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The Playlist:
Town Without Pity —Stray Cats
For What It’s Worth —Buffalo Springfield
The Star Spangled Banner —Jimi Hendrix
Memory —John Barrowman
April 2012
“There’s no point in arguing about this again,” Jack said, a little more sharply than he intended. “I’m not calling the cops on him.”
Tom sighed. “Then what are you going to do? Because the heavy machinery rolls in two weeks.”
“I know.” Jack closed his eyes. There was no good solution. The police might take Hal away (or at least make him move) but they wouldn’t hold him, because being homeless was not, in and of itself, a crime. He wasn’t crazy enough to be committed. Not crazy at all, as far as Jack could tell, aside from this preference for living on the street. The cops might take him to the V.A., but those people also couldn’t hold him if he didn’t consent to be treated. Jack knew why the guy wouldn’t stay. If he had that diagnosis he wouldn’t stay either. Better to die out in the open air than in a little beige box with no privacy, no sky, endless commotion and absolutely nothing that could be done. Why did I ever look at those papers. “I wish I didn’t know his name.”
The urge to touch him was strong. A hand on his shoulder, anything. Because they were in his office, and for a lot of other reasons, Tom resisted. “The minute you engaged with him you were doomed.” You utter adorable sap.
“I know.” A moment of silence while Jack considered his few, and lousy, options. “You know what I want to do?”
“Mmm?”
“Park him in my backyard and let him die in peace. Tear off the sidewall of that shitty old garage, get the junk out of there, clean up the toilet and the sink. Give him a stash of food and an electric teakettle and just let him be.”
Tom stifled the reflexive ‘are you crazy’ and let himself think about this. It would be different if they were talking about a young guy, or a healthy guy. But they were talking about a beat-up Vietnam veteran with a terminal illness. Tom only knew that because his softhearted client told him, and Jack only knew because he’d started taking the guy coffee. “Tell me again why he showed you those papers.”
“God knows. I said look, for now I don’t have a problem with you being here because nothing’s happening with this property. But we’re redeveloping soon, and when the building comes down you can’t be here. Is there anywhere else you can go. And he opened his coat and pulled out that Ziploc bag and handed it to me.” Jack’s turn to sigh. He and Hal barely spoke, even after months of site visits, often involving a cup of coffee. He’d given his name, rank, and serial number, as if he were a prisoner of war. He’d responded to ‘good morning’ with a grunt, to ‘how ya doing’ with a shrug. Jack didn’t take it personally. “If it weren’t for what happened to my dad I’d probably be more hardcore about it.” But his dad was a veteran too, one who’d finally disappeared after years of flashbacks, nightmares, drugs, alcohol, and arrests. He glanced over at Tom, who – as had become his habit – was sitting in the second guest chair beside him, instead of on the other side of his desk. Jack appreciated that. When you’ve done business with somebody for as many years as they had, you want to feel like a colleague. Not a client.
They knew a lot about each other. Over the past two decades the pictures on Tom’s credenza evolved. From a wedding picture to family pictures, the most recent showing Tom with his two teenagers but not with his wife. Jack never asked why they divorced. They weren’t that kind of friends. And Tom never asked why Jack never married. He’d probably figured it out long ago; Jack put on a pretty good show of being straight when he needed to, but most of the time he didn’t need to. “I’m actually serious,” he said, because the idea had taken hold.
Tom made a totally out-of-character, totally impulsive decision. “Okay then. I’ll help. Saturday morning? BYO sledgehammer?”
Jack stared at him for a few seconds. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.” He’d probably regret it. He already regretted it. “Get one of those construction dumpsters delivered. I’ll see if this guy I know from the gym wants to come and help.”
“Tom.” Jack hoped his eyes didn’t look as wet as they felt. “What if Hal won’t come?”
“Then you have a good start on a pool house and you can finally dig up that yard you hate.” It made them both smile.
****
Tom showed up bright and early Saturday, with three younger men in his car. They exited the vehicle with their hands full of toolboxes, sledgehammers, and Home Depot bags. Jack, who’d spent the past few days meeting deliveries, was not expecting this one. He opened the back door with what he knew had to be a WTF face. “Uh, hi?”
“Hi Jack. This is Cory.” Tom pointed to a bodybuilder- looking guy. “This is his friend Sam, and this is Sam’s friend Vince. Nice dumpster.” It sat in the driveway, barely a yard back from the garage.
“Yeah, they did a good job leaving room for a car. I spent yesterday afternoon clearing shit out of our work area.” He regarded his friend – it was now undeniable that they were friends – and the three strangers. “Wow, this is great, you guys.”
Vince swung his sledgehammer in a circle and said, “Say that after we’ve got the wall down.”
“Right. Anybody need coffee?” Everybody said ‘later,’ so Jack led the way and they got to work. It was a long, hard, filthy day. Since he’d had a little time to plan, Jack already had the hardware to set up an outdoor shower. It was only the kind you hook up to a hose, more of a gesture than anything else. He was pretty sure Hal would never take his clothes off. Just in case he did, fencing panels for a privacy screen – the kind that were solid to six feet and lattice above that – were on hand too. Digging in the footer blocks for those wasn’t on the Saturday agenda, but the five of them got it done anyway. Laid down the pavers and filled in the gaps with pea gravel. The privacy panels were up, hardware installed, neatly squared-off opening in the wall framed in, and all the debris cleared away. The crew looked at the painting supplies, but when somebody made a move in that direction Jack stopped him. “Let’s call it a day, guys. I’m ordering all the pizza in the world. Who wants beer?” Everybody did. They’d been drinking coffee, water, and Gatorade all day long, with rest breaks for snacks, which meant Jack was pretty much out of food. If he could drag himself to the grocery store the next day, great. If not, he’d order something else.
An hour later Jack and Tom were slumped on the deck chairs. Three of Jack’s dining chairs, covered with beach towels, served for the other guys. The shredded remains of three pizzas and two orders of chicken wings were in a heap behind them. They all stared at the satisfying results of their hard work for a few silent minutes. Jack tipped the last of his beer down his throat and set the bottle down beside his chair. “Why the hell did you guys put in a day like this for someone you don’t even know?”
Cory produced half of a shrug. “My dad was in the service. Sam’s a giver. Vince was bored.” Somebody snorted out a laugh, which made everybody else laugh.
“What did the guy say?”
Jack turned his head to look at Tom, registered the amount of pain he was going to be in tomorrow, and mentally dismissed it. “He didn’t say anything at first, just nodded. Then when I didn’t walk off right away he said Marlon too?”
“Who the hell is Marlon?”
“Apparently it’s his cat. This alley cat he’s kind of adopted. I was like sure, bring the cat. So because I saw no sign of a cat carrier I picked one of those up too.” And this undoubtedly meant that before long Jack would have a cat, which was going to be a funny story someday.
****
Over the next few days, Jack swung by his imminently-to-be-torn-down building to give Hal an update; patched and painted; and assembled a metal-framed futon couch. Filled a small pantry cabinet and mini fridge, dropped a can opener and a few spoons in the drawer, and called it good. He knew perfectly well this whole project was his way of making up for not being able to help his own father. Tom probably knew, too; they’d had that conversation once, about their parents. About why and how they’d both landed in Los Angeles.
Jack called to say thanks again. When Tom suggested getting together for dinner Jack was surprised, but willing. “I’d love that. I owe you Morton’s at least.”
“I’ll take it,” Tom said. He wasn’t sure he would make a move, but he’d figured out that he wanted to. So he might as well try a purely-social get-together and see what kind of vibe he got. He was pretty sure Jack had no idea Tom wasn’t a hundred percent straight.
He made sure to clear that up as soon as he could. It took some conversational steering, but after twenty years as a lawyer Tom was good at that. They got to the point of talking about being in their mid-forties and what came next, and Tom mentioned his divorce.
“I was sorry it didn’t work out for you,” Jack said. He hesitated for a moment, not sure he should indulge his curiosity. On the other hand, he was well aware Tom had maneuvered them into this topic, and he was picking up some interesting vibes. “Can I ask why it didn’t?”
Tom picked up his glass, taking a sip of wine to cover (he hoped) his flash of excitement. Set the glass down, fiddling with the stem, then glanced up. “I had an affair.”
“Oh! Wow. Um.” Okay, he was dying to know. His own love life (or, more accurately, sex life) was so not worth talking about. There had never been an affair to break up a long-term relationship, because there had never been anything long-term. Could he ask? He really couldn’t. Then he heard himself say, “Another woman?”
Tom held his breath for a second. Jack must have picked up his vibe. So this was it, the moment of truth. “Actually no. I let Cory pick me up at the gym.” He watched Jack’s eyes open wide, mouth drop open, a slight shake of his head. Every physical sign of disbelief. Tom forged ahead. “Bethany and I were going through a rough patch, and I made it worse. Made it impossible.”
“Did she know?” It sounded faint. Jack couldn’t believe his ears.
“That I’m bi? Yeah, she knew.” He couldn’t diagnose Jack’s expression at all right now. “I don’t think I was consciously looking to end my marriage, but there were a lot of things I could have tried to make it better, and instead I chose that. So.” He shrugged. It wasn’t excusable. He’d paid for it, was still paying for it, but no amount of alimony or child-support made up for putting someone through that. “I’ve been seeing a shrink.”
“Does it help? I saw one for a while when I was having work-life balance issues.” Jack heard a stifled snort from across the table. “Yeah, I know. Didn’t do me much good, did it?” He still had those issues. They just hadn’t seemed very important for a while because there was nobody special he was trying to fit into his life.
“It helped me understand why I did that. Doesn’t help with the guilt.”
Jack nodded. Thought about things. Drank some wine. Stared at his friend, and made a decision. “Are you seeing anybody now?”
Oh, that tentative tone. That hopeful expression. Tom couldn’t be imagining this. He shook his head. “I’ve been single for quite a while. There was someone I wanted to ask on a date, but I wanted to make sure I’d unpacked the worst of my baggage first.” His nerve failed him for a second. Then he sucked in a breath and said the rest of it. “I was hoping when I sorted myself out that I might take you on a date.”
Jack was flooded with emotions. Panic, confusion, hope, excitement. He cleared his throat and cautiously said, “We could call this a date.” They sat there staring at each other for a minute. Then, gradually, they both smiled.
****
Not being an expert on cats, especially the kind that took up with people who lived in alleys, Jack dropped off the carrier a couple days before he planned to collect Hal and Marlon and suggested a bit of practice. When he got to the worksite they were both waiting. Hal with his duffel bag, fold-up camp chair, and incongruous Office Depot shopping bag; Marlon in a hostile-looking ball at the back of the carrier. “All set?” As expected, there was no verbal reply. Hal silently moved toward the SUV, placed everything in the cargo bay, then stepped up into the passenger seat with an air of ‘here goes nothing.’ Jack didn’t try to force a conversation. This wasn’t about adopting each other, or even becoming friends. All he was trying to do was give the guy a little peace in the time remaining, and he thought Hal understood that.
There were a lot of ways his intervention could have gone wrong. He might not have tried it if there were signs of severe mental illness or addiction; his own safety was worth keeping in mind. As far as he could tell without speaking to Hal’s doctors, who certainly weren’t going to tell him anything, the guy simply hated being indoors. Which, considering he was in no shape to get or keep a job after who knew how many years of living on the street, was just as well. Somehow he’d managed to stay alive. He’d even managed to stay on the V.A. radar, which couldn’t have been easy without a physical address. Jack would never know the whole story. It was enough for him that he’d know how it ended. Peacefully, safely, and with a small measure of comfort.
There were still no words after he pulled into the driveway at his house and unlocked the car. “Through the gate,” he said as he got up. When he opened up the back of the SUV again he didn’t touch anything until Hal was standing there too, and even then he asked first. He took the duffle, which was nowhere near as heavy as he expected, and the camp chair. Hal picked up the small bag and the cat carrier. He followed Jack through the gate and across the yard to the new room. It looked like a room, even with the wide-open wall and the concrete floor. There was a door on the toilet enclosure; a teakettle on the cheap laminate countertop by the sink; an all-weather sleeping bag folded over the back of the futon couch. Hal made another sound that expressed – Jack thought – pleased surprise. “It’s all yours,” he said. “I’ll check on you every few days the way I’ve been doing, but aside from that I’ll leave you alone. If you want some laundry done you can leave it by the back door. Anything else, you could leave a note on the car. No need to talk unless you want to.” He’d set a notepad and a pen on the counter, too. Trying to make this as easy as possible for someone who clearly wanted very little to do with other humans. So he was almost shocked when Hal stuck out a hand. Jack made a ‘you sure?’ face, assimilated the half-shrug, half-nod that followed, and shook hands. Then he went in the house and tried not to cry.
****
“It’s the weirdest thing,” he told Tom on the phone a few days later.
“Weird in a bad way?”
“No, not at all. I got home from work yesterday and he was sitting in the sun smoking a joint. I sat down on the deck with a beer. We just, you know, shared our sedatives thirty feet apart.”
“How’s the cat doing?”
“No idea, but at least he stuck around. I was kind of afraid he’d run off, but they must have bonded. I see them on the couch when I leave for the office.” And that was rewarding as hell, not that he would say so. Hal might have been used to sleeping on the ground. But he chose the couch, and the cat curled up with him, and it gave Jack’s heart a warm little squeeze. “So I was wondering.”
Tom heard a change of subject in the tone. “Yeah?”
“You mentioned taking me on a date.”
“I did.” Tom was fairly sure his smile was something Jack could hear. “You free tomorrow night?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“How’s Tanino?”
“In Westwood? That’s great. You want to meet there?” Jack second-guessed the suggestion the second he made it, but he wasn’t sure they were at the ‘I’ll pick you up’ stage of things yet. That stage, in his experience, meant someone came back to someone else’s house and stayed overnight. Which had some appeal, but he didn’t want to rush it. A lot had changed in the past few weeks. At any rate, Tom agreed, so they set a time and ended the call. Then Jack swiveled his chair and stared out his office window, trying to get his mind back on business and away from tomorrow night.
****
After he walked through the door of the restaurant and greeted the hostess, Tom looked past her to see Jack. Casually well-dressed, smiling, approaching with a glass of wine in one hand and the other reaching out. Tom took it and squeezed instead of shaking. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
“Everything good?”
Was he kidding? They were on a date. Jack hadn’t been so excited for months. “Everything’s great.”
A few minutes later they were seated. Because of recent phone calls and texts, there wasn’t much personal news to catch up on, so Tom asked about the progress on Jack’s building. “Everything scraped off yet?”
“Uh-huh. Starting excavation next week. The ground’s probably full of roots from those ficus trees that were along the sidewalk.”
“No doubt. Anything new with Hal?”
There was a brief delay for service. Once that was out of the way, Jack took a sip of wine and nodded. “He asked me to do some laundry. Then he took himself somewhere. Got a haircut. And I think he went over to the V.A., because that night when I went out on the deck he’d put that bag with his paperwork on the table. With a note saying they know I’m here.”
“Meaning they know where he’s staying and probably who you are.”
“Right. It’s going to make things easier later on, but I didn’t even think of it.”
“He’s amazingly functional.” Tom smiled up at the server pouring a glass of wine for him. “Is he talking?”
“Nope. We do the after-work sedative non-talking encounter most days. He hasn’t asked for any food or anything yet.”
Tom could imagine Jack had stocked up the pantry as well as he could without knowing what the man preferred to eat. If he even had preferences. “What did you put in there?”
“Oh, you know. Cans of soup and stuff. Breakfast bars. String cheese. Instant coffee. Bag of Meow Mix for the cat.”
God you’re such a sweetheart. “You know you’re the best thing that’s happened to that guy since he got discharged.”
“I hope not.” Their first courses came to the table, and there was a conversational lull. While he ate, Jack was thinking about Tom’s comment. He laid his fork across the empty plate and sat back. “You know what, I changed my mind. I mean I still don’t hope I’m the best thing, but I hope what I’m doing is really helping him.”
“Of course it is. You saw what he needed, you understood what he could take, you offered him that, and you’re delivering. You’ve always been like that. It’s why you’re a success as a developer. You don’t just throw things together to make money, you build things to give people a place to live.” Tom saw Jack blink and thought damn, that was kind of a lot. But a second later Jack was reaching across the table. Tom took his hand.
****
They saw each other every five to eight days after that, as the Los Angeles spring turned to summer. Tom was taking on more responsibility with the law firm. Jack had a Hal report every time. Those ranged from ‘he’s going to the corner bodega’ to ‘he’s smoking more.’ There still was no actual conversation; Jack was not by nature a leave-it-alone kind of guy, but it was very clear that Hal wanted to deal with this on his own, the way he’d dealt with everything else since 1972.
Whether it was the emotional strain of watching someone slowly die, or the business concerns associated with a big new project, Jack wasn’t really up for progressing his relationship with Tom. There were touches on their dates, and a lot of talking. But neither of them had initiated a kiss. Tom wasn’t pushing. He’d waited years to get to this point, and he was still dealing with his own stuff.
He was not a hundred percent sure he was providing everything Jack needed, though, so he was glad to hear about the cat. “He just jumped up on you?”
“Yeah! I came out to the deck, you know. Hal was lying on the couch, maybe sleeping. Marlon was over there with him, but when I sat down he came over and gave me this look. I was like, okay? Patted my legs and he hopped right up. Pummeled me for a few seconds and then made himself comfortable. I haven’t had an animal sit on me since I was a teenager.”
Tom could tell he liked it. He leaned back in his office chair, rolling his neck, wishing Jack were in the room so they could have this conversation face to face. “Did you pet him?”
Jack made an embarrassed sound. “Uh-huh. He felt clean. And his fur is soft. When I first saw him he was a bigger mess than Hal, but maybe the guy got a brush? I mean, you saw that fur.”
“I sure did.” Tom had been to the house only once since Hal and Marlon moved in, early on. The cat had looked like an ambulatory pile of fallen leaves. Long, shaggy, matted brown and grey fur, with some dirty white on his chest and paws, and wild-looking pale-green eyes. “Hey, I meant to ask. Any of your neighbors have anything to say?”
“What, about the whole construction dumpster and backyard tenant thing?”
“Well, that and the carload of black and brown guys who rolled in and tore down twenty percent of your garage.”
Jack took a moment to think. “Huh. You know I actually never thought of that. Most of my crews are non-white. Nobody’s mentioned it. I talked to the people on each side and let them know I had someone staying with me. Told them he’s a Vietnam vet and on his last legs, to let me know if they had concerns, but that he’s there as my guest. They seemed to get it. It’s not like he’s digging through the trash or whatever.”
Tom didn’t say ‘he doesn’t have to.’ Instead he made a suggestion for their next date, signing off with “Let me know if you need anything. It’s gonna get tougher from here on out.”
“Yeah, I know. I appreciate it. See you soon.” Jack disconnected, blew out a breath, and looked out his window. ‘Tougher’ was a mild word. It was amazing how attached he was to someone who’d spoken fewer than two hundred words to him. He couldn’t imagine going through this without Tom.
The upcoming July 4 holiday was a concern. Backyard fireworks were a thing, and Jack knew that explosions were likely to be triggering for Hal. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, he could offer to make that easier. As it turned out, he didn’t have to.
He got home from work on Thursday the second, went in the house to change, got a beer out of the fridge. Stepped out on the deck and just knew. Hal was lying there on the couch with Marlon, but his stillness was a different stillness. Jack set the bottle on the table and walked across the yard. “Hal?” No response. “Staff Sergeant Baker?” Nothing. Oh hell.
He crouched by the futon, studied Hal, made eye contact with Marlon. “Hal, I’m pretty sure you’re gone, but I’m going to touch you to confirm.” Wrapped his fingers around Hal’s skinny wrist, felt for a pulse. Nothing. Set that cool hand down again, laid two fingertips against the side of Hal’s throat. Nothing. Took a slow, controlled breath and let it out. “Okay, Marlon. I guess this is it. I have to call people. It’s going to get weird. Can I take you in the house?”
The cat blinked at him. By this time they were, if not exactly friendly, at least civil neighbors. And Jack, of course, was a willing lap when a lap was solicited. He’d picked up the cat before. Now he worked one hand underneath, scooped the fluffball up, and carried him into the house. Stashed him in the guest bath. Left him there, saying, “I’ll check on you in a while.”
The first person he called was Tom. Then he called the V.A. An hour later, people were there to take care of Hal, or what was left of Hal. Jack produced the paperwork. In the outdoor pantry cabinet he found another Ziploc bag with some folded papers, Hal’s dog tags, an expired driver’s license, and a key. Attached to the key was a plastic tag from a storage facility. He stared at it for a second, then felt a hand on his back. Turned his head and saw Tom. “Hi. Thanks for coming. Check this out.” Handed the bag up.
“What’s this?” Tom poked the papers.
“Didn’t look.” Jack straightened up, feeling a hundred years old. He watched Tom unfold the papers, scan them, then hand them over without a word. Jack saw the title on the topmost and bit his lip. It was Hal’s will. He read it, unsurprised to find the man left everything to him. God only knew what ‘everything’ might mean. It was properly witnessed, dated not long after Hal moved in. “What do you think.”
Tom shook his head. “It’ll be either his life story or a locker full of old Hustler magazines.” It produced something very close to a laugh, which was what he was hoping for.
“Will you come with me when I go?”
“Of course I will.” They left the garage then. Tom went in the house, taking Jack’s untouched beer with him. Drank it himself, and took the other man a glass of water instead. “Where’s Marlon?”
“Oh. He’s in the guest bathroom. Would you mind?”
“Food and water? Sure.” Tom knew there was no litterbox; they’d have to deal with that later. Another trip to the garage to fetch the Meow Mix and the cat’s dishes. The fuzzy bastard hissed at him when he delivered things. He didn’t take it personally.
Finally all the formalities were dealt with. Jack could go to the V.A. the next day to talk to Hal’s case worker. But for now, it was over. He collapsed onto a deck chair and stared at the empty yard, shivering a little because the marine layer had rolled in.
The door opened behind him. A second later, Tom was putting Marlon on Jack’s lap. Then he set a cup of coffee on the table. Jack sat there with one hand sunk into the cat’s fur, trying not to cry, failing.
Tom said, “Hey.” Touched Jack’s face, swept a thumb across his wet cheekbone. Leaned in and kissed him. Jack made an inarticulate sound. Another kiss. Then, “You did good.”
Tom pulled the other chair around next to Jack’s. Sat down with his own coffee, listening as the man he loved slowly calmed. Waiting for the moment when he picked up his mug and took a sip. Let go of the cat, reached for Tom’s hand, and said, “I know.”
THE END
*****
About the Author
Alexandra Caluen lives in a small purple house with her husband, a bottle of Laphroaig, a lot of books, and nine pairs of ballroom shoes. She works in patent law and has enough hair for three people.
REFUGE Copyright 2021 by Alexandra Y. Caluen. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or events is entirely coincidental.