Michael, Reinvented

by Diana Copland

  But Shirley smiled. “You helped pick them, didn’t you?”

  “Actually, I didn’t. Gil did. Would you like to see?”

  They were enthusiastic about the idea, and Michael led them over to the makeshift table to show them the color selection.

  “Oh, that’s lovely.” Beverley’s eyes were shining. “David is going to be so happy.”

  “I thought so too.”

  They had to speak loudly to be heard over the compressor, and Beverley waved at Gil, who was currently up a ladder, spraying the biscuit color onto the side of the house, under the eaves. He gave her a quick smile and wave, then went back to work. Michael was going to give him hell about his evasion tactics.

  “How late do you think you boys will work?” Shirley smiled at Manny as he passed her on the driveway. He gave her a quick, sweet smile but kept walking. Michael would have a few choice words for him too. Vernon was nowhere to be seen, the coward.

  “Oh, I imagine we’ll stop when it gets dark.” He led them back around to the front and kissed both women on the cheek before they left him with cheery waves. Michael watched them go, then went around the side of the house. He was fuming.

  Gil was still on the ladder, and Michael smacked the support strut. Gil grabbed the top when it shuddered, giving him an alarmed look.

  “What the fuck, Michael?”

  Michael gave him a saccharine-sweet smile and his extended middle finger.

  “Aren’t you cute?” Gil said.

  “Aren’t you a big chickenshit, hiding up there from the moms.”

  “Hey, work to do.” He gave Michael one of his shit-eating grins, and Michael smacked the side of the ladder again.

  “Asshole,” he called up, but that smile, dimples denting each cheek, made it hard for Michael to stay mad at Gil. He went back to work.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BY FOUR thirty the sun was setting and David’s house had two colors nearly completed, leaving only edges to clean up and the meticulous trim work to be done. The spray gun and the brushes were clean and stored in the garage, and Gil was putting the lids on cans of paint while Michael weighed down the drop cloths on the driveway with cinder blocks.

  “What in the name of sweet Jesus’s pet duck is this?”

  Michael and Gil both turned toward Vernon, then saw the small crowd of people walking toward them across the front yard. Beverley and Shirley were in the lead, and behind them were people Michael thought he recognized as David and Jackson’s neighbors. At least Michael recognized the lady who lived next door, the one with the white cat he nearly ran over twice a week. The group might have been alarming if they weren’t holding covered casseroles instead of pitchforks and torches. Michael straightened, then went to meet them, his boots crunching on the layers of dead leaves and icy lawn.

  “Hey. What’s up?” He looked from face to face. Beverley and Shirley were smiling. The people behind them wore expressions ranging from determined to tentative.

  “Well, we know you boys have been working all day, and we doubted you’ve stopped for a decent meal. So—” She held up the casserole in her hands. “—we brought dinner.”

  “We wanted to say something else too.” The person who spoke was decades younger than David’s and Jackson’s mothers. She had a cute dark bob that brushed her chin, a plastic shopping bag in one hand, and the leash of a sturdy tan corgi in the other.

  “Boots!” Michael went down on one knee to greet the dog, who showed his pleasure at seeing Michael again by licking his chin.

  “Michael.”

  He looked up into the face of Bootsy’s owner. He remembered Jordyn, and the man holding the toddler at her elbow was her husband. “We saw what happened last night, and we just want you to know that—it isn’t okay with us. Not at all.”

  “Seconded,” her husband added, his gaze level on Michael. Michael slowly straightened.

  “Thank you.” He looked from face to face. “I know David would be happy to hear that.”

  “We don’t just mean it for David, although he and Jackson are good neighbors.” Jordyn looked past Michael’s shoulder, and he glanced back to see Gil, Vern, and Manny coming toward them, Gil still cleaning paint from his hands with a rag and Manny with his cap pulled down low on his forehead. Michael thought if Bev and Shirley hadn’t been leading the group in front of him, his friends could be really intimidating. As it was, they looked as tentative as he felt.

  “We want all of you to know,” Jordyn went on, apparently the nominated spokesman for the group, “that what happened here last night scared us, but it also made us angry. So we’ve decided to form a neighborhood watch. Bev and Shirley are around during the day, and Kate and I are stay-at-home moms.” A cute woman with long auburn hair and a shy smile wiggled her fingers in greeting. She held the hand of a little girl who was perhaps six, hiding behind her mom, peeking around her hip. “It would benefit all of us. Bev and Shirley are alone in their house, and several of us have kids who play on this street. We want to make sure it’s safe. Paul and I have noticed a few people loitering around that we’ve never seen before, and so have Stan and Angie.” A middle-aged couple nodded. Their teenaged son looked awkward but resolute. He dipped his chin in greeting. “We just all wanted—” Her voice wavered and her eyes got suspiciously bright. “We feel bad. We should have said something, or called the police….”

  Michael saw the quiver in her lip. He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay,” he murmured near her ear.

  “No.” She dropped Boots’s leash and curled her arm around his neck, squeezing hard. “It isn’t. But dinner is the least we can do.”

  “Well, I don’t know about anyone else,” Vernon announced. He’d bent to greet Boots, who was wiggling in joy at all the attention. “But food sounds pretty damned good to me.”

  “Language, Vernon. Kids present.” Gil stepped forward, offering his huge hand to Jordyn’s husband. The man took it, introducing himself as Paul. That seemed to break the ice. The other neighbors swarmed around them, offering handshakes and tentative hugs. Even Manny tolerated the attention with a shy smile. After a few minutes, Bev led them onto the porch and into the house. Michael dashed over to the driveway just long enough to retrieve Scooter, who had been barking and whining her displeasure at being ignored.

  IT WAS one of the most surreal meals Michael had ever eaten. A couple of the husbands seemed to feel awkward, clearly there because their wives made them come. Their wives, in contrast, were enthusiastic about showing their support. This was middle America on display, the sort of people Michael hadn’t known growing up, and until that day hadn’t had any desire to know. He knew he wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person, but these people were all just so—nice.

  Once out of the front yard, Jordyn seemed more than happy to let Bev take over, which she did with practiced ease. Plates and silverware were set out, paper towels served as napkins, and food was set on trivets on the dining room table. There was lasagna, a spaghetti and meatball casserole that was surprisingly delicious, a garden salad with vinaigrette, and garlic bread. For dessert, someone had brought apple cobbler, and Kate had made an éclair thing with graham crackers, vanilla pudding, and a chocolate ganache that was one of the best things Michael had ever eaten. There was red wine and a beer called Fat Tire, and over the course of the evening, with the good food and the quality alcohol, everyone relaxed. The husbands laughed at Vernon’s jokes, and even Manny managed to smile.

  Jordyn and Kate were obviously good friends and were cute as hell. When they found out Michael was an interior designer too, they had a million questions about color combinations and fabrics and treatments. Michael found himself enjoying the conversation more than he thought possible.

  He also couldn’t help that his attention was drawn repeatedly to Gil.

  He seemed to get along with everyone with ease. He talked football and drank beer with the men. He got down and wrestled with the two dogs until they were panting and exhausted—the dogs, not Gi
l. He sat unselfconsciously on the floor to eat his dinner when it became obvious all the chairs were taken, and he was gentle when a timid little girl joined him, sitting next to him and looking up at him shyly. His voice dropped into a timbre Michael had never heard before, and within a surprisingly short amount of time, Winnie was giggling, blue eyes shining.

  Michael watched the interaction between the huge man and the tiny girl and had a sudden recollection of the little boy from the hospital, Stevie Manyon. He surprised himself by wishing he’d known about their special friendship, been there to see it. Been there to hold Gil when the little boy lost his battle with the disease that took his life. These were emotions he’d never felt before in his life.

  “So, you and Gil, huh?”

  Michael startled and looked over to find Jordyn watching him with a soft smile on her face. Michael scowled. “No.”

  She gave him a slight smirk. “Really?”

  Michael took a drink of beer to buy a couple of seconds. “Really,” he finally answered. “We’d kill each other inside a month.”

  Her smirk deepened. “I hate to tell you this, Michael, but the way you watch him gives you away. You might want to kill one another inside a month, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want him now.”

  Michael scoffed. “Girl, you’re nuts.”

  The knowing light in her eyes intensified, but she let the subject drop.

  They were finishing dessert, and Michael was so stuffed he could scarcely move, when he sighed and turned to Jordyn. “This was so nice of you all, but I wish David and Jackson were here. It’s their house, after all.”

  “What time are they due back tomorrow?” Jordyn asked.

  “Late afternoon, so we’re going to be starting early to finish up the trim before they get home,” Michael replied.

  “Do you need help?” Jordyn asked.

  Michael paused thoughtfully, then turned to look at Gil. He and the little girl had their noses together, and the big man’s face was filled with delight. Michael’s grin was completely involuntary. “Yo, Gilbert, can we interrupt your gigglefest?”

  Gil turned his head, then looked back to his partner in crime. “I don’t know. What do you say, Winnie? Shall we let them interrupt our ‘gigglefest’?”

  The way he said it, voice deep and brows raised, made her giggle even more. She put her hand by her mouth to shield it and bent close to his ear, even though her stage whisper was loud enough everyone could hear her.

  “I think you should let him,” she said, her gaze shifting to Michael and then back. “He looks like Prince Eric.”

  “From The Little Mermaid?” Gil “whispered” back. She nodded emphatically.

  Gil looked over at him and pretended to think about it, lips pursed. “Maybe. I’ll take it under consideration. So, Michael, now that we are no longer giggling—” Winnie’s giggles proved that to be inaccurate. “—what was it you wanted?”

  Michael shook his head. “You had to make such a production out of it. Anyway, Jordyn just asked if we needed help finishing the trim tomorrow.”

  The room quieted and everyone’s attention went to Gil, waiting to see what he said.

  “I honestly think the more hands we’ve got, the earlier it’s finished.”

  Jordyn looked over her shoulder at Paul, who was holding their sleepy toddler nodding against his shoulder. “Fine with me. I can paint trim with the best of them.”

  “If that’s the truth,” Vern said, looking at him with a lopsided grin, “he may just hire you. God knows Gilbert couldn’t paint a straight line with a ruler and tape.”

  “Be nice, Vernon. I know it’s a stretch but try, okay?” Gil gave him a quelling look, but Vern didn’t appear to be remotely chastised. “Anyone who would like to help is welcome.”

  Muted sounds of agreement came from around the room.

  “What time do you want us here?” Stan asked. “As long as I’m home in time for the Bulls game, I’m in.”

  There was a lively discussion about starting time, but they decided eight was early enough. Dinner and dessert were over, and the women wouldn’t hear of leaving the mess. The ladies kept their heads together in the kitchen for quite a while, waving away any help from the men, carrying on an intense conversation Michael was quite certain would lead to more food the next day. By the time the neighbors walked out into the night, the house was immaculate, the dishes were done and put away, and there was enough food in the fridge for a small army.

  “Nice people.” Vernon sat on the ottoman and pulled on his paint-splattered boots. “They didn’t have to do all that.”

  “It was very nice.” Gil leaned back in the rocker with his stocking feet on the coffee table. He turned to Manny, who was slipping his shoes on as well. “Think you guys can be here by seven? That way we’ll have the trim sanded and taped before they get here.”

  “Sure.” Manny stood up, shaking his jeans legs down over the tops of his boots. “Having them help will cut the time in half.”

  “As long as we don’t have to go behind them, cleaning up a mess.”

  Michael leaned forward, his fingers deep in Scooter’s fur as he scratched her back. “I don’t think I’ll mind cleaning up a little mess if it creates the kind of good feelings today did. I really like the idea of them all keeping an eye on David and Jackson, you know?”

  “After last night, absolutely.” Gil became pensive. “I hope the cops are able to catch this creep.” There was no need for him to clarify.

  “I’d like a piece of the bastard.” Vernon snorted. “Going after one of ours with a shovel is not okay.”

  Michael liked hearing himself referred to as one of theirs, but he was still concerned. “I just don’t want David to be any more afraid than he already has been. And this won’t help.”

  “No,” Gil agreed. “You’re right about that. Having the neighbors keeping an eye out is a good thing. Maybe it’ll help him feel better.”

  “Here’s hoping.” Vernon stood up, digging his truck keys out of his pocket. “See you ladies in the morning.” He winked at Gil. “Behave yourself, big boy.”

  “That was contradictory, Vern.” Gil grinned up at him. “I can’t be a lady and a big boy in the same sentence.”

  “Ah, be real, Gilbert. You manage every damned day.” Gil gave him the finger, and Vern winked. “Attaboy. You keep denying and denying.”

  “Hey, Vern.” Michael looked at Manny, startled. In the entire six months he’d known Manny, he didn’t think he’d ever heard him speak so loudly.

  “Yes, Emanuel?” Vern raised a salt-and-pepper brow and waited.

  “Where the fuck did you get ‘what in the name of Jesus’s pet duck’? I mean, did he have a pet duck? And if he did, what did he call it?”

  Gil burst out laughing, and Michael snorted. “Moses probably told him about it. He and Vern were good buddies, I hear.”

  Vern’s eyes narrowed on Michael. “Here I’ve been nice to you all day, Hostess.”

  “Hostess?” Michael glared at him. “If anyone here was a hostess, it was David’s mom.” Gil chuckled, and Michael turned to him. “What?”

  “He doesn’t mean that kind of hostess.” Michael frowned at him in incomprehension. “Twink, Michael. Hostess Twinkies?”

  Michael scowled at Vern. “Oh, fuck you, you old fart.” Gil’s laughter got louder.

  “Love you, baby boy.” Vern winked and tipped an imaginary cap as he went out into the night.

  “See you tomorrow, Vern,” Gil shouted.

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Manny grinned, pulling his baseball hat on. “I’ll be here at seven.”

  “Thank you, man.” Gil stood up and shook his hand. Michael couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles across Gil’s wide shoulders shifted under the snug cotton. He’d apparently run to his house in the middle of the day and picked up a change of clothes, and the dark T-shirt he wore clung to his musculature in all the right ways. Michael couldn’t have ignored it if he tried.<
br />
  He didn’t actually try very hard.

  Manny gave Michael a small smile and followed Vern out the door, pulling it closed behind him. Michael locked the door and set the alarm. “Manny is so much better than he was when I first met him.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Gil agreed. “Better every day. This is closer to how Manny used to be, before George.”

  “I don’t really know the story of what happened with that.” Michael sat on the couch, pulling his legs up under him. “Other than what I read in the local papers.”

  Gil sighed, then crossed to sit beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I met Manny maybe… four? Five years ago? The first time I saw him was at the club, after he’d become friends with Jackson. He was hands down the most physically beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life.”

  “More than Jackson?” Michael shook his head. “I find that kind of hard to believe.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong—Jackson was and still is maybe the handsomest man I’ve seen. But Manny? Manny was beautiful, the way old statues are beautiful. It was his skin and his hair and his eyes; he could stop a room just by walking into it. He’d come into the bar and guys would watch him, unable to believe anything that pretty could be real.”

  “He’s still beautiful.” Michael frowned. “He just has the one scar….”

  “That shows,” Gil replied, leaning back. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, his brow furrowed. “There are others.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, well, not many people do.” Gil blew out a sigh. “The night he met George Wilkerson, we were all in the bar. The thing is, Manny was so pretty that most guys were intimidated by him. Not Wilkerson; he walked right over and started chatting him up, talking about how he had this important job and he made all of this money.” Gil scowled. “I thought he was a tool.”

  “Isn’t that what guys do at the bar?”