by Drew Hunt
“Oh, John,” Miss Aldridge, the elderly librarian twittered when he entered. “It’s you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brock said, taking off his old black Stetson. He hadn’t been able to find his Resistol when leaving the house.
Fanning herself with a magazine, she said, “Our air has stopped working. Do you think you could take a look at it?”
“Well, I’m not sure.” Brock looked up at the wall vent, thinking of possible law suits if he did something wrong. He had fixed window AC units, but he didn’t know squat about central air.
Miss Aldridge had been his English teacher in high school and now, Brock assumed, to try and keep active, volunteered at the library. Looking at her lined and wrinkled face Brock mused that she must be at least eighty now.
“Oh, dear.” She looked disappointedly at him.
Brock shuffled his feet. “Have you called the air-conditioning company?”
“Yes, but they said they couldn’t send anyone until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest.”
Brock sighed. He’d never been able to say ‘no’ to this woman, something he knew she was counting on. “I guess I could take a look, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to fix it.”
Her old face lit up. “Oh, thank you, John, That’s very kind of you. You’ve grown up so much since high school.”
Brock winced. Trust Miss Aldridge to be able to issue a compliment and a rebuke in the same statement.
As he was led in back, Miss Aldridge said, “I understand you’re helping Calvin Hamilton renovate his family’s house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brock had long ago ceased to marvel at how quickly news traveled in the town.
“That’s good of you. Especially as you two were not exactly friends years ago.”
“No, ma’am.” Brock tried to keep his face neutral.
“Well, here we are,” she said, opening a nondescript door. “I’m sure I don’t know what has happened. We’re always so careful with it, just setting the controls like the man showed us.” Always prim and starched, Miss Aldridge looked as though the heat was getting to her.
“You go back and take a seat, Miss Aldridge, and I’ll see what I can find out in here.”
“I will, but first I must check to see if those books—” She wandered off, still talking to herself.
Brock shook his head before turning the light on in the tiny equipment room. He stared at the air-conditioning unit, praying for inspiration. The thing was still running, but wasn’t producing cool air.
All the dials seemed set properly, not that he’d know if they weren’t. He glanced up at the small window. “Outside!” he said aloud. He thought he should tackle things logically and work from the outside in.
Leaving the room, Brock saw that Miss A. was busy with a patron, so he passed her and left through the main doors. The heat inside was nothing compared with that outside. He stuck on his hat, which at least shaded his eyes, and walked around the side of the building. Soon finding the condenser unit, he saw that dead leaves and twigs obstructed it. He pulled away what he could, but he needed to remove the outer grill and do a proper clean out.
Brock re-entered the library. Miss Aldridge caught his eye; said something to her customer and trotted over to him.
“Do you know what the problem is?”
“I think so, ma’am.” Remembering his manners, Brock took off his Stetson. “I need to shut the unit down before I can do anything else.”
She nodded, obviously secure in her own mind that Brock was on top of things. Brock was much less sure.
He went back into the small equipment room, which could probably more accurately be described as a closet, and shut the air-conditioning unit down. For good measure he threw the breaker switch, too.
* * * *
An hour later, Brock replaced the final screw in the condenser’s housing panel and sent up a quick prayer. He’d brushed, teased and picked out as much debris as he could from the fan blades, but hadn’t dared dismantle anything he wasn’t confident about being able to reassemble.
Going back inside to a now deserted library, Brock made his way to the back. Miss Aldridge was standing by the equipment closet door, hovering.
“I’ve done all I can, ma’am.” Brock’s right hand automatically went up to his hat to remove it.
“I’m really grateful.”
“Where’s the thermostat?”
“Oh, um.” She had to think for a moment. “Yes, of course.” She led him back into the library and stood by a complicated digital box. Brock sent up another prayer. He was certainly keeping the Almighty busy this day. He turned the thermostat to off, then went back into the equipment room and turned on the power. Back in the library he re-set the thermostat.
“Oh, I’m so glad you know what you’re doing. I only have window units at home,” Miss Aldridge told him.
“Me, too.”
They walked back to the equipment room. Brock felt at the pipes, but the thick insulation prevented him from feeling anything. Gently easing back the padding Brock felt blessed coolness.
“We might be in luck, Miss A.”
“Oh, splendid.” She clapped her hands together and moved rapidly back into the main part of the library.
After pulling the insulation back into place, Brock followed and found his former teacher smiling up at the vent, which was pumping out chilled air.
“You did it, young man!”
Brock felt justifiably pleased with himself. Rarely in high school had he done anything to earn praise from this woman.
Remembering why he’d come to the library in the first place, Brock said, “Oh, I need to check a few things on the computer. Is that all right?”
Miss Aldridge turned from the vent, a frown on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry, but we closed ten minutes ago. I need to switch off the air conditioning now before locking up.”
Brock sighed.
“We open again at nine in the morning. You could come back then if you like.” She smiled at him.
“I would only be about fifteen minutes. I need to check a few prices, it’s for Calvin, uh, Mr. Hamilton’s house renovation.”
“I’m sorry, the library is closed,” Miss A. repeated. “You may come back tomorrow. We open at nine o’clock. I have to leave now. I have a meeting of the altar guild this evening.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brock jammed his Stetson on his head and left.
* * * *
Brock needed a drink, so he pointed his truck toward Hal’s. Then he remembered he hadn’t paid his tab from the night before. He hoped he’d have enough with the twenty in his wallet. Jesus, he hated being low on cash.
And, he noted with grim amusement, Miss Aldridge didn’t mention anything about paying me.
He tried not to let it bother him, but he couldn’t wait until the next time he had an overdue book. Miss Fuckin’ High and Mighty Aldridge could fuckin’ whistle for her money.
You’d have to borrow a book first before you could bring it back late, the annoying inner voice pointed out.
He told it to shut the fuck up.
Brock turned off the engine, sighed and stepped down onto the asphalt. He hoped Hal wouldn’t be too sore with him for leaving the previous night without paying his tab.
“Hey, Hal,” Brock greeted him on entering the dimly lit bar.
The place was filling up with folks coming in for a drink after work. Brock had hoped to pull Hal aside to ask about his tab; he didn’t want the whole town hearing he owed money.
Hal actually smiled at him. “What’ll it be?”
That all depended on how much money he’d have left after paying his debts. “Uh, I.” Brock lowered his voice, forcing Hal to bend forward. “I kinda left last night without paying.”
Hal shook his head. “It’s already been paid.”
“What?” Brock said louder than he’d intended.
Beckoning Brock to lean further forward, Hal quietly said, “Your friend Calvin paid it. Resuming a normal voice and stan
ding up straight, Hal continued, “Now, what can I get you?”
“Uh, a diet 7-Up.”
Hal raised an eyebrow. “Want anything in that?”
“Ice and lemon.”
Brock wasn’t sure why he’d ordered something non-alcoholic, but he didn’t correct himself. Maybe Junior’s concern earlier had subconsciously had him choose a soda.
As he sat sipping his drink, Brock was forced to muse on the differing attitudes of people. He’d done old lady Aldridge a favor, and she hadn’t let him use the library’s computer. Then he’d pretty much ignored Calvin during high school, never putting a stop to the shit the other jocks pulled, and now Calvin went and paid his tab.
As soon as Brock set his empty glass down, Hal immediately came over to offer a refill.
“No thanks.” Brock handed over his twenty and waited for Hal to make change. “Say, how much was my tab last night anyway?”
“Don’t remember exactly,” Hal gave him his change. “But I think it was a bit under twenty dollars.” He scratched his beard. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Thanks.” Brock set his Stetson on his head and stood, his barstool immediately being taken by another patron.
Walking out of the bar, Brock determined he’d pay Calvin back in the morning when he went to his place to deliver his estimate. Then he remembered he didn’t have all the prices. No way was he going back to the library in the morning. Calvin would have a computer; he’d ask if he could use it.
* * * *
Brock hadn’t slept well. It was too hot, and his bed felt empty. Why, he couldn’t say for certain, because he had never brought another guy back with him, not with Junior in the house. No way would he admit that despite his alcohol consumption the previous night, being held in someone’s arms had resulted in the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages.
There was no bread in the cupboard. There was dry cereal, but the milk had turned sour. So Brock stood by the sink in his boxers, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a slice of cold pizza which he’d bought a couple days earlier in the other.
Breakfast over, he whistled as he rinsed his coffee cup and left it on the drainer. Still whistling he padded back into the bedroom to dress.
“Now, what to wear.” He stared at his mostly empty closet. He needed to do laundry, but the washing machine needed a new pump and…he shook his head, determined to think about such things another time. Pulling his best pair of Wranglers off the rail Brock eyed them critically. Would he be working today? He didn’t want to spoil them if he were. He replaced the hanger and took down a pair of black jeans. They were a little tight on him, but…they showed off his ass. Brock smiled and reached in and took a sleeveless black tee off the shelf to go with them. Black wasn’t exactly a suitable color for working out of doors in the summer, but he’d deal. A pair of grey boxers went on first, followed by white socks. Lying on the bed, he had a bit of trouble with fastening the waistband, but a sharp breath in did it. He fed a belt through the loops, slipped on the T-shirt , stomped into a pair of boots, and put on his Stetson. Before closing his closet door he tipped his hat at his reflection in the mirror.
* * * *
Calvin didn’t answer his door when Brock knocked. Surprised, Brock went round back and peered through the window of the garage. KITT was there. The sliding glass doors to the bedroom were close by so Brock thought he’d take a look to see if Calvin was still asleep. The strong sun reflecting off the glass made it difficult for him to see much of the room. Using his hands to shield his face, he leaned in close.
“Do you make a habit of peeping in folks’ bedroom windows?” Calvin said from just behind him.
Brock jumped and spun around, surprised and more than a little embarrassed at being caught. Calvin had obviously been out for a run, his closely-cropped dark brown hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat. His white wife-beater had a damp patch running from mid chest to the hem, below which Brock could see a pair of strong legs encased in blue nylon running shorts.
Brock said the first thing that came into his head. “You look hot.”
Calvin gave Brock a slow appraising look, from the tips of his black cowboy boots, up his legs, resting for a moment on his silver belt buckle, then further up until their eyes met.
“And you’re looking particularly sexy this morning, too, Gary Cooper. Black really suits you.”
Brock felt his face flush. Darn it, why did the guy always best him?
“Have you had breakfast yet?” Calvin asked, confusing Brock.
He remembered the small slice of cold pizza. “Uh, not exactly, why?”
“Because after my shower, I planned on making breakfast, and thought you could join me.”
Brock wasn’t sure if Calvin was referring only to breakfast. “Thank you, that’d be mighty neighborly of you.” Brock tipped his hat.
* * * *
Inside, Calvin waved at the coffee maker. “Help yourself. There’s sweetener and non-dairy creamer in the canisters if you need them. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Okay, thanks.” Spying Calvin’s laptop computer on the kitchen table, Brock asked if he could use it for a few minutes.
“Sure, no problem. Hang on, I’ll just log you in.”
Calvin stood rather close as he waited for the computer to boot up. Brock could smell the man’s sweat; it was clean, masculine, and he found his dick hardening. He quickly sat down, which put his nose level with Calvin’s right armpit. Brock resisted the temptation to take a deep sniff.
After tapping a few keys, Calvin announced, “There you go.” He twisted the machine to face Brock.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“What do you want to look at? Cowboy porno?”
“Yep. But I’ll be sure to bookmark the best sites for you to drool over later.” Brock looked up and smiled, pleased that he’d at last got one over on Calvin.
However, without batting an eye, the man moved behind Brock’s chair and put his strong sweaty arms around Brock’s shoulders. Bending, Calvin whispered in Brock’s right ear, “Why would I need pictures on a screen when I’ve got a real-life cowboy right here?”
Calvin’s tongue snaked out and licked Brock’s ear, causing Brock to shudder. Calvin then stood up, removed his arms from around Brock and sauntered out of the kitchen.
“Back soon, sexy.”
“Fuck!” Brock said to the empty doorway through which Calvin had just passed.
Pushing down on his painful erection, wishing he’d chosen a pair of more forgiving jeans, Brock stared at the laptop and tried to concentrate on spackling, grout and exterior paint.
* * * *
“Find what you were looking for?” Calvin asked several minutes later.
Brock looked up from the screen to see that Calvin had dressed in a white T-shirt that showed off his toned arms. The front of the shirt had a drawing of the Manhattan skyline on it, and in case anyone didn’t recognize the view, the word “Manhattan” was written underneath. Calvin also had on a pair of faded denim cut-offs and flip-flops on his naked feet.
“Yes, thanks.” He went on to tell Calvin of his experiences at the library the previous afternoon.
“Some things never change. Old lady Aldridge was a complete bitch back in high school.”
Brock was surprised to hear Calvin say that. “I thought you were her golden boy. She was always holding up your work as an example to us lesser mortals.”
“Exactly, how do you think that made me feel?”
“Smug?” Brock offered.
Calvin snorted. “It made things worse. I just wanted to do my schoolwork and stay out of the limelight as much as possible. It was all right for you jocks to excel, people patted you on the back or lauded you as a hero when you scored the winning touchdown or hit a home run or whatever. When I did what I was best at I got shoved into a locker and got called a nerdy fag.”
Brock looked at the keyboard. “I never did anything like that to you.”
“True.�
� Calvin let out a breath,
“But it didn’t stop me from laughing with them as they did it.” Brock swallowed and looked up at Calvin. “I was too scared they’d discover my own secrets.”
Calvin, who had been sitting at the table opposite, suddenly stood. “All that was years ago. I’ve moved on.”
Brock recalled the conversation he’d had with Junior the previous day, and the memories it had evoked. “Yeah. Look,” Brock stared up at Calvin, who turned from the open fridge to face him. “I wish now I’d stood up to those meatheads, told them to lay off you.”
Calvin treated Brock to a thin smile. “Thanks.”
Brock nodded.
“Well, this pleasant stroll down memory lane won’t get breakfast made.”
If Brock had been expecting sausage, biscuits and milk gravy, he was disappointed. Calvin pulled out fresh fruit and yoghurt before closing the fridge with an elbow. Though after taking a few bites Brock had to admit the food was refreshing and very tasty.
“I guess you being a hard-working physical kind of guy, you’ll need more than this to keep your strength up.”
Was Calvin starting with the sarcasm again? “It was very nice.”
“Thanks. But how about an omelet with turkey bacon, peppers and mushrooms?”
Despite having just eaten something, Brock’s stomach took that moment to growl.
Calvin laughed. “That’s settled then. One healthy but cowboy-sized omelet coming up.”
Brock watched as Calvin opened the fridge again and pulled out more ingredients including a carton of Egg Beaters, a product he’d seen but had never tried. As Calvin chopped, stirred and cooked, Brock couldn’t help but think how comfortable and domestic the scene felt.
“Like I said yesterday, you’d make someone a great housewife.”
“And like I said yesterday,” Calvin observed from the stove, cast iron skillet in hand, “Fuck off.”
Brock laughed. Then he remembered something else about the previous day. “Hey, thanks for paying my bar tab. But you shouldn’t have.”
“No problem.” Calvin slid the omelet onto a plate and carried it over to the table.
Brock reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Hal said it was twenty dollars, so—”