by Pat Henshaw
“So what would you like in the kitchen?” I asked, making notes about the age and condition of the appliances: old and pathetic. Forget salvaging them.
The kitchen was a harvest gold monstrosity, not even worthy of “kitsch” or “retro.” The cabinets were pathetic. Home Depot rejects at best, savagely beaten to death by misuse. The only saving grace I could find up to this point had been glimpses of hardwood under the gaps in the linoleum.
“Um, bigger fridge?” Max looked around as if seeing the kitchen for the first time. “Uh, light under the cabinets? The cabinets moved up some? Counters too.”
In the silences my fingers tapped over the keyboard.
“Yeah, keep going. You’re doing great.”
I looked up to find Max staring at me, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“What about the colors? The windows? The back door?”
Again Max looked around, a slight frown on his face. “Don’t know. Uh, browns and greens, I guess? Maybe dark red or blue? I don’t like purple or orange.”
I gave a short laugh as my fingers tapped away. “I have a purple suit Jimmy and Guy call my plum outfit.”
Max wasn’t laughing with me, so I stopped. Nobody said handsome equaled personable, right?
“Yeah, about them,” Max said softly. “Didn’t know about Stone. Went to high school with him. On the football team once. But I never knew. Never even guessed.”
“You mean you didn’t know he was gay?” I asked, once again looking at the netbook screen and not at Max as I typed.
“No,” Max nearly whispered. “Never knew Stone was gay. Wish I had.”
Stone was what most of the natives called him. At least those who didn’t call him Stoney, which seemed to be the nickname preferred by women.
“Oh well. They don’t tattoo it on our foreheads at birth.” I stopped typing and looked up at Max. “Does it make a difference? That Guy’s gay, I mean?” Before Max answered, I threw in, “Or that I’m gay?”
Max again had turned a deep brick red, but he was shaking his head. “No, no. Just haven’t been around a lot of gay guys.” Then he stopped and glared at the floor. “At least didn’t think I had.”
“Is that why you don’t want to talk to me about your cabin?”
Max’s frown deepened. The floor should have incinerated at this point from the fierce attention it was getting from him. Then he sighed.
“No, don’t think so.” He looked up and for the first time he gave me a little self-conscious grin. “Naw, just don’t like talking about myself. Guess I’m shy or somethin’.”
I rolled my eyes and looked back down at the keyboard.
“Okay, we’ve got some ideas here. What do you think of the windows and the door to the porch?”
Max was leaning against the lower cabinets, his back resting on the upper ones, his arms again folded across his chest. He glanced at me and then out the window, his gaze hitting the closed door for a second. With fewer clothes, he would have been a drool-worthy porn star. The Foothills Giant takes on the Interior Designer.
“Better with a slider. Bigger windows. When the breeze comes through, it’s real nice. Can hear the birds sing.”
My head snapped up. “Yeah? I like to listen to birds too.” When Max turned red again, I regretted my comment. Max didn’t want us to share? It was enough to get him to speak at all. I guess I didn’t need to ruin it by pushing my gay opinions on him.
“Okay, so a slider and bigger windows,” I said, keeping my voice at professional pitch. I could do this. I’d done it a gazillion times before. No problem.
The porch, bedrooms, and baths were the same routine: What do you like? What don’t you like? Color preferences? In an hour or so, I learned Max needed my help. If he remodeled the cabin himself, it would be solid brown with maybe a green pillow or two. It would definitely look like a cave, and not a good kind of man cave.
By the time we got to the master bedroom, my stomach was growling.
“Look, I can’t do any more until I have something to eat. Is there a restaurant or a cafe around here?”
Max nodded and grinned. “Oh man, are you gonna hate the Bottom. Let’s go.”
I stuffed the netbook into my bag, and we were off.
“Aren’t you going to lock up?” I asked after I’d hoisted myself into the truck.
“Naw, nobody locks up unless they’ll be gone a while.” Max turned the truck around, and then we were bounding down the bumpy road.
By the time we got to the Rock Bottom Cafe, I felt like I’d bottomed out. I was hungry, tired, and feeling the first twinges of a headache.
Max hadn’t exaggerated about how much I’d hate the Rock Bottom’s decor. It was the worst of rural cafe: hellacious plastic flowers, grotesque plastic-covered booths, peeling gangrene-painted beadboard walls, pockmarked linoleum floor, and faded food-stained menus. It made the cabin look almost palatial, except it didn’t smell as bad.
As Max slid into one side of a booth and I into the other, he said, “Food’s great here. Okay?”
I glared at him, but I had to admit the odors coming from the kitchen wove seductively around us.
After we’d ordered and had gotten glasses of iced tea, which I liberally dosed with artificial sweetener, Max leaned back in his side of the booth and blew out a little breath.
“So guess here’s what you need to know about me.” He was looking at the tabletop. “I was an only kid when my folks died. Raised by my aunt and uncle with their four boys. I was the youngest and nobody cared what I thought, so I don’t talk much.”
Oh dear. I wasn’t sure which of those statements I should answer, if any. My heart bled for the beautiful man in front of me who would give me a raging hard-on if I let my libido take control.
His words and lack of self-pity made me want to create a unique space where he’d feel completely at home and that would soothe him when he needed it. I probably wouldn’t end up his BFF or someone he could unbend with, but I could create a warm cocoon to shelter and coddle the man or let him entertain his friends comfortably.
The image of the young Max feeling like an outsider when he was thrust on his uncaring aunt and uncle to raise was banished by the waitress who put lunch in front of us.
“Oh. My. God!” I nearly drooled into the chili and homemade bread as I tasted them. “This is incredible.”
“What’d I tell you?” Max gloated. “Said you shouldn’t be put off by the decor. Some of us are more than our decor.”
I spooned up a couple of bites, then looked at Max. “You really do think I’m a snob, don’t you?”
Why was it so easy to get him to blush? I hadn’t a clue, but his quick, mercurial red cheeks had me intrigued.
“No, no, I don’t think you’re a snob,” he protested. “I mean, you’re just so….” He waved a couple of fingers at me, but kept his elbows on the table as if protecting his bowl of chili.
“I’m so what?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know. Beautiful. And fancy,” he added, ducking his head over his bowl.
Ah, I understood now. Max was intimidated by my suit.
“Look, you came to get me in the coffee shop. I was dressed to take a rich lady through her house later this afternoon. I can work in jeans and a T-shirt”—did Max think I wore suits every day?—“or anything I want. Pajamas even. You just caught me on a suit day.” Which, I didn’t add, was too often for even my overblown sense of style.
Now Max was staring at me.
“Yeah, right. You wear jeans,” he scoffed, but looked interested, intrigued.
I shrugged. “Okay, not when I’m with a client. At home I’m way more casual.” I might have sounded a tad defensive.
“Yeah, right,” Max muttered with a grin.
I left it lying there. It wasn’t worth fighting about. But it bothered me that he saw such a divide between us. I was just a man, wasn’t I? Just like him, right? What was he going on about? Sheesh.
After enduring a brutal
ride back to Max’s cabin and barely making it without vomiting, I fired up my netbook and gave a huge sigh.
“Okay. All we have left are the deck and the master bedroom. Which do you want to tackle first?”
We went out to the deck, which seemed to be merely a few slivers of wood nailed together. By the stains, it looked as if this area had been used primarily for dressing game, gutting fish, and scraping mud off boots. On the upside, the view from this perch into the outdoors was breathtaking as it looked over the lush trees on the sloping hillside and out onto a small serene blue lake.
“Want a real kitchen out here and a hot tub,” Max said without my prompting.
“Got it. And doable.”
“Good.”
We turned as if in unison.
“Now for the master bedroom,” I murmured as I balanced the netbook and typed with one finger. My concentration was on my notes until I noticed he was not moving down the hallway.
“What?” I looked at the scowling Max who stood behind me, his arms again crossed against his chest as if to protect himself.
“Don’t want to talk about the bedroom,” he pronounced belligerently. “No questions.”
I shook my head as if I hadn’t heard correctly and almost dropped the netbook. He quickly steadied it and handed it back to me with a deep frown on his face.
“How in the hell am I supposed to know what you want?”
“Just make it nice. Just make it somewhere….” Max gazed off into the distance.
“Yes?”
With a disgusted grimace and then a sigh, he shook his head. “Somewhere nice.”
What in the world was that all about? I mimicked him with a shake of my head and a sigh. Then I followed him into what would be his inner sanctum.
This was a somber brown room: brown floors, brown curtains, brown furniture, brown bedding. It was the cabin cave’s belly. The Brown Hole of Calcutta or the Brown Hole of Max Greene. The room housed a double bed with no headboard pushed up against one wall. No other furniture. The only thing setting it apart from the rest of cabin was how immaculate it was.
Quickly I took measurements with the digital tape and wrote the figures in the netbook while Max went to the window on the far wall and pushed back the curtains. Suddenly the outside peeked in. The bedroom seemed to transform into a cramped treehouse.
“Wow.” I walked to stand next to the window, letting the view wash over me. “This is wonderful.”
In my mind, I could hear the birds singing in the morning as the sun came up behind the cabin, lighting the trees and turning the distant lake sapphire. I knew what I’d do with the room if it were mine. I’d widen the room, make all three walls windows, and put a deck around them with comfy chairs and sliding glass doors so I could come here, throw off my clothes, and watch the sunset unfold in front of me. I’d keep the sliders open all night in the summer, only screens between me and the darkness. I’d breathe in the pine scent, listen to the sounds of owls and other creatures, and become one with their nighttime explorations.
“Been thinkin’ maybe a deck.” Max’s tentative voice brought me back to the here and now.
“Absolutely.” I took photos with my phone and e-mailed them to myself. Too bad the gentle hunk in front of me wasn’t gay. Even if he turned out to be a jerk somewhere down the road, I would have loved to spend the night in this room.
With a sigh of longing, I turned around.
“Okay, we’re done. While we drive back to town, I’ll explain what happens from here.”
On the way, I asked about his budget, which sounded more than adequate for any grandiose ideas. I told him he’d be getting sketches and an estimate in a few days since I was fired up to work on this right now. All I needed to do was a background check on his financial stability and we were set.
Back in town, Max let me off at the coffee shop. As I got ready for my next appointment, the beauty and serenity of the cabin’s bedroom stayed with me, digging a little place into my heart. What a waste of a wonderful location on a straight man.
3
AFTER MEETING with the Barbie bride, I went back to my condo without calling Jimmy or Guy or Felicity or any of my other friends in the area. I was excited about getting started on Max’s project even though I was puzzled about the man himself. He’d called my clothes beautiful, I remembered. Maybe we could get to be friends after all.
I changed outfits, donning my designer denim pants, pure cotton argyle sweater, and knee-high boots. Okay, so everything was in a different solid color: red pants, purple sweater, and yellow boots. With the green belt and orange scarf, I felt perfect. I couldn’t even imagine what Max would make of my outfit.
Unlike many designers who use CAD and other computer programs for their designs, I’m old school. I draw my elevations myself as well as all the renderings and spec sheets. I love watercolor rendering, presenting the client with a picture worth framing of what the finished remodel would look like.
I started Max’s project with a view from the front door showing the living, dining, and kitchen area. I made the space an extended great room with very few walls or partitions to break it up. As I added items to the sketch, I consulted my notes and riffled through fabric, paint, and wallpaper swatches, looking for just the right colors, just the right textures, just the perfect combination, something to put a soft grin on Max’s face and in his heart.
About nine my phone rang. I ignored it. Two seconds later it rang again. This time I realized I was stiff, tired, and extremely hungry. Oh yes, and my phone was ringing again.
“What?” All my body aches, exhaustion, and growly stomach came out in the snapped question.
I heard a long sigh, the sigh of one friend to another. “We’re picking you up in ten. Be ready. Bye.”
“But….”
It didn’t matter what I had to say. Jimmy had hung up. So I stretched my back, washed my hands and face, and was ready at the door when Jimmy knocked.
“Good. I’m starving,” Jimmy said with a little squeeze of a hug. “C’mon. Guy’s illegal.”
“He sure is, honey,” I murmured as Jimmy helped me put on my coat, grabbed my bag, and hauled me from the condo.
“Where are we going?” I sounded as surly as I felt.
Jimmy merely pushed me into the back seat of Guy’s ratty old truck, and we were off.
At Stacy’s Steaks we ordered and then I asked Guy if he knew Max.
“Sure. Why?”
“Well, my dear, I went to his cabin with him today. He’s thinking about redoing it and wants an estimate. What do you know about him?”
“Do I know Max?” Jimmy asked Guy, who shrugged.
“Don’t know who you know around here, babe,” Guy answered. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
I unwrapped my scarf, folded it, and gently fed it into my coat pocket.
“He seemed nice enough. Not very talkative,” I ventured.
Guy nodded. “Got to know him when he moved here when we were in first, second grade. He came to live with his uncle’s family, a bunch of meatheads who’re dumber than bricks.” Guy turned to the waitress. “Isn’t that right? Wasn’t the whole Greene clan a bunch of fist draggers?”
She nodded, still bent over her order pad. “Yeah, except for young Max, who’s a flippin’ genius.”
Between the two of them, they couldn’t tell me much more about Max personally, however. Max, having joined a raucous, primitive, macho family of four boys roughly his age and their right-wing, successful businessman father and long-suffering mother, had become a ghost. He went to school, made good grades, should have played on the basketball team, and generally stayed under the radar, quite a feat for a kid who was six four in high school.
“So why didn’t he play basketball? Sounds like a natural in his family,” Jimmy asked Guy.
“Football,” Guy said. When Jimmy poked him and raised his eyebrows, Guy added, “According to old Al Greene, there was only one acceptable sport. It wasn’t basketball, game of sis
sies running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”
“Wow,” I sighed, digesting the sad life Max had probably led as a kid if this story was typical of how he was treated.
“Funny thing, though,” Guy said, shaking his head, “all of ’em are dead now except Max. He inherited everything from old Al, whose pinch on a penny made Lincoln’s nose bleed. Al invested Max’s inheritance, and when the old man died, Max got it all. When Max was a kid, his dad ran the Sacramento Greene’s, and his uncle operated the store here. Greene’s pretty much has outdoor supplies and trips sewn up in the area.” Guy looked over his beer foam at me. “You don’t have to worry about getting paid if he hires you.”
“Double wow,” I murmured, taking a sip of the designer brew.
“So how did he find you?” Jimmy asked.
“I thought you or Guy referred me. He said he liked what I’d done with Penny’s Too.”
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever met him,” Jimmy said.
Guy shrugged. “Max doesn’t go out much. Not over to the bar, anyway. Hardly ever. Used to have a big Fourth of July shindig every summer after Al and the family passed, but hasn’t in five, six years now.” Guy took another slug of beer. “’Course, he was engaged then, and I think his fiancée organized the party. Max isn’t what you call a glad-hander. Not even sure he has any real friends, come to think of it.”
That night in bed, thinking of the delicious Max, I understood a little more why he wanted the forest in his house. I could understand how soothing the wide open-spaces could be to someone who spent his formative years as an outcast. Now I felt even more driven to give Max the vision he sought.
Three days later, exhausted from a couple of all-nighters but ready to show Max the portfolio of drawings and plans for his renovated cabin, I put on my other designer jeans, orange sailor shirt, green high tops, and lavender scarf. I was ready to knock Max’s socks off.
