The Handyman's Summer

by Nick Poff

  Well, the bad news is he is still living with and working for his parents, those Joe McCarthy worshipping dullards. They probably have some sort of altar dedicated to McCarthy and Nixon hidden in their basement. I can see them getting naked and prostrating themselves, promising eternal devotion. What morons! Ernie admitted they have not changed at all.

  Once Papa Commie Chaser came back to the store Ernie drove me home, saving me a hot walk with my groceries. He helped me carry the bags into the house, and oh – his kisses are even better than before. “Have you been practicing with someone?” I asked. “I’ll never tell,” he told me with that lazy, oh-so-sexy smile. Damn! I was convinced I would be terribly bored this summer, but things are looking up in more ways than one.

  “Whoa!” Rick exclaimed.

  “I know,” Ed said. “I’m getting hard just hearing about it.”

  “No wonder this was hidden in the fireplace,” Rick remarked as he turned the page.

  Monday, June 6, 1960

  Ernie was unavailable all weekend, much to my disappointment. He said it is easier to keep the peace and attend the weekend church activities with his parents rather than find excuses not to. I’m beginning to understand why Ernie isn’t married. There probably isn’t a girl in this town who can pass their “better dead than red” purity test.

  “All this talk about Ernie getting married,” Ed said thoughtfully. “I know lots of gay men got married in those days as a cover, but Daniel seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion.”

  “Maybe Ernie wouldn’t cop to being gay,” Rick said. “Maybe he was just ‘fooling around’ with Daniel.”

  “Yeah, and I’m Miss Diana Ross.”

  “Well, you know how a lot of guys are.”

  “Yeah. The sad thing is that hasn’t changed much, has it?”

  “Unfortunately.” Rick yawned. “Babe, I’m beat. Let’s put this away until tomorrow night, okay? Those two down the hall will probably have us up early passing Go and collecting two hundred dollars.”

  Ed carefully put the notebook back in the drawer. After the excitement of his discovery that afternoon he was tired as well. He also wanted to get a picture in his mind of Daniel and Ernie, and what Porterfield was like in 1960. Oh sure, his seven-year-old self had been there, but his memories of that era were as faded as the snapshots in the photo albums downstairs in the den.

  He also wanted to ponder how Daniel and Ernie had kept their “fooling around” a secret. Being gay is tough enough now, he thought drowsily. Imagine how hard it was then.

  Ed reached to turn off the light, and then rolled over to kiss Rick goodnight. “Night, darlin’,” he mumbled.

  “Night, baby.” Rick flopped on his stomach and threw one arm over Ed and sighed. Ed sighed as well, and relaxed and let the sounds of the rain lull him to sleep.

  ###

  The Monopoly game continued through Saturday with no end in sight. They let it go late Saturday evening, much to Neal’s disappointment. He had a long day at The Iceberg on Sunday and made them all vow to return to the table after Sunday supper.

  Ed and Rick retired to their room for more journal reading. Ed read through several desultory pages of day-to-day observations. Ernie finally spent an evening, but Daniel didn’t bother to record the dirty details, much to Ed and Rick’s disgust. He wrote about the weather, his attempts at cooking (his pot roast was a success, his chicken fried steak a disaster), and several mildly interesting reflections on his recent college graduation.

  He also used more ink to grind his ax regarding Ernie’s parents. At one point Rick said he was surprised they weren’t John Birchers, and then roared with laughter when Ed turned the page only to have Daniel report on their membership in the John Birch Society.

  “Refresh my memory on the John Birch Society,” Ed said.

  “Think of a group of so-called patriots to the political right of Barry Goldwater and our precious Ronnie Ray-gun.”

  “Oh! Now I remember,” Ed said. “Yuck.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ed was about to call it a night with the journal when a passage on the next page caught his eye.

  Today’s mail brought a letter from Evie’s doctor. Unfortunately he reports no real improvement in her condition. Damn Joe Fountain! If I could track him down he would be paying for what he did to Evie in every way possible.

  “I’m guessing she’s in a mental hospital,” Ed said.

  “Probably. Sounds like The Women’s Room,” Rick remarked.

  ”What?”

  “It’s a very long book about the shit men did to women and got away with in postwar suburbia. I think Women’s Liberation came way too late for Evie.”

  “Well, then maybe Joe Fountain is the one who’s sorry.”

  Rick looked skeptical. “If he was so rotten Evie ended up in the funny farm, I doubt he reformed enough to take care of her for the rest of her life.”

  Ed slid the notebook into the bedside drawer. “Well, we can still add him to the list of suspects until Daniel eliminates him. If he does. I hope reading this thing doesn’t turn out to be a waste of time.”

  “Give him time. I have to have faith in someone who looked up to Mrs. P. as much as we did.”

  ###

  Neal dashed off to work after the last pancake disappeared from the platter at Sunday breakfast. The others lingered at the table, in no particular hurry to get on with the day. When Rick began to languidly pick up plates, Ed disappeared into the parlor to turn on the hi fi.

  Rick frowned at him from the dining room. “Don’t tell me you’re going to play more of those records we decided were duds again.”

  “Okay. I won’t tell you.”

  “Edward, I thought we decided the bulk of those records could be sold. Why are you still playing them over and over?”

  “I don’t want to make a mistake,” Ed said defensively. “Once they’re gone we can’t get them back.”

  Rick rolled his eyes. “You haven’t made any mistakes, dear. I can assure you the duds are duds and wouldn’t have been hits no matter how much payola was spent. Now, go back to playing the ones we agreed were lost treasure or I’m gonna start breaking a few of ‘em before you can sell ‘em.”

  Ed stuck his tongue out at Rick and reached for the “keep” pile. Rex picked up the bacon plate and followed Rick through the swinging door to the kitchen, telling him, “Ed’s got a point.” “Oh, shut up,” Rick mumbled.

  Ed was about to put a stack of 45’s on the turntable when the doorbell rang. “Who the hell could that be at ten on a Sunday morning?” He grumbled as he went to open the door. He gave the middle-aged man standing on the front porch a puzzled look until the man said, “Get my boy out here.”

  Ed scrutinized Scooter Kennedy. Yes, there was a definite resemblance with Rex. However, Ed guessed Scooter was probably a good deal younger than he appeared, and he also suspected he was hungover as he looked it and certainly smelled like it. He silently opened the door and ushered the man into the entry hall. Arnie, who as usual had been following Ed, took one look at Rex’s dad and high-tailed it up the stairs.

  Scooter Kennedy stepped gingerly into the house. “Well?” He said, looking away from Ed.

  Ed went into the parlor and shouted, “Rick! Rex! Can you come out here a minute?”

  Rick appeared, drying his hands on a dish towel with Rex behind him. Rick took one look at the man fidgeting in the hall and went to stand behind Ed. Rex’s face went from expectant to sullen when he saw his father. He stood in front of the stairs and tightly folded his arms across his chest.

  “Get your stuff,” Scooter muttered. “You’re going home.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Scooter’s bloodshot eyes opened wide. “I’m not in the mood for any of your bullshit today. You’re going to be home before your mom comes home from church. Get goin’.”

  “I was told I wasn’t welcome anymore.”

  Scooter gestured impatiently. “I was drunk when those little shits
were talking trash about you. I’m sober now, so let’s go.”

  Rex took a loud sniff. “That’s debatable.”

  The man shrugged that off. “What are you doing here with these fags anyway?”

  “I thought you heard. I’m a fag, too.” Rex said, almost proudly, Ed thought.

  Scooter snorted. “No, you’re not. You’re just confused. We’ll fix that.”

  “What if I don’t want to be fixed?”

  Scooter Kennedy folded his arms and glared at his son. “Look, I don’t know what these queers have been telling you, but you can’t trust them. They’re just softening you up so they can fuck the hell out of you and give you that goddamned AIDS. And when that happens they’ll just ditch you, so get your stuff and let’s get out of here!”

  Ed was about to open his mouth when Rick beat him to it. “Look here, Mr. Kennedy,” Rick said in a low warning tone. “I’ll remind you this happens to be our home. You better watch what you say.”

  Scooter sneered. “Yeah, honey. Don’t get your panties in a knot. We’ll be out of your sweet little place in a minute.” He turned his attention back to Rex. “You’re coming home, and then we’re gonna make an appointment to see Father Bryson and straighten this out.”

  “Straighten? Father Bryson?” Rex let go with a bitter laugh. “That’s good. Maybe he’ll tell you about how he molested me when I was twelve.”

  Ed took a step back and instinctively reached for Rick’s hand. “Oh, my God,” he whispered.

  “Shit.” Scooter’s face went pale. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rex smirked. “Cause I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Rick was staring intently at Scooter Kennedy. “Oh, I don’t know, Rex,” he said quietly. “I think he may have believed you, but I’m not sure he would have admitted it. Some family traditions suck more than others, don’t you think, Scoot?”

  Ed looked from Rick to Scooter and realized Rick had scored a bullseye.

  Scooter glared at Ed and Rick, and then gave Rex a long look before he turned around and reached for the screen door handle. “When you’re done playing house with these two, you get your ass home.” They heard his heavy steps across the porch floor.

  Ed and Rick looked at Rex, who was watching his father’s departure with a contemptuous sneer. He glanced at Ed and Rick.

  “It’s cool,” he said briefly. “Sorry you guys had to listen to that. Christ, I need a cigarette!” And with that he bolted up the stairs, no doubt in search of his smokes and his lighter.

  “Rick!” Ed whispered. “That priest! As if Rex didn’t have enough to deal with. What should…”

  “Calm down, baby.” Rick squeezed the hand he was still holding tightly. “We just heard about it for the first time. Rex has been dealing with this for years.”

  “But it’s so awful! I remember you telling me about that friend of yours in Indy who went through that, but…” Ed shrugged helplessly.

  “Yeah, that’s how I figured out that old bastard had probably done the same thing to Scooter. Let’s face it, baby; pedophile priests are as much a part of the Church as bells and incense.”

  “Fucking religion,” Ed said bitterly. “I wanna go out there, grab that shit by his collar, and rip his dick off.”

  “And that wouldn’t do Rex a bit of good. Look, it’s like Phil said. He has to process his own demons in his own time and his own way. If he wants our help he’ll ask for it.”

  Rex thumped down the stairs, cigarettes in hand. “Rick,” he said, “I’ll finish the dishes for you. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “That’s cool,” Rick said.

  Ed slowly let go of Rick’s hand. “Well, I hate to admit it, but he seems to be handling this better than either you or I would have.”

  “Probably,” Rick agreed. “Kid’s tougher than I thought. Now I guess I can start nagging him to give up smoking.”

  “Yeah,” Ed said absently, trying to shake vile pictures and murderous thoughts from his mind. “Can I put some records on?”

  “Yeah, baby. Something upbeat. I could use that about now.”

  ###

  The Monopoly game finally came to an end that evening. One by one, Rick, Ed, and Neal landed on the green properties – Pacific, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania Avenues – on which Rex had hotels. All three of them were wiped out, leaving Rex as the winner.

  “I never win this dumb game,” Ed sulked.

  “Well, at least you can’t bitch at me this time,” said Rick.

  Neal, who had been sure his ownership of Boardwalk and Park Place would insure victory, demanded a rematch.

  Rex, who was collecting the game pieces, looked up. “Works for me,” he said, throwing a handful of hotels in the box. He grinned at all of them. “I’m feeling pretty lucky these days.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning Ed was at his desk in the upstairs study, working on his billing, when Rex appeared. “Can I borrow your truck?” He asked.

  Ed looked at his watch. “I guess so. As long as you’re back by ten. I have an appointment with a client.”

  “I will be,” Rex promised. Ed could hear him pounding down the stairs.

  About an hour later Ed could hear him making trip after trip up and down the stairs. Curiosity got the better of him, so he walked to the end of the hall and peered into Rex’s room. The former austere guest room was getting a makeover of sorts, as Rex’s personal items were scattered about. There was a tape deck and receiver on the dresser with a stack of cassettes. A battered stuffed dog had been placed on the bed, and a cluster of knick knacks were on the table by the window. Rex was busy unpacking clothes from a cardboard carton Ed recognized as one of Evie’s old boxes he’d brought home and stored in the carriage house workshop.

  “Does this mean I get my clothes back?” Ed asked.

  “Nah. I’ve stretched them out too much to fit your scrawny bod.”

  “Fuck you, dude.”

  “In your dreams,” Rex said, stacking t shirts in a dresser drawer.

  Ed, relieved by this flippant response, laughed and returned to his billing.

  When his paperwork was up to date he stood and stretched, his eyes sweeping across the bookshelves the Penfields had had built into the former bedroom to convert it into a library. Ed glanced at the bottom left shelf and his eyes widened. That shelf was filled with high school yearbooks; his, Rick’s and a good many of Mrs. Penfield’s from the years she had been faculty advisor for The Zephyr, Porterfield High’s annual. He sat down on the floor, subtracted four from sixty, and looked to see if there was a book from 1956. When he located it, he began to eagerly flip through the pages to the senior portraits. Sure enough, there was Daniel Denison, on the second page between Carrie Danforth and William Detweiler.

  Ed studied the black and white photograph. Daniel was thin-faced, but attractive, his hair seeming to be about the same sandy-brown color as Ed’s. His strained smile reminded Ed of his own in formal photographs.

  On an impulse, he ran a finger across all of the graduating senior photos in hopes of finding a student named Ernie. He found one on the next page, a blond Tab Hunter lookalike named Ernest Jacks. He was definitely handsome, and he was sporting a lazy grin like the one Daniel was always going on about in his journal. “That’s got to be the guy.” Ed whispered.

  “Hey,” Rex said behind him. Startled, Ed slammed the yearbook shut.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at?” Rex asked.

  “Oh, nothing important.” Ed shoved the volume onto the shelf with the others. “You okay?” He asked, determined to change the subject.

  Rex shrugged.

  Ed looked at him for a moment. “Should I ask about this morning?”

  Rex shrugged again. “Sure. I went and got my stuff out of that house before Dad got it into his head to come over here again. I told my mom that it was true, that I was a fag and always had been, and if she thought God made a mistake she could go talk to that pervert, Father Bryson. She started
bawling, and I told her I was getting on with my life and she should do the same; kick Dad out and file for divorce and go live with my brother Randy’s family. She said what she always says, that it’s impossible.” Rex snorted. “Well, now that’s her problem. I’ve decided to concentrate on what is possible. So I was thinking…” He trailed off.

  “Yes?”

  “When can I start working with you on Evie Fountain’s house?”

  “I’m busy today. I was thinking tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Rex looked disappointed.

  Ed grinned at him. “You’re thinking about your car, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Rex admitted.

  “Well, Rick and I have been talking about that. We’ve decided that if you’re willing to work every day on the Cooley Street house, we’ll pay for four new tires, and even throw in an oil change and a tune up. From what I heard that day at The Iceberg,” Ed said with a smirk, “I think it could use it.”

  Rex blushed. “Yeah, I know. Thanks! I appreciate it. I promise I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” Ed said, putting his invoice pad back in his desk.

  Rex remained in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. Ed looked at his hopeful face, and reached into the top desk drawer for his checkbook. “Okay, okay, you can have the money now. Spend the rest of the day getting that heap street worthy again.” He handed the check to Rex.