The Handyman's Dream (10 page)

“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.

Glen and Michael watched this with a great deal of curiosity, but when it became clear that Rick had no desire to pursue the subject in front of them, they settled for exchanging the smug smiles of people who have a lot of speculation to do later in the evening.

Rick turned his attention to the couple across the table. “Well, how ’bout that! How’d you two happen to meet? Can you beat that story?”

* * * * *

“Now that was a trip,” Rick said once they were back in Ed’s truck.

They had said their good-byes with Glen and Michael in the parking lot. Glen and Michael were on their way to Carlton’s, but Rick had begged off, as he had to be at work Saturday morning.

“Hope to hell that boy has his fake ID on him. Twenty-five, my ass! He can’t be a day over nineteen.”

“Well, Glen likes ’em young.” Ed was just relieved the evening was over.

“Man,” Rick snorted. “How he can cram that much pretension into that skinny little body is beyond me. I can just see him ten years from now, duking it out with Craig the server for the title of most refined gay man in Fort Wayne.”

Ed howled with laughter. “Oh, man. Can’t you just see them clawing and hissing at each other, trying to claim the crown for Miss Pretentious 1990?” He shook a limp wrist in Rick’s face.

“Let’s face it, baby. We were both losers in high school, and we’re still losers, trying to fit in with that kind of gay men. I think we belong in Porterfield.”

Ed, taking advantage of the dark parking lot, gave Rick a quick kiss. “I never knew being a loser could feel so good.”

Rick grabbed Ed for a more serious kiss. “I still can’t believe you got him to send you that letter, just so you could meet me. I can’t even say how touched I am that you would do that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ed shrugged. “I was embarrassed. I guess I didn’t want you to know how anxious I was to meet you.”

“But, baby, don’t you see? That letter brought us together. I wouldn’t have recognized you at Carlton’s that night if I hadn’t’ve given you that letter the day before, and I know you well enough already to know you wouldn’t have approached me in that bar, right?”

“Probably not,” Ed muttered, feeling his face go red again.

“So it worked. It was sheer genius! Why, if you hadn’t’ve done it, we’d both probably be sitting at home alone tonight in Porterfield, feeling sorry for ourselves. Instead, here we are, outside this pretentious, overpriced fish shack, me digesting some of the worst salmon I ever ate, and you still ready to clobber that damned server with a wine bottle.”

Ed looked at him for a moment, then broke into more howling laughter. Rick joined him, and they both laughed so hard they steamed up the windshield.

“Oh, man,” Ed gasped. “We gotta cut this out, or I’ll never be able to drive us home.”