The Handyman's Dream

by Nick Poff

  “Just turned, yes. Porterfield High for me! We had one hundred and seven kids in our graduating class. I’ll bet yours was a lot bigger!”

  “Oh, yes. I tell you, I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up in a small town, but you know? I really kind of like living there. Everybody’s so friendly, especially the people on my route. Why, I can’t tell you how many of them have stopped to make conversation while I’m delivering their mail. Hell, that hardly ever happened when I was working on the north side of Indy.”

  Ed snickered. “Oh, I don’t know if they’re being friendly or just nosy. There’s a lot of that in a small town, believe me. Just be glad my mom’s house isn’t on your route. She’d have your whole life story by now.”

  Rick laughed, then tipped his beer to his mouth for the last few drops. He set the bottle down carefully, studying it. He looked up at Ed and studied him as well.

  “You know, when I delivered that letter to you yesterday, I was really hoping I’d get to see you again. I mean, I told myself I was imagining things, but I just had the feeling, you know?”

  “Me too. My friend Glen calls it fag intuition, but I just call it wishful thinking.”

  Rick laughed again. “Yeah, that’s right! But I never, ever guessed I’d run into you here tonight. You didn’t get any mail today, you know. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was.”

  Ed, blushing once again, couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I think that’s why I let Claire talk me into coming out tonight. When I saw you yesterday, it hit me that I’d been awfully lonely lately. So I came here . . . oh, hoping to . . . well, whatever. You know how these places are.”

  “Yeah, I know. Thing is, I think I came here for the same reason, after seeing you yesterday.”

  Rick looked at him in surprise. “Then it wasn’t my imagination? I mean, that maybe it wasn’t so much the intuition thing as . . . ” He trailed off, looking at the floor.

  “Rick,” Ed said, thinking how good it felt to say his name, “as far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t your imagination.”

  Rick looked up to meet Ed’s eyes. The music was thumping even louder from the disco, Freddie Mercury hollering his way through “Another One Bites the Dust,” but Ed was so lost in Rick's eyes he could not have said what was playing.

  Rick slowly put his hand on the table, palm up. Ed reached out, tentatively, to take it in his own. He almost gasped when they touched. That electric shock roared through him again. Rick looked at his hand in Ed’s, then looked up at Ed.

  “Damn,” Rick whispered hoarsely. “I wish I could kiss you right now, right this very minute.”

  “Me too.”

  But neither one of them moved. They sat, hands lightly clasped, looking at each other across the table. For a moment they seemed to be the only two people in the place, but then someone drunkenly bumped into their table. Rick’s empty beer bottle tipped, and his free hand reached out to grab it. He carefully steadied the bottle.

  “If I’m going to kiss you, I don’t want it to be here,” he said to the bottle.

  “I . . . I don’t know how you’d feel about this,” Ed stammered. “But we could go back to my place.”

  Rick looked up, his face relieved. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  They both laughed now, their grip on each other’s hands tightening.

  “After all,” Ed said, just as relieved. “We both have to go back to Porterfield.”

  “This is true. I really want to get to know you, and this just ain’t the place to do it.”

  “Then what the hell are we waiting for? It’s a long drive.”

  The words of “A Lover’s Holiday” went through Ed’s mind. He wished he could hear the song again. Geez, I’m really being rescued!

  They both stood up, and Ed reluctantly let go of Rick’s hand. Rick immediately put his arm around Ed’s waist, and Ed sighed happily. Oh, if this was a dream, it was the most vivid one he’d ever had.

  Glen and Mike walked through the door as Ed and Rick were on the way out. Ed slipped his arm around Rick, and both Glen and Mike stopped dead, mouths open in shock.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Glen,” Ed said nonchalantly as they passed, his arm firmly around his mailman’s waist.

  Once they were in the parking lot, Ed waved at his white Chevy pickup. “That’s me.”

  Rick glanced at a worse-for-wear burgundy Monte Carlo. “That’s my poor old ride. She don’t look like much, but she gets me where I need to go.”

  “Well, as long as it gets you back to my house tonight, that’s all I care about right now. You know where I live, but go around the corner onto Grant Street. That’s where my driveway is.”

  Rick nodded, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Cool. So, I’ll see you in about a half an hour, okay?”

  Ed turned to unlock his door, but suddenly turned back to look once more at Rick. He was standing by his car, looking at Ed. They smiled reassuringly at each other, then got into their vehicles.

  All the way back to Porterfield, Ed kept glancing in his rearview mirror to see if Rick was still behind him. Ed did his best to gauge the traffic lights so Rick would never get caught on a red without Ed.

  Once he was heading south on Highway 401, he had to restrain himself from flooring it because he wanted to be home with Rick so badly, but he kept the speedometer right above fifty-five all the way. Heart came on the radio singing “Crazy on You.”

  “Girls,” he said, “you don’t know the half of it!”

  The lights of Porterfield finally appeared in the night sky. Ed carefully drove through town and turned onto his street. Rick was still right behind him. As they pulled into his driveway, Ed clicked his garage door opener, then drove the truck into the garage. When he stepped outside the side door, Rick was waiting for him.

  “Hi, again,” Rick whispered, a warm smile on his face.

  “Hi to you too,” Ed whispered back.

  He led Rick in through the back door, then two steps up to his small but efficient kitchen and dining area, and flipped on the light.

  “Can I get you something?” Ed asked. “I think I have some beer, but I know for a fact I have Pepsi.”

  Rick laughed. “Kindred tastes. Oh, yeah, I took the Pepsi Challenge last summer. I know the difference between Pepsi and Coke.”

  Ed shook his head in amazement as he pulled two cold cans out of the refrigerator. Something else they had in common, he thought. He handed a can to Rick, who murmured his thanks.

  “Well,” Ed said, “shall we go sit down?”

  Rick looked solemnly at Ed, not answering his question. He carefully set the Pepsi can on Ed’s kitchen table.

  “You know, I think we have some unfinished business from that place. I don’t know if it’s right or not, but if I don’t get to kiss you, and soon, I’m gonna go crazy.”

  Ed’s Pepsi can joined Rick’s. He turned to Rick. Standing this way, he saw for the first time that Rick was indeed taller than him, a good two inches, at least. Ed looked into Rick’s eyes, and again that electric shock jolted through him. Ed had kissed his fair share of men, but never before had he seen a man look at him with such longing.

  Ed reached out to him, and Rick gently took him in his arms. Ed’s arms slipped around Rick, rustling his nylon windbreaker. Their lips came together, tentatively, then with more confidence. Ed’s mind began to whirl. He crazily had an image of Sally Field as Gidget, writing about a pretend kiss with her boyfriend Jeff, in her diary.“I sank into nothingness,” Gidget had written, and Ed suddenly knew exactly what that felt like. He would have sworn in any court of law this was the first time he’d ever been kissed by a man, because it felt like the first time. His arms tightened around Rick, and he felt Rick’s tighten in response. How long they stood there, holding each other, mouths tenderly together, Ed couldn’t have said, but when they reluctantly broke apart, it seemed like a lifetime.

  They stared into each other’s eyes.

  “Wow!” Ric
k finally broke the silence. He smiled at Ed in astonishment. “Oh, I knew that would be worth waiting for, but—”

  “I know.” Ed was feeling quite weak in the knees. “Man, I gotta sit down.”

  They both laughed, relieving the tension. Ed helped Rick off with his windbreaker, which he carefully put over the back of a kitchen chair. He led him into the living room, gesturing for Rick to take a seat on the sofa, while he turned on a nearby lamp. He turned back to Rick, who had one arm thrown against the back of the sofa. Ed sat down next to him, and Rick’s arm slid down around his shoulders.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Ed said, feeling the words were inadequate to what he was feeling. “And I left our pop on the kitchen table.”

  Rick chuckled. “I don’t need it right now. I just need to sit here and pinch myself, like, a hundred times to make sure this is real.”

  “If this is a dream, I’m gonna be really pissed.”

  Rick turned Ed’s face to his for another kiss. This one was even better than the first, if that was possible. Rick’s hand came up to lightly stroke Ed’s cheek, and Rick made a soft sound deep in his throat.

  The lingering kiss ended, and Rick slid forward, yanking on his jeans. “Sorry,” he said, obviously embarrassed as he tried to adjust his crotch.

  Ed pulled on his own tight jeans. “I’ve got the same problem.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Rick said, stroking Ed’s mustache. “I honestly came back here with the intention of sitting up all night, talking, but that isn’t what I want to do right now. I mean, I really do want to get to know you better, but I also . . . well, you know,” he finished sheepishly.

  Ed reached over to run his fingers through the dark hair he’d admired for so many weeks. “I know what you mean. I think it’s okay, though. I have a feeling you won’t be putting on your coat and leaving right afterward.”

  Rick shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. You can count on that. Ed, would you please make love with me? Tonight? Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  Ed stood up and put out his hand. Rick took it and pulled himself off the sofa. Ed led him from the sofa, past the stairs, and into his small, but cozy bedroom at the back of the house.

  “Boy, am I glad I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Rick murmured gratefully.

  “Me too, Mister Mailman, me too,” Ed responded, lifting his head for another of Rick’s perfect kisses.

  “Cumma, cumma, cumma, cumma, come, come, Mister Handyman,” Rick sang softly in a bad—but wonderful to Ed’s ears—imitation of James Taylor. “The mailman has a special delivery for you.”

  * * * * *

  “Spent and content,” Rick whispered against Ed’s ear much, much later. “I don’t know when I’ve felt as good as I do right now.”

  Ed pulled himself closer to Rick, smiling. “I can answer that question for myself. Never.”

  Rick sighed. “Oh, Ed . . . Ed, baby, you are something else, you know that? If I would have known about the cutest handyman in Porterfield, Indiana, believe me, I would have moved here long before Hank ran off.”

  “You really mean that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ed toyed with the idea of telling Rick the truth about the phony certified letter, but decided to wait until he knew Rick better, as he was convinced he would soon be getting to know Rick a lot better.

  “The first time I saw you at my front door,” he said slowly, “I couldn’t believe it. I walked out the door and watched you walk down the street, just thinking, ‘who is that?’ and ‘how can I get to know him?’”

  “I wish I’d known,” Rick said, kissing him again. “Why didn’t you holler at me? Why didn’t you scream, ‘Hey, you, in the blue? I need more than just my mail!’”

  “Sheer terror. How was I supposed to know?”

  “I know. That’s exactly how I felt yesterday, giving you that letter. I was so blown away by you I told myself that you had to be some straight guy, home for lunch, watching the kids, or something.”

  “No kids here,” Ed said, stroking Rick’s back. “Just a lonely handyman.”

  “That’s good. I’ve got plenty of kids at home. And trust me, if you don’t want to be lonely anymore, I’d be very, very happy to keep you company.”

  “I’d like that more than anything in the world,” Ed said, sighing with . . . relief? joy? amazement? Oh, hell, they all applied. “You know, I’m hoping tonight isn’t the only special delivery I get from the new mailman.”

  “I’ll have to check back at the post office, but I think there’s another one waiting for you for tomorrow.” Rick looked thoughtful. “Matter of fact, I think there’s one for the next day, too.”

  Ed chuckled. “There’s no mail delivery on Sunday.”

  “There is now, baby,” Rick said, hugging him. “You can get a special delivery anytime you want.”

  Ed sighed, thinking that although no manger, stable, or shepherds were involved, a miracle of some sort had taken place in Porterfield that night. The refrain of an old Chicago song went rolling through his mind. It’s only the beginning, he thought. He knew in his heart this was indeed only the beginning for Rick and himself.

  Chapter Three

  Ed’s clock radio snapped on at ten o’clock. He slowly came awake, trying to push his tired eyes open. He looked around his bedroom in confusion, bleary eyes coming to rest on the clock radio, which was blaring Air Supply’s “All Out of Love.”

  “How inappropriate is that?” he mumbled, reaching to shut it off.

  He rolled over, groaning, then smiled as his head landed on the pillow Rick’s head had lain upon several hours earlier. Ed had experienced some of his usual weird dreams while he slept, but he knew it was no dream that Rick Benton, the new mailman, had been with him. Rick had left around four, saying he thought Claire and the kids might worry if they woke up and he wasn’t home. Ed sniffed the pillow richly, thinking it still smelled of Rick. Oh, man,you can shake me, but don’t wake me from whatever is going on with him and me, he said to himself happily, paraphrasing an old Four Tops song.

  Ed crawled out of bed and reached for his ratty old bathrobe. He wondered if Rick had managed to get any sleep on this Saturday morning in a house that held three kids. He imagined Rick in the room he had told Ed he shared with his nephew, pillow over his head, as a cartoon program blasted from a nearby television. He hoped Rick was getting some rest after their long night. Ed’s smile became a frown, as he wondered if Rick’s rather unique living arrangement would create any problems in their budding relationship. But Rick had promised to return to Ed’s house that night around six for dinner and whatever else they may think of to do with the evening. He’d even hinted he might be able to spend the night.

  Ed shuffled into the bathroom half-awake, imagining them together the next morning, thinking of his new mailman making a Sunday delivery. He counted the hours until he would see Rick again and knew that the day would not move fast enough. Still, he wouldn’t be sitting around waiting. He had promised his sister, Laurie, he’d be over early in the afternoon to install her new dishwasher.

  “More plumbing,” he grumbled, walking into the kitchen.

  He was both tired and excited, and he had no interest in fixing a nutritious breakfast. Half-convinced his mother would fly into the room at any moment, he snuck a Hostess cupcake out of a cabinet and wolfed it down with guilty relish. He grabbed an overripe banana off the counter, then poured himself some orange juice.

  He halfheartedly peeled back the banana. When it came to fresh fruit, Ed’s imagination seldom went much past bananas. He wasn’t all that crazy about them, but found them wonderfully convenient and portable, an easy snack to grab while he was working on a long job.

  His thoughts turned to his job and the motley crew of people he routinely helped. Ed’s almost boyish shyness, his warm smile, and his easy grace with older folks had made him extremely popular with the senior set in Porterfield. They knew they could depend upon him for t
he largest of tasks, such as house painting and appliance repair, all the way to the simplest of things, such as oiling squeaky doors and hauling heavy bags of water softener salt. A good deal of what he did wasn’t so much fixing as maintaining, and more than one of his regulars had claimed he kept them out of the nursing homes they all seemed to dread. Such remarks made Ed think he was doing his part to make the world a happier place.

  He wondered, though, how this remarkable new turn his life had taken would affect his work. Although Ed hadn’t specifically told even his own family he was gay, he didn’t particularly think of himself as closeted; rather, his up-to-now discreet social life had simply never caused any reason for raised eyebrows. He knew he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Rick and was convinced Rick felt the same way, but Ed was a little uneasy about developing such a relationship in Porterfield, “the Peyton Place of Indiana,” as his sister once referred to it. He shrugged it off. Hell, we haven’t even had our first real date, and already I’m worrying. Let it go and enjoyit. Through some unbelievable miracle you got the guy you wanted, and he’s coming back tonight, and you are the luckiest guy in the world. Just let it happen, for God’s sake!

  By one o’clock he was in his truck, on his way to Laurie’s house, determined to keep his thoughts only on the task before him. A good deal more tranquil and affable than his mother, Laurie was just as shrewd as Norma, however, and more than once she had ferreted information out of Ed he had wanted to keep to himself.

  He pulled up in front of her comfortable, green two-story home on West Elm Street. Laurie and her husband, Todd, had bought it for a great price at an estate sale. It had been well modernized by the elderly couple who lived there previously, and though it wasn’t quite ready for the eighties, it was up-to-date by seventies standards. Ed, who considered his own home not much more than a bachelor pad, was a trifle envious. He wondered what kind of houses Rick liked best, then shook his head.

  “You barely know the guy,” he snorted, parking the truck. “Get a grip, Stephens!”