A Very Nice Day
By the time I was done in the shower, Walt was dressed and ready. He and I sat at the kitchen table to plan our day. I told him about the mouthing-off I’d done which had driven Doc away. I also detailed what I’d done to find him.
“Have you spoken to Edie’s Ben?”
I felt like an imbecile. “No, I didn’t think to telephone Ben because that makes the most sense in the world. It’s not like Doc and I met in Ben’s classroom or anything.”
He compared the clock on the wall to his wristwatch. “It’s a school day, so you can’t phone him now. You’ll have to wait until he gets home.”
I made a suggestion he didn’t expect. “Let’s go shopping, then. If there’s nothing to be done until later, let’s do something. Maybe we could go get a tree. When Owen comes into work, he can help me get it upstairs. We’ve also got a ton of shopping to do. We could go to Wannamaker’s and listen to the organ while we shop; see the Christmas display and everything. What do you think?”
“Let me get my overcoat.”
* * * *
We shopped. I drove us to Wannamaker’s and parked in the underground garage beneath the store. We spent nearly all day in the huge, eight story department store. Walt and I listened to the pipe organ play. We watched the Christmas light show that was based on the nutcracker ballet. We ate lunch in the restaurant on the fourth floor. We even managed to complete all our shopping in one go.
I enjoyed spending time with my husband. I liked doing things that wouldn’t strain his heart. I almost managed to forget there was anything wrong with him. He and I conducted ourselves like regular people who were doing regular things. I made a mental note to thank Stephan for his advice. As much as I didn’t like the events which led up to his offering his wise words, I appreciated their wisdom all the same.
Once we’d bought as much as we planned to, and then much more, I ran the bags down to the car and joined Walt for a gentle walk to the Reading Terminal Market. The market, which was just across Market Street and a block down, had a nice selection of trees and freshly woven spruce wreaths. We picked out two trees, one small one for the apartment and a larger one for the restaurant. For the first time ever, I paid the delivery fee for both.
Every other Christmas, when the tree man offered delivery, I refused as a matter of habit. It had always been easy enough to tie the tree to the roof of the car and take it home myself. Between me and Walt, we never had any trouble hauling the trees into the restaurant or up the steps to the apartment. This time, when the man offered to deliver the trees, I refused from the same habit. Then, when I could barely force my hand to close on the cash I needed to pay him, I reconsidered.
Between my painful hands and Walt’s damaged heart, neither of us had any business dragging a heavy, sappy trees anywhere. I paid for the delivery, plus a generous tip, and considered it money well spent. Walt and I walked back to the car and drove home.
“What do you want to do about dinner?” Walt asked as he and I carried the shopping bags into the apartment. I’d positioned myself in front of him to make certain he climbed the steps slowly. I also made sure I carried the heaviest of the bags. My arms were still strong even if my hands didn’t work well.
I made a suggestion for dinner. “Would it be stressful to eat in the restaurant? I don’t mean in the kitchen. I’d rather not take you in there. Could you enjoy yourself if we sat out front?”
His jaw bulged with tension while he briefly considered my suggestion, then it relaxed as he agreed. “I guess I’ll have to learn to sit out front sooner or later. Let’s get dressed up though, like real patrons.”
I agreed and went to get changed while he unpacked the shopping.
* * * *
An hour later, Walt and I were seated at a table at Walt’s Special. When we arrived, Julie tried to make a fuss. We asked that she treat us like patrons off the street. She agreed, but only after she fussed a great deal. Even though we asked for a regular table, she sat us at one of the better ones. Because of an oddity of how the long bar met the far wall of the restaurant, our table was in an alcove of sorts. It was quite private even among the crowded dining room.
I wore my best brown suit. Walt was stunning in a dark blue with a steel blue shirt. He looked good. He looked healthy. He looked like he used to. We drank dark red wine and dined on braised beef ribs with sautéed mushrooms, roasted carrots, and creamy mashed potatoes. The dish was the one Walt and Owen were developing the day he had his attack. Once I set that negative connotation aside, I enjoyed the heck out of the meal.
“It really is nice here.” He observed once the waitress removed his empty plate. “You’ve done well with the dining room.”
I thanked him for the compliment. “It hasn’t always been easy. These kids today…it takes a lot of work to train them to be deferential. They’re not used to it. It’s good that we don’t turnover staff much. If we did, the atmosphere would be impossible to maintain.”
A broad, attractive smile crossed his face. He found something amusing in what I said. “Who are you and what have you done with Law Edwards? If you would have told me back in 1936 when we met that one day you’d be teaching young people how to be deferential, I’d have called you a liar.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself against his teasing, but I closed it because he wasn’t wrong. I explained where the knowledge came from. “My father taught me when I was growing up in the tailor shop. As much as it gags me to admit it, he and I are very much alike. My dad could be a prick, but none of the customers knew that side of him. He was always the perfect gentleman with his clients. He was someone else entirely for the fabric salesmen and the sewing machine repairmen.”
Walt propped his right elbow on the table and rested his wide jaw on his fist. His gaze remained on me, but his eyes looked deep into the past. “The swagger you had back then, you commanded the whole room. I never met a man like you. My father was a professor. He was a bookish man who quoted Shakespeare and Dickens. He cried over poetry. Most of the men I knew were like him. It was the same when I was in culinary school. I was surrounded by men who talked about how to make a fluffy souffle and the proper thickening agent for gravy. When you came into the diner all those years ago, with your big cigar and your massive attitude… ‘this is a real man,’ I thought.”
He never shared his thoughts from when we met. He never explained why he was interested in me. I never asked because I was nervous of the answer. Since he had already decided to tell the tale, I decided to let him. “That’s what you thought?”
“That’s exactly what I thought. I remember the first night. You came in off the street and banged the counter for coffee.”
“Did I?”
He nodded, then lifted his chin from his fist to sit squarely. “I was in the back scraping out the frypans when I heard the bell on the door jingle. I stopped to wash my hands before I went out front. I just turned the water on when I heard a hand slap the counter and a big, gruff voice demand ‘coffee, black.’ I skipped my hand washing and hurried out front with your coffee. The way you looked at me when I put your cup on the counter, the hunger on your face made me feel like you stripped me naked with your eyes. You didn’t even try to hide that you wanted me. You gave me your name and demanded mine.
“I felt like such a Nancy queer when I told you I was ‘Walter Whitman Stack,’ especially after you told me your name was ‘Law.’ ‘Law,’ I thought. ‘What kind of man calls himself that?’ I asked what you wanted to eat. You raked me with those hard eyes of yours and…and do you remember what you said?”
I thought I remembered. Deep in the dusty filing cabinets of my mind I could hear a much younger version of myself spouting innuendo at Walt. I used to do that with men I was attracted to. Most of the time, they didn’t understand, and my words did no harm to either of us. Sometimes, I’d hit on a fellow queer who did understand. Every great once in a while, those encounters would lead to more intimate ones. I’d hoped for that with Walt. I hadn’t been with an athletic man in a while. I’d also been doing a lot of topping. I was hungry for something different. Walt’s powerful build made me think he could give me what I needed as hard as I needed it.
Even though I was fairly certain I remembered what I’d said, I pretended I didn’t because I wanted to hear his version of the story. “No, what did I say?”
“You said you were in the mood for something meaty and filling. You looked right in my face and asked if I had anything that would leave you stuffed and satisfied. No one had ever been that bold with me; not ever. It made me shiver. I started to make suggestions, but you held your hand up. You said, ‘I’ll leave it to you. Give me whatever you’ve got. If it’s really good, I’ll suck the gravy right off my fingers.’”
I laughed at the memory. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“No one had ever spoken to me like you. Half of me thought, ‘you’ve got a lot of nerve to talk to me like I’m some whore.’ The other half of me wanted to lock the front door and offer myself to you with a side of asparagus.”
I laughed again. He did too. He told me something I didn’t know when our laughter settled. “That was the night you gave me the name for this restaurant. I made apple-glazed pork chops and served them, but you didn’t dig in. You asked what they were. I said they were pork chops. You smelled them and said, ‘Walt’s special pork chops.’ You ate them like they were the best thing you’d ever tasted. You even said they were. You were as bold with your compliments as you’d been with everything else.
“When you were ready to leave, I didn’t want to let you go. I truly thought about asking you to come to my room. I held onto my dignity and kept my mouth shut. You lit a cigar and swaggered out into the dark like you owned the world. The way you waved to me over your shoulder made me feel like your time in the diner wasn’t even a footnote in your life’s story.”
I was stunned to find out that the name of Walt’s restaurant and every dish on the menu came from me. I always thought he called those first porkchops, ‘Walt’s special.’ I didn’t know I named them.
He kept talking. “I thought about you for the rest of the night and all the next day. I could barely sleep for thinking about you. The next night, you came back, and the next, and the next. Each time you came, you talked to me more like a person and less like a piece of meat you wanted to consume. By the time you asked me about being queer, I was ready to hand myself over to you. You were so cute the way you asked. Suddenly you were shy, hinting around about Walt Whitman and wanting to know if we had anything in common. I wondered where your brass balls had gone.
“It was then I realized what had changed. You were brazen on the first night because you didn’t give a damn. After you got to know me, you decided you liked me, and you cared. I was flattered. I was never so disappointed than when you said you didn’t want a partner. I wasn’t sure I believed you. Back then, I assumed you were worried about trying to have a relationship because of your job. I didn’t know your fear went deeper. I wouldn’t know that for years. I’m glad I pursued you. I’m glad you finally let yourself be caught. You were a hard-won prize, Law, but you’ve been worth it.”
My heart ached at the way he described our meeting and how he’d finally caught me. It was strange to look back over all the intervening years to when he and I were young, or at least younger. Walt and I never had a ‘puppy love’ phase like a lot of couples. We never fawned over each other like newlyweds. The start of our relationship was more like a ship negotiating a rocky straight with no lights and no charts.
We found ourselves smashed against the rocks more times than I care to think about. Each time we ran aground, our relationship could have been destroyed, sunk beneath the storm of my irresponsibility and Walt’s demands for the devotion he deserved. When we finally came together, when the ship eventually passed through the straight into open water, the feeling was less one of elation and more one of relief. He and I had managed to chart our own course without the benefit of the knowledge of those who had gone before. A lot of the time, I still couldn’t believe how hard he worked to win me and how hard I worked to avoid being won.
I tried to use the thumb of my left hand to turn the wedding band on my finger. My joints burned with pain. The hurt reminded me that my hands had a busy day of shopping and carrying bags. I relaxed my hand and let it rest on the tabletop. “I never thought of myself as a prize. I don’t know why you chased me like you did. I hurt you a lot in the old days.”
“You did. You also did things that showed me how much you loved me, even while you were running away.”
“Did I?” I asked with genuine surprise. “Like what?”
“Like how crazy you went when that robber held a knife to my throat at the diner. I’d never been held up before. I always thought I’d be able to handle myself against a robber. I’m a big man. I was strong and fit. I was never afraid to work the graveyard shift by myself. The robber and his knife showed me how helpless I really was.
“You were half-way through your meal when he came in. You set your flatware down and wiped your mouth like you had all the time in the world. You said to that man, ‘there’s nothing for you here. Leave and I won’t hurt you.’ He didn’t leave, so you beat the hell out of him. He stabbed you, and you didn’t even care.”
I shook my head over the story because I thought Walt took the wrong lesson from my actions. “I did that because I was an animal. You’re looking for feelings from a force of nature. You may as well try to find the moral in a thunderstorm.”
He disagreed. “It wasn’t the beating that showed me you cared. It was what you did afterwards. You came back inside and sat down at the counter, then you apologized. I’ll never forget what you said. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m not proud of what I just did, but it had to be done. I hope you can forgive me.’ I couldn’t believe you were so calm after what happened. I couldn’t understand why you apologized after you saved me.”
I did my best to explain. “I didn’t think very highly of myself back then. I didn’t like the violence inside me, but I didn’t know what to do about it. That side of me was a useful tool, but…” I shrugged helplessly. “We’ve been over all this before. I’ve seen some people who snap. They get pushed too far and they go berserk. About half the time, they don’t even remember what they did. With me it was different. I knew exactly what I was doing every second.
“I worry about that part of me. The older I get, the more appalled I am at the things I’ve done. I can’t even confess it like a mortal sin and repent because it’s still there. That ruthlessness still exists. I threatened you with it yesterday. If you had refused to leave the kitchen, I would have shot five rounds of .38 special ammunition into the ceiling of this restaurant. I wouldn’t have wanted to do it, but I would have done it all the same. Earlier in the day, I threatened a young man at the YMCA. I had every intention of beating on him. It wasn’t until I tried to make a fist that my hands hurt and reminded me how fucking old and useless I’ve become.”
Walt opened and closed his fists on the tabletop like he wanted to make sure his own hands still worked. He reached toward me, to hold my hand, then stopped and let his big paws rest on the table in front of him. I looked to see what stopped him. Our eyes met, and he shook his head. “Too many people.”
I nodded in agreement. “Maybe someday it won’t matter.”
“It’s getting better. They got civil rights passed. Women are getting liberated. Maybe the queers will be next. With as fast as things keep changing, we might even live to see it.”
“I’d like that. It’d be nice to be able to hold your hand in public. By then, I doubt my hands will work at all.”
“I’m sorry you’re in pain all the time, love. I wonder why we don’t all age the same. My body still feels good. Things hurt sometimes and I don’t have the energy I used to, but if my heart hadn’t betrayed me, I’d still be tip-top. I think that’s what makes it so hard for me to believe that my heart is as weak as it is. When I’m at rest, I feel like I always did. My heart only acts up when I push myself. I don’t know which I’d choose if I had the choice, a weak heart or arthritis pain.”
I turned my hands over on the table in a kind of shrug. “Maybe they’re both God’s way of telling us to slow down. Without the arthritis, I wouldn’t have a second thought about putting my fists to work whenever I thought it was necessary. If not for your heart, you’d still be living in the kitchen with no end in sight. Maybe these things are God’s way of telling us that our lives will come to an end someday, and we need to be ready to meet the Lord and stand his judgement.”
“Are you worried about being judged?”
I was terrified of being judged, but I didn’t want to tell him that. I was in the middle of trying to come up with a partial truth to soften my answer when Francine, the newest waitress, bopped up to the table. She smiled with her whole face. “How was everything? Shall I bring the dessert cart, or would you like coffee first?”
I looked to Walt for his decision. He dismissed the need for the cart and placed his order from memory. He asked for cheesecake and coffee. I requested a slice of whatever fruit pie they had and coffee. I also praised Francine for using ‘shall.’ I preferred the wait staff to use proper words instead of common ones. ‘Shall’ had its own dignity. ‘Should’ made me wince. She bopped off on her errand and Walt and I were alone.
I asked a gentle question about his choice of dessert. “Didn’t the doctors warn you to eat less fat?”
His jaw bulged for just a second. He didn’t like my question, but he didn’t allow himself to get angry over it. “Doctors don’t know everything. I don’t believe that eating a balanced diet will do me any harm. I carry a little weight, but not much. As long as I stay in decent shape, I plan to eat what I like.”
His eyes pleaded for my agreement. “Please, love, I’m willing to follow their instructions. I’m going to change my life and give up the restaurant. I’m happy to make the changes we talked about so you and I can have time for each other, but food is my life. Don’t ask me to give that up. It took sixty-six years for me to have a heart attack. I don’t need my heart to last for another sixty-six. If I’m lucky, I’ll live for another ten. If I’m really lucky, I’ll live for another fifteen. Don’t ask me to do it on salad, please.”
I was tempted to argue. I wanted him to live at least as long as I did, even though I had no idea how long that would be. I also saw his point. Food was Walt’s life. He already agreed to make some big changes. I couldn’t ask him to change everything. I gave in. “Alright, love; eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow, we die.”
He and I clinked our wine glasses together and waited for dessert.
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