by Nick Poff
“Just checking,” she said, giving him a suspicious look.
After dinner they moved into the living room to watch the election returns on the big color console television on which Ed had, years before, watched the first moon landing. When it became apparent that Ronald Reagan would indeed take office in January, Norma slapped the arms of her chair.
“Well, that’s that. Fools! Didn’t anyone learn anything after Nixon and Watergate? Why, this country won’t be fit to live in four years from now.”
Ed slowly counted back in his mind. “Mom, you’ve lived through, by my count, at least three Republican presidents. I’m guessing you’ll survive this one, too.”
“Sleazy money-grubbers in ugly golf clothes, all of them. Nothing but a bunch of greedy old men,” she grumbled. “And it’s four. I know you. You forgot Hoover.”
Ed gave up. Norma could not be pacified tonight.
“You’re taking this awfully well,” Norma said, eyes upon her son. “Why, if your father was here, he’d be agreeing with me.”
“Like he’d have a choice.”
“Watch your mouth. Seems to me you’ve been in an awfully good mood for quite a while now. The way you were moping around after your birthday, I was beginning to wonder if you were having some silly man’s problem, worrying about getting old or some such nonsense.”
Ed shrugged, trying for innocent nonchalance. “I’m not worried about anything, and I am in a good mood these days. I’ve always liked this time of year, with the leaves changing and all. You know that.”
“The leaves are almost gone, Edward,” she said, beginning to zero in on him. “Most people get depressed in November.”
“Well, you always said I was different from everyone else.”
“Humph. Sometimes I wonder,” she said, still looking at him intently. “By the way, where were you Sunday afternoon? I tried to call three different times and you weren’t home.”
Ed commanded himself not to blush, thinking about what he and Rick had been doing at that time, not far from his ancestors’ graves. “I was hanging out with a friend. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Who with?” she demanded. “That character from Fort Wayne who uses hair spray?”
Ed had to smile at Norma’s description of Glen. “No. Just a guy I’ve gotten friendly with here in town. Actually, he delivers mail on my street. We got to talking one day when I was out front, raking leaves.” The white lie came easily.
“A mailman! Not one of those drunken hooligans your father used to play cards with?”
“Oh, Mom. Dad’s friends were not drunks. I never saw Dad have more than three beers in his life. You just resented the fact that he was off somewhere having a good time without you. And, no, this guy is new in town. You know I haven’t really had any friends around here since all the guys I knew in high school moved away, so I’d think you’d be glad to know I have someone to hang out with sometimes.”
He knew Norma couldn’t argue that fact, but she still found something to throw at him. “New in town, you say? Why on earth would anyone move here to be a mailman?”
Ed sighed, and told her about Rick’s family.
“Romanowski,” she exclaimed, scandalized. “Why, that family was nothing but trash. This town is well rid of that Hank Romanowski, I’ll tell you. He was probably stealing hubcaps when he was still in diapers. What was this man’s sister thinking, marrying him?”
“Not everyone gets lucky in love, Mom.” He shifted uncomfortably in his dad’s recliner. He had forgotten Norma would have some choice words for good old Hank.
“There’s unlucky, and there’s stupid,” she grumbled. “Oh, well. Good riddance to bad rubbish. At least this woman is trying to raise her children right. I guess I’ll just have to meet this Rick, this friend of yours, though. He’s either a decent, good man, helping out his family that way, or an absolute fool. I’m not sure which.”
“Rick is a good man, Mom. It’s been a pleasure getting to know him. I’ve enjoyed having someone to buddy around with lately.”
Norma looked thoughtfully at her son. “Nothing wrong with men getting together, doing men stuff, I suppose.”
Ed sensed something more behind her words, but decided to ignore it. “Well, if nothing else, he hates the Republican party as much as you do.”
Norma’s eyes lit up. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. A man who’d be good enough to help raise his sister’s children couldn’t be a Republican. You bring this Rick over for dinner some night, you hear?”
“Yes, Mom,” he said obediently, hoping that night was still a long way in the future.
* * * * *
Wednesday evening, after a bowl of Norma’s leftover stew, Ed went digging in his record cabinet. It was an especially nice cabinet, a product of Tim Stephens’s basement workshop. Noticing that his son spent most of his allowance and lawn-mowing money on records, Tim had built the cabinet for Ed’s thirteenth birthday. It was big and sturdy, with two sliding doors on the front and designed to hold a large number of the 45 rpm records Ed had bought almost compulsively well into adulthood. Other boys may have had sports, but Ed had the music he heard on the radio. He often thought his business kept the downtown Woolworth’s record department thriving through the sixties and seventies.
In recent years, Ed had gotten into the habit of listening to albums, but the music he had heard Sunday afternoon with Rick had whetted his appetite for his older records. He had tuned in that low-power radio station several times since, mostly catching farm reports and Andre Kostelanetz records. The oldies show they’d heard must have been a Sunday-only program.
The cabinet now held one small row of 45s, records Ed had purchased since he had moved into his house, but albums took up the rest of the space. He scooped up a stack of albums and carried them upstairs to his storage area, then returned to the cabinet, staggering under the weight of a cardboard box overflowing with 45s. He happily began to paw through them, murmuring to himself as old favorites appeared. Setting some aside to play, he carefully arranged others in the cabinet. He couldn’t find “Good Vibrations,” but the Four Tops were well represented, and soon “Baby I Need Your Loving” was pouring out of the speakers.
He leaned back against the cabinet, sighing, replaying Sunday afternoon in his mind. Oh, he totally understood the yearning in Levi Stubbs’s voice now. Ed felt so damned lucky he had found Rick. He was almost overwhelmed by the joyful companionship and the growing intimacy between them. He’d never been so excited by, yet so completely comfortable with any other person before.
He listened to the powerful, haunting song and remembered all the years he’d been alone, doing his best to ignore the loneliness. Thinking of Rick, thinking of how quickly he found himself caring deeply for Rick, brought tears to his eyes.
“I wish I could tell him that I love him,” he whispered to himself. “But I know it’s too soon. It’s too soon to say it, too soon to know for sure. But I do, I know I do.”
The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Sure it was Rick, he leapt to his feet, answering the phone with a cheery “Hello!”
“Hello to you, stranger.” Glen sounded rather annoyed. “So busy with your mailman you’ve forgotten your friends?”
Glen’s tone, and his words, made Ed feel a little annoyed himself, especially since he was hoping for Rick. “I have to pay for every call I make to Fort Wayne,” he said coldly. “I’m trying to keep the phone bill down.”
“Well, if you got a real job, you wouldn’t have to worry about it,” Glen said, all snippy now. “I don’t seem to have a problem calling you. How is the great postal carrier anyway?”
Ed’s annoyance grew. “I do have a real job. Just because I don’t get dressed up and spend the day in some office doesn’t mean I don’t work, or make enough money to live on. And as I recall, when you first started seeing Mike, I didn’t hear from you for over a month.”
“Touché, touché.” Glen was laughing now. “I give up. You made
your point. C’mon now, really. How’s it going?”
Ed felt only partially assuaged. “It’s going very well. Rick and I are having a wonderful time.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, I want the real dirt. What’s he like in bed?”
Ed snorted. “Like I’d tell you.”
“I tell you.”
“Well, I’m not telling you. And, no, Glen, I’m not gonna tell you how big it is, either. If you want to blab all the gory details of your sex life, that’s your business, but I don’t feel comfortable sharing that stuff with other people.” He went to the stereo and turned the volume down.
“Okay, so be that way. My God, it must be love, if you’re acting all secretive and protective,” Glen said crankily. “What are you listening to, anyway?”
“The Four Tops, and if it is love, I'll let you know!”
“Four Tops? Are they still around? Well, anyway, I think I need to meet this Rick. Why don’t the two of you come into town Friday night? The four of us can have dinner together.”
“The four of us?” Ed asked, stalling for time. Four meant Mike was involved, and Ed wasn’t sure he was up to an evening with Glen’s young, arrogant boyfriend.
“Well, of course. It’ll be a double date. We’ve both got men now, so we should start doing couple-type things.”
Ed admitted to himself that spending the evening with another couple could be fun, but doubted the fun factor of this particular group, seeing as how one of the members—Mike—had a tendency to start every sentence he uttered with “Oh, please.”
“I’ll have to ask Rick. He may not be free on Friday night. We haven’t talked about it yet.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Glen wanted to know.
Ed hadn’t bothered to fill Glen in on Rick’s family situation, knowing what kind of response he was likely to get.
“You tell him I won’t take no for an answer. We’ll meet you at North Side Fish Market at seven, okay?”
“North Side what?”
“Oh, Ed, you are so out of it. It’s the coolest new restaurant in town. It’s where Martino’s used to be. You remember that place. I’ll make a reservation, ’cause they’re always packed on the weekends.”
“Do they have anything other than fish?” Ed asked with suspicion.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Grow up, Ed. You’re a gay man. Learn to eat like one."
“Where in the gay rule book does it say you have to eat fish to be gay?” Ed demanded.
“I just mean you should be willing to try new things, expand your horizons a little bit. God, you need to get out of that town.”
“Yeah, like Fort Wayne is the gay mecca of the Midwest.”
“Maybe it isn’t, but it’s a big step up from Porterfield. And, yes, I suppose they have a piece of steak or two in the kitchen for guys like you.”
Ed sighed. Until he met easygoing Rick, it hadn’t really occurred to him how pushy Glen could be. “Okay, but I have to talk to Rick first. I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay?”
“Think your phone bill can handle it?” Glen sneered.
“Yeah. I’ll just rob one of my old ladies’ cookie jars tomorrow!”
“That’s the Ed I know,” Glen said, pleased. “I look forward to hearing back from you.”
Aw, crud, Ed thought, hanging up the phone. First Mom and now Glen. I’m going to be so busy hauling Rick around to meet people, I won’t have him to myself at all.
* * * * *
Ed carefully pulled his truck into a space of the crowded North Side Fish Market’s parking lot that Friday evening. The fact that he was dressed up and about to have an expensive dinner in a fish restaurant with Glen’s snotty boyfriend, and the fact that Rick was amused by it all, was making him rather irritable.
“It’s not gonna be that bad, baby,” Rick said, squeezing Ed’s hand. “If this guy is as affected as you say, we’ll just have something good to laugh about all the way home.”
Inside, Ed told the hostess barricading their way into the dim dining room that they were meeting friends. He spotted Glen and Mike sitting next to each other in a booth, facing the entrance. Glen raised his hand for a discreet wave. Ed’s eyebrows rose a bit as he took Glen’s and Mike’s appearance in. They both had their hair swept back from their foreheads in the current style, and as Norma would be quick to point out, a good deal of hair spray had been used to achieve it. They were dressed much the same as well, both wearing pastel dress shirts and skinny black ties.
“Man! What do we have here, the Doublemint twins?” Rick asked under his breath.
Ed snorted with laughter, then tried to compose himself as they walked to the table.
Greetings and introductions were passed around as Ed and Rick slid into the other side of the booth. Ed noticed both Glen and Mike checking Rick out, obviously more impressed than they were willing to let their faces show. Feeling a bit smug, Ed opened his menu and scanned past a multitude of seafood entrées, looking for something a good meat-and-potatoes guy could enjoy.
A slim young man with a gold stud in one earlobe glided up to their table. “Hi, I’m Craig, and I’ll be your server tonight. How are you gentlemen this evening?” he asked, with a lingering look at Rick.
Ed found himself experiencing his first attack of possessiveness. “We’re just great, Craig.” He moved closer to Rick, making sure Miss Thing with the earring noticed.
Server Craig ever so slightly raised his eyes at Ed, but maintained his let’s-all-be-friends demeanor. He went into a long description of the night’s specials, kidded with them while taking their drink orders, then left for the bar, saying, “I’ll be right back with those, boys.”
“Geez,” Ed mumbled.
“When did waiters get to be servers?” Rick wondered.
“Oh, please. Servers work in fine restaurants, waitresses and waiters work in diners,” Mike said, sniffing.
“Do tell,” Rick said, smiling at Mike’s pretension.
“It’s an eighties thing,” Glen said with a shrug.
“If I wanted a friend, I’d buy a dog,” Ed said, watching Craig at the bar, who was still eyeing Rick. “At a restaurant, I just want someone who can get the food on the table without spilling it in my lap.”
“Oh, please,” Mike said. “Servers take their jobs very seriously, trying to make sure you have the best culinary experience possible. That’s what dining in a fine restaurant is all about.”
“Then I suppose the potential size of the tip has nothing to do with it,” Rick said, laying his menu down. “Although, I have to admit that salmon he mentioned sounds pretty good.”
“I think I’ll stick with the prime rib,” Ed said.
Glen sighed. “So what else is new? Well, go ahead, get your prime rib, but if you don’t stop glaring at that queen you probably will get it in your lap.”
“How are we supposed to share a good bottle of wine if Ed gets red meat?” Mike whined.
“I’ll just drink my Pepsi—no, make that Coke, according to our buddy Craig—and you three can split the wine,” Ed said, moving his perturbed look from Craig to Mike.
Mike snorted with impatience. Glen looked amused by his boyfriend. “Now, be nice, Mike. Ed’s just a small-town boy, and if he wants to stick to what he knows, that’s his business.”
Mike nudged him. “I told you I want to be called Michael now.”
“Sorry, hon, I forgot,” Glen said, looking at him affectionately.
“Well, since Edward here is driving, I think it’s fine if he sticks to pop, but I’d be happy to take a glass of whatever wine you suggest, Michael,” Rick said, winking at Ed, who tried not to laugh.
Mike/Michael looked balefully at both of them, then turned his attention to the wine list.
Ed felt a strong kick from the devil on his shoulder. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
Rick almost choked on his water. Glen looked distressed, but Michael merely gave
Ed a frosty smile.
“My ID says I’m twenty-five.”
“Better watch out,” Rick said teasingly. “They’ll be calling you a troll before too long.”
Michael looked horrified at the very notion.
“He’s just joking,” Glen said soothingly to Michael. He turned to Ed. “Your mailman’s quite a cutup, isn’t he? I’ll bet he had some laugh when you told him about that phony letter I sent you.”
Ed gave Glen a stricken look. He still hadn’t told Rick about the scheme he had engineered to meet him.
Rick looked questioningly at Glen. “What are you talking about? What letter?”
Glen’s mouth opened in surprise. “You mean he hasn’t told you yet? Ed, you rascal, I was sure you would have confessed to that by now.”
Ed found himself blushing a deep, fiery red. Michael put aside the wine list long enough to smirk at him. Rick, though, was still looking at Glen, not comprehending what he was saying.
“That certified letter,” Glen explained, chuckling. “That was from me. Ed called me and asked me to send him a certified letter so he’d have an excuse to talk to you. At the time I thought it was kinda stupid, but it certainly has paid off, hasn’t it?”
Ed was ready to crawl under the table. Server Craig reappeared at that moment, setting down drinks. Ed kept his eyes away from Rick as he mumbled his order after the other three. Craig gave him a condescending smile as he slowly and distinctly asked if Ed wanted his prime rib “well, medium well, medium, or rare.”
“Medium.” Ed was all set to knock Craig and his order pad into next week.
Suddenly he felt Rick’s hand slip into his. He looked up at Rick, who was smiling at him. Ed relaxed, knowing by Rick’s smile that everything was okay.
Craig’s smile slipped a notch or two. “I’ll be back as soon as possible with your appetizers,” he said, fleeing toward the kitchen.
“You set that whole thing up just so you could meet me?” Rick whispered, still smiling.
“Yeah,” Ed mumbled, still blushing.
“Thanks, baby,” Rick whispered, saying no more.
