Comfort and Joy

by Jim Grimsley

  On the following Saturday, Ford drove a moderate-sized orange truck to Dan's apartment building. No more cracked plaster, no more little rooms, no more shabby furniture. What Dan had not packed, he had given away. Ford had asked Russell Cohen to come help with the heavier stuff, and by the time he joined them, the windows and walls were vacant. Dan cleaned the apartment while Russell and Ford hefted boxes and carried them to the back of the truck. Russell, settling a carton of paperback novels against the truck wall, said, "This won't take more than one load. He doesn't have much stuff."

  "That's what I think, too," Ford said.

  Russell stepped down the metal ramp leading to the truck, eyeing the October street, brown-green. Hemlocks flanked the corners of the yard. Looking Ford in the eye, Russell remarked, with the air of an older brother, "Be a pretty big change, won't it? Having somebody in the house?"

  "It'll be a change all right."

  "You ready for it?"

  Ford shrugged. Later, he returned from the truck to find Russ and Dan talking, Russ saying something about having a yard. How much work it was. Russell had become an expert on yards since he bought his first house, in Dunwoody. Dan said, "I bet that's what this is about. I'm supposed to move over there and become the gardener."

  Ford said, "That's right. Your new room is right off the garage. Didn't I show it to you?"

  "That's what I thought." Russell hefted another box of books and headed down the stairs. "Suddenly this whole thing makes more sense."

  The apartment became more barren by the moment. Boxes and small items of furniture, lamps and paintings, slipped down the stairs and into the truck. Most of the large furniture items, including the bed and sofa, remained in the apartment, Dan having arranged to leave them with the landlady—Ford's house was already full of much better stuff, as they both agreed. Dishes and other implements of kitchen life had been sold or discarded or would remain as well—Dan could hardly add to Ford's pantry. In the end, loading the van occupied only an hour or so, and soon every sign of Dan's occupancy vanished from the aging plaster walls.

  Dan boxed the cats, and their frantic crying and scraping of claws filled the rooms. Ford stood next to Dan, studying the dappling of morning light through bedroom windows. "I feel like I already moved out of this room weeks ago," Dan said. Something forlorn in his tone.

  "This is pretty scary, huh?"

  "A little."

  "You want to back out?"

  "No way. Do you?"

  "No." They stood carefully, neither moving apart nor together. Listening.

  At the house on Clifton Heights, the unloading of boxes and furniture passed quickly, and when the last boxes rested in the floor of the storage room, Ford stood in the center of the bedroom and felt the change in his house. Autumn sunlight filled the rooms fronting the street. Had he never noticed this resonance before, the way the light shimmered over the polished furniture and fabric-covered walls? Russell opened the first beer, and Dan and Ford soon followed. On the side porch, in a neat wicker swing, Russell kicked off his shoes, indulging in the pool of sun that heated that part of the house in the morning. Dan sat in an adjacent chair, folding his legs into the cushions. Ford took a place next to him, not daring to look at Russell.

  "You'll get lost in all this room, Dan, after that little place you were in." Even one beer made Russell jovial. "I always wondered what McKinney needed with a house this big."

  Ford eyed Dan, a careful assessment. "I bought it to please my accountant."

  "It's a beautiful place."

  "I was right about the yard, though." Russell said. "There's a lot of it."

  "I've mostly let it sit there," Ford admitted. "My dad and mom make fun of me. They can tell you exactly what's planted out there and what to do with it, but it all looks like leaves to me."

  "I thought your mom had a gardener," Russell said.

  "She has a Vietnamese man with a talent for azaleas. We have—they have—the whole front yard done in azaleas and oleander. You should see it."

  Russell said, to Dan, laughing softly, "You believe this guy?" and to Ford, "You know we all talk about you at the hospital. Old Savannah. Right?"

  "I know you give me a lot of crap. But I expect that from New Jersey types."

  Russell gestured to Ford with his beer. "You had a pretty good rotation at Grady last time, my man. Dr. Milliken really likes you, talks about you a lot."

  "Does he?" Finding Dan watching him coolly. "I had a good time at Grady. I'll be glad when I get back there."

  Russell said, "I bet you will. If my girlfriend worked at Grady, I might get to see her now and then."

  He delivered this casually, without any forethought, as if the parallels, in his mind, were exact. Ford felt, for a moment, as if he were sitting naked on the porch and Russell were laughing at him. But when he checked, he found only a sarcastic grin. One beer became two, and the day mellowed. Russell appeared in no hurry to go, and Dan encouraged him to stay with an ease that made Ford oddly happy. Something unsettling about it, yes. But he was glad.

  Then Dorothy Ballard's maroon Jaguar motored up the driveway without prelude. Dan leaned forward, and for a moment reminded Ford of the mother in Savannah who surveyed her own territory from the porch with similar assurance. "That's Dorothy's car," Dan said.

  "I invited her. We're going to have a party to welcome you. Eva should be here too."

  "You didn't tell me anything about a party," Russell complained. "I could have invited Kathleen."

  Dan was watching Ford. Trying to figure something out. Ford's heart pounded a little harder. He understood he had done a good thing, that Dan was touched. Dan turned to Russell. "Call her. Tell her to come on over."

  They met Dorothy and Eva in the driveway, Eva embracing Dan, stroking his shoulder. Dorothy laughed and clapped Ford on the back, a gesture associated with locker rooms and fine fellows. He had a brief glimpse of how his mother might view the present situation, as if her son were moving among freaks and monsters. Dorothy read his thoughts. "You'll get used to it. I was nervous the whole first year Eva and I lived together."

  "I know. I'm not worried about that." Ford gave Dan a guilty glance. "The house already feels different, like there's finally something in it besides furniture and me. I know that's the right thing."

  "You tell your folks yet?" Dorothy asked, moving toward the back entrance to the house.

  Ford drifted with her, answering, "No."

  "Well, you'd better."

  Opening the door, and remembering at the last moment that Dorothy did not like to have the door held for her. "I don't want to face my parents right this minute."

  "Is Dan on your back about it?"

  "No. I think he's scared, too."

  "Dan?"

  Ford laughed. "Yeah, I know. But he is."

  Ford took charge of the November cookout, more like a day in summer he thought, lighting the built-in grill and cleaning the grate. Hovering, at various moments, near Dan. Eva and Dan were methodically laying out steaks and wrapping potatoes. The kitchen had taken on the kind of feeling Ford remembered from preparations for parties given by his parents. He was thinking this was now Dan's kitchen too, this was now a home they shared. In the closet in the bedroom hung Dan's clothes. Boxes of Dan's belongings were scattered through the house. The thought reached Dan. Ford kissed him without warning, on the mouth, in front of Eva.

  "You two should do that more often," Eva said, and Ford, embarrassed, hurried out of the room.

  Hearing Dan. "Leave him alone, Eva."

  The mix of people, odd as it was, worked effortlessly, with Kathleen, Eva, and Dan singing old hymns as they cooked in the kitchen, and Russell listening to the Christian music with only slight skepticism. Dan's tenor and Eva's contralto made eerie harmony, hair-raising. Meanwhile Ford and Dorothy talked over the barbecue. The afternoon blossomed into something Ford could hardly have foreseen.

  They ate in the sunroom, beholding afternoon across the backyard. The cooks were pr
aised, and then Russell offered the final toast himself, lifting a beer to Ford and Dan. "Congratulations, to both of you," his face only slightly flushed.

  Russell smiled and Ford shook his head in amazement. "Thanks," Ford said, and raised his glass. He turned to Dan. They were together in a room full of other people. The idea hardly seemed credible.

  The moment passed in the general melee of cleaning. Near the end of the work the phone rang, and Dan reached for it and said hello.

  The change in his face was palpable. He fixed his eyes on Ford. Dan said, "This is Dan Crell, Mrs. McKinney. I'm Ford's friend, we've talked before. He's here. Let me get him." Covering the phone with his hand and saying, with a warning look, "Here she is, my dear."

  Ford heard the sound of the words but something in him refused to comprehend. He told himself he ought to take the call on the phone in the den but by that time he held the receiver in his hand already, and his mother's voice spoke in his ear, "Well goodness, Ford, it sounds like you're having a party."

  Feeling eyes on him. "I have some friends over."

  "That's wonderful. You never talk about entertaining, I wondered if you ever did."

  "Well I don't, very often, but this is a special occasion." From somewhere, further words emerged. "We're celebrating because Dan moved in today. With me."

  "Who?" she asked, and he could already hear the brittle veneer form around her tone.

  "Dan. The man you just talked to."

  "He's moved into the house with you?"

  Take a deep breath. "Yes."

  Frost formed along the telephone line all the way to Savannah. "I guess I'm surprised," she began, more smoothly. "I didn't know you were thinking about having a roommate."

  The words seemed innocent enough, but he knew his mother. By now Dan had managed to start conversation, and Ford had moved away from the others. The hollow feeling swelled. "I haven't been thinking about having a roommate."

  "Well what do you mean? If you haven't been thinking about it, why do you have one?"

  "This doesn't have anything to do with roommates. I wanted to live with Dan. I've been asking him to move in for six months now."

  She laughed uncomfortably, with a tone that warned him a sudden change of subject was imminent. "Well, son, I guess I don't see the difference. Now I called to find out when you're getting home for Thanksgiving."

  "I'm not coming to Savannah for Thanksgiving, Mother. I'm staying here."

  "Are you on call? I thought you told me you weren't."

  "No, I'm not on call. Listen, Mother, this is a bad time to talk."

  "You're telling me you're staying in Atlanta for the holiday."

  "Why don't you let me call you tomorrow, when I don't have so much company?"

  Silence. She could hardly object to that. "All right. Try to call after church. But Ford, I'm going to be so upset if you don't have a good reason. Thanksgiving is such an important time for the family."

  "I understand that, Mother. But my home is in Atlanta. All right? I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  Her good-bye chilled him, and dread of tomorrow's conversation began as soon as he collapsed the phone antenna and rested the receiver in its cradle.

  Dan had led the others into the den; Ford could hear their voices as he entered.

  Russell offered help immediately. Giving Ford a wry look. "For a minute there, I could have sworn you were talking to my mom."

  "Really?" Ford tasted dryness in his mouth.

  "Sure. My parents hate Kathleen. Whenever I say her name, my mother goes deaf." Embracing Kathleen loosely around the waist. "You can't let it get to you."

  But the phone call had shattered the tranquil afternoon. Russell and Kathleen left after the kitchen was cleaned. Dorothy and Eva stayed longer, playing games of pinochle with Dan and Ford. The conventions of the card game eased them into conversation, and Ford found himself unaccountably more comfortable in the presence of the women and Dan. Eva, while declaring her meld for the coming hand, asked Dan, "Do your parents know you're gay?"

  "My father is dead. But my mother knows. I told her when I was still in college." Across his face passed the look that always accompanied moments when Dan spoke of his family, a slatelike blankness. "She was fine about it. We don't talk about it very much. I told her about Ford, and she claims she wants to meet him, but I don't know."

  Eva laughed with a soft throaty sound. "My parents had a fit when I told them about Dorothy. I had girlfriends before, but she's the first one I ever told them about. It was really stupid, the way I did it. It was on my dad's birthday. They threw me out of the house. So later I took Dorothy home with me. I didn't tell them I was doing it, I just did. And because they didn't have any time to get ready for it, everything went fine."

  "More or less," Dorothy corrected, "the first couple of hours were pretty rotten."

  "They were surprised. Then Dorothy started drinking Scotch with my dad. He was so impressed when he found out she was in medical school, he started to like her. He was in the military, but he always wanted to be a doctor."

  "My mom was impressed when she found out Ford is a doctor," Dan said. "I guess she thought I would end up hanging around in bathrooms waiting for truck drivers."

  Dorothy said, "My folks still don't like it that much when I bring Eva home. They don't know how to act."

  Eva added, "Dorothy's family has these huge fights, especially when they try to eat a meal together—"

  "I have one sister who's a fundamentalist choir director and one sister who's a schizophrenic with six children and a husband who can't find a job. The choir director hates me because I'm gay, and the schizophrenic hates me because my parents are proud of me. And I have a brother who's probably gay, too, but he's only fourteen and doesn't say a whole lot. So we all get together at mealtimes and scream and have scenes. Eva loves it."

  "Truly," Eva said.

  Ford felt himself conspicuous by his silence. "I guess my parents are beginning to get the idea."

  "You think so?" Eva watched him. "Maybe you should spell it out."

  Ford wondered, considering Dan's silence, whether he had put her up to this. As if in response to this unspoken thought, Dan said, "He's doing that already, Eva."

  "Well it doesn't sound like he's making it all that clear to me."

  "Everything doesn't get said in words." Dan looked out the windows at the lengthening shadows on the lawn. "Mrs. McKinney knows why I'm here."

  This statement became, in some way, final, and Eva eased back into her seat. "I still think you have to talk about it directly sooner or later."

  The card game continued past sunset but ended soon after, with the veil of streetlight casting pale shadows against the windows. The long day ended. Parting involved many embraces alongside Dorothy's sports car. As Eva prepared to slide down into her seat, she said, "Well, so now there's one more married couple in the world. Good work."

  Ford found himself pleased and warm at the words. But Dan said, "We're not married yet."

  "No?" Eva asked.

  "No," firmly. "We're living together. In Ford's house."

  As the car pulled down the driveway, Ford asked, without meeting Dan's eye, "What was all that about?"

  "All what?The business about being married?"

  "Eva was trying to say something friendly You didn't have to contradict her."

  Dan shrugged. "It's nonsense. You and I aren't married."

  The words hurt Ford, but he shrugged and turned away. "I guess I thought otherwise." He headed into the house again.

  "My parents were married. Your parents are married. Is that how you want us to end up?"

  Something in the words, in the callous tone, made Ford afraid. He tried to clear his head of the afternoon's Scotch and turned to Dan. "And why is this my house?"

  The catch in his voice must have warned Dan that this was, in fact, the more important question. "You're paying for it."

  "It's our house. We live in it."

  Dan shook his hea
d. "Your name is on the deed. I'm living with you. I'm paying you rent."

  "I never said a word about rent—"

  "I know you didn't. But I'm going to pay. I'm not going to live here for nothing. That isn't fair to you, and I wouldn't know how to deal with it."

  "What do you mean, fair to me? When you want to know what's fair to me, why don't you ask me? I have plenty of money, there's no reason for you to pay me anything for living here."

  "Of course there is. I can't let you support me like I'm some kind of wife."

  "Why can't you?"

  Dan looked at Ford as if he must be mad. "Because that's not what I am."

  "Why do you have to keep saying that? Do you have to talk about this place like I'm a landlord?"

  Dan turned, after a moment, and spoke with forced calm, riding his own wave of fear. "I don't mean to sound like that. You're not my landlord. I'm living with you because I've never wanted to do anything more in my life. So I have to find some way to stay here, in this house. With you and all your money."

  "Stop talking about my money!" The echo of his shout astonished him. He watched the color drain from Dan's face. Without another word, Dan turned and walked away.

  Ford found him in the door of the library. The language of the man's body spoke of fear and refusal. "I didn't mean to yell."

  "It's okay."

  "But I can't stand it when you throw my money in my face. It shouldn't make any difference how much money I have."

  Silence greeted this statement. Moving in the shadows, Dan switched on a porcelain lamp that flooded the immaculate room with light. Polished furnishings, deep-pile oriental carpet, ebony carvings, an old tapestry, all filled the room with their presence and dignity. Dan's gesture made itself plain. "It does makes a difference. I'm sorry. But it does."

  "Why? I mean it, I want to know. Why should it make a difference that I have money and you don't?"

  "Why don't you ask your parents? They can give you the answer."

  Ford sank into the nearest chair, closing his eyes. Sickness filled him suddenly. "Why are you doing this? Do you want to ruin everything before we even get started?"

  "I've tried to talk about this before. But you act like it's all a joke when I talk about paying rent and paying for my part of the bills." Suddenly the voice of melody became like steel. "I need to pay my share. Don't you understand that? Or else I won't know how to live here."