"So, are you related?" a woman asked not long ago.
Eddie said, "Yeah he's my son," and then looked at her in such a way that the woman felt stupid for asking.
Since he and Carolyn split up Matt has been living in a cabin in the hills out near Austin. He teaches freshman composition part-time at the community college there and spends the rest of his day staring at his word processor. His hair is long now, he's grown a beard, his eyes are sad and hard-bitten.
Eddie takes his portable phone out to the porch and punches in Matt's number. Matt always answers: "Earth here."
"It's me," Eddie says. "She's gone again."
Matt takes this in and says, "Where'd she go?"
"Out West, I think."
Eddie hears a lighter click, an exhalation of breath.
"Did I interrupt something? You working?"
"Naw, not really. I'm gonna get started again on Monday."
"Good. You know I support you in what you're doing."
Matt says, "Did Marcia say when she was coming home?"
"Nope. And on top of everything Mateo is missing again."
Mateo is Eddie's dog, a foundling that Marcia named after Matt because it was Matt who found him. He was still in Houston then; he came over for breakfast one day and the dog followed him right inside. Mateo is a fine companion. He has a brindle coat and ears of a magnificent sort that stand out at right angles to his head as if he's always listening for trouble. He is affectionate and bright and strong, an acrobat who can stand flat-footed and leap a four-foot fence. Which is why he's missing.
"Have you looked for him?" Matt asks.
"Not yet. He'll come home, he always has, but I'm afraid he's gonna get squashed by a truck one of these days."
"Well then why don't we raise your fence? Make it a six-footer. You been talking about it for months."
"Can you come down this weekend?"
"You got two hammers?"
"I got twenty hammers."
"Well there you have it. See you tomorrow afternoon."
"You sure?"
"No. But I'll be there anyway. About suppertime."
Eddie sits there for a while, trying to decide what he'll have for supper, until he hears something strange in his neighbor's yard. It's a scrabbling sound, a clawing at the fence. Soon Mateo's lean head starts to appear, off and on, as if he is jumping on a trampoline. The poor dog is exhausted from his adventures. As Mateo pants hotly and licks his face in thanks, Eddie helps him over the fence and carries him to the house. He gives him a beer in his bowl to cool and calm him down. Then he feeds him and, save a closely guarded excursion down the street to a vacant lot for an after-dinner busy-busy Marcia's term he doesn't let him out again all night long.
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Friday is a good day, the best day ever invented. It is the day of closure, and of possibilities. Eddie takes off early and goes home. He mows the lawn in a kind of furious, sweaty haste and then drives to Builders Square for the first load of fencing materials. He sees Matt's Ford pickup parked at the curb as soon as he turns the corner onto Mercy Lane North. Both doors are wide open and a booming kind of classical music from the truck's stereo is disturbing the peace of the neighborhood.
When Eddie pulls in the driveway Matt lifts himself and tumbles out of the truck, followed by a crushed beer can that clatters against the curb. They meet on the freshly mown grass of Eddie's front yard, embrace like a couple of grizzly bears.
"How was the drive?"
"I made real good time," Matt says, grinning handsomely in his beard. Matt's not drunk but he's close to it, and Eddie sees he'll have to change his fencing plans. They'll start tomorrow.
In the chilly house Matt greets Mateo in his usual elaborate way. He dances with him, gets him to do some tricks, such as Be a dead dog, and then he goes to the kitchen for a dog treat. "I just love that dog," Matt says in a high feminine voice, mimicking the estranged Carolyn, and Eddie smiles at his mockery.
On the patio with beers they sit in lawn chairs. Matt looks tired. His hair is a mess and his jeans are torn. Eddie, in his khaki walking shorts and new sneakers, feels neat and clean next to Matt. He thinks he should change; he thinks Matt may consider him too bourgeois to be the best friend of a serious writer.
They talk for a while, catching up, then Matt asks if he's heard from Marcia. Eddie says she called earlier from Santa Fe.
"Wanted to use my Visa card for her hotel bills."
"Y'all argue?"
"Of course we argued."
Eddie starts on his second beer and Matt suggests a soak in the hot tub. Eddie explains why that's impossible.
"Oh," says Matt. "Well what do you feel like doing?"
"Nothing much really, how about you?"
"First a shower, and then a good meal wouldn't hurt me. . . . Listen," says Matt, and Eddie can tell something's coming. "I'm kind of broke. Could you loan me a little for a few days?"
"Of course," Eddie says and Matt thanks him so many times it becomes embarrassing. For a long time they sit and stare into the yard as Eddie tries to calculate his dwindling bank balance.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
They shower and dress and then leave for supper in Matt's truck. At an ATM Eddie gives Matt fifty dollars, then they drive on to a steakhouse that Eddie likes. In the parking lot of the restaurant Eddie stops Matt before he gets out.
"Look here," he says. "I want you to do me a favor."
"You name it."
"I want you to start calling me Frank. It's my middle name."
"I know but what's wrong with Eddie all of a sudden?"
"I'm even going to change my by-line to Frank Mansfield."
"Are you gonna tell me why?"
Eddie feels himself blush. He hesitates before committing himself: "Marcia thinks Eddie is stupid."
Matt smirks and glances at Eddie as if he too thinks Eddie is stupid. "What made her decide that after all these years?"
"She says she's never much liked being married to an Eddie. She says it makes me sound like Mr. Ed the horse or that obnoxious guy on Leave it to Beaver. You know, Wally's friend."
"And you listened to her?"
"Yeah. In fact I agree with her. I've always regretted going by Edward instead of Frank." He is afraid to look, afraid of what he'll see, but when he glances over he can't help but return Matt's grin. "I know it's dumb but would you just do it for me?"
"Frank, huh?"
"That's right."
"Frank it is then."
They shake on it and then go inside the restaurant. But Matt won't quit grinning. By the time their meals arrive he can no longer contain himself. He has just put a bite in his mouth when he throws down his silverware with a loud clank and laughs so hard that he spits out a piece of steak. It bounces off the table and lands in Frank's lap. So Frank laughs also now.
"Sorry Frank," he says. "Would you mind giving me back that piece of steak Frank. At these prices I don't want to waste it."
Frank picks the slimy chunk of meat out of his napkin and throws it sloppily at Matt's chest. It leaves a gray splatter mark on his white shirt. So they laugh about that too.
Matt says, "I just can't call you Frank, that's all. I've known you too long. Give me time." Suddenly his face brightens with a bright idea. "I know, how about this: let me call you Eddie Frank, as kind of a transition?"
"All right," says Frank. "If you have to. But let me tell you something right now: if you do, if you call me Eddie Frank, like I'm some Billy Jean or James Earl or R.W. or something, then I'm gonna start calling you Matthew Ernest. Agreed?"
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Eddie Frank gets up before Matthew Ernest even stirs. He turns off the alarm system they had installed at great expense to protect Marcia's collection of antique baskets, though the two times they've been burglarized the only artifacts the thieves bothered with were televisions and firearms. He feeds Mateo in the kitchen and then supervises his busy-busy in the backyard.
<
br /> While the coffee is making he goes into the living room and just watches Matthew Ernest sleep for a while. He's sprawled across the couch like a puzzle of himself. He is oblivious and for once peaceful. Thinking about their new and expanded names makes him smile in fondness, makes him want to wake up Matthew Ernest just for the joy of calling him Matthew Ernest and it makes him wish that Marcia were there to be a part of it.
Eddie Frank takes his coffee out to the garage. It's a gray day, threatening rain. Usually on Saturdays he alone or he and Marcia go to garage and estate sales looking for cheap antiques. They have a little business dealing in old things, furniture and books and Western junk. Their shop is a 10×10-foot space in an antiques mall out on the freeway. There is something elegant and fundamental to Eddie Frank in the notion of buying low and selling high, and he's always been something of a scavenger.
Today, however, instead of buying, he's selling. One thing about a small antiques business: you end up owning a lot of stuff that you just can't get rid of. And there's this: since Marcia went crazy she hasn't much felt like being an antiques dealer. In fact one of her complaints is that they have collected "so much shit," as she puts it, they can no longer find the center of their lives for all their material possessions. He can see her point; the garage is so crowded he can't park his Jeep inside.
First he has to make some signs and post them around the neighborhood. He enjoys this part. With a Marks-A-Lot and some squares of yellow posterboard he carefully draws his signs, each one different:
WORLD'S BIGGEST AND BEST GARAGE SALE. HOUSTON'S FINEST GARAGE SALE. STUPENDOUS GARAGE SALE. GOD'S OWN GARAGE SALE. Then he sets out on foot with a staple gun.
Early morning is his thinking time. Lately, it seems, about all he can think about is Marcia. He's thinking about the first time he realized he loved her. This was years ago. He was wild and irresponsible then, living in a seedy little second-floor apartment. He remembers he was in bed, almost asleep, when he heard the voice of someone yelling outside: "Hey, Mansfield."
He went to the door and found Marcia standing at the bottom of the stairs. In her arms was the sleeping bag he had given her for her birthday so they could go camping together.
"Here," she said. "I think this is yours."
She heaved that sleeping bag all the way up to the landing where it lighted heavily at his feet. He was so stunned by this show of strength that he could do nothing but smile at her.
"You are a selfish fucking bastard, you know that," she screamed, a little drunk perhaps. Then she walked away.
He remembers watching her move across the parking lot and thinking she was an impressive woman when the electricity of anger was in her veins. He remembers she had the light of ambition and distance in her eyes. He remembers a powerful thrill.
Now Eddie Frank realizes he is back at his own street. He staples his last sign to a telephone pole and heads for home. Matthew Ernest is waiting for him on the patio. With Mateo at his side, he is drinking his first cup of coffee and smoking his first cigarette of the day. Eddie Frank likes this scene: his two best friends sitting together groggily on his own back porch in the early morning hours of a day that holds the promise of diversion and excitement and perhaps even adventure, of money to be made and manly labor to be done in a spirit of fellowship.
He says brightly, "Morning, Matthew Earnest."
"Morning, Eddie Frank," the other returns, trying to match the brightness, but then he goes into a coughing fit so deep and profound that Eddie Frank has to slap him on the back.
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By nine o'clock it's raining and business is rotten. By ten o'clock Eddie Frank is thinking seriously about giving it up and hauling all the junk to the Goodwill store. And how will they work on the fence if it's raining? He sees doom in everything.
Even in Matthew Ernest, who is sitting in an old easy chair and reading a book Marcia came across called Co-Ediquette. It's a book from back around the turn of the century that was written to advise young girls how to comport themselves when they went to college. He can't believe that Matthew Ernest is so interested in it. Because he himself is bored. He hasn't made even fifty dollars and hasn't had a customer in well over an hour.
"So what's that stupid book about?" he wants to know.
"Mainly it's telling 'em to keep their knees together."
"That's wise advice," he says with disagreeable volume.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Look around."
They look around and what they see gets their attention and keeps it. A beautiful woman is walking up the driveway under an umbrella. She has black hair and a warm round face and long slender legs. Turns out Eddie Frank knows her. Sort of. She is the divorced daughter of an old man, a friend of Eddie Frank who lives around the corner. She often visits her father on the weekends and he has met her there before. She is an admirable woman with a gentle manner and he has fantasized about her in the past. When she reaches the garage she smiles in such a way that the two men jump to their feet.
She says, "Hi, Eddie."
But it's to Matthew Ernest she turns in her time of need. She has picked up several items a set of Scottie dog bookends, a lamp without a shade, a small table that needs refinishing and it's all about to spill. Matthew Earnest leaps to her aid.
"What are you gonna do with all this stuff?" he asks.
"It's for my father," she says in a low voice, and Eddie Frank nods
his head anticipating her answer. He knows the story. "He's retired now and fixing up things keeps him busy. He has a workshop. The bookends are for me."
"Do you have a Scottie dog?"
She nods and smiles.
"What a coincidence. I grew up with a Scottie."
Eddie Frank flinches at this line, for he knows it was not a Scottie that Matthew Ernest grew up with; it was a red dachshund.
The two talk as she looks over Eddie Frank's items. And then she quits looking over his items. She seems very interested in Matthew Ernest, and Eddie Frank can see why. He happens to know that she is a lonely woman and devoted to her father. She's shy too. But Matthew Ernest has a certain way with women, always has. Now Matthew Ernest is telling her about his being a writer and how he lives alone in a remote cabin and how he has committed his life to literature, and he makes it all sound as if he's a martyr for art. Then come the formal introductions.
"Oh! Are you two related?" she asks.
Eddie Frank says, "Yeah he's my son," and Matthew Ernest gives him a hard glare. The woman just looks confused.
Her name is Sandra Boone. Used to be Grapestone but since her divorce she has gone back to her father's name. Matthew Ernest seizes this opening and tells her he is alone too. Now she's even more interested. Eddie Frank sees love blossoming right there in his cluttered garage and he's deeply envious.
But he has new customers, two middle-aged housewives. And now here's a young couple. They come into the garage under umbrellas or pieces of newspaper and he has to keep an eye on them, take their money, find bags for their items. Still he tries to listen to Matthew Ernest and Sandra Boone. They have taken a seat on a picnic bench. For almost an hour they talk until Matthew Ernest has somehow convinced her to go out with him that evening.
"Suppose the three of us make a night of it?" Matthew Ernest says, glancing at Eddie Frank, who shrugs and nods his head yes despite the murmured warnings of his wiser angels.
She's ready to pay but Eddie Frank can't see taking money from Sandra Boone. She says, "Oh thank you, Eddie." His eyes almost tear up at the sound of her gentle voice speaking his name and the sight of her friendly smile, and he regrets very much being married, even to Marcia. He thinks also that Matthew Ernest is not the right man for her.
Watching her walk away, Eddie Frank says to Matthew Ernest without looking at him, "You be good to her, you hear me."
"It's a little early for that kind of warning, isn't it?"
"Maybe," he says.
Then he busies himself takin
g what remains of his junk off the tables and dropping it all into boxes. He and Matthew Ernest are quiet with each other as they heft the boxes into the truck and then drive to the Goodwill store. They unload the stuff at the back dock, and as they pull away Eddie Frank feels a mixture of loss and relief, of sadness and new freedom.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Eddie Frank has been thinking too much again, and he's dirty and tired. It quit raining just after lunch, so he and Matthew Ernest have been ripping off four-foot slats and banging up six-footers all afternoon. There is an unruly pile of lumber in the middle of the yard. He hadn't thought of that: what's he going to do with the old wood? Whenever he looks at it he sighs over this new affliction and wants to kick Mateo for getting him into this.
And he misses Marcia. Everything seems unnatural without her. It's a loneliness hardened by the cruelties she has committed against him lately. A dozen times he has replayed in his mind the scene in which she told him she didn't like his name.
"I mean, I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything," she said. "But Eddie's just kind of dumb, it's a kid's name."
"But it's my name," he said.
"Well that's not my fault."
"Well it's not mine either."
"But you can do something about it," she said.
He bangs up the next slat and then steps back panting for air. But you can do something about it, he mouths, wagging his head, mocking her. He thinks he is speaking only in his mind but apparently something has slipped out.
Matthew Ernest says, "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Hey, look now, something's up, you've been talking to yourself all afternoon. Did I piss you off somehow, Eddie Frank?"
"Naw. It's this name bullshit," he says without thinking.
Matthew Ernest just looks at him. His hair, his face, his beard, his clothes all soaked with sweat. He smiles. It's a teasing smile full of friendly contempt and a wry kind of pleasure. Exhausted he sits on the grass cross-legged and lights up a cigarette. Mateo slinks over and gently falls in his lap.
"I've changed my mind," says Eddie Frank. "I ain't no Frank and I sure as hell ain't no Eddie Frank. My name's Eddie."
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