Three Nights in August

1. August 10, 1989 -- Ealy's Porch, Richfield, MN

Lawn chairs squatted in their usual places on the redwood stained deck that abutted Ealy's large split-level house. Two were occupied, one by Bud Ealy and a second by Frank Bowman, neighbor from across the street. Spring through fall the chairs were always out, along with the beer.

Ealys and Bowmans moved to the neighborhood in the mid-seventies and became immediate friends, their children -- now grown -- being of similar ages and interests. The outspoken Bud Ealy was a warehouse foreman in St. Paul. He had strong thick arms, a square jaw and a distinctively broken nose, the lifelong emblem of his habit of mixing it up after a few too many during his youth.
Frank Bowman, a heavy set man with dark wavy hair, was a professional plumber. Always neat and well-groomed, he had a trustworthy face and an easy going manner that enabled him to be fast friends with nearly anyone.

The evening chill had just begun to settle in. Gordie and Elaina Beck, next door neighbors from the upper side of the street, walked across the dew dampened lawn to the stairs ascending up to the deck. The motion detector light kicked in as they passed the corner of the house.

Frank was facing them and, upon seeing them, acknowledged them with a nod but withheld his greeting so that Bud could finish his story.

Bud was leaning forward, setting his empty bottle on the edge of the porch. "So the guy says, and I swear I'm not making this up -- I swear on my mother's grave I'm not making this up -- he clutches at his chest and screams, 'My God! I think I'm having a urinary.'" Bud buckled with laughter, rubbed the sides of his nose, then pulled the tears away from the corners of his eyes with his fingertips. "I swear, I nearly split a gut."

Frank, grinning broadly, turned to the Becks, who had begun their ascent. "Well, look who's here."
"Where's Vivian?" Elaina Beck said, brushing her sandy-blonde hair back behind her ear.

"She's inside. See if you can drag her out," Bud said, his voice booming out into the still deepening night.

Gordon grabbed a chair, pulled it up close to the house and seated himself without saying anything. Frank read the weariness in his neighbor's face and decided not to tell two jokes he had heard at work that afternoon.

Bud waded into his favorite diatribe. "I don't know what we can do about it, and I know we've talked about it many times, but this thing about having to sign your name when you write letters to the newspaper just gets me."

Frank answered, "You know damn well it's always been this way. It's never--"

"Everybody's scared to tell the truth," Bud interrupted. "Some day, we should go up there together and meet with the publisher. Maybe someone should type up a memo, you know, what we have in mind. Ask for a little conference. And if there are more of us, the more the better."

Frank's eyes glazed over. They had covered this territory many times.

"You hear about Jorgensen?" Gordon offered up as if speaking to no one in particular.

"Jorgy up the hill here?" Frank said.

"Care for a beer, Gordie?" Bud said.

Gordon reached out and took the bottle. "Yeah," he said toward Frank. "The Big Dee. He's in a helluva bad way."

"You're kidding," Bud said shaking his head. "That's too bad."

Gordon presented the news in a monotone and without emotion. "About a week ago I was out walking the dog... late... and there was this guy coming toward us, toward Max and me, down the hill and he stopped up ahead of me a little ways as if he was trying to decide to keep coming or turn around or whatever, like he hoped I wouldn't notice him or something. Then he starts walking again and I say 'Good evening' or something like that, and I hear this deep gutteral groan and for the life of me I wasn't sure what to do, so I left him alone."

"You sure it was Jorgensen?" Bud said.

"Jorgy's a big guy. I mean, who could mistake Jorgensen?"

"But it was night and you say a week ago? There couldn't have been much moon. Davis is pretty good sized,too."

"It was Jorgy. And I didn't bother him, see, cause I have the decency to leave a guy alone in a time like that." Gordon took a swallow from his beer. "Anyways, when I told Elaina she said he and Maddy had been on the outs for years."

"Whatever that means," Bud said.

"So what's next?" Frank said. "I s'pose she'll want the house."

"Actually, I went up there last night and talked with him. He appreciated it, too. Says he vomited for five days straight. Couldn't eat. Dry heaves. The whole works. Some of his talk wasn't even making any sense, some of it. You know what he said? He said he cried so hard the tears shot out of his eyes like little squirt guns. Ever hear a thing like that?" Gordon closed his eyes and shook his head.

Frank, lighting a cigaret, said, "I take it she told him to get out, then?"

"She's down in Kansas City with a sister. She told him she'd be gone two weeks and didn't want to see him there when she came back."

"Helluva nice way to say good-bye," Bud said as he popped the lid on another beer. "What about the kids?"

"They're both at summer camp this month. Evidently she's worked out the details," Gordon said.
"She's always been kind of particular about details. Remember that stink about the barbecue sauce last summer? Man, did she have a burr up her butt that night," Bud said.

Gordon looked off to the distance. Frank's head was down, as if he were looking at his knees, and no one said anything for what seemed to Bud like a long time. Bud finally stood up, stretched out his arms as wide as he could reach and let them fall at his sides so that his hands made a loud slapping sound against his legs. When he turned toward the house he mumbled something, but neither Frank nor Gordon heard what it was he said.

Two minutes later the women came out with a tray of crackers, cheeses, chips and dip. Bud, behind them, pinched Vivian's bottom so that she almost threw the tray as she was bending over to place it on the cooler.

Elaina asked where Shirley, Frank's wife, was and he said it was her bridge night.
The rest of the evening was passed in talking about their children, the schools, the Minnesota Twins, taxes, and vacations.

As Bud slid between the sheets in his bed later that night, he thought about Neil Jorgensen and wondered what would happen if he were still there when his wife came back from Kansas City.

2. August 16, 1991 -- Frank's Garage

"Did you check the battery cable? Check the battery cable again," Bud said.

Frank looked up from under the hood. "You want to check it again for crissake?"

"Say, Frank, don't you ever get tired of working on this thing?"

"You ever get that jalopy of yours running?"

"You know what it was? The wrong spark plugs. Can you believe it? I never seen plugs that wouldn't fire an engine. They were gapped right. Ever seen anything like that?"

"Just infrequently enough so that I never learned the lesson," Frank, with his hand behind the fan belt, said. "Can you dig me out a seven sixteenths?"

Bud rummaged through the tools and finally grabbed a pair of vice grips. "Can you use this?"

Frank stood erect and sighed. "I got one I bet," he said and he walked through a door that led into the house.

Bud leaned against the wall of the garage with his hands in his pockets, gazing out toward the street, his face an expressionless mask. The sky was overcast and grey. Frank returned to the garage and resumed his position under the hood.

"What do you think of the new cars?" Frank said.

"They cost a lot. Now who's that?"

A navy blue BMW pulled into the asphalt driveway, sped up to the garage and stopped smartly. Reflections on the windshield made it difficult for the men to see the car's driver. The passenger was an attractive young dark-haired woman whom none of them had ever seen before. The driver's door opened and Neil Jorgenson emerged holding a basin wrench.

"Somebody call a plumber?" Bud said.

"Hey, hey. How's the boss man?"
Neil Jorgenson walked into the garage holding the end of the long handle like it was a poker. "I was sorting my tools last weekend. Came across this and, you know, I never did use it. It's one of those projects I never got to." He laughed. "I always hated plumbing anyways."

Frank wiped his hands on a rag, grinning.

"Who's car?" Bud asked.

"It's mine," Neil said.

"Get out!" Bud said.

"Hey, fellas, this is not the guy who lived up the hill there. I've always made good money. Just never spent it before."

"And who's the babe?" Bud said, lowering his voice.

Neil ran the tip of his tongue across his upper lip and left it pocketed in the corner of his mouth for a moment before he answered. "That's my wife," he said carefully.

Bud stamped his foot and laughed. Frank stepped forward and grabbed Jorgenson's hand, shook it and said congratulations.

"You're wicked, Neil." Bud slapped Neil on the arm.

"She's got good taste," Frank said. "An old man with lots of money and a weak heart."

"Soft heart," Neil said. "Soft heart and weak knees."

Frank and Bud laughed as they followed Neil to the car. The window opened as the men approached.

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Honey."

Honey was a very attractive young woman -- attractive in the extreme, with the kind of face men feel tempted to stare at. She wore a caramel colored headband that pulled her jet-black hair away from her temples. She had snapping black eyes and a wide mouth that smiled effortlessly, giving the impression of being someone who was easily accessible as well as fun to be with.

After ten minutes of cordial small talk, Jorgenson slid back into the car and returned from whence he came.

"Pinch me," Frank said as the car disappeared up the road.

"He's fat. He's got pasty skin. He's got thin hair," Bud said. "What's his secret?"

Frank shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"O.K., so he's got money," Bud said.

"He's smart," Frank added.

"Did you see those clothes? And a Gucci watch. I didn't even know they made Gucci watches."

"They're not worth anything," Frank said.

"You really think they're married?"

"Why would he make up a thing like that?" Frank said.

"Hey, cool it, all right? I just...." Bud cut himself short.

After a minute, Frank said, "You just what?" He was squinting when he said it like someone who is annoyed and is thinking about how expressive to get about it.

Bud kept scuffing his shoe across the asphalt.

The men returned to the garage. Frank leaned under the hood and tightened the nut he had been coaxing into position before the interruption. "I like what's happening here," he said.

"What's that?" Bud replied.

"Oh, the way things seemed to work out for old Jorgenson. You know, his ex really was a bitch."
Bud looked at his watch.

"God, I hope it works out," Frank said. "Jeez, it would kill him to lose a girl like that."

Bud's mind was wandering and didn't hear him.

Eventually they went inside, cracked a couple beers and looked for something to watch on the tube.

Neither said much, but both were thinking about Jorgenson. And somehow they both knew Jorgenson knew it, too.

3. August 12, 1992 Minneapolis Post Office

As Neil Jorgenson, having purchased a packet of stamps, was turning away from the counter, Frank Bowman spotted him and called out, "Neil!"

Jorgenson looked up without smiling at first, then smiled warmly upon recognizing his old neighbor.

"You're sure looking good," Frank said when Jorgenson got up to him.

Jorgenson responded in kind, asked how things were in the neighborhood, and apologized for never coming around.

"Ack," Frank said, dismissing him with a wave of his arm. "I'm sure you're busy. Guess I should have loaned you a few more tools or something. How's that pretty wife of yours?"

"Huhn? Oh, I'm sure she'll make out all right."

"You're kidding," Frank said.

Frank leaned away from Jorgenson to get a better look at his face. Jorgenson gave no indication of anything being out of the ordinary.

"You know how it is. Easy come, easy go," Jorgenson said.

Jorgenson scratched at a crease in his face with his thumbnail. "I can't say as I blame her, really. I mean, she was so much younger than me.

"When did all this take place?"

"Well, I found out yesterday, really. She just kind of said she needed to level with me about something and she starts telling me about how she's going to Arizona next week with some real estate dude she works with."

"Yesterday?"

"It's all right, Frank. Like I say, easy come, easy go."

Neil Jorgensen shook Frank's hand, simultaneously grabbing Frank's forearm so as to reassure him.
The two men probed one another's eyes without saying anything. At last, they turned and walked off in different directions.

- 30 -

`copyright 1999 ed newman`

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an original story by ed newman

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