dontravis.com blog post #632
After completing “Boy for Sale,” we have an inkling what private investigators go through in resolving their cases. Wonder if that’s really true? Do any of you know a PI who’d do something like that out of a sense of duty?
Today, we’ll have a piece of flash fiction. Hope you enjoy it.
****
THE
ROCK AND THE BRICK
My buddy spelled his name C-H-U-C-K
while his wife penned hers as J-U-D-I. Misspelled it is more like it. I know
for a fact she was plain Judy back when she was in pigtails. And so far as I
was concerned, that said everything about their union there was to say.
Charles, known to one and all as Chuck, was biscuits and gravy with eggs-over-easy,
while Judi was more Swiss rösti with smoked salmon. That pegged the two of them
perfectly in the mental envelope of my mind. I’d predicted domestic problems
from the beginning, but they defied my logic and seemed the perfect pair of
love birds.
For three years.
The first apparent crack
appeared six months ago when Chuck let his mouth get away from him when four of
us were having our weekly boy’s night out at Steve’s Neighborhood Bar.
Chuck, Billy, Steve, and I had
gone to high school together, split up to attend different colleges, and
returned home to pursue careers. I’m Perry, by the way, but years ago high
school sportscasters dubbed me Brick—for that fabled brick outhouse—and Brick I
remain today. Chuck and I ended up in the same architectural firm, me as an
architect, and him as a draftsman and surveyor. Billy operated a first-rate
auto repair shop in town, and Steve owned the bar where we go to water once a
week.
Anyway, this one night, Chuck
bellyached about a dress Judi’d bought for an upcoming shindig at the office. A
way-too-expensive, filmy thing he didn’t even think was appropriate. Of course,
we needled him about being king of his own household, which didn’t improve his
mood any.
Over the next week, he showed
up at work late once, unshaven once, and grumpy the rest of the time. The
office shindig at the country club proved to be a big success, and while Judi
looked like a million dollars in a filmy, pink chiffon thing, I had to admit it
was a bit over-the-top for one of our affairs.
The second clue came when
Chuck showed up at my house one night and asked if he could spend the night on
my couch. I told him I had a perfectly good second—or even—third bedroom, and
he could have his choice of either. He hadn’t arrive until late, so neither of
us felt like talking much. I offered sympathy because I’d gone through all this
a year or so ago when my wife and I called it quits. I kept my house; she took
my money and moved out of state. You’d think that would be an open invitation
to glory in my new-found freedom and paint the town, but I chose to remain
monastic and concentrate on restoring my financial solvency. My Ex was capable
of earning as much as I was, so she took her pieces of my flesh in the form of cash.
I wasn’t saddled with alimony, thank goodness.
The next morning, Chuck and I elected
to have breakfast at a little diner we both favored. To make a point—we both
had biscuits and gravy with eggs-over-easy. He wasn’t very forthcoming, tending
to nurse his coffee afterward and husband his words. I did draw him out enough
to understand his brother-in-law had showed up, stayed the weekend, and cajoled
Judi out of five hundred dollars.
He kept his own counsel at
work, so I did likewise and didn’t mention the incident. But Friday night at
the bar, he let it all out to his three buddies. Seems like five hundred bucks
wasn’t all of it. Chuck’s wife had given her brother her car and was now
agitating for another. She’d never liked the Chevy she’d driven for the last
three years. Wanted something fancier, of course. Perhaps earlier I should have
used the simile, Chuck was Chevy while Judi was Cadillac to explain them.
Except, she was demanding something foreign. A Jaguar, I think. Who knew? I’d
never have pegged her for someone wanting anything to do with the jungle.
The upshot was that I now had
a houseguest at least once a week. Chuck’s golf game went to pot so badly he
had to quit betting with us… couldn’t afford the club membership and the
losses. Before the summer was out, it was clear to me his marriage was heading
the same direction mine had gone. To oblivion.
Chuck didn’t have my hindsight
and continued to insist they were just going through a rough spot. Mighty big briar
patch… better part of six months now. He’d forgiven the five hundred lost to
his brother-in-law, found a used Jaguar for Judi, and expected things to settle
down. Didn’t, of course, she’d wanted a new Jag. Since he was absolutely sure
she wasn’t running around on him in her new, used car, he considered everything
had worked out okay.
Yeah, right.
Football season had started
before my doorbell rang at night again. I opened the door, waved him in and
hurried back into the den and the television set. Nothing was said until one
team called timeout.
“So what’s up, Chuck? You in
the doghouse again, or did you come over to watch the game?”
He almost broke up, which made
me regret my flip remark. “She’s leaving me, Brick. Told me so tonight.”
“She doesn’t mean it.”
Yeah, she does. Already leased
a place. Showed me the contract.”
“Oh.” I swallowed all my
“you’ll be better off” remarks and took a good look at my friend. And he was my
friend. My best… my closest buddy in the world. When we were teenagers, I’d had
a crush on him. I would’ve been his slave, done anything he’d wanted, if he’d simply
arched an eyebrow. From fifteen to seventeen, that is. I was seventeen when I
met my future wife, and that changed everything.
The rest of the ballgame was
lost, my time taken up commiserating with my buddy in his time of trouble.
Didn’t offer advice. Knew from my own experience that advice wasn’t what he
needed at the moment. Time for that later. He just needed sympathy. Empathy.
Someone to be there for him.
Then he lost control. I’d seen
Chuck grit his teeth at a broken ankle, take a brutal kidney punch in a teenage
brawl, and let someone put a dislocated shoulder back in place, all without so
much as anything beyond a groan. Never seen the guy shed a tear over anything.
Until tonight.
When the dam burst, I
instinctively scooted over on the couch beside him and draped my arm around his
shoulders. For fifteen minutes, I sat—semi-holding my best friend—while he hemorrhaged
tears and words. Half the words so slurred I don’t know what they were.
Eventually, the words ran out, but the tears didn’t. He turned into me and
buried his head in my neck. I held him, not daring to move, for a long time.
Well, probably wasn’t over a minute, but seemed like half an hour.
When he finally spoke again,
the words were muffled.
“Thanks, guy… you know, for
being a friend. D-didn’t mean to fall apart on you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I
said, patting his back fondly.
“Must seem like a pussy,” he
snuffled, his lips tickling my neck.
“Nah. Seem like the same old
Rock of Gibraltar to me.”
That had been what the
announcer called him when he was a lineman on our high school football team. We’d
been the Rock and the Brick.
“Quivering puddle of jelly’s
more like it.”
Chuck, you’re more man than
anyone I know,” I said.
“R-really? Hope for me yet?”
“You got lots of good times
ahead of you. Better ones than with Judi,” I quipped, stressing the y that
belonged on the end of her name. “You’ve got adventures you’ve thought about
for years to explore, experiences you’ve only dreamed about—”
I lost the ability to speak
when his lips suddenly covered mine. Surprised, shocked, I started to push him
away, but relented.
Oh, what the hell! Might as
well see what I missed back when I was sixteen.
****
It isn’t often
we get to relive our sixteenth year, is it? Wonder how Brick enjoyed it.
Until next week, stay safe and stay strong.
Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!
In case you haven't done so lately, please take a look at my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with The Zozobra Incident and ending with The Cutie Pie Murders. Perhaps one of the seven books might make a good Christmas present for someone you know. There are also three standalone books.
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See you next Thursday.
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