Benji and the Wireman

by Charlie Winters

  Benji and the Wireman

  CHARLIE WINTERS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Benji and the Wireman

  ©2019 Charlie Winters

  Cover Design

  ©2019 Brian Toombs

  Original Artwork

  ©2019 Lance Worman

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  It took me two years to finish this.

  Thank you, fine readers, for sticking with me through all of the wishy-washy moments.

  Should I trash this?

  Should I stop writing?

  Sometimes I was just tired (and actually sick), but I picked it up again and started over.

  I’m glad I did.

  I hope you are too.

  Special thanks to Jaber, Brian, Lance, Sarah, and Zahra, my support squad on all things book-related.

  Contents

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Nine.

  Ten.

  Eleven.

  Twelve.

  Thirteen.

  Fourteen.

  Fifteen.

  Sixteen.

  Seventeen.

  Eighteen.

  Nineteen.

  Twenty.

  Twenty-One.

  Twenty-Two.

  Twenty-Three.

  Twenty-Four.

  Twenty-Five.

  Epilogue.

  One.

  Ben

  The bungalow was pink on the outside and an even hotter shade of pink on the inside, but it was mine now, having signed the paperwork an hour earlier with a head full of regret and a shaking hand. My fingers still trembled slightly as I pressed the key into the loose doorknob, the handle nearly coming apart beneath them.

  I’d dumped nearly all of my savings into the down payment on the salmon shack before me, but when Shari (my oh-so-bubbly real estate agent) had turned the knob and fanned the dust away with her long coral gel nails, I’d just known. This was the one.

  It had no real yard to speak of—just some mulch the color of pencil shavings to cover up whatever disaster lay beneath. A rusted-out crooked mailbox once resembling a flamingo. A turquoise crackle-painted door against pink stucco walls with a welcome mat circa nineteen-who-the-fuck-knows. Dead potted palm plants and tiki statues leaning against every surface.

  The interior was all pink—different hues in almost every room—but the rooms were spacious and those walls… well, they could be painted. My wish list for Shari included three bedrooms. Not three kinda-sorta bedrooms either—I had looked at dozens of houses in Indian Harbour Beach that had advertised three bedrooms, which seemed to be code for two small bedrooms and a large closet. I was a newcomer to the Sunshine State and would have guests (or at least I hoped I would) coming to visit, so I needed a guest room. I also worked from home and needed an office space big enough to house my captioning equipment, a large desk, and my favorite napping sofa.

  This place had—well—everything on my list, including a small wading pool out back. I’d never had a pool in my life growing up in Kansas. Matter of fact, none of my friends had pools. The thought was fucking depressing. So, here I was, thirty-five years old, squealing over my first real pool, even if it was twelve-by-sixteen, the water barely grazing my hips. Nevertheless, I was resourceful and that tiny pool made my eyes light up when I saw it.

  But the main reason I needed that place was the distance from a certain special lady in my life. My Oma Anna had moved to Florida fifteen years earlier with my other grandma, Nancy, finding some deal on a little condo in Indialantic. Grandma Nancy had struggled with breast cancer for years and both of them were convinced that warm weather and the ocean would heal her flagging spirits. It worked for a while—nearly ten years—before Grandma Nancy’s cancer made a comeback after a somewhat long remission and took her away from Oma Anna (and our family) forever.

  Oma wasn’t the same now. There were days where she woke up and couldn’t remember where she lived. My mother tried to no avail to get her to return to Topeka, but her life and her love was on that coast and she’d never leave. So, Mom had been forced to sell Oma Anna’s condo and help move her into a small assisted living facility a few months back.

  My parents couldn’t move to Florida to be nearer to her. Their jobs were in Kansas. They had a house and a life and they actually liked Topeka. I, on the other hand, needed some change.

  Sure, I had Zach. I’d met him on Match and he was lovely. He developed websites and worked from home as well, so that worked out great… at the beginning. He’d divide his time between his apartment and mine, but after a few months or so, most of his things mysteriously found their way into my place—every nook in that cramped apartment filled with glossy fashion magazines and overpriced, trendy clothes that would be out of style in six months anyway.

  When I’d told him about Oma Anna, Zach had reacted as I’d expected. What was he going to do? Where was he going to live? He’d tossed his hands up and paced the length of the living room while mumbling about how I never took him into consideration about anything. After I’d suggested he go back to his old apartment, he bit his lip and admitted he’d sublet it when “things were going so well for us.”

  Now, there he was, back at my apartment in Topeka with a month left on my lease—I had no intention of signing another—while our entire relationship hung in the balance. It seemed as though Zach was more concerned about a sleeping arrangement rather than actually working it out, but he had called a few times while I’d been on the road. And he had said some sweet things—how he’d missed me, how our bed felt empty—and I had felt something for him. Somehow, he could always apologize and whisper something dirty in my ear and I was gone—I was a sucker for the dirty talk—but it couldn’t work this time. We were apart, so there was no chance that a kiss on the neck or a quick blowjob in the shower could fix things between us. We’d have to do this the old fashioned way… by communicating. Long distance.

  As I set my keys down, I dug into the only bag I’d brought in with me and retrieved my phone charger. I plugged it into the nearest outlet on the kitchen counter before several things happened at once: a loud pop, some sort of ping!, a flash, a small burst of flame, a hint of smoke, the absence of all light, and the once-mauve wallpaper surrounding the outlet now a sort of blackened horror.

  “Holy shit!” I yelled before tugging my charger from the wall with a quick yank.

  I stared at the wall again—mouth agape in shock—before quickly dialing the phone with a shaky hand and lifting it to my ear. After a few rings, my mother picked up, her voice a welcome distraction from the sinister scent of charred paper and plastic that surrounded me.

  “Hi, sweetie. Did you finally make it?” she asked. “How’s Oma?”

  “I… I actually haven’t made it there quite yet. I had an accident.”

  “An accident?” Her voice bubbled in panic. “Are you
okay?”

  I waved my hand in front of my face as though she could see me. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s the new house. I… I plugged in my phone and the wall… I don’t know… it just sort of… popped. There was like this flame thingy and there was smoke or whatever. I think the wiring might be bad.”

  She took a breath and let it out, breathing into the receiver. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were hurt. Okay, well, that’s fixable. Just call someone.”

  “Like who?” I asked.

  She let out a sweet laugh and said sarcastically, “Um, like an electrician, sweetheart. I’m sure they have those in Florida. Just get on your phone and find one on one of those sites that rate people or whatever.”

  “Jesus, I just bought this rat trap. Already I need to sink more money into it?”

  “The house is older, Benji. You didn’t buy a newer one like your Dad and I suggested, so—”

  I sighed. “I couldn’t afford a new one, Mom. Houses with this much square footage in this area are hard to come by. I just figured with a little paint and some decent furniture, I’d be good to go for a while. I can’t really afford to sink a bunch of cash into this place already.”

  “It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice. You can’t just plug your coffee maker in and hope you don’t blow up on a daily basis.” She took a small pause. “You should’ve bought that condo your dad and I—”

  “Ugh, Mom. Again with the fucking condo. I told you… I—”

  “I know. You wanted a yard.” She said the word with such disdain; I could practically feel her eye roll from over a thousand miles away. “That’s ridiculous, Ben. What do you need a yard for? You want to mow a yard in ninety-degree heat?”

  “There’s no grass to mow,” I told her. “It’s just mulch and rock or whatever, you know? I just have to weed it occasionally. Besides, there’s the pool. And when you come to visit, you can feel like you’re at a spa.”

  “Mmm,” she teased, “a spa with a possible fire violation.”

  I stared at the wall again, breathing in a breath of frustration. “Fine. I’ll find someone. Ugh. I hate this place already.”

  “No you don’t,” she said with another laugh. “You love it. Just wait until the moving truck gets there with all of your stuff and you’ll finally feel like it’s yours, okay?”

  “Half of my stuff is still back in Topeka. I couldn’t leave him with nothing,” I mumbled, referring to Zach.

  “Is that still happening?” she groaned. “Benji, I love you, but Zach took advantage of that situation and you know it. He didn’t even want to go to Florida with you.”

  “I never asked, Mom.”

  “You what?”

  “I never asked,” I admitted. “I told him I was moving to be closer to Oma and that was it. I never asked and he never offered. I mean, it’s been less than a year since we started dating. Ugh… it’s not like I could ask him to uproot his life and I wasn’t even sure he’d actually want to, you know?”

  “Honey, you were his life. If he didn’t have you, what would he have?”

  I thought about it for a moment. Besides his stay-at-home job and the few friends that he did have, he spent most of his time with me. She was right in a way, but I couldn’t let my mind wander to the what-could-have-beens. This new chapter I was delving into was mine. If we were going to continue to build on what little relationship we did have, we’d have to see if it could work from thirteen-hundred miles away before I was going to make any life-changing decisions. When I’d mentioned Florida, it didn’t even seem to be an option for him. Immediately, he’d looked disappointed, but not for the reasons that I’d needed him to.

  I’d needed him to fight for me and he hadn’t.

  “I’m not going to think about that right now. Right now, I need to focus on this electrical crap and buy a bed.”

  “You gave him your bed?” she squealed.

  “Mom,” I groaned.

  “Okay, okay. Just… one thing at a time. Call someone about that wiring first. Sleep on the sofa tonight and go shop for a bed tomorrow, alright?”

  “Alright. I love you. And tell Dad I love him too, okay?” I smiled into the phone, waiting for her normal response.

  “We love you, too, Benji-bear.”

  “Solomon Electric,” a gruff voice answered. “This is Walt. How can I help you?”

  “Yes, hi. I’m calling because I have maybe a bit of an emergency. I moved into a new place today and I went to plug something into the wall and there was like a pop and a flame shot out and some smoke and the lights went out? Now it’s just sort of black around the socket and I’m not sure if it’s just that outlet or if the wiring is bad in the whole place or if it’s just that area. Anyway, I was hoping that someone could come out and take a look at it?” I rambled, gnawing on my thumbnail.

  “Alright, let me see.” I heard the sound of slow tapping on a keyboard and a mumbled curse before he came back onto the line. “I can send someone out maybe ‘round three. Maybe closer to four. Will that work?”

  I was beyond thankful that it was within that day’s business hours and not the following week. Nodding into the phone, I blurted, “That would be perfect. Thank you so much.”

  Now, I had five hours to kill in a dark, quiet house with nothing to do but wait.

  Two.

  Jesse

  I was running late. I hated being late, but my father always booked more appointments than we could handle, something I was constantly getting on him about. We’d had a call earlier that morning that should’ve been booked for the next day, but he’d said some kid sounded frantic, so he’d scheduled him into a nonexistent slot around three, making my day last at least two hours longer than I’d intended.

  Now, as I sat in my truck with the afternoon heat bearing down on my arm like a hammer, staring up at a pink stucco bungalow with a bright blue door, I dreaded whatever the fuck awaited me on the other side.

  Before I could even knock, the door flung open to reveal a man—not a kid—standing opposite me, a trickle of sweat dripping down the side of his slender, smooth face. He was maybe early-thirties with a pale complexion—possibly not from these parts—with a shock of overgrown baby blonde hair tucked behind one ear. I swallowed thickly as I glanced into (pissed off) crystal-blue eyes before glimpsing back down at my paperwork.

  “Mister… uh… Watts?”

  “It’s five-thirty,” he groaned, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “You were supposed to be here at three. My breaker is tripped or whatever and nothing works and it’s like… kind of dark in here.”

  I smiled into my clipboard before clearing my throat and looking back up at him with a business-like expression. “My apologies, sir. The last client took longer than expected. And you were a double-booking. My dad… he… never mind.” I scratched my beard before extending my hand. “I’m Jesse Solomon.”

  His small hand practically got lost inside mine—nearly double the size—giving me a quick but firm shake. The irritation was still there as he tugged it away quickly. “Ben Watts.” He gestured to the kitchen with a huff and said, “I guess you may as well come in now.” Pointing to the wall, Ben said, “That’s it there. It just popped. There was like a little fire.”

  The house was empty other than a set of keys, a red-and-black checkered duffle bag, and a watered-down iced coffee filling the narrow laminate counter.

  “A little fire?” I asked, glancing over at him.

  Ben nervously chewed on a thumbnail for a few seconds before placing his hands on his slim hips. “Uh huh,” he muttered. That same thumb he’d had wrapped around his pink lips a second earlier absentmindedly traced over the front of really skimpy white shorts that anyone would have a hard time not noticing. “And like smoke or whatever.”

  Ben was fucking adorable, hands moving up to fan imaginary fumes from his face. It took all of my strength to stay focused on the task, but I moved closer for an examination.

  “Well, looks like you’ve got a loose re
ceptacle and an old box. My guess is that the hot lug hit the side of the box.”

  He frowned and slowly turned to face me. “What do those words mean?”

  “That means that, uh…”—God, he’s fucking cute—“I’m gonna need to remove the old receptacle and just make sure that the wires haven’t been removed by the short. Then I’ll, uh,”—Get it together, Solomon—“check the box to make sure there isn’t a hole in it. If, um, everything looks good,”—Jesus, quit touching your tongue to that thumbnail—“I’ll just, uh, test for continuity, replace the receptacle… and then, uh, turn the breaker back on and make sure everything’s alright. Should be a pretty simple fix.”

  Ben breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. How much, do you think?”

  I tapped my clipboard once. “Just the cost of the service call plus parts.”

  “Ugh, I could kiss you,” he returned, clapping his hands together. “I mean, thank you. This is such great news.”

  I struggled not to crack a smile, hiding my amusement by scratching my beard with the cap from my pen. “Got a basement?”

  “Um, yeah. I mean, I’ve only been down there once, I think, but I’m pretty sure the panel thingie is down there.”

  This Ben wasn’t typically my type, though I wasn’t sure what my type actually was. I hadn’t actually dated many men, choosing to satiate my needs via apps rather than to take them out on actual “dates,” but I liked him. I liked his semi-pissy attitude and his near-vulgar shorts highlighting the perfect outline of his ass cheeks as he walked down the stairs. I liked the way he constantly held his fingers near his lips like it was a nervous habit. The way he sucked in a breath before almost every sentence like he was about to say “oh my God!” before it started. He was effeminate and that wasn’t me, but… I liked it. And that was—well, shit—that was trouble.

  “I just need to turn off the circuit here,” I explained. “Then we can go back up and I’ll replace that box, alright?”