Loose Screws

by Karen Templeton

  All three men glare at me.

  “Hey,” I say cheerfully, “look at it this way. It’s the last thing out of the apartment. Well, except for the dog, and he can walk.”

  “Hey,” Randall shoots back, inching backward down the stairs, his hands full of lead-weight cranberry velveteen, “am I mistaken—careful, Dave, damn!—or do we get to reverse this process when we get to the other end?”

  “Well, yeah—oh! Watch out for that corner! But that’s only four flights, not eight.”

  “Four flights up,” Ted squeezes out past the corded muscles in his neck.

  Well, there was that.

  Maybe I could feed them all next Saturday, too.

  We finally reach the lobby, sofa and male tempers all reasonably intact. Shelby is ineffectually nagging the kids to quit climbing the stacked boxes. A woman I’ve never seen before comes through the door, her umbrella streaming. She pauses, peering with some interest at my wing chair, then points to it, addressing whoever will answer her.

  “How much you want for the chair?”

  “I’m not selling it! I’m moving it!” I snap, which sends her scurrying off to the now-free elevator.

  I convince myself it’s not raining as hard as it was, even as I unwrap the first of several plastic drop cloths I purchased from the hardware store the minute it opened this morning. While the men discuss strategy—they’re all being really good sports, I have to say—I shroud the sofa in two of the sheets, securing the plastic with twine. I survey my handiwork, inordinately pleased with myself. Hey, if this new job doesn’t pan out, maybe I could start my own moving business—

  “Ginger? What the hell is going on?”

  I whip around to meet my mother’s stymied expression.

  Eight

  “Busted,” Randall mutters behind my back.

  “Nedra! What on earth— W-why are you here?”

  The entire bottom tier of her long denim skirt is soaked. “You weren’t answering either of your phones,” she says, folding up her Totes umbrella. “I got worried.” Her gaze flicks over the lobby, then back to me. “Now I know why. You’re moving?”

  I nod, feeling, oh, about six?

  “Were you planning on telling me?”

  “Of course I was.”

  “While I was still alive?”

  All eyes, including the doorman’s, are zipping back and forth between us.

  “It was kind of a last-minute thing,” I say, then explain what has brought us to this moment. More or less.

  Nedra looks hurt. “I don’t understand. Did you think I would disapprove or something?”

  I link my arms over my damp rib cage, purse my lips. Decide to tell the truth. “No. I thought you would nag me about moving back in with you. I just couldn’t handle that.”

  Her brows lift. “Which? That I might nag you, or living with me?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Holy crap!” Ted suddenly yells, digging in his shorts pocket for the keys. “Two people just moved their cars from in front of the building at the same time! Go, go, go!”

  Like crazed lemmings, we all rush outside. It’s still pouring, but we don’t care. Ted dashes up the block to get the van while the rest of us literally stand in the blessed double space, yelling at anyone fool enough to try to park there. Shelby’s kids are jumping up and down underneath the awning in front of the building, laughing. My mother turns to me. Rain is streaming down her face like tears.

  “Can I help, or will that crowd you too much?”

  We see the van gliding up the block, cutting through the drenching rain like a red-and-silver whale.

  Lightning flashes; the kids scream. Thunder rolls across the city, shuddering the ground. “You really want to?” I yell as the rain comes down even harder. We’re all now soaked through.

  “No,” my mother says sarcastically. A minivan tries to nudge us out of the parking spot; she bangs on the hood.

  “Don’t even think about it!” she yells, and the flummoxed man behind the wheel jerks the steering wheel in his split to pull away. Nedra whips off the soaked scarf, starts to laugh. “It was like this on the day your father and I got married, did you know that?”

  We step up onto the sidewalk so Ted can park the van. “No,” I say, backing underneath the awning. Rain sluices off it in a solid sheet, the noise obliterating further conversation. I realize how little I really know about my mother, how I’ve avoided letting her get close enough to share her life with me.

  I shiver, only partly from the rain.

  She nudges my arm. I look over. “You should change out of those clothes.”

  “What’s the point?” I yell back, and she nods in agreement. We all go inside; the men decide to load the big items first, work the smaller ones around them. Ted and Randall argue good-naturedly, like an old married couple. I wonder if they’ve caught Davis’s curious expression as he watches them.

  Busted, I think to myself with a smile.

  Many hours later Davis wanders into my new kitchen, Bud in hand, squatting down to pet the dog, who has refused to let me out of his sight since his supposedly harrowing trip between Ted and Randall in the van. (I have tried to explain to him that he wouldn’t have much cared for sharing a taxi with two overexcited children, but to no avail.)

  “Hey,” he says, standing to lean against the counter, watching me teeter precariously on a step stool as I stuff rarely used kitchen tchotchkes on an uppermost shelf. “Need some help?”

  “Uh, sure. Hand me that cappuccino-maker, would you? No, not that. Yeah, that.” He hoists the thing up to me, grinning.

  “Women sure do collect a lot of shit.”

  “Well, hell—gotta fill up all these cupboards with something. How’s the party holding up?”

  “Since it’s been a good half hour since anybody’s said anything worth remembering, I think it’s just about petered out.”

  I really like this guy. He’s charming, without trying to be, if you know what I mean. I chuckle, rearranging everything I’d just put on the shelf to accommodate the newest arrival. Gee, no more having to deal with all of Annie’s stuff in my cupboards. And I haven’t seen a single roach. Hallelujah.

  It took nearly forty-five minutes to get up here in the horrible weather, then another two and a half hours to get everything off the van and into the new apartment, even with two extra sets of hands. And wouldn’t you know, the rain stopped at the precise moment the very last box had been hauled inside. The good news is, however, that it’s drastically cooler. I’ve got all the windows open, letting in a sweet-smelling breeze.

  My mother and Shelby et al left in a shared taxi some time ago, leaving me with Terrie, Davis, Ted and Randall, all of whom I think are just too tired to move. I can relate. I’m about to topple over myself. But I’m determined to get my kitchen in at least reasonable order before I go to bed.

  I smile down at Randall’s brother. “Hey. I can’t thank you guys enough for all your help.”

  Oh, man—breath-stealing smile alert. He’s got the same dimples as Randall, the same long, curly black lashes. But he’s got hair.

  “My pleasure,” he says, his voice deep and laced with humor. “So tell me,” he says, lowering his voice. “Is it my imagination, or are my brother and Ted more than just roommates?”

  I freeze. Damn. “What makes you think that?”

  “Not being born yesterday?”

  I heave a great sigh. “I told them they’d never get away with this.”

  “Especially as I found out Ran was gay years ago.”

  I nearly fall off the ladder. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. But I figured, if he didn’t want to talk to me about it, that was his business.”

  “He’s afraid if your mother finds out, it’ll kill her.”

  “Wha—? Oh, for God’s sake—who the hell do you think told me?”

  I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh. Then I lower it and say, “And how is she taking it?”


  Davis shrugs. “Disappointed, I guess, that he won’t be giving her grandchildren. But more disappointed that he doesn’t feel he can tell her.”

  “She won’t confront him about it?”

  “No way. Says it’s up to him.”

  A burst of laughter floats in from the living room. Davis smiles.

  “They seem well suited for each other.” There’s an almost wistful quality to his voice that makes me look at him. He smiles, shakes his head. “No, I’m not gay. Just lonely.”

  “Randall said you were divorced?”

  He takes another swig of his beer. “For nearly five years. It doesn’t get any easier.”

  I think of Nick. Of Terrie. Of myself, although I’m not quite in the same league. You let yourself hope, then trust, then believe…and then it all crumbles out from under you, leaving you afraid to hope and trust and believe, ever again.

  “Ted and Randall have been together for about six years,” I say quietly. “Ted’s got a daughter, Alyssa. She lives with them, usually.”

  One side of Davis’s full mouth tilts. “Which I’m assuming accounts for the pink bedroom?”

  “And the Barbie collection and the ’NSYNC posters.”

  “They must’ve hidden those,” he says, giving me this smile, and I think, duh, lonely man, new in town, is flirting with recently jilted single woman. Only that thought no sooner shuffles past when he says, “Your friend Terrie…” He rubs the back of his neck. “She seeing anybody?”

  Oh, of course. Double duh. Even as busy as I’ve been all afternoon, I did catch Davis’s attention drifting to Terrie off and on. But then, every man’s—every straight man’s, anyway—attention drifts to Terrie eventually. Especially when she’s wearing a tank top that keeps slipping off one shoulder and shorts that are probably banned in some countries.

  “Not that I know of,” I say casually. I descend the ladder, start unwrapping dishes, beginning to hallucinate about being in bed. Which is another thing. I now have a bedroom, but no bed to put in it. I glance over at Davis. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I don’t want to come on too strong.”

  “A word of advice. Terrie doesn’t do subtle very well.”

  Davis grins.

  “And another word of advice.” I pad over to the door, check to make sure she’s out of earshot, then look back at Randall’s brother. “She’s divorced, too. Twice.”

  Davis sighs, then nods. “Move with caution, in other words.”

  “Yeah. Which is tricky to do while not being subtle.”

  “I think I can handle it,” he says, then strolls out of the kitchen.

  An hour later in The Night That Will Not End. The guys have finally left; Terrie hasn’t. I can tell she wants to talk. Since I’ve dumped on everybody else a million times the past few days, I don’t have the heart to kick her out, even though my brain shut down at least two hours ago.

  She’s sprawled on my sofa, one foot on the floor, a half-empty wine cooler balanced on her bare stomach. She—or somebody—has stacked all the pizza cartons on the coffee table; I drag in a black garbage bag, dump them inside, collapse onto the wing chair that weird woman tried to buy out from under me.

  Geoff trots over to the door and yips.

  “Sure, you’re wide awake and raring to go,” I say, my eyes already closed. “What have you done all day besides nap and poop?”

  He yips again. I open one eye, peer at him. He looks as though he’d cross his legs, if they were long enough to cross. With a weary sigh, I drag myself back upright, poking among the hundreds of boxes until I find his leash and a cotton sweater which I shrug into.

  “I gotta take the dog out,” I say to Terrie. “Wanna come?”

  “No.”

  I lean over and grab Terrie’s hand, heaving her up off the sofa. “Sure you do. The fresh air’ll do you good.”

  She groans and mutters a few choice obscenities under her breath, but she shuffles into her sandals, grabs her sweatshirt off the arm of the sofa, and follows me. The elevator is waiting for us, as if it’s stopped at this floor so many times today it’s been reprogrammed to roost here. We get in, slump simultaneously against the back wall. It’s a hideous thing, recently enough painted in burgundy enamel that, with all the humidity, is still a little tacky.

  “What did you tell Davis about me?” Terrie asks.

  Not that I didn’t expect this. “Not much. That you were divorced.”

  “As in, available?”

  “That you were divorced,” I repeat. “That’s a fact. The other’s a judgment call. And I don’t do those if I can help it.”

  Between the third and second floor, the elevator shudders ominously. Neither of us flinches. “And that was it?”

  “Okay, he asked if you were seeing anyone. I said I didn’t think so.”

  “And that’s not telling him I’m available?”

  “Not in my book. Now, if I’d said, ‘Heck, yeah, that Terrie, she’s ripe for the pickin’, boy…’ now that would be telling him you’re available.”

  I can feel her gaze on the side of my face, can tell, that if she weren’t exhausted, she’d be angry.

  “How’s about next time you just stay outta my business, okay?”

  “Telling the guy you’re not seeing anyone is hardly getting in your business, Ter. Jeez, lighten up already.”

  The elevator reaches the ground floor; the doors part and we emerge, our sandals slapping against the marble floor as we cross the lobby. The dog is yanking me toward the doors, making me lurch behind him.

  “Okay, then, new ground rules,” Terrie says as we burst out into the damp, chilled air. Geoff continues to drag me until he can jump off the curb, where he pees for like five minutes. The cold startles me, but not unpleasantly. “I am not interested in meeting a man or going out with a man or dealing with a man and/or his shit, got it?”

  “Ever?”

  “You got it.”

  “Davis seems like a really nice guy, Ter.”

  “Uh-huh. They all do, at the beginning. Then they rot.”

  “Not all of them.”

  She gives me a look. “Says the woman who just got dumped by Mr. Wonderful.”

  I am far too tired to go down that road.

  “Besides,” Terrie continues, “didn’t somebody say Davis was divorced? So right there, what does that tell you?”

  “That he was in a relationship that didn’t work out? How does that automatically make him a bad person?”

  “Doesn’t exactly give him high marks.”

  “Hey. You’ve been divorced. Twice. That make you a bad person?”

  She opens her mouth. Shuts it again.

  “Now,” I say because I’m on a roll and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to render Terrie Latoya speechless, “if he’d expressed an interest and he was still married, that would make him a bad person.”

  Terrie humphs.

  Geoff finally puts down his leg, sighs, then hops back up onto the sidewalk, tugging me down the block. New neighborhood, new smells. Oh, joy. I start walking, Terrie lolling beside me, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her unzipped sweatshirt. An occasional car passes, wicking moisture off rain-sheened streets.

  “You know what?” she says, still sounding ticked, but not at me. Not as much, anyway.

  “What?”

  “The problem is, a man might act all perfect in order to get a woman, but once he’s sure she’s so damn much in love with him she can’t see straight, one by one, he lets his flaws outta the closet. And what happens is, the woman just ends up feeling gypped. If not trapped.” She shakes her head, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush. “Things’d be a helluva lot easier if they’d just let us see their flaws to begin with, let us decide whether or not it was worth our time and effort to put up with them just the way they are.”

  “Oh, right.” I laugh, which is probably not the smartest thing to do, but I can’t help it. “Can you honestly say, if you’d seen the real Jarrod a
nd Boyd before you started dating them, things would have gotten as far as they did?”

  “Hell, no. And just think of all that heartache I could have avoided. Not to mention the cost of two divorces.”

  “Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best example I could have used. But…well, how many women have the balls to let a man see the real her, either, right off the bat? I mean, I sure as hell don’t. Do you?”

  Terrie apparently thinks about this for a bit, finally shakes her head. “I see your point.”

  “Besides, who among us isn’t screwed up in some way? I know I am. I’m too controlling, for one thing. And manipulative. And I’m sure I’ve got other imperfections I can’t even see. But I’d like to think I’ve got some appealing traits, too, you know? Some redeeming qualities that would enable another human being to put up with me for the long haul.”

  Terrie quirks her mouth up at that, which makes me curious, but not enough to get sidetracked. I’m having enough trouble speaking in generalities. But then she says, “I hear what you’re saying, but…”

  “But what?”

  She sighs. “Hell, I don’t even know anymore.”

  We walk some more, I think some more, vaguely amazed to discover a stash of unused brain cells I had not heretofore known existed.

  “Try this,” I say. “What if there were some sort of full-disclosure clause that came with every new guy you met? You know, like the thingy Realtors have to fill out when they’re selling a house? I mean, if you were looking for a house, would you consider one that needs some repairs because it’s otherwise in a good school district with a big yard and the price is right? And if so, what kinds of things could you deal with, or overlook, and which ones would you consider a turn-off?”

  Terrie swipes her braids back behind one shoulder, her brow knotted. Then she shakes her head. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nope. I’m strictly an apartment girl. Don’t want any old house that’s gonna fall down around my ears, or turn out to have termites, or that’s gonna require constant babying in order for it to be happy. Now an apartment, something goes wrong, you just call the super and he fixes it for you—”