Chapter 10

It came to be a Thursday in the middle of June and Dan was visiting, a mere month-and-a-half later than expected.

"I never thought I would say this, but that is some ugly wallpaper," he commented upon entering my building.

"Told you."

"And even stranger, I cannot figure out why it looks perfectly fine here."

"I’ve been trying to figure it out since I moved in," I answered.

"Remind me to take a picture of it before I leave."

As we entered the door to my apartment, Dan gleefully observed, "Tom, you cheap bastard, you finally bought a real couch."

"Only about five days ago," I told him, "I figured it would be more comfortable than the floor."

"I’m glad to see you kept the rest of the living room set blown up, it’ll keep me from thinking I woke up in someone else’s apartment. Thanks," he told me as he took the beer that I handed him as he sat down on my new couch. "This thing is comfortable. I’m impressed, I thought you’d never stop using rubber furniture."

"I’m afraid I might be growing up," I told him as I sat on my green, inflatable chair.

"Considering what you’re sitting on right now, have no fear. Anyway, take me on the tour of the place."

"This is the living room," I said with my hand waving about in a vague manner. "That’s the family room over there," I indicated toward a corner. "That’s the dining room over there. The kitchen is on the other side of that wall. The bedroom is over there, right across the grand hall," was my hyperbolic description, "from the bathroom. The porch is out that window."

"Thanks, love the place," he answered as he took a drink of his beer. He eventually got up and poked his head around my apartment. "Nice place you got here," he commented as he returned, "You’ve got a hell of a lot of space for as much as you hear about New Yorkers bitching."

"Well, this place doesn’t exactly come cheap."

"I’ll bet it doesn’t at that. Is the porch safe to sit on?"

"I would hope so, considering it’s a fire escape."

"Well, why don’t we take the beers out there?"

"Sure," I said. We spent a couple beers’ time catching up with each other and Dan clued me into what our mutual friends back in Kansas City had been up to. As the night wore on, Dan’s body finally cried, "Uncle!" and he made his way onto the couch for a good night’s sleep.

#

Friday was filled with showing Dan around the city. I took him on much the same tour that Lori had shown me on third day in New York, though my version had much more confused bumbling. We spent that night mostly bouncing from bar to bar in between a few other sights around Manhattan.

On Saturday, we attended a Yankees game. It was quite an experience being in those bleachers; there was a gentleman behind us who was trying to make an art out of cussing out the other team at the top of his lungs. There is nothing quite as entertaining as hearing the Mariners’ right fielder being called a "titpiss shit mother cocksucker fucker" after most every Yankee at-bat. This particular phrase led to some entertaining conjecture between Dan and I, on the post-game subway ride, as to the nature of a "titpiss shit mother cocksucker fucker". We determined it was probably a bad thing to be, as the guy yelling it took credit both for the fact New York won and that none of the opposing right fielder’s three hits were anything above a double. We returned to my apartment after the game and, as we tried to figure out where to go next, Dan fell asleep on the floor. Seeing what a good idea that was, I napped on the couch.

I woke up to the realization I had been asleep for a while. It had come to that stage of the day when the sun puts together its final arrangements for the setting it had planned for that evening. Dan was sitting on the porch, sipping a Budweiser as he looked up and down my street, like he was soaking it all in. My brain slowly worked its way out of its post-sleep stupor to find the television showing a Mets game.

I sat up and watched the game for a bit as I tried to figure out whom they were playing. Upon determining it was Cincinnati, I rubbed my eyes, stood up and walked over to the window.

"Glad to see you’re awake," Dan told me as I peeked my head out.

"Mm-hm," I replied, not quite sure I was anything of the sort.

"Nice day out here."

"Mm," I agreed.

"Have a beer, why don’t you?"

"Mm," I responded non-committally, since I was not ready for a drink. I suppose I should add that I am usually not very talkative when I wake up. I worked my body through the window and sat outside for a bit, trying to clear my head of the cobwebs associated with having just awakened. Eventually I managed a "What time is it?"

"Seven fifty-two," Dan recited from his watch.

"You showered?" I asked

"Yep. About half an hour ago."

"Mm. I guess I’d better go do the same."

"Not a bad idea."

A nice, long shower was always the best way for me to get started after a solid sleep, so by the time I was done, I was much more alert. After I got dressed, Dan handed me a beer out of my refrigerator and I sat down on the couch.

"What time are we supposed to meet your friends upstairs?" he asked me.

"In about fifteen minutes."

"I’m anxious to see this Lori you keep talking about. After everything you’ve said about her, she has quite a Portering to live up to."

"I can’t imagine her leaving you disappointed."

#

At the appropriate time, we walked upstairs. Andrew was practicing again as I knocked on the door. He put down his cello and walked to the door.

"Tom, good to see you," he told me. "And you must be Dan."

"If I’m not, my parents have a lot of explaining to do," he answered as he shook hands with Andrew.

Andrew smiled an amused little smile. "Come on in, have a drink. What would you like?"

"What have you got?" Dan asked.

"Name it."

"How ‘bout a Bud?" Dan requested.

"How ‘bout a Bass?" Andrew countered.

"How ‘bout that, then?"

He handed a Bass to both of us as he headed back into the living room. We followed.

"So how long have you been playing?" Dan asked as Andrew put away his cello.

"Oh, it’s been quite a long time, though the cello became my main instrument about five years ago."

"You play other instruments?" Dan asked. This was news to me too, actually. I’d never really bothered to ask him about it.

"I used to play the violin and piano, as well, but I heard a concerto once while I was in school that made me realize what a beautiful instrument the cello could be. So, I took that up almost full time back then. As it stands now, I haven’t played a violin or a piano in years."

"Where’d you go to school?"

"I did my undergrad at Colorado and my master’s at Indiana."

"Music degrees, I would imagine."

"Assuming the papers are labeled correctly."

"How’d you end up in New York?"

Andrew shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal way, "That’s where to find the most opportunities in music."

"I have to imagine you’re right," Dan allowed. "So where’s this Lori I keep hearing about?"

"She’s in the bedroom, getting dressed."

"Think she needs help with that?" Dan asked in his usual way of never being clear whether he was serious or not.

"She might need help with her shoelaces later. She hasn’t quite figured that out, despite the Dress Me Ernie doll we gave her."

"Ah yes, I remember those things well. Do they still make them?"

"Dress Me Ernie dolls? I have no idea. I rather hope so. I seem to remember they were quite a hit when I was a kid."

I piped into the conversation at this point with, "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"Don’t you remember those Dress Me Ernie dolls?" Dan asked me.

"They were plush toys for young children that allowed them to practice using basic fasteners. Like zippers," Andrew explained.

"Or buttons," Dan added.

"Or snaps."

"Or shoelaces, for that matter."

"Not a clue," I announced.

"Well, no wonder you can’t dress yourself," Dan told me.

"Oh, you’ve had to help him get dressed, too?" Andrew threw in.

"Dear God, yes. All through college, when we were roommates. You can imagine how happy everybody was when he finally figured out how to put on underwear."

It was amazingly entertaining to listen to those two trade straight-faced lines at each other and it more than made up for the fact I was the butt of the joke. It was rather like they were competing to see if the other would laugh first.

Lori came out of the bedroom and introduced herself from the hallway before she headed back into the bedroom under the excuse of finishing getting ready. I had no idea why, she had already appeared to be more than ready to go out.

"She’s cute," Dan announced after she disappeared.

I looked at him in a way that quite clearly communicated, "Are you a moron? What woman were you looking at?"

"What? I agree, she’s attractive."

"Wait until you get to know her," Andrew told him as he stood up. "She gets better looking the more time you spend with her."

Andrew walked into the kitchen to pour himself another drink and, while doing so, mixed a rum and Diet Coke which he handed, without breaking stride, to Lori just as she walked out of the bedroom.

"Ah," she said as she took a sip. "Perfect once again," she told Andrew as she lifted her glass in his honor. "So, are you boys ready for a show?"

Dan had an unsure expression cross his face that gave an obvious indication of what he was thinking. He might as well have asked the question, "Does this show require several one-dollar Porters?"

"We’re going to see Ray’s band this evening," Andrew explained just before I could say the same thing.

He nodded in an "Oh, of course, that’s what she meant" manner.

"What does he play again?" Dan asked her.

"The bass," Lori answered.

"Oh yeah, that’s right. I remember Tom telling me that."

"I understand you play the bass, too," Lori asked statingly.

"Well, that’s not really true, I used to be pretend to be a bassist on occasion. I played with a few friends for a while there, but we never really played that often. Now I don’t play it at all."

"That’s a shame you still don’t," Lori told him.

"Not really. I wasn’t very good."

"Oh, I’m sure you did just fine," she said dismissively.

"No, I was never much of a musician. I enjoyed it but I never really got hooked on it. I enjoy listening to music, but I don’t think an instrument like the bass is the best way to really get into playing music."

"Why?" Lori asked.

"Mostly the fact that you can’t just go home and jam on it. It’s an instrument that’s meant to be played with other people. It’s not like a guitar where you can just pull it out, sit in a stairwell with a couple of friends and a couple of beers and just play some songs. I mean you could, but it’s not going to be very interesting, especially if it isn’t plugged in." He quickly reversed his own thought with, "Okay, you could get an upright bass, sure, but that’s a pretty unwieldy piece of equipment and, again, you’d sound silly trying to accompany yourself on ‘Oh, Susana". You might as well use a piano, you’d sound better and it’d be easier to carry."

Lori had a broad, thoroughly entertained smile on her face as she asked Dan, "So what do you do these days? As far as a job."

"For a job?" he repeated, "Well, right now I’m doing graphic design. Designing brochures, putting together presentation materials, that sort of crap."

"You don’t sound excited about it."

"That’s mostly due to the fact I’m not. It’s always someone else telling me what they want and how they want it done and there are price limits and format restrictions and that sort of thing."

"Well, what would you like to be doing?"

"Sleeping late and drinking beer. However, my second choice is illustrating."

"Illustrating what?"

"I don’t know. Books, magazines, maybe some themes of my own."

"It appears we have an artist in our midst," Lori told Andrew.

"Eh, I wouldn’t go that far as to say that. I’m not really an artist in the modern sense of the word," Dan told her. "I don’t come up with new and strange concepts or materials and I tend toward realism, so I don’t think today’s artists would consider me one of their own."

"Don’t worry about that, you’re an artist to me," Lori informed him.

"Well, thank you," Dan replied appreciatively. Yep, he was starting to see what everybody liked.

"Looks like we’d better be going," Andrew told us, "The little hand is approaching the twelve."

"Sounds like I’d better finish my drink," Dan announced to nobody in particular.

"Exactly, can’t waste booze," Andrew agreed.

"One of the seven deadly sins," Dan added.

"Ranks up there with nun beating," Andrew concluded. We finished our drinks headed out the door.