Page 47 of The Happy Month
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s dark,” I said. I didn’t say it was a bit too much like the color of dried blood for my taste.
“It’s going to be much lighter when we’re done.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to be much help with this.”
“That’s okay. John said he’d help me.”
The way he said it made me wonder if he’d known I wouldn’t be much help. I grabbed a sponge and dipped it in the brick-colored paint. Then I rubbed it onto a two-by-two patch on the inner wall. I flipped the sponge over and basically rubbed it off, leaving the wall looking tea-stained with darker spots catching in the textured plaster.
Ronnie watched what I was doing.
“I actually like that,” he said. Then he took another sponge and dipped it into the terra cotta. The patch I’d made was basically dry since I’d rubbed most of the paint off. He repeated what I’d done on top of it. The patch was now about the color of honey with different bits of brick and terra cotta here andthere.
Ronnie stood back and took it in. “Yeah. That’s it.” He looked at the wall we’d already done and asked, “What do we do about that?”
“I guess we could try washing it off.”
And we did.
The commitment ceremony was at two o’clock. We’d finished up at the co-op around noon and gone home to have lunch. Ronnie was pleased. We’d managed to wash a lot of what we’d done off the one wall and by the time we’d added the second color it looked pretty much the way he wanted it to. He added a little of the yellow tint to the terra cotta and made it all look even more like honey. I have to say I liked it, too. Though, in all honesty I liked most things that made Ronnie happy.
We were very nearly late. Ronnie changed outfits three times. Finally settling on a cute pair of cuffed linen slacks and the requisite Hawaiian shirt—his was a bright orange, green and yellow. I stuck with a pair of black 501s and the Hawaiian shirt Ronnie had bought me—sexy surfers on a blue background.
On the drive over, Ronnie said, “You need to see a doctor about your shoulder.”
“As soon as I have insurance,” I said. Actually, Lydia had put me on the policy she had for her and Karen in April. I had the insurance card in my wallet, but I wasn’t ready to use it. I know going to the doctor was supposed to be a good idea, but it was also something that never seemed to end well.
Robert and Doug lived in California Heights on the north side of the 405. They’d bought a three-bedroomSpanish-style house on a quiet street for a song. We’d been there once for a party and the inside looked like a Pottery Barn. I’d been tempted to check for prices.
The ceremony, though, was in the backyard. We followed signs and balloons up the driveway, through a wooden gate. There was a rented dance floor with about fifty white folding chairs arranged on it facing a small tent under which the ceremony would take place. On the other side of the yard, was a long white table. There were lumpy tablecloths hiding what was probably our dinner. At one end, sat a very large, elaborate three-tiered wedding cake with two tiny grooms standing on top.
There were nearly fifty people there, most in Hawaiian shirts, we were among the last to arrive. The moment we stepped through the gate Ronnie was off like a racehorse who’d just heard the starting gun. I walked over to the bar and picked up two glasses of champagne. One for Ronnie and one for me—I promised myself I’d just have the one. I avoided alcohol most of the time since it made it difficult to find my way through the thicket of lies my life had become. Alcohol had the effect of loosening my tongue.
When I turned to find Ronnie, it took a moment. Finally, I located him standing next to the gift table talking and waving his hands around with a couple whose names, I think, were Octavio and Phillip? Something like that. I headed over.
We hadn’t brought a gift with us. Ronnie had bought them something kitchen-y at Williams and Sonoma and had it sent to them.
“It’s cast iron,” he’d said. “I’m not schlepping that around.”
I handed him his wine. Octavio and Phillip said hello,but there were no introductions since we knew each other. I wished I knew them well enough to remember their names.
We spent a few minutes complimenting each other’s shirts and mentioning where we’d gotten them. Then, they were talking about the bombing at the Atlanta Olympics, which had happened the night before. I’d seen something about it on the eleven o’clock news the night before but hadn’t had time to read the paper that morning.
“Have they caught anyone?”
“No. Not yet,” Octavio said. “They’re still not sure how many people were killed.”
“Do you think it’s another Timothy McVeigh thing?” I asked.
“Could be. Those people are crazy,” Phillip said.
“And they’re saying that plane that went down near Long Island, that was a bomb too.”
“All right,” Phillip said. “Enough of bombs. We should talk about important things We just booked a trip to New York in November. We’re going to seeChicagowith Ann Reinking. We have second night tickets.Almostopening night.”
“Who’s in it with her?” Ronnie asked.
