Page 142 of Bobby Green
And hydrated.
And by God did it all again.
BY THEbeginning of September the heatstillhadn’t faded, so Bobby was fixing the porch in the early mornings. His residuals from his porn videos were enough to pay expenses, so he hadn’t found another job yet. He was too busy fixing the place up.
They’d completely redone the top floor, bathroom too, including painting over Reg’s original paint job, which Reg didn’t seem to mind in the least. They were going to ask Bobby’s mom if she wanted to move in, but she seemed to really love her apartment, and her new independence, and even her new job, taking over as the receptionist for Johnnies now that Kelsey had a new position helping theirnon-porn-related industries. Apparently Bobby’s mom was doing all the Dex things—making sure the guys had enough to eat and a safe place to stay and the numbers of the counselors and doctors they might need if something came up.
She seemed to be really happy, Bobby thought in admiration. She sat behind the desk and worked her needlepoint and fielded calls, and for some reason, the guys really adored her. For that matter, so did the few girls on the roster. He never thought of a middle-aged woman being in high demand behind the desk of a porn company—but he remembered Dex saying something about all the guys needing mommies.
Apparently she was the mommy everyone had needed. He was proud of her—and damned glad she wasn’t living up in Dogpatch with Frank Gilmore anymore. She even got grandbabies, in a way, because she was de facto babysitter when Ethan and Jonah needed the time off.
So she wasn’t going to take the top floor, which meant Reg could put in bookshelves and a weight set and some exercise machines—just so they didn’t have to go in to the gymeveryday. And he bought a computer desk and set up a computer. Bobby was going to figure out how to play games on it—Reg did so good on everybody else’s game console—but that’s not what he wanted it for.
He used it for research, to look up the things he didn’t know, to look up places he’d never been. He used it for work too, now that he was getting booked out months at a time, and learning some of the things Dex did to promote the guys and give them as many options to make money as they needed.
With the walls painted ecru and a throw rug under the computer and mats under the weights, it looked as different as it could from V’s pink prison of madness, and Bobby thought that did Reg’s heart a world of good.
V had finally gotten to a permanent facility—a decent one, thanks to Reg’s health insurance and her own social security. She could check herself out for two-hour time blocks and walk to the store or take in a movie—even just walk around the neighborhood without an escort. In return, she had to be there, morning, noon, and night, to take her medication, and submit to blood-test levels once a week.
They’d visited her, taken her out to lunch, and Bobby thought that while she was just as disconnected as she’d ever been—still wore long-sleeved shirts to keep the bugs from coming out—she was also a little more lucid.
For example, she knew Bobby was Reg’s boyfriend, and the word “faggot” hadn’t once made an appearance.
Reg had been so happy after that visit, so relieved he wasn’t abandoning his sister, that Bobby had needed to just lie on the bed and hold him while he babbled. He talked about trips to the park with her when they were little, and the way she’d looked after Queenie’s first two children, and the way she’d always been the smart one.
Bobby had never been so grateful for intervention of any sort as he was for the intervention of that social worker, who had taken their small family in crisis and helped get V to a better place. It was worth two weeks in jail, just for her happiness and Reg’s peace of mind.
All in all, Bobby was pretty content as he hauled out the materials and started to build the framework for the new porch. They’d worked out early, Reg was at Johnnies, and he basically had about six hours before the heat got too intense, and he could get enough of the porch framed out and built to walk on, just for today. He didn’t have a scene for another three weeks, so he and Reg could spend the afternoon inside having loud noisy sex, or they could go to the pool at the gym and swim laps. Both options sounded good, although Bobby was rooting for the loud noisy sex, just because you couldn’t go wrong with that.
Ever.
He worked quickly and competently, idly watching the crew hired to flip the house next door as they did their thing too. He saw a lot of ugly rugs come out, as well as a lot of warped floorboards and baseboards, and some warped drywall as well.
Yeah, the people next door had owned a lot of cats. Apparently they’d inherited some property up in the hills where there wasn’t a cat limit, and Bobby wished them well in their version of Dogpatch. It was good to know there were people who could be happy out there—as long as it wasn’t Bobby or his mom.
He was just nailing the last board into place in the interim walkway when he saw the foreman of the crew walking across the newly seeded lawn, pausing at the brand-new, unstained porch steps Bobby had just erected.
“This here’s good work,” he said. In his fifties, with sandy-brown chin scruff to match his bird’s nest of hair and a faded blue baseball hat, the guy struck him as tough. Stringy, probably strong as an ox, he wore blue jeans and a tan T-shirt with faded blue chambray over it.
His work boots were of the highest quality—and still beat to shit.
Bobby had respect for those boots, even though he didn’t know the man.
Who let out a low whistle as he surveyed Bobby’s work.
“That there, son, is some prime workmanship. That is a thing of beauty.”
Bobby allowed himself a small smile of pride. “Thank you, sir,” he said, glancing up before going back to hammering in the next nail with one blow.
“You got an outfit you work for?” the guy asked, and Bobby paused and sat up on his knees, grateful for the pad underneath.
“No, sir.”
“I seen you out here a lot. You got a job?”
Bobby’s lips twisted. He figured he knew where this was going, but he wasn’t going to work for no place that didn’t like who the fuck he was.
“Yes, sir.”
