by GR Richards
"Come on inside," he said, setting a hot, hard hand on Fernando's back and pressing him through the gate. "I don't want the girls escaping. They run like lightning."
Fernando allowed himself to be thrust into the side yard, and then licked by two amiable purebreds, without much of a sense of what was going on around him. The touch of that warm hand pulled him up into heaven while the gurgling in his gut pulled him down to hell.
Gerry must have caught Fernando staring at their client--that is, if he missed their client staring right back--because he finally introduced them. "I'm sorry, I've been so rude! Fernando, this is Malcolm. He's the homeowner, obviously. Malcolm, this is my brother and partner-in-crime, Fernando." When Malcolm didn't chuckle at his inane little joke, Gerry self-corrected, "Business partner, I should say. He's the brawn of the operation. Couldn't do this without him."
Out of the corner of his eye, Fernando noticed an expression of understanding come over his brother as Malcolm smiled and slowly extended a hand. "Very good to make your acquaintance, Fernando. Very good."
Fernando had always prided himself on his big hands, but Malcolm's were undeniably bigger. Softer, too. Calluses were a tool of Fernando's trade. He worked hard for a living, worked his body hard, and, even if his gut betrayed him, he knew his hands never would. Malcolm noticed. He could see it in those inviting eyes.
Another rumble from his gut, and Fernando tore his hand from Malcolm's to press it against his side. "Good to meet you, too," he replied through gritted teeth. As the internal pressure mounted, he looked away from Malcolm. Could this have happened at a worse time?
From the end of the side yard, Gerry offered a nervous chuckle. "You okay, there, bro?"
"Fine, yeah." Clenching his cheeks, Fernando stumbled in Gerry's direction. A spotted white greyhound and another with a camel coat led the way, looking back in alternation. Their eyes shone with their owner's concern.
Malcolm grabbed him by the arm and strung him along. "You do not look well, man! Is it your appendix, do you suppose?"
Fernando tried to laugh, but this situation just wasn't funny. "Naw," he said, shaking his head and watching his shoes step across the weathered patio stones. God, he didn't want to admit it, but, "I'll be okay once I use the bathroom."
"We're only here to dot the t's and cross the i's," Gerry said, his voice so firm and hard he probably wouldn't have admitted his mistake even if he'd noticed it. "We won't have a jonny-on-the-spot onsite until Tuesday." He didn't believe in using a homeowner's facilities. Ever.
With a slight chuckle, Malcolm replied, "My home is fully equipped with all the modern amenities." He pulled Fernando around to the back of his house. The yard was a blur of green.
"It's really too much to ask," Gerry countered.
"Nonsense! I insist. Your brother's in quite a state."
Fernando felt like a child now, as the grown-ups negotiated him a path to the nearest toilet. They ascended wooden deck stairs that threatened to collapse underfoot--no wonder he'd commissioned them to build a new one--but Fernando couldn't concentrate on anything beyond clenching his ass and shuffling along the deck to the glass door Malcolm opened for him. "The powder room is that open door just across from the staircase."
Fernando found the spot, shut the door, and dropped his shorts before Malcolm had finished uttering his last words.
"This won't happen again," he heard Gerry say from the doorway.
"No worries," Malcolm replied. "No worries."
All this time, Fernando was painfully aware that if he could hear them so clearly, they could most certainly hear him. But what could he do? His bowels released, filling the dark room with a stench even he found unbearable. Good thing the light and fan switches were nearby enough to reach without getting off the can. He flipped them both, and the industrial-strength fan started to waft his stink away.
"Fernie," Gerry's voice called from somewhere faraway. Fernie. He hated that diminutive. It was so white bread--and it made him sound like a houseplant. "Malcolm and I are heading outside. You and I are meeting another client for noon, so we need to get this paperwork wrapped. And I'm sure Malcolm here has better things to do than babysit a couple of decking contractors."
The kowtowing yet arrogant tone of Gerry's voice made Fernando's gut rumble all over again, and he bent forward, listening for the sliding glass door to shut. Instead, he heard slow footsteps approaching the tiny washroom. Again, he clenched his cheeks, and it hurt like hell to hold back the surge.
"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked. "You seemed on the verge of collapse out there." His voice sounded so close it resounded inside Fernando's treasonous body. He really seemed to care, and a hell of a lot more than Gerry did.
Fernando forced a chuckle. "Yeah, man, a-okay. Musta been something I ate."
A little piece of him wanted Malcolm to come inside, to comfort and caress him, and care for him as a mother cares for her sick child. But a much bigger part of him, which someone he used to know called his male ego, wanted Malcolm to get the fuck out of earshot so he could let loose.
"Please," Malcolm said. He paused before finishing his thought. "Please do holler if you need anything. Anything at all. I'll leave the glass door open." Slippered footsteps denoted his departure, but they stopped in the confines of the narrow corridor. "You gave me quite a scare outside." Footsteps on the kitchen tiles, and then he was gone.
Letting out a relieved sigh, Fernando put his body at ease. Reaching back, he flushed the toilet without getting up. No telling when the next wave would hit. Anyway, he was too humiliated to show his face out there. Maybe he could sneak out the front door and wait in the truck. Gerry was sure to find him when he was finished talking business with the hottie in the backyard. God, he really was a catch, wasn't he? And he seemed to genuinely care about Fernando's well being. They'd worked for a few clients who would have told him to shit in the yard like the dogs. And those dogs! They were beauties, too. This guy really must be loaded, sharing a huge house in Hogg's Hollow with two greyhounds.
The bathroom was compact enough that Fernando could lean forward and easily open the white cabinet under the antique porcelain sink. Nothing personal inside, just a stash of toilet paper, spare hand towels, and three gift sets from one of those fancy-ass bath stores. Fernando pulled the one that looked open out of the cupboard and set the red wicker basket on his knees. Popping open the lid of some kind of lotion, he dumped a good glob into his palm. It stung the dry, cracked skin of his knuckles as he worked it into his hands. He'd taken way too much, so he rubbed it all over his forearms and elbows before wiping last of it on his thighs. What the hell was this stuff supposed to smell like, anyway? Sandalwood. It was like rubbing incense all over his skin. And he could only imagine how much these boutique lotions and potions cost.
He found a room spray in the gift basket and let loose with it. Last thing he wanted was for Malcolm to walk in right after he'd stepped out and catch a whiff of his stench.
"Are you going to behave yourself now, or do I have to take you home and give you a time-out?" He talked to his stomach in the same tone he used when his nieces and nephew were acting up.
"Time-out," it seemed to respond.
His body had failed him, and he needed to take it home and get some rest. Sure, he pushed himself to extremes sometimes, but his mother would have told him to take the day off, and he was inclined to agree. Anyway, the rest of the day was just quotes and supplier meetings, and that was all Gerry's domain. Gerry wanted to teach him "the business," but he always felt underfoot in those situations.
His stomach seemed settled enough for the time being, so Fernando pushed the gift basket of strange treasures back inside the cabinet. As he washed up in the fancy old sink, he took a look at the face Malcolm had dwelled on in the side yard. He hadn't shaved that morning, and he couldn't remember if he'd shaved the day before. His face sure was pudgier than it had been a couple years ago, but he had a bad habit of snacking at night. He'd never noticed the wei
ght all those morning bear claws seemed to have piled around his middle. Maybe his gut was acting up in rebellion to fat. Not that he was fat fat, he just had a bit of meat on his bones. Anyway, he knew the defined pecs and built triceps hiding just beneath his top more than compensated for his lax abs. Five years ago, he had killer abs. They were still down there somewhere, he was sure.
Good thing he'd worn the polo shirt Nancy'd bought him for Christmas. He knew he looked like a pig in his work-friendly ripped T-shirts. The polo shirt actually made him seem like a presentable sort of guy. He'd wondered about deep red color, but it actually looked not too bad. The shorts were ripped and dirty, but all his shorts were like that. It came with the territory. Anyway, shorts showed off the wicked calf muscles he'd built back when he used to cycle everywhere.
It'd been a while since he'd taken a good, hard look at himself in a mirror. After the break-up, he'd packed his heart away and devoted his time to the business. He obviously hadn't packed his heart carefully enough, because when his mom died, it shattered all over his life. Ever since, he'd clung even tighter to Gerry and Nancy and the kids. Family was everything. Everything. He would never let them go.
Looking into his coffee-brown eyes, Fernando got a glimpse of the man he used to be--the one who was fearless, and took chances, who'd give anything for a good man or a good fuck or a good love story. He shook out thoughts of the past. Satisfied he was leaving the bathroom in roughly the same state he'd found it, he dried his hands, flicked off the light, and headed toward the kitchen.
He stopped short when he heard Malcolm's voice outside. "When do you anticipate commencing work?"
"I'll take the plans, the application form, and the fee over to the permit office tomorrow," Gerry replied. "They're pretty good there, so could be a one-day turnaround. Fingers crossed. They never take longer than five days, so we're tearing this baby down within the week."
Standing behind the glass door, Fernando listened from the kitchen. Malcolm was out there with his back to the house. That old deck they were standing on ought to be condemned. They might fall through if they stepped down with too much force.
Gerry looked up from his clipboard and his gaze locked with Fernando's. "Oh. Hey. You okay?" His tone couldn't have been flatter.
Before Fernando could answer, Malcolm turned around. The late-morning sun shone off the top of his shaved head like a halo. When he reached through the open door and grasped Fernando's forearm, Fernando latched his gaze to the man's caring eyes.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked. "If there's anything at all, don't hesitate to let me know."
"No," Fernando replied. "But thanks." It'd been ages since any man had thrown himself at Fernando's feet like this. He didn't know what to make of it. Maybe Malcolm was just trying hard not to be one of "those" clients, or maybe he was just a nice guy. Or maybe he'd shared the spark Fernando felt when their eyes first met.
"You missed everything," Gerry said. Now he was talking to Fernando the way he spoke to the kids when he was disappointed with their behavior. "Do you realize how long you were in there?" The bastard was obviously trying to humiliate him. Why the fuck did Gerry do that? Christ, after thirty-four years the sibling rivalry should have come to an end by now.
Thank God for Malcolm. He interrupted by pulling Fernando out and onto the deck. "Gerry said you'll be starting work within the week. All very exciting."
"Yeah." Fernando replied quickly to keep Gerry out of the interaction. "Yeah, Gerry showed me the plans this morning and it should be pretty kick-ass. Good to hear you're going with red cedar. That's a durable wood. Hey, and no chemicals, so you don't have to worry about the dogs." He pointed over at the pretty pair sleeping curled together in the sun like a canine yin-yang symbol.
Malcolm tilted his head to one side as a sneaky smile erupted on his lips. "That hadn't occurred to me. Thank you." He nodded.
"What are their names?" Fernando asked. He knew how much dog owners loved talking about their dogs.
"The girl with the camel coat is Camellia, and the one with all the spots..." He smirked. "I was a rascal and named her Spot."
"Well," Gerry cut in, "I hate to interrupt, but we've wrapped up all our paperwork neat and tidy. Fernie and I have to be on the other side of town by noon, so..."
"Yes, of course," Malcolm replied. When he smiled at Gerry, it seemed somewhat less than genuine. Fernando got a wicked sense of glee from that observation. "You two fine lads must head off into the sunset, or the blazing afternoon sunshine, as the case may be. Do keep me informed on the success of tomorrow's venture, Geraldo. My summer term begins in early June, but I'm game to lend a hand about the jobsite before settling back into the halls of academia."
Right--Gerry'd mentioned this guy was some kind of professor. That's why Fernando'd expected they'd be working for yet another old white guy in leather patches. Hmm...Fernando wouldn't mind seeing Malcolm in a couple well-placed leather patches. He'd make a fine pirate, with a dagger between his teeth, one patch covering his eye, and another covering his...
"No need," Gerry said, inching toward the side yard. Fernando shook off the image of Pirate Malcolm. He held his ground on the rickety deck even as Gerry designed for their escape. "Fernie and I do all the work ourselves. If there's anything too big for our britches, we'll call in an outside contractor, but I don't see that happening with this job. We're perfectly capable of going it alone."
Fernando rolled his eyes in the face of his brother's bravado. He cut Gerry off. "Thanks for the offer, man. Do you have any experience with decking?" If Malcolm said he'd built the existing deck, he'd know to gently swat Professor Hottie back to the lecture hall.
"Enough to know shoddy work when I see it," Malcolm replied, setting his hand on the loose railing and rocking it back and forth. The sleeping dogs looked up at the source of the squeak, but soon found their interest lacking and lay their heads each upon the other's rump. "This deck was the house's one weak point when I bought it. Every summer I thought I'd get around to rebuilding it, and seven summers later, here it stands, cranky as ever. I figured, to hell with do-it-yourself. I'll pick up a third term to pay you lads for the trouble."
From what Fernando could tell, though his muscles were veiled by a pressed shirt, Malcolm was fit enough to haul some lumber. "You know your way around a toolbox?" Fernando asked. Right away, he wished he could take the question back and rephrase. He hadn't intended to come off like a fix-it man in poorly scripted porn. Maybe he'd watched too many over the years, and now their lines were embedded in his brain.
Malcolm gripped the rickety railing and chuckled. "I'm no stranger to an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. Most black men of my generation weren't what you might call born into money. Hard labor was the name of the game! How do you think I put myself through university?"
Fernando'd obviously been way off about this guy. "Construction?"
Nodding his head, Malcolm offered a silly smile. "Well, I'll tell you this much--I wasn't an exotic dancer, though I did know how to shake my money-maker."
With an expression of absolute earnest, Malcolm looped his thumb around his belt, pursed his lips, and stuck his neck out. Singing the song of their generation--after all, Malcolm didn't look much older than Fernando--the man in pinstriped pants moonwalked his way across the deck.
If Fernando'd felt up to it, he'd have joined in, but his gut gave out another rumble. Instead of dancing, he leaned against the doorjamb and laughed. "That's kick-ass, bro! How many of your professor buddies can do that?"
"And in slippers, no less," Malcolm replied with a wink. Standing up straight at the far end of the deck, he paused for a moment in reflection. "I believe I did once witness Dr. Gretchen Vitcher-Mausslob, Dean of New College, moonwalk at a faculty social. And she a Zurich-trained Jungian! The spirits were flowing that night, I tell you."
The professor's anecdote was no less amusing simply because Fernando had absolutely no clue what he was talking about. He smiled and started to re
ply when Gerry called out from the corner of the yard. "Zurich--yeah, that's funny. Anyway, me and Fernie'd better skedaddle. Don't want to be late for the next one."
Skedaddle?
"I'm sorry for keeping you," Malcolm said to Gerry, with an air of transparent pretense. To Fernando, he went on, "It's a shame you can't stay longer."
As he met Malcolm's sly gaze from across the deck, a familiar pang shot through his abdomen. He held his side, hoping the pressure would subside. "Aw, man! Not again."
Malcolm ran to his side, placing a gentle hand on top of Fernando's. "You are not well! Didn't I say just that? I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you."
From the moment...? When Fernando gazed up at Malcolm, he knew his eyes were pleading, Didn't you see more in that moment? Didn't you notice me noticing you? But his gut rumbled again, and the physical discomfort augmented his embarrassment at coming off like a schoolgirl with a crush.
He quickly looked at Gerry. "Bro, you need to do your calls without me." Before his brother could object, as he was so obviously about to do, Fernando said, "I'll take the bus home."
"Nonsense," Malcolm interrupted. "I'll drive you when you're feeling up to it." Obviously Malcolm didn't know Gerry well enough yet to realize his kindness wasn't helping. At the same time, though, his brother never could contradict a client. The customer was always right, even about letting Fernando use his washroom, or driving him home sick.
Gerry started to object, but all Fernando caught was, "I wanted to teach you how to..." By then, he'd slid past Malcolm and scuttled deep into the narrow corridor just past the kitchen. The sunshine's aftershock darkened the little hallway, and Fernando groped the walls until he found the entrance to the washroom. Release was a relief. He sat, absorbing the old home's silence. Crow Street was never this quiet. Their house was always bustling with the kids and the neighbors' kids, or Nancy's sisters and the cousins, or Gerry and his buddies. When classic rock wasn't blaring from the radio, the TV was set at twice the volume necessary to deafen a metalhead. There was always noise at home, but that's what made it homey. Malcolm's house was a mausoleum. Fernando could never live like this.