The Handyman's Dream (21 page)

* * * * *

On Christmas Eve, Ed sat glumly in front of the TV, dressed for the trip to Crestland with his mother, killing time until he needed to leave. He was watching a rerun of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. It was a Christmas episode, and he couldn’t say it was doing much for his mood. First Mary was told she had to work on Christmas Day, ruining her plans to spend the day with her parents. Then, after making plans to spend Christmas Eve with Rhoda, a co-worker conned her into working his Christmas Eve shift, meaning she had to cancel her plans with Rhoda and spend the evening alone in the newsroom.

“Terrific! Wonderful!”Rhoda hollered. “You get me all hyped up for Christmas Eve and then you run out like this. What am I supposed to do, stand out in the snow and light matches?”

“I hear ya, Rhoda,” Ed said to the TV.

“Rhoda, will ya please?”Mary pleaded. “This has been a rough week, and the worst part is just about to begin.”

“I’m with ya, Mary,” Ed said.

The fade-out was on Mary, standing alone in her kitchen, surrounded by her Christmas decorations, eating a peanut butter sandwich. The commercial came on, and Ed suddenly realized he had tears running down his face.

“Aw, crud,” he whispered, wiping them away. He glanced over at the Christmas tree. There was Frosty, smiling at him as usual.

The episode resumed, ending happily with Lou, Murray, and Ted surprising Mary in the newsroom, rescuing her from a Christmas Eve alone.

“Boy, I wish,” Ed muttered.

Suddenly he stood up, looking at the tree. He walked over and gently placed his hand around Frosty.

“I know this is stupid. But, Frosty? Bring him back to me, okay? I lied. Just knowing he loves me and wants to be with me next Christmas isn’t enough. I really need him here tonight.”

The phone rang, and Ed was so startled he almost pulled Frosty off the tree. His heart beating a little faster, he went to answer it.

“Ed?” Norma barked. “Where are you? It’s time to go. You know how your aunt Eleanor will act if we’re late to dinner.”

“I’m coming right over, Mom,” he said, sighing.

He clicked off the TV, then turned off the Christmas tree lights. Pulling on his coat, he looked around the dark, quiet room.

“Well. So much for wishes.”

* * * * *

Ed returned late that evening, now grateful for the quiet house after an evening spent with family. His aunt Eleanor was the only person he knew who could outtalk his mother. Still, it hadn’t been a bad evening, and except for one painful moment on the way home, when “Merry Christmas, Darling” came on the radio, Ed felt much more at peace and had finally accepted the fact that Rick was over a hundred miles away on Christmas Eve.

He crawled into bed, hoping that sleep would come to his immediate rescue. Ed was about to drift off when his eyes suddenly flew open. What was that sound? “Santa Claus?” he whispered. He sat up, listening intently. Yes, there it was again, a light tapping. It sounded like someone was knocking on the back door.

He flashed on Mary Richards, alone in the newsroom, thinking she was on the verge of being murdered when she heard the elevator roar to life.

“Don’t tell me Lou and Murray have come to visit,” he muttered as he got out bed.

He pulled on his robe and walked through the living room, where the Christmas tree ornaments were shining in the dim street light coming through the windows. He cautiously approached the back door, wishing it had a window. He fumbled with the knob, then slowly opened the door.

Rick stood on the walk.

Ed blinked. Then blinked again. Yes, it really was Rick, his arms around a big, gift-wrapped box, grinning at Ed like an idiot.

“Surprise,” Rick called out softly.

Ed fumbled the storm door open and threw himself at Rick, somehow managing to get his arms around Rick and the box he was holding. He felt the stinging cold of the cement walk on his bare feet, but he didn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, his face against Rick’s beard.

“December twenty-sixth just wasn’t good enough, baby.” He gently pushed Ed’s face away from his and looked right into Ed’s eyes. “Merry First Christmas,” he said.

* * * * *

A few minutes later they were sitting on the sofa. Ed had let go of Rick only long enough to plug in the Christmas tree lights, and for Rick to take off his coat and deposit the box he was carrying under the tree.

“How did you know?” Ed said, practically pulling Rick into his lap. “How did you know that all I wanted tonight was to be with you?”

“Simple,” Rick answered, that idiot’s grin still on his face. “Because it was the only thing I really wanted. All the way to Indy I kept wanting to turn back. The kids were fighting in the backseat, and Claire kept messing with the radio. I think I heard ‘White Christmas’ about forty-seven times. And all I could do was wish I was back here, spending Christmas with the cutest handyman in Porterfield, Indiana.

“Well,” he continued, stroking Ed’s hair, “we had been at Mom and Dad’s for a couple of hours when Mom dragged me off to the kitchen. She wanted to know what was the matter with me. I lied and said that nothing was wrong, I was just tired, but she didn’t believe me. She finally got me to admit that I was missing you, that I wanted to spend at least part of Christmas with you. Then she let me have it. She said that I should have said something weeks ago, and that I took family responsibility too far sometimes. Next thing I know, she was all but marching me out to the car, telling me to come back late tomorrow afternoon to pick up Claire and the kids, and to drive safely, and not break any speed limits.”

“Did you? Break speed limits, I mean?”

“Well, maybe one or two. Mom also insisted that I bring you down to Indy on my next day off. She wants to see the man who’s got me so stirred up.”

“Are you, darlin’, stirred up?”

“Like a very bad martini.” Rick laughed. “Oh, but I feel better now. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my whole life than I do right now.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Ed said. “Hey! I’ll have to call Laurie in the morning and tell her to set another place at the table. Man, won’t they be surprised.” He shook his head. “But no way, no way, as surprised as I am. And happy. Darlin’, I am so happy right now I could . . . I could . . . hell, I don’t know,” he ended helplessly.

“For starters, how ’bout a kiss for Santa Rick?”

“No problem,” Ed said, reaching for him. “No problem.”

Even for Ed and Rick it was a long kiss. Neither one of them seemed quite ready to let go, but finally Rick pulled away.

“Hey, enough of this. Don’t you want to see what Santa brought you?”

“Besides you?” Ed laughed. “What else do I need?”

“That big box under the tree is for you, you goof. C’mon, I’m dying for you to open it.”

Ed got up and went to tree. He paused for a moment, smiling at Frosty.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“What?” Rick asked from the sofa.

“Oh, nothing.”

Ed thought that maybe he’d wait until next year to tell Rick about his wish with Frosty. He got down on his knees, but instead of picking up his gift, he pulled out the box containing Rick’s present.

“Here. Open yours first, okay?”

Rick frowned at him, taking the box. “After all that shit about how I couldn’t shake it or anything, you’re gonna let me go first? Okay, okay.”

He tore the paper from the gift. He opened the box and pulled out the denim jacket.

“Oh, wow,” he softly exclaimed, getting up to try it on. “I love it, baby. I just love it.”

“Well,” said Ed, admiring Rick in the jacket, “you can’t really wear it too much for a few months.”

“Who cares? I’ll wear it anyway. The hell with the cold!. I’ll look too great to care.”

Rick buttoned up the jacket, then headed for the bedroom to see himself in the mirror.

“It’s great,” he said, walking back into the living room. “Thanks, baby. I really love it. But now it’s your turn.”

He stooped by the tree and shoved the box he’d brought with him over to Ed.

Ed slowly unwrapped the box, trying to make the suspense last as long as possible. He uncovered a box so tightly sealed he had to get the scissors to open it. Once he had it open, he pulled out a deluxe toolbox, just the kind he wanted, but hadn’t allowed himself to buy.

“What do you think, baby?” Rick asked softly.

“It’s . . . it’s wonderful.” Ed looked at the toolbox in his lap. “Green too. My favorite color.”

“Hey, you think that was some kinda coincidence?” Rick hugged him. “But you need to open it. See what’s inside.”

Ed frowned, shaking the toolbox. It sure seemed empty to him. But he unfastened the lid anyway. It was empty. He looked up at Rick questioningly.

“Look inside the lid,” Rick commanded with a smile.

Ed did, and his mouth fell open in surprise. Attached to the inside of the lid was a gold plate, the sort used on trophies. It read:

FOR THE CUTEST HANDYMAN

IN PORTERFIELD, INDIANA

LOVE, RICK

Ed looked up at Rick. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Rick wiped a few tears away from Ed’s eyes. “You don’t have to cry about it,” he said softly, stroking Ed’s face. “But”—Ed heard a catch in Rick’s voice—“I just might join you.”

Ed reached out to Rick’s face and wiped away a few tears himself. “Hell, if we’re so happy, why are we crying?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.” Rick gathered Ed in his arms, and they sat quietly for a moment, enjoying their first Christmas together.

“How’d I get so lucky?” asked Ed, his gaze moving from Frosty on the tree to Rick. “How did we get so lucky?”

Rick was quiet for a long time, then he smiled. “Beats me. I guess sometimes you just get lucky.”

Chapter Fourteen

Ed, finishing the dinner dishes, lip-synched to “Lady Willpower,” which was blasting from the stereo in the living room. Using a spatula as a microphone, he silently belted the lyrics to the kitchen window, wishing for the millionth time that he had Gary Puckett’s voice. As the song faded out he hollered into the living room, “Hey, play that one again.”

“No,” Rick yelled back. “I’m making a tape, remember?”

“Aw, crud. I swear for a moment there I really was Gary Puckett.”

Ed walked into the living room. He looked at Rick, who was fiddling with the cassette player/recorder on Ed’s stereo, then at the mess on the floor.

“Geez, it looks like a record store exploded in here.”

Almost all of his 45s, it seemed, were scattered across the carpet. Rick was recording the ones he liked best onto a cassette for an Indianapolis road trip they had planned for the next day.

When Rick returned on Christmas Eve with the message that his mother wanted to meet the man who had stolen her son’s heart, Ed had known they’d be making the drive soon. With Norma for a mother, Ed was used to obeying a mother’s commands, so on this Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s, they were preparing for the visit, Rick’s third round trip to Indianapolis in less than a week.

“After this one, I think I’ll be able to drive I-69 blindfolded,” Rick had said.

Normally Ed would be thrilled with the idea of a spending an entire day with Rick, and the idea of getting out of town for a day had its own appeal. However, Ed had to admit he felt more dread than anticipation about this trip.

“They’re going to love you, maybe not as much as I do, but it’s going to be fine. I promise,” Rick had reassured him over and over, but Ed was nervous, and knew he would be until it was over.

Trying to shove the impending trip from his mind, Ed bent over and began stacking the records.

“Okay, if I can’t hear Gary Puckett and the Union Gap again, what are you going to play?” he asked.

“Ah,” Rick said, settling a record on the turntable. “Perfect.” He clicked the recorder on just before the song began to play. “And this one,” he said, turning to Ed, “is dedicated to you, from me.”

Ed recognized the opening chords of “This Guy’s in Love with You” by Herb Alpert.

“May I have this dance, sir?” Rick asked, standing up and opening his arms.

Ed stepped into Rick’s arms. Moving away from the records on the floor, they swayed slowly to the rhythm of the song, holding each other close.

“I haven’t heard this song in years,” Rick murmured into Ed’s ear. “It sure says what I feel about you, though.”

Rick began singing along with Herb, and Ed had to admit that Rick couldn’t sing any better than Ed himself could. Still, having the man he loved sing a mushy song into his ear, off-key or not, was something he’d only dreamed about until Rick came along.

“Why don’t they play this stuff on the radio anymore?” Rick whispered.

“Probably ’cause we’re the only ones who want to hear them,” Ed answered, giggling.

“We just have better taste than the average radio listener. That’s why I’m making a tape for this trip. I am going to drive triumphantly into Indianapolis, with the cutest handyman in Porterfield, Indiana, by my side, and the music I heard when I dreamed about finding someone like him will be playing. Loudly. I may even blow the speakers in my car. I want everybody on East Fifty-seventh Street to know the kid with the zits finally got lucky.”

“So are we at the senior prom right now?” Ed asked, imagining Rick and himself dancing across the Porterfield High gym floor.

“Sure! Let’s pretend there’s a mirror ball right over us.”

“The Christmas tree lights help.”

“Yeah, they do. We need crepe paper streamers across the ceiling, though.”

The song ended, and Ed regretfully let Rick go to pause the recorder.

“I remember hearing that song on the radio back then, summer of ’68, right before my senior year,” Rick said, taking the record off the turntable. “And, oh, I didn’t want to admit it, but I didn’t think about singing it to some girl. I wanted some guy to sing it to me.” Rick sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. “I wish someone could have told that gawky, pimply-faced kid that twelve years later he’d meet this incredible guy in Porterfield, Indiana, and he’d get to dance with him to that song.”

“I know what you mean,” Ed said, reaching for Rick’s hand. “I remember the senior prom and dancing with Cathy Carroll. The prom committee had hired this awful band from Marion, and they were playing the worst rendition of ‘Something’ I’ve ever heard. Cathy was looking over my shoulder at Troy Williams, and I was looking over her shoulder at some guy Debbie Crocker was dating from Fort Wayne. I couldn’t get over how cute he was, and all of a sudden, all those thoughts I’d been trying to avoid about liking boys instead of girls came crashing down on me. I even got a hard-on. I all but dumped Cathy on the dance floor, then ran to the restroom. I hid in there till I thought I could face everyone again, but I knew, right then and there, that I’d never date another girl, even if it meant being alone for the rest of my life.”

Rick squeezed Ed’s hand. “I didn’t even go to my senior prom.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I had dated a few girls in high school, but by the end of senior year I’d pretty much given up on the whole thing. When I told my mom I wasn’t going, she threw a fit, saying I’d regret it all my life if I missed my prom.

“So I lied about it. Rented a tux and told her I had a date with a girl named Paula, who was a friend of a friend and lived across town. I left home, all dressed up, corsage box in hand, and spent the evening driving around town in my beat-up Ford Falcon. I finally ended up in some all-night coffee shop near downtown, drinking coffee and talking with this waitress, who told me not to worry about it, that I’d be so handsome in a few years I’d be beating the girls off with a stick. I was tempted to tell her I didn’t care about the girls, but hoped the boys would feel that way about me. I gave her the corsage, and she wore it through her whole shift.

“I finally drove home about five in the morning, totally wired on coffee, wishing so bad that there was a guy in the car with me. I think that’s the first time I heard ‘Baby, I Love You’ on the radio. Remember when I sang that song to you?”

“I’ll never forget that as long as live,” Ed promised, his arms around Rick.

“When I saw that record I remembered that night and how alone I felt, wondering if I’d ever get to fall in love like other people. Being able to tell you I loved you, and with that song . . . I don’t know . . . it healed something in me, I guess.” Rick shrugged. “High school really sucked, no two ways about it.”

Ed nodded, remembering other high school horrors. “Isn’t it funny, though, how good these songs sound now? You’d think we’d just hate ’em, thinking back on those days, but I like them even more now.”

Rick thought about that. “That is strange, isn’t it? I don’t know. Maybe it’s ’cause we survived all that, and listening to them is . . . healing, like I said.” He shrugged helplessly, looking up at Ed. “You got me. All I know is I love hearing them again, especially with you.”

Ed got on the floor next to Rick and began pawing through the scattered 45s.

“Here,” he said, handing one to Rick. “Now this is a song I always wished I could dance to with another man.”

Rick looked at it and smiled. He put it on the turntable, and soon the sounds of the Association’s “Everything That Touches You” were coming out of the speakers.

“The hell with that tape for right now,” he said, grabbing Ed. “Let’s just dance.”

Holding each other close once again, they moved together, the romantic lyrics of the song weaving a spell that turned two lonely, unhappy teenage boys into two grown men who had finally found the love they had dreamed about.

“I love you so much, baby. Thanks for coming into my life. These old songs, thinking about going home tomorrow, well, I’m just so glad you’re going with me.”

“Do me a favor. Tell that gawky kid with the zits that he became the handsomest man in the world, and that I’m very, very much in love with him.”

“He knows, baby,” Rick said, pulling Ed closer. “And he’s very, very grateful.”

* * * * *

Rick was still stacking 45s on the turntable the next morning while they prepared to leave for Indianapolis. Half-dressed, he was bouncing around the living room, playing air guitar to Deep Purple’s “Hush.”

“Nope,” he said, bounding toward the bathroom, where Ed was shaving. “I never wanted to play basketball, like everyone thought I should. I wanted to be Jimi Hendrix, or maybe Eric Clapton.”

Ed glanced at him. “The way you’re hangin’ out there, darlin’, you remind me more of Jim Morrison.”

“Oh, God,” Rick moaned. “I wanted him so bad. Shit, I think that’s when I knew I liked boys.”

“Yeah? Well, you can light my fire anytime.”

Rick laughed as he headed to the bedroom to finish dressing. “Who’d you wanna be, baby?” he called out.

Ed wiped the lather off his face. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I was more queeny than you. I used to lock the door to my room and lip-synch with all my Supremes records. I thought Diana Ross was the greatest. Still do, for that matter.”

“Oh, hell,” said Rick, pulling up his pants. “I did that, too: The Shangri-Las, Lesley Gore, Dusty Springfield. God, I loved ‘Son-of-a Preacher Man.’ It’s no wonder we both turned out queer.”

“Actually,” Ed said, joining Rick in the bedroom, “I wanted to be Neil Armstrong. I thought the moon landing was so cool. But when I found out how hard it was to become an astronaut, I gave up that idea in a hurry.”

“Hmm. From astronaut to handyman. Oh, well. I’d say you turned out okay.”

“Yeah. And Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison are dead. I guess you turned out okay, too,” Ed said, trying to decide what shirt to wear. He frowned, pushing clothes back and forth in the closet.

Rick came up behind. “Are you worrying about what to wear? Shit, don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is. Here.” He pulled a shirt off a hanger. “I like this one. Now, get dressed already. We need to hit the road.”

The record changer clicked in the living room, and the Guess Who’s “Undun” began to play. Ed sighed. He couldn’t help it. He was feeling a little undone himself at the moment. He so wanted to make a good impression on Rick’s parents, but as usual, he didn’t have enough confidence in himself to think he could pull it off.

“You’d better strap my seat belt on me,” he said to Rick, who was putting on his shoes. “Just in case I try to bail out of the car halfway there.”

Rick rolled his eyes at him. “If it wasn’t seven-thirty in the morning, I’d probably throw a couple shots of vodka down your throat. Maybe that would calm you down.” He got up from the bed and put his arms around Ed. “I told you. They’re just a couple of nice, middle-aged, middle-class, liberal teacher types who want to see the man their son is so crazy about. Hell, for all I know, they’re nervous, too. They survived Jack,” he said, referring to his ex-lover, “and he survived them with no problem. Considering that you’re twice, no, three times the man he is, I know they’re going to like you.”

The mere mention of the name of Rick’s ex sent a pain through Ed. He knew the guy was still somewhere in Indianapolis, and in his gloomier moments he pictured this Jack guy swooping down out of the sky to reclaim Rick.

“Did they like Jack?” Ed asked.

Rick looked undecided about what to say. “Well,” he said hesitantly. “They did and they didn’t. Jack was handsome and charming, and he knew how to behave around someone’s parents, but I don’t think Mom ever really trusted him.” His mouth hardened. “Turned out she was right.”

“Oh, great,” Ed wailed. “Your mom’s gonna hate me, then you’ll think I’m a creep like your ex.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that,” Rick said with disgust. “It just upset you. Now look, Jack was a creep. So, okay, I didn’t see it until it was too late. I was young and stupid, and I thought he loved me. Turned out he couldn’t love me without loving half the other men in Indy. And he couldn’t keep a job, and he totaled my damned car one night and lied about it. I could go on, believe me, but does that sound like you for even one minute?”

Ed buried his face in Rick’s neck. “No.”

“Well, then,” Rick said, stroking Ed’s back. “Sometimes I just wanna paddle you. Just once I wish you’d realize what an incredible guy you are. Everybody likes you. And your clients? I was telling you just a few weeks ago how great they think you are. If you can handle a bunch of cranky old folks, my parents are not going to be a problem.” He gave Ed’s ass a good whack. “Now, do I go get that vodka, or what?”

Ed sighed again. “No. I don’t think I’d make too good of an impression with booze on my breath. But how about a Pepsi for the road, huh? I probably don’t need the caffeine, but it sure would taste good.”

Rick let Ed go with a shake. “Okay. I’ll get us both one. I just wish I had a Valium to put in yours.”

* * * * *

Once they were on the interstate, heading south, Rick put on the cruise control and settled more comfortably in his seat.

“Getting tired of this drive, darlin’?” Ed asked, watching the scenery with interest. He hadn’t been south of Porterfield in quite a while.