sunshine. He went back inside and fetched a bag of chips, a pitcher of lemonade and the plate of cheesecake. The two men made small talk over their lunch and the conversation eventually turned to the floundering economy.
“I think it’ll pass,” said Jimmy, shaving another slice of cheesecake onto his paper plate. “Wall Street knows what it’s doing, so does the Federal Reserve. They’ll figure this out.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Bill said, chewing on a mouthful of chips. He washed them down with some lemonade and continued. “We’re in deep shit buddy; the government can’t continue to throw money at these problems. Wall Street, the Fed, they’re all a bunch of crooks. Who do you suppose got us into this mess?”
Jimmy paused as he thought about that. What neither man knew was how correct Bill would be in his assessment of their situation. Before this time next week the world would have changed in ways they never could’ve dreamed possible. The dollar would be worthless and they’d be fighting to stay alive.
Jimmy shook his head and quickly changed the subject. He talked about his relationship with Paula and what he was trying to do to make it better. He plowed thru Bill’s steady stream of interruptions, needing to get this off of his chest.
Bill was careful not to say anything negative about Paula, and it was nearly killing him. He valued Jimmy’s friendship too much to tell him what he really thought of her. Still, he did his best to remind Jimmy that there were plenty of fish in the sea and that he’d have no problem finding a keeper.
Buck Keenan pulled in front of Bill’s trailer in his battered Dodge pickup and waved at the men, officially ending the conversation. Riding in the back of the Dodge was Buck’s lawnmower. Buck was a widower and lived across the trailer court. Jimmy liked Buck, but knew that wherever Buck went, beer was sure to follow. Buck didn’t disappoint them as he got out of his pickup and pulled a red cooler out from behind the cab. “Who wants a cold one?” he asked, carrying the cooler up to the deck and setting it down near the picnic table. “I’ve got plenty.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Bill, rubbing his hands together.
Jimmy eyed Bill to let him know that he was watching him. He was so obvious that Buck commented on it. “A few beers ain’t gonna hurt anyone, lighten up, will ya?”
“I know, it’s just that Bill isn’t supposed to drink on his medication.”
“Quit acting like my mother,” said Bill, popping open a can of the cheap beer. “Want one Jimmy?”
Jimmy shook his head and held up his glass of lemonade. “I’m good.” He lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, thinking about what Bill had said about Paula.
Buck was in his mid-sixties and was as much of a fixture in the trailer court as the fire hydrants and the mailboxes. He was a large man with bright silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Buck was famous for his quick wit and his ability to consume beer. He was dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans, flip-flops, and a white undershirt that was smudged with grease. Before long, two more men from the neighborhood were sitting at the picnic table. Jimmy listened to them for a while and finally excused himself.
Buck’s mower was nearly a lost cause, but Bill managed to coax some life out of the old machine. Buck’s payment was the beer in the cooler and he did his best to help Bill polish it off. By three in the afternoon, Bill was covered in grease after changing the starter in Luke Spratt’s minivan. Luke had brought over another case of beer and soon there were seven men sitting on Bill’s deck. They drank cold beer as they watched Bill work under the hot sun. Bill didn’t mind, he enjoyed the company and looked at each job as a personal challenge.
By six O’clock, Bill excused himself to his medicine cabinet. He’d twisted something in his back and it was starting to burn. He took a pill and returned to his little party. Bill couldn’t remember the last time he had entertained and it felt good to have company. Thankfully, there were no more requests for mechanical assistance and Bill sat in his lawn chair and drank with the men. The conversation quickly turned to the heavyweight fight that was being broadcast on pay-per-view that evening. Mohawk Wilson, the Champ, was defending his belt against Moose McGee, the only man to ever last twelve rounds with Wilson. Bill was a rabid boxing fan, something he had inherited from his grandfather. The men were getting together to watch the fight and Bill licked his lips. He didn’t have cable television and even if he did, there was no way he could afford the fifty bucks to watch the fight.
Jimmy returned, smoking a Camel and sipping from a bottle of water. Bill surmised correctly that Jimmy had heard the men talking about the fight. Jimmy had fought Golden Gloves under the name Kid Logan, and had earned a reputation as being a tough competitor. He’d quit boxing after his parents had been killed in an accident. Bill eyed Jimmy’s choice of beverage and decided that he’d had enough beer for one day. He excused himself and walked inside, dumping half a can of Coors down the kitchen sink. He reemerged with a glass of lemonade and Jimmy gave him an approving wink. Bill didn’t want to be drunk if he was going to be invited to go watch the fight.
As the shadows grew longer the men began to leave in ones and twos. Buck Keenan was the last to leave, taking his cooler before driving away in his Dodge. Bill and Jimmy exchanged confused looks and Jimmy was the first to comment about it. “What the hell just happened there?” Jimmy asked, lighting up another cigarette.
“I don’t know…” Bill said, scratching his bald scalp with a dirty hand. “Don’t worry, Jimmy, they’ll call. I’m going to hop in the shower. I don’t want to go watch the fight looking like this. Hang on, I’ll be right out. They’ll call...”
Jimmy nodded and waved Bill inside. He sat out on the deck and finished his cigarette, thinking how curious it’d been that none of the men had mentioned where they were watching the fight. Bill had spent his afternoon fixing their junk and it bothered Jimmy that they had simply left without offering an invitation to Bill. Just as he was thinking this, his cell phone began to chirp. Jimmy checked the caller ID and was surprised to see that it was Buck Keenan. “Hello?”
“Jimmy, what have you got going on tonight?”
“Not much, Paula is out of town at a friend’s. What’s up?”
“Listen, a bunch of the guys are getting together over at Larry and Tina’s, we’re going to watch the fight. You understand, we couldn’t say anything to Bill… Jimmy?”
Jimmy flipped his phone shut without saying another word. Anger was building inside his chest and he fought to contain it. He began to clean up the crumpled cans and empty bottles, tossing them into Bill’s recycling bin.
Bill emerged showered and shaved, smelling of cologne and whistling the tune from Rocky. He set his cordless telephone on the picnic table and smiled. “Have you heard where they’re watching the fight? Do you suppose we should pick something up, a pizza or something?”
Before Jimmy could answer, Cindy walked up from the front of the trailer. She was dressed from head to toe in black; her new look, she removed a pair of ear buds and gave the men half a wave. “Hey Dad, Jimmy,” she said. “Mind if I hang out with you guys tonight? Mom and Larry are having a bunch of people over to watch some stupid fight.”
Jimmy watched his friend’s face fall in the blink of an eye. “Sure, honey,” Bill said, “I’ll be right out.” Bill then picked up the cordless phone and walked back inside the trailer.
“What’s up with him?” Cindy asked, taking a seat across from Jimmy at the picnic table.
Jimmy shook his head and quickly changed the subject. “What do you say when your old man gets out here, that we hop in my truck and go out for pizza? Maybe we could stop and pick up a movie on the way back?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Cindy, brushing the hair out of her eyes. Cindy liked Jimmy and was happy to see him.
The pair made small talk for nearly ten minutes before Bill finally walked outside to join them. He had changed his shirt and his eyes were red and puffy. He walked to the railing and stared across the street.
�
��What do you think, Bill, should we go out for pizza? My treat!”
“That sounds pretty good,” said Bill. “Thanks Jimmy.”
“Hey, what are friends for?”
“For times just like these,” Bill said, rubbing his eyes. “For times just like these.”
Bill Huggins - A Desperate prequel Page 2