Page 8 of The Happy Month
I had no idea what he meant. If it was that easy, why weren’t we painting the whole apartment ourselves? Ronnie led the painter out of the kitchen, through the dining room to the bedrooms and the bathroom. I wandered back to the living room. It did not look easy to paint. For one thing, it had ceilings that needed to be painted, cathedral ceilings. I told myself it didn’t matter. Would I climb to the top of a ladder for Ronnie? Yes, of course. Would I make him explain why I had to do that? Also, yes.
Standing in there, I wondered if we’d be taking thefurniture from 2nd Street or if we’d be buying new? And then, Ronnie and Flannigan were back. Before the painter could leave, I said, “Make sure the ceilings are on the quote. All of them.”
“Got it,” he said, and slipped out the door.
I turned to Ronnie and asked, “What do you mean it’s going to be easy?”
“We’re going to rag-roll it. The walls are perfect for it.”
The walls were textured plaster made to look like it had just been applied.
He continued, “We’ll get pigment from Home Depot and mix it with white paint. Then we dilute it with water and roll it on to the wall with rags. I’m thinking a pale buttery yellow, a lemon-y yellow, and a honey color.”
“You’re making me hungry,” I said, honestly.
“Perfect. It’s dinner time. Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s just stop at the Park Pantry.”
Ten minutes later, we were in a booth at the Park Pantry, which was an upscale diner on the corner of Junipero and Broadway. We were seated in a teal-colored booth on the Junipero side. I asked for an Arnold Palmer while Ronnie got a glass of the house white. Before the waitress could slip away, Ronnie said, “We can order. I know what we want. I’ll have the salmon, baked potato, and a salad with ranch. Dom will have the chicken Caesar, chopped and tossed. You can bring it all at once. Thanks!”
After the waitress wandered off, I told Ronnie all about the ‘favor’ I’d been asked to do for Edwin and his brother. Skipping the part about my getting an extra cash payment.
“So, you’re not getting paid extra?” he asked right off the bat.
Avoiding a direct lie, I said, “Things are pretty slow right now.” Which was true. I did have time to do it.
“This guy, their uncle, had a fiancé in the forties and then never married afterward,” he said skeptically. “Ping. Ping. Ping. My gaydar is going off.”
“I think they would have mentioned if they thought he was gay,” I said, though even as I said it, I realized they probably wouldn’t. Jan was definitely a homophobe. Often, homophobes had an incredible ability to not see the obvious.
“But it has crossedyourmind, hasn’t it?”
“He says he killed his fiancé. That doesn’t seem very gay to me.”
“Maybe she was going to expose him. Wouldn’t he have lost his law license for being gay? Gay sex has only been legal in California since the seventies.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s in one of the brochures at The Center.”
“Oh. Well, I’m going to have to find out about this guy one way or the other.”
“Should we bet?”
“No,” I said. “You always win.”
“You’re no fun.”
The waitress brought our drinks.
“When exactly do you think we’re going to paint the co-op?”
“Saturday morning. I’m not scheduling clients all day. We have that commitment ceremony in the afternoon.”
“That’s not enough time to paint.”
“Well, I don’t expect to finish. What are you going to wear?”
