have been a deejay.”
“I don’t have the voice for it.”
“Well, you certainly have the records for it.”
“Any special birthday requests?”
“Yeah, more cookies.”
“Aw, crud.” Ed hauled himself off the sofa and walked to the kitchen for the cookie jar. “Another romantic moment ruined by my mother’s cookies. Next year you get cake, with thirty-two fucking candles on it.”
Rick joined him at the cookie jar. “I hope my mom doesn’t bring any sweets tomorrow. Hell, if I keep this up, I won’t be able to squeeze into my uniform on Monday. Are you nervous about tomorrow, baby?”
Ed took a cookie for himself. “No, not really.”
Rick smirked. “Then why is this house cleaner than I’ve ever seen it?”
Ed scowled at him. “There is nothing wrong with trying to make a good impression.”
“That’s true,” Rick conceded. “I just didn’t want you to get all worked up again, like you did last time.”
“I’m not, really. At least I don’t think I am,” Ed said thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the meatloaf drying out. No, your folks were easy to be with, and as long as Jett behaves himself, tomorrow should go fine. Speaking of that cat, where is he?”
They made a quick search of the house and found Jett crashed in the middle of the bed.
“Oh, great,” Rick said. “Another three-way tonight. Does he always do this, or just on the nights I’m here?”
“Well, I have to admit he’s good sleeping company when you’re not around,” Ed said, teasing him, “but I’d much rather have you.”
“Is that so? Well, he’s sleeping on the chair tonight. I want you all to myself. In fact”—Rick grabbed Ed’s sweatshirt and began to pull it over his head—“I’m pretty damned tired. How about we lie down for a while?”
“You old men, always going to sleep earlier and earlier,” Ed mumbled through his shirt.
Rick knotted the shirt around Ed’s neck.
“In the first place,” he said, pulling it tighter, “I was up very, very early today, a fact of which you are well aware, smart-ass. In the second place, who said anything about sleeping?”
“Argh! Get this thing off my neck or sleeping is all you will do tonight.”
Rick disentangled Ed from his shirt and tossed it on the floor. One hand cupped Ed’s head to bring him closer for a kiss, while the other hand unfastened his belt.
“Damn, you old guys know all the moves, don’t you?” Ed said, smiling against Rick’s lips.
The jeans were removed, the Jockeys followed, and then the socks, one at a time.
“Look at you,” Rick said, admiring. “Now there’s a birthday present.”
With some help from Ed, Rick was quickly out of his own clothes. The cat was rudely awakened and deposited on the easy chair. They fell onto the bed together, kissing softly, h
olding each other loosely. Ed heard the last record fade out in the living room and made a move to get up, but Rick stopped him.
“Don’t worry about it, Mister Deejay.” He stroked Ed’s hair. “This one-man band has lots of music to make right here. We don’t need any more.”
Ed kissed Rick slowly, tenderly. “Happy birthday, darlin’,” he whispered.
Rick pulled him closer. “Baby, you remember that first night, right here in this bed?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“’Cause. I remember how bad I wanted you, how I had wanted you since I first saw you. I remember lying here with you that first time, and I don’t think I ever wanted a man as bad as I wanted you. And you know what? I still do, want you that bad.”
Ed glanced away from Rick’s face. “I can see that.”
“What’re you gonna do about it, baby?”
“I can think of lots of things, but it’s your birthday,” Ed said, gently squeezing, moving himself farther down the bed. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, ’cause I want you just as bad.”
Rick’s eyes closed as he moaned under his breath.
“Happy birthday,” Ed repeated, this time with a smile.
* * * * *
Ed sighed, pulling himself into a much nicer outfit than his usual Saturday grubbies.
“Geez. Nothing like the cold light of morning, and the fact that your boyfriend’s parents are on their way, to bring reality home with a bang.”
“Oh, it’s only a few hours. Once they’re over at Claire’s we can do anything we want,” Rick said as he made the bed.
“Yeah? You really think we could top last night?” Ed smiled, remembering.
“Not until your birthday, baby.”
Ed put one arm around Rick from behind, his other hand gently stroking the seat of Rick’s khaki pants. “Are you okay, darlin’?”
“Oh, baby, I’m way better than okay. That’s a birthday present I’ll never forget.”
“Hmm. We could pretend today is my birthday, or it’s yours again.”
“Stop that. Don’t you even think of getting me in this kind of trouble with my parents on their way here,” Rick scolded with a smile, pulling the comforter tight. “I’ll go make some coffee. I know my dad. After that long drive that’s what he’ll want, first thing.”