The Handyman's Dream (26 page)

Ed drove there contemplating the possible expense, not to mention being truck-free for a few days. Fortunately the bulk of his clients were within walking distance of his house, Porterfield not being any sprawling metropolis. However, carrying his new Christmas toolbox on foot from place to place wasn’t too appealing.

“Isn’t that something,” he mumbled to himself as pulled into Wagner’s lot. “Rick’s back on the street Monday, and I will be, too, swinging a toolbox instead of a mailbag. Go figure.”

He toyed with the idea of trying to borrow Rick’s car during work hours, or even his mother’s, but decided the exercise would do him good. With both Rick and Norma taking turns feeding him these days, he thought his jeans were getting a little tighter than usual. Hoofing it back and forth across Porterfield wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

The service guys at Wagner’s cheerfully took custody of Ed’s truck, assuring him it wouldn’t take more than a few days to take care of the problem. Ed didn’t quite believe them, but decided to take them at their word. He walked south on Main Street, toward downtown Porterfield, grateful that Rick’s car was available for their weekend plans in Fort Wayne.

Ed didn’t have any jobs scheduled until midafternoon, so he took his time walking through town, stopping occasionally to look in store windows.

He paused in front of the Record Rack, debating whether he should spend any money. He wanted to get Judy’s birthday present, and he really did want that Kool & the Gang song, but with truck repairs staring him in the face, he hesitated. Shrugging, he pulled open the door. The records would probably be cheaper at Woolworth’s, but that would mean retracing his steps down Main and heading out of his way on West Commerce Street. Not only that, he liked the aging hippie guy who owned the Record Rack, and wanted to help him keep the struggling store open.

Paper bag of record purchases in hand, he waved good-bye to Andy, the owner, and resumed his walk south. Less than a block away from the post office on the corner of Main and Clark, he noticed with surprise Rick standing in the parking lot behind the building, talking with Gordy Smith. Since Jim Murkland was nowhere in sight, he decided to stop and tell Rick about the truck.

As Ed got closer he saw they were both drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. Gordy sat on the ledge of the stairs at the employees’ entrance, smoking as well. They both looked up as Ed approached. They had obviously been sharing a good laugh, as they were both still chuckling, Gordy choking a bit on the cigarette smoke.

“Hey, Ed,” Gordy greeted him, still wheezing a bit. “Long time no see. Where’s that big bad pickup of yours?”

Gordy, who had to be past thirty now, Ed thought, still had his football player’s build, but seemed to be growing a comfortable beer belly. Ed, like any good gay man, noted that Gordy was still blond, blue-eyed, and handsome; the cheerful smile that had driven the girls crazy in high school was as bright as ever.

“Just left it at Wagner’s.” Ed reached for Gordy’s outstretched hand for a good shake. “God only knows when I’ll see it again.”

“What’s up with it?” Gordy asked, taking another drag.

“Heater,” Ed said with a rueful grin.

“Aw, man. And in January? That sucks.” Gordy chuckled.

“I guess you’re driving us to the city for the movies this weekend,” Ed said to Rick.

“No sweat.” Rick smiled at him.

The three of them continued to talk casually for a few minutes. Ed was about to take off for home when the employees’ door banged open and Jim Murkland walked out. He took in the three men at the bottom of the steps, and the nasty grin that Ed remembered so well from high school spread across his face.

“Well, look who’s here,” Jim said snidely. “If it isn’t Benton’s boyfriend. What you two gonna do, go buy some new dresses on your lunch hour?”

Gordy rolled his eyes at Jim. “Oh, can it, Murkland.”

Rick stared Jim down. “No dresses today. Actually, I’m gonna get you a muzzle.”

Gordy snickered. Ed probably would have, too, but just seeing that flat, squinty-eyed face again irritated him so much he felt his hands draw into fists.

“And a leash, too,” Ed found himself saying. “Isn’t there somewhere around here where dorks like him can be tied up?”

Gordy looked at Ed in approval, while Jim blinked at him. It was probably the first comeback he’d ever gotten from Ed, and Ed was well aware of it. He was no longer a skinny, scared sixteen-year-old, and he wasn’t intimidated by the Jim Murklands of the world anymore.

“Save the leash for yourself,” Jim said to Ed. “I understand you guys are into all that bondage shit. Which one of you says ‘yes, master’ anyway?”

“Probably the one who wins the coin toss for beating the shit out of losers like you,” Ed fired back at him.

“Ed, cool it,” Rick murmured.

“Aw, ithn’t that thweet. Ricky’s protecting his boyfriend—no, his girlfriend.” Jim sneered. “That doesn’t surprise me. You never were worth a shit in school, Stephens.”

Gordy erupted into laughter. “And you were, Murkland? Shee-it. Why don’t you go crawl back in your hole?”

“Because one of these two, or probably both of ’em, would crawl in after me. Watch it, Gord. You aren’t safe with these two.”

“I can’t imagine a gay man in this world wanting anything to do with you,” Rick said calmly. “From what I hear around town, the women aren’t too crazy about you either.”

Rick definitely hit a sore spot. Jim’s mouth tightened a moment before it opened for his next assault. “Least I’m not some fuckin’ fairy. Like you two. Say, which one of you takes it up the ass anyway?”

Rick and Gordy looked stunned, but Ed’s brown eyes were darkening with fury. Images of himself meekly taking Jim’s put-downs and insults all through his school years flashed through his mind. There was no way in hell, or at least in Porterfield, that he was going to take it anymore. His father had taught him a thing or two about using his fists, and he suddenly knew the time had come to see if the lessons had stuck.

“Murkland,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve had it with you.” He put his bag of records against the steps. “Get that ugly mug of yours down here so I can pound it into the parking lot. So help me God, when I’m done it’s gonna be even uglier.”

Jim snickered. “You? Beat me up? With those limp wrists?” He leaned against the post office wall, sneering at Ed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Well, I don’t see you moving, Jim,” Gordy said. “You afraid of him? Those wrists don’t look very limp to me. In fact, Ed works a lot harder than you do. I’ll lay down five bucks says he can put you in Porterfield General without too much effort.”

“Me too,” Rick said, surprising Ed to no end. “But let’s make it ten.”

“Hell, twenty,” Gordy roared. “Easy money. C’mon, Murky. Let’s see whatcha got.” Gordy hopped down from his perch on the stairs, flipping away his cigarette. He looked up at Jim. “Ya know, Murkland,” he said, suddenly serious, “I’d love nothing more than to shut that trap of yours for good, so what Ed can’t finish, I will.”

Jim looked back at the three of them, blinking. He couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say. Ed was about to start up the steps toward him when the door banged open again and Porterfield postmaster Don Hoffmeyer walked out. Don—graying, paunchy, and granite-faced—surveyed the men in the parking lot, hands on big hips. He turned to look at Jim.

“Everything okay out here, boys?” he asked.

“Aw, hell, Don, we’re just enjoying our coffee break,” Gordy said cheerfully. “You got your smokes on you? I left mine inside.”

“Jim?” Don asked, ignoring Gordy.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jim muttered.

“Well, then, why don’t you get back to work?” Don said to Jim. “I haven’t seen too much action out of you today. And I don’t see you drinking any coffee. How ’bout it?”

With one last defeated glare at the men standing below him, Jim yanked open the door and vanished inside. Ed, fists still clenched, realized how hard his heart was beating. He was both disappointed and relieved at the same time.

“Hi, there, Ed,” Don said, nodding pleasantly. “Good to see you. How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s just fine, Don,” Ed said, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Same old Mom, bitchin’ up a storm about the cold weather.”

Don chuckled. “Well, that’s about what’d I’d expect from Norma. You tell her I said hello. That oughta get her good and riled up.” His eyes traveled from Ed to Rick. “I understand,” he said after a moment, “that you two are getting to be pretty good friends.”

Ed, wondering if Don was just making conversation, looked him right in the eye. “Yes, Rick and I have gotten close here lately.”

Don’s eyebrows went up a bit, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke. “I always said Tim Stephens raised a good son,” he finally said. “And Rick here is the best thing to happen to this post office full of goldbrickers in a long time.” He looked at Gordy pointedly, who just smirked back at him. “You two go on being friends. Nothing wrong with that. But for the sake of my ulcer,” he continued, looking back at the door, obviously indicating Jim, “try to keep it away from the office. Okay?”

Rick nodded. “No problem, Don.”

“Ed, take care,” Don said, nodding at him. “You two, I’ll see you inside later.” He pulled open the door and walked back in the building.

The three men stared at the closing door, then at each other. Gordy started to laugh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about Murkland anymore, Rick. You either, Ed. I’ve never seen him raise a fist in his life. All blow and no show. What an asshole.”

“He can talk, though,” Rick said, looking at the ground. “He’s not here twenty-four hours a day.”

“Hell,” Gordy said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Shit, Rick, Ed here can tell you that no one’s listened to a word Murk the Jerk’s said in years. He wouldn’t even be working here if Don didn’t have such a soft heart. I think Don just keeps him around as a favor to Jim’s dad. They were in the war together. Besides, this may be Porterfield, but no one’s gonna mess with Ed Stephens. Or his boyfriend. Hell, I’ll see to that.”

Ed and Rick glanced at each other uncomfortably.

“Now, Gordy,” Rick started.

Gordy held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t sweat it. Hell, for once in his worthless life, Murkland was right. I can see that. But shit, Ed,” he said, winking, “I wish I’d known before Rick showed up. He would have had some competition.”

Ed looked at Gordy in amazement.

“Sure.” Gordy’s eyes twinkled at them both. “You know, Rick, there are a lot of secrets in this town. Some are just kept better than others.” He slapped them both on the back, then bounded up the stairs into the post office.

Ed looked at Rick. Rick looked at Ed.

“How ’bout that?” Rick finally remarked. “This town never ceases to amaze me.”

* * * * *

That night they sat in Ed’s living room, rehashing the events at the post office. Ed was shaking his head, still marveling at Gordy Smith’s revelation.

“I’ve known that guy most of my life, and I never guessed, never suspected. Of course, I sure wasn’t looking at him that way. I never had a reason to.”

Rick stretched out happily, the week’s tension ebbing away. “Well, it just goes to show, we don’t all have limp wrists, girlish voices, or funny walks.”

“Oh, I don’t know, darlin’,” Ed teased him. “You were walking pretty funny when your back was out.”

Rick began tickling him in revenge. Ed laughed and struggled away from him.

“It’s cool, though, about Gordy, isn’t it? Maybe we can invite him over sometime. It would be great to have another friend here in town. Glen and I don’t seem to have much in common anymore. Well,” he conceded with a grin, “not that we ever did, really, but I’ve always liked Gordy a lot, even if I don’t know shit about football.”

“We can do something with Gordy as long as he keeps his hands off you,” Rick said firmly. “I saw the way he was looking at you today.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Ed told him. “I’ll take a tall, dark, bearded mailman over a blond ex-football player any day.”

Rick pulled Ed back to him for a hug. “And I’ll take my sandy-haired handyman who’s not afraid to defend himself. Or me.”

“Really?” Ed looked at him speculatively. “I was afraid you’d get all pissed off at me for threatening Jim like that. I was just so mad. Thing is, though, I was more mad for myself than I was for you.”

“I know that. And that’s why I wasn’t pissed off.” Rick kissed him. “I was so proud of you. Proud that you’d stand up for yourself, and even for me if you had to. Don was right. Tim Stephens did raise a good son.”

“Speaking of Don,” Ed said, basking in Rick’s pride, “do you s’pose he figured us out? I couldn’t tell.”

“Me either. And I don’t care. He made it clear he respects my work, and for now, that’s all that’s important. I think Jimmy Jerk Murkland has a much better chance of losing his job than I do.”

“Ah,” Ed said, thinking back, “I wish I could have gotten one good punch in.”

“Cool it, Muhammad Ali,” said Rick, his troubled look returning to his face. “Save it for when you need it. Unfortunately, you may really need it some day. Jim Murkland isn’t the only fag-hater in this town. Despite what Gordy said, Jim can talk, and if he wanted to, he could stir up trouble for us.”