8. Out to Lunch
eight
Out to Lunch
“ W hat the fuck, Kourt?” Helen’s glare feels like a slap.
She never glares at me.
“What are you talking about?” I’m shouting into my phone. At a time like this, Helen’s ‘Everything we say, we say to each other’s face’ rule—aka we don’t call, we Facetime—is less than ideal.
Helen’s delicately arched brows pull together, which makes that normally beautiful face a lot less beautiful as she throws a snarky accusation at me through the screen. “You spent Saturday with Erika?”
“No.”
Shit.
She chunks an imaginary something at me, then opens an overhead cabinet door. “Yes, you did. If you took her to Fisher’s and ate lunch, you spent most of the day together.”
Christ.
I’m stretched out, comfortable on the couch, with my eyes on Monday Night Football.
Now, I have to sit up straight to defend myself.
“Look, I had to go to Bob’s to get clips for Georgia’s outside lights, and when I walk in, Bob’s sending Erika off to Fisher’s in that Beetle of Josie’s.
The one she doesn’t know how to drive. I couldn’t let her get—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Bob brought it up.” I flail my arm. I still don’t know why brown or black cords wouldn’t do but they wouldn’t.
“He didn’t have what she was after, so he told her I’d take her to Fisher’s.
What was I supposed to do? Say ‘fuck, no, I’m not taking you,’ and let her wreck on her way up the mountain?
That’d be a little rude, wouldn’t you say? ”
“I said don’t go there.” Now her voice is ice.
“Shit! Fuck! What a stupid play.”
“Are you talking to me?”
She knows better. “The game.”
“What game?”
“Bengals. They’re getting their asses handed to them.”
It’s a train wreck on TV and I can’t pull my eyes off of it.
“Should’ve known you’d be watching football on Monday night.” Helen takes a deep breath and twists her neck. She’s studying me like I’m a crook and she’s a cop, as my attention pegs between her and this massacre of my favorite team.
She pours herself a glass of red wine, standing at her bar. “You ate lunch?” Sounds like another accusation.
“I was hungry by the time we left. What’s with the Inquisition? I’m watching the game. Burrows just got sacked again.”
“Screw Burrows.”
“Steelers just did that.” Shit, that hurt. “They blindsided him.”
“Pay attention!” Helen’s yelling at me again. She never yells at me. “I never knew you to spend a whole day with anyone, McShotty. Not since—”
Okay. That does it.
“It wasn’t the whole day and like I said, I got railroaded.”
“You’re saying you don’t like her?”
“I’m saying I did your quasi-client a favor. I thought it was the right thing to do on your behalf.”
My attention swings back to the game with a raucous roar of the crowd that fills The Jungle. Can’t help it.
“Dammit, guys, give him some fucking protection. Who’s coaching the offensive line?”
Helen’s got a one-track mind. “Let’s get together and have a drink, you, me, and—”
“Nip it, Choi. I mean drop it. Fuck. Enough. You’re not setting me up with anyone. How many times have I got to tell you?”
“So, I take it you don’t want to have a drink with—”
“Bye. I’m going back to my game.”
Why does everyone want to set me up with someone? What’s wrong with my life like it is? I’m good. I’m grounded. Leave me the fuck alone.
“Are we ready for the meeting tomorrow night?” Randy Jones, our fire chief pleads for our attention. He’s a big guy. I mean he’s as tall as I am, which makes him one of the two tallest men in town, but Randy outweighs me by at least a hundred pounds.
He retired in Blitzen from the Knoxville Fire Department five years ago and slid right into the position of Chief of our volunteer fire department. He was a natural fit. He brought so much knowledge and professionalism that none of us had.
He’s put us through all kinds of training that’s given us a better rating than we had before he arrived. That alone lowered property rates. Now, this edict from the state to get a bigger, fancier fire truck has probably worried him more than anyone. He feels responsible.
The truth is the guy’s as good as gold. His grandfather was the first black fire chief in Knoxville, so Randy started an after-school program for all ethnicities represented in professional positions and acts of service to give back and let the youth see their faces making a difference in the community.
He started it in Knoxville and brought it to Blitzen when he and his wife moved here.
“Any ideas on how we’re going to raise the money for this truck?” Chief asks our monthly meeting of volunteers gathered in the high school cafeteria.
It’s not the first time he’s asked it, and once again, not one of us has an answer.
I have a flash memory of what Erika said the other day. “Can we raise money through taxes? Can’t we create a fire district that collects taxes?”
Randy’s grin is laden with snide. “Sure. Absolutely. If the deadline wasn’t next month.”
We all look at each other, helpless.
“Grants?” someone asks.
“Again. Deadline looming.” Randy sighs. “Okay. The town meeting’s tomorrow night at city hall. Everyone, go home and pray for a Christmas miracle. Pray someone comes forward with an idea that will save us. Dismissed.”
As I stand to leave, I hear, “Kourt.”
I didn’t escape fast enough.
“Ellis?” I turn to face him.
He saunters up to me in his Burbury sweater. Ellis spends more money on clothes than I do on my truck. Surprised he didn’t leave the price tag on.
He eyes me up and down. “So… you and the chick at Fisher’s…”
“Erika. What about her?”
He shrugs. “Are you a… thing ?”
Ellis is maybe four years older than me. Never married. Having played college football, he’s tall, but not as tall as me, thick through the shoulders, getting a little gray around the ears as he ages. But he’s almost always got a girl salivating on his arm.
I knew at Fisher’s he had a hard-on for her.
“I drove Erika to Fisher’s to get extension cords for her Christmas decorations. She’s got a shitload that belong to Josie. That’s all. Why?”
“That means she’s fair game.”
That’s a statement, not a question, that for some reason, makes my hackles rise. The odd sensation makes me bite back. “She’s not a fucking white-tailed deer.”
“You know what I mean. If you don’t have a claim—”
Why do I want to reach out and throttle him? “I don’t have a claim, but she’s not your type.”
He grins like a barn cat about to pounce on a baby chick. “She’ll say yes if I ask. And just to be clear— what’s my type, McShotty ?”
Ellis is bowed up.
So am I. Feels like we’re circling for a throwdown. “Your kind? The kind you can fuck and forget.”
That’s not Erika. If you went there, you wouldn’t want to leave. You won’t be able to forget. Like I said, not his type. Or mine.
Ellis scoffs. “Fuck ’em and forget ’em? Sounds more like your angle lately.”
I’m going to wipe that sneer off his face.
“Coach Greely didn’t seem too happy to see you at Fisher’s with your new friend. Can’t say I’d kick Quinn off rotation, but for Erika, I might.”
I may go ahead and throttle him.
“Kourt! Ellis! I need you two!”
Saved by the Chief’s bark. Ellis is saved by the Chief. I was about to grab his thick neck and lift him off the ground. I’ve got him by half a foot, and my hands are big enough to reach around his stovepipe neck. I guarantee I can…
“My wife has an idea.” Chief waves us over.
His wife is at his side with short gray hair, bright eyes, and a knowing smile. They’re a matched pair. Randy has his arm wrapped around her shoulder.
“You two look like you’re… competitive.” Sharletta Jones says, looking from me to Ellis.
Guess we had an audience.
“What would you two think about a friendly competition between the basketball team and the football team? Let’s channel that energy in a positive way.”
Ellis cuts his eyes at me and scrubs his hand over his chin. I know him. He wants to blindside me. He’ll find any way he can to do it. Shithead.
“What kind of game?” he asks, peering at Sharletta. “You mean football or basketball?”
“Neither.” The chief grins and his eyes glimmer as he and his wife exchange looks, both of them smiling. “To make it fair, Sharletta and I challenge you two to a fund-raising competition. Which of your teams can raise the most money for the fire department?”
They cut their eyes between me and Ellis. It’s like they expect us to go ahead and start throwing punches any second.
I might.
“Any way we want?” I ask.
Sharletta smiles up at Randy to confirm, but this is her idea. Randy nods at his wife, giving her back the floor.
“All’s fair in love, war and fund-raising, gentlemen.” Sharletta winks as Randy helps her into her jacket.
Ellis and I glare at each other for a long beat. Fucker.
“I’m in.”
I feel my smile growing. It’s a little smug. Someone gave me one hell of an idea the other day.
Ellis offers his hand. “You’re on, McShotty.”