The porch door slammed and Thad stomped out and brayed, “Do we have any twine?”
Cringing, my bucolic dream shattered, I snarled and snapped back: “In the linen closet, in the tartan basket.”
“In the what?” he yelled.
“The tartan basket,” I repeated, turning to him with my hands up, gesturingly saying, ‘You frickin’ idiot!’
“The what basket?” he yelled.
“Tartan! Tartan Tar-tan!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, standing. “It means plaid! The twine is in the plaid basket in the closet next to the bathroom!”
With mouth open and eyes bugged he spat, “Gah! Fine!”and then stormed back inside. The screen door slammed behind him.
“Jesus H. Christ!” I muttered, turning with a huff.
My elderly neighbors the Wayans, stood on the sidewalk, out on their morning walk. By the mortified looks on their faces I knew they had heard everything.
“Good morning, Michael.” Mrs. Wayans said with a gentrified tilt to her head. Mr. Wayans said nothing, eyes ahead.
“Morning,” I said, red-faced, turning to make myself busy with my tools.
After they passed, I turned to see a car creep by out in the street. The woman driver wore giant Jackie-O sunglasses and a head scarf. She studied me intently; I frowned at her.
I went back to gardening. It was Saturday morning, and Thad had been slowing moving his stuff for the last four days. Of course he didn’t just move everything out all at once- whip that band-aid off in one great rip-nope, he had to drag it out as he drug everything out. The first day he took flower arrangements, potpourri containers, and cleaning supplies. The second day was monochromatic rugs, bath salts, and one rattan chair he particularly liked. Yesterday, the third day, he took all of his Blue Willow china. Even though this was ‘our’ china (which meant I paid for it, but he loved), he whined around until I told him just to take all of it away. He had spent the rest of the day mooning over it, dusting it, and packing it up in the special padded china covers Ma’am had given him, working with the precision of an Antwerp jeweler.
Today he was working on packing his collection of decorative antique operatic figurines that normally sat in the dining room bay window.
But a cursory glance over the house proved hardly any different at all. That was mainly because Thad had never brought much over. When he had moved in he had brought certain things he liked, and tons and tons of clothes, but everything else from his apartment-like the big furniture- he had just stored over at his parents; and his mother was having all of that delivered to Bettina’s on Monday.
So far he had not spent the night over there, but he had dabbled the greater part of his days away at ‘the new place,’ helping Bettina move in. In the evenings, it had been rather nice to have the house to myself, not having him fidgeting around me as I tried to read or watch TV. We had not spoken of his impending departure since Tuesday, but I was impressed that we were speaking at all.
From down the street I heard blaring disco music and the scrape of a bumper against the ground and knew Bettina was on her way. Her impressive 1978 mint condition candy apple green Monte Carlo whipped into the drive a second later, gay disco blaring. Rolling my eyes I pretended to focus on my gardening. Bettina had been over a lot lately, and her presence was not helping my mood toward Thaddeus one bit.
“Hey there Mike,” she said, pulling herself up and out of the car. She was a tall and beautiful, our age, 40 or so, and elegantly hip. As a hairdresser, her hair changed almost weekly. Today she had on an impressive Angela Davis afro with a multi-colored headband. Last month it had been fake dreads, which she had worn bound atop her head. She wore a pink diamond patterned sleeveless pantsuit and mountainous clogs. No wonder Thad loved her; she was the epitome of fabulousnesses. And in a different life, had I met her first, I could see she and I being the best of friends. But Thad had claimed her, so instead Bettina and I shared an uncomfortable animosity for one another that bordered on professional dislike.
“Morning. You look nice.” I said, rising.
“Yeah, thanks. Just heading up to work. Is T. here?”
“Yeah. He’s inside.” I said.
She called him ‘T,’ a nickname I wish I had thought up, as he loved it.
“The yard looks great,” she said motioning to a host of jonquils with an elephantine clog.
“Thanks. All a good yard takes is a ton of work and a ton of money.”
She laughed, a melodic sound which was not at all unpleasant.
Thad come running outside, “Oh my god! You’re here!” he squealed. “You have to come in and see what I found last night! It’s our old middle school yearbooks from when you were fat-and you look positively Precious!”
“You just shut-up!” She laughed, rolling her eyes at me. “Don’t you bring those things out! You’ll make me look bad!”
“Oh, stop! I am just kidding!” He ran down the porch steps and took her by the hand. “You look great! Come inside! I’m right in the middle of wrapping up all these old porcelain figurines Ma’am gave me. You have to see them. They’re crazy valuable. ”
“Oh, joy,” she said sarcastically. “Bye, Mike,”
“Yeah,” I said with a tight smile.
She waved gracefully as Thad pulled her inside.
Turning back to my gardening, I knew I was really just jealous: Thad never squealed and danced around when I came home from work anymore.
About thirty minutes later she walked back out, as I heard Thad call, “Text me!”
I was crouching over the front bed cleaning detritus out from around the naked ladies, which were already leafing.
“That boy will be the death of me,” Bettina said coming down the porch steps. “I don’t know how you do it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her cigarettes and lighter. “He can talk up a blue streak, and half about that stupid china he loves.”
“I know,” I said and then unable to resist the jab: “Well, he’s yours now.” I settled back on my haunches, arms folded aggressively.
“Uh-uh. He’s yours, and don’t you forget it.” She lit a long slender brown cigarette and exhaled a thin line of smoke. It looked like it tasted so good.
“Well, as soon as he moves in with you, I mean,” I backpedaled, with a laugh.
She came toward me, the smoke smell strong. Looking over her shoulder to make sure Thad wasn’t there, she said quietly, “I haven’t talked to you about this-but you okay with Thad moving in with me? He ain’t said much about it, besides how excited he’s to paint the bathroom sea shell pink.”
I rose with some difficulty. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, it’s what he wants...” I trailed off.
“Yeah it is. But how are you with it? I don’t want any bad blood and all.”
I grimaced, “I just hope he’ll be able to handle it, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
I wanted to open up to her, to let her know my concerns, but Thad had always made me keep a fair distance from his friends: He did not approve of cross-pollination, at least between me and his people. So looking to make sure Thad was not lurking, I leaned in to her.
“I know that the two of you have been friends, for like, forever, and I am happy he has someone like you, but I do worry about the partying and the drinking. He’s been sober less than a year and it’s been so good for him. And I’m just wondering if that’s why he’s moving out; so he can cut loose. Because everything else has been great between us. But his drinking was absolutely driving us apart, and I can’t date him if he’s going to be a drinker. I mean, I just hope he can handle-control-himself, out on his own. He’s been doing such a good job.”
“I know he ain’t drinking, and I’m okay with that. My boyfriend Bayne is on the wagon. Most men our age can’t help: they either a drunk or all sober, hardly any in between. I won’t push him there, don’t worry.” She squinted at me and blew a line of smoke the opposite direction. “And the fact that’s he’s been able to be sober this long, you should be proud of him.”
“I am proud of him, I am. But I also worry. You know he gets lost easily.”
“I think he’ll be fine.” She said with a wink. “I’ll keep watching him for you. Don’t you worry. And you know he loves you. This isn’t a personal thing, this moving out. He just needs a change of scenery."
“That’s what I hope,” I said with a shake of my head.
“That’s what I hope,” I said with a shake of my head.
Pointing her cigarette at me she said, “He’ll be back in no time, just hopefully not before I can’t afford the place on my own. And you ought to stop by. It’s a mighty cute place. I’ve noticed you haven’t been by at all yet.”
“Yeah, I’ll get around to it.” She was right. I had purposefully not gone by, not wanting to acknowledge it as a reality.
“You should. I think you’ll like it.” She winked and pointing at me with her cigarettes. “Now we okay?”
“Yeah…” I said which a shrug,
“What?” she asked.
“Well, he’s not supposed to be smoking either.”
She laughed. “Both you and I know he’s a born smoker, and fight as you may, he smokes. You got to realize Mike that you can control some things, but you can’t control everything.” She laughed and slapped her leg.
“Yeah, I know,” I lied.
The bells on the front porch screen door jingled and I jumped.
Thad emerged. “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” I said, turning red and pulling away from Bettina, pretending to dutifully examine my trowel.
She, on the other hand, looked cool as a cucumber, “I was just catching-up out here with your man.”
Thad eyed us suspiciously, hands on hips.
“Well, I gotta go to work.” She said, putting on her sunglasses. “I have a whole slew of pretty white sorority girls to make look as slutty as hell for some big Delta Delta Delta party tonight. That hair’ll be piled up high as the hills after I’m done.”
“Bye,” I said, smiling at her. I felt better about him moving out, better with the affirmation that he was not drinking, and the promise that she would not corrupt him; she might even protect him.
“Text me repeatedly!” Thad called.
As Bettina drove away we could hear the pulsating music for a few minutes even after she was out of sight.
“I know you were talking about me,” Thad said smugly.
“About how smelly you are.” I said dryly.
“Yeah. Whatever. She’ll tell me. She tells me everything.”
I shook my heard. I didn’t think she would.
“Look!” Thad whispered, pointing out to the street.
I glanced to see the Jackie O. woman creeping by, the opposite way this time. She waved this time, a sinister big-smiled wave, and, of course idiot Thad waved back.
Waiting a heartbeat till after she was gone I whispered, “Who was that?”
“The Garden Rapist,” he whispered, a tone of mock terror in his voice. “I’ve seen her drive by before-always just like that: slow and creepy.”
I literally got a chill.
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