The Trouble Way (37 page)

“
Or even close to it,” Jake said. Maybe the city rounds them up and provides shelter when it gets that cold. I know there are places that provide food and beds for homeless people. They must know where those food kitchens are. There’s not much we can do except to bring them sandwiches.”

“
I know,” Priscilla said. “Let’s finish up our walk and go home.”

Jake took her hand and they walked down the grassy knoll, across the bridge to the asphalt biking trail and followed the river back to the parking area. Halfway back, they stopped and sat on a bench and looked across the river. They looked at the tents and tarps where the homeless people lived, where they had just left the plate of sandwiches. The white Styrofoam plate of sandwiches was still sitting, unmolested on the table where he left it. The camp still appeared deserted. Priscilla hugged Jake
’s arm with both of hers.

“
I love you,” she said. “We’re really lucky, aren’t we?”

“
I love you too. Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.”

They continued on to their car, silent the remainder of the way back.

“Hi, Bella,” Priscilla said as they passed the old lady in the heavy blue coat and limping man lifting the lid on one of the garbage cans on Court Avenue.

Bella, jumped at the sound of the voice and looked up at Priscilla. Her walking stick slid from leaning on the trashcan and hit the ground. The streetlights had come on but they were all in the shadow of an awning and obviously couldn
’t see clearly the person addressing her. She didn’t say anything. Don stepped forward and stood between the two women.

“
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Priscilla. I met you several weeks ago near the river. You remember Jake, don’t you?”

“
Oh, yeah,” Bella said. “I remember. The sandwich lady and her man friend.”

“
And this is little Bella,” Priscilla said turning to look at Bella who freed herself from Jake’s grip and bent to pick up a plastic spoon from the sidewalk.

Jake caught her hand just in time.
“Sweetie, don’t pick things off the sidewalk, they’re yucky.”

“
Hello, sweetheart,” Bella said to little Bella who looked up at the old lady with the curly salt and pepper hair.

“
You have my name,” little Bella said. “Are you sad?”

“
Yes, sweetheart, we have the same name. No, honey, I’m not sad, I must have gotten something in my eye. You are such a pretty little girl, Bella. Is this your grandpa?” the woman in the pea coat said.

“
This is my Papa,” she said.

“
So you liked the sandwiches?” Priscilla asked.

“
Yeah, they were alright. I don’t like dill pickles. I gave those to Don.”

Don took a step back and remained silent.

“Hi, Don.” Jake put his hand out to shake and Don put his hand out in response.

“
Good to meet you,” Don said.

“
I’m glad you enjoyed them,” Priscilla said. “Have a nice day.” Priscilla could see she had somehow caused the old woman stress. Bella kept glancing around as if someone were watching her movements, her dark, curly hair whipping around her face as she looked.

“
Bye, Bella,” little Bella said.

“
Bye, Honey,” the old lady said and reached out and stroked the little girls dark curly hair.

“
Do you know those tourists?” Jake heard Don asked in a voice of an old man talking too loud.

“Yeah, I don’t really know them, Bella said as she turned and watched Priscilla, Jake, and little Bella walk away. “I met them a couple times. Seem nice.”

She looked at Priscilla and Jake, and settled her gaze on little Bella holding fast to Papa’s hand then returned her attention to the garbage can while Don held her walking stick.

When Priscilla, Jake, and Bella completed their walk across one bridge and returned on another across the
Raccoon River, the sky was dark. Bella had tired and was in Jake’s arms hugging him, both her arms stuck inside his jacket, keeping them both cuddly warm. They saw Don and Bella with her eco-friendly bag filled with cans and bottles and her walking stick heading toward the river in the direction of the tent city.

“
I sure hope they find better shelter. It’s not cold yet but it is going to be snowing before too long and it makes me sad to think of those people living in tents,” Priscilla said. She pulled her collar up around her ears. “It’s only six and the sun is almost to the horizon. I hate the thought of winter coming. Not only no flowers, but it will be dark when I go to work and dark when I get home when we get on standard time.”

Jake put his arm around her shoulder and they continued down the street toward their car.
“I’m glad we don’t have to sleep in a tent tonight,” he said. “I have your butt to keep me warm.”

“
Maybe Bella’s butt keeps Don cozy at night,” Priscilla said.

“
Probably,” Jake said.

“
This one and that’s it,” Don said and he picked up the lid on the final garbage can at the parking lot at Knappa Freight Company yard.

“
Looks like the jackpot again,” Bella said and pulled six soda cans from the trashcan and put them in her bag. She looked over at the loading dock of Knappa Freight and saw a trucker standing there next to a big rig. She gave him the high sign and caught a return wave and she and Don headed for the old homestead.

“
That little girl must have reminded you of your little sister, didn’t she?” Don asked. “That’s why you were crying, isn’t it?”

“
Yes, she looks just like little Gracie,” Bella said and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve to clear her eyes again.

“
Look at this, Don,” Bella said and displayed the treasure she discovered in the trash bag tucked behind the electrical box. “Look what that nice man, John, has done.” She held an open envelope and Don saw several bills peeking out.

“
How much you got there?” Don asked.

Don walked closer and stood while Bella fingered the bills.
“Six,” she said. Four for me and two for you.” With a smile, she handed him three dollars.

“
Nobody likes a smart ass,” Don said. “What else is in the bag?”

Bella spread the contents on the asphalt and they looked at fruit, rolls, and even a bottle of Aspirin. A Ziploc bag had two frosted cookies. Bella offered Don one who took a bite.

“Pretty good,” he said.

“
I’m saving mine,” she said and put the Ziploc bag in the big pocket of her pea coat.

“
Aspirin.” She said, picking up a 100-count bottle of generic aspirin. “John must think we are going to get sick.”

“
Nah, I think he is just a nice man,” Don said.

In another envelope were four cigarettes. Don held the cigarettes in his hand.
“Three for me and one for you.”

“
Nobody likes a smart ass,” Bella said and took two of the cigarettes.

They stuffed the contents back into the garbage bag. Don slung it over his shoulder and Bella picked up her eco-friendly bag with the rattling cans in one hand and her walking stick in the other and turned to finish their can collection tour around the city.

When they reached the picnic bench near the library, they stopped and spread out their trove and had lunch.

“
Hi, Bella,” little Bella said. She was holding her Papa’s hand and they were walking down the sidewalk in the afternoon sun when Jake spotted the two old hobos and slowed to a stop for Bella to say hi.

“
Well, if it isn’t my pretty little friend with my name,” Bella said. “What are you doing out today? My goodness, why is your hair all wet?”

“
I was swimming with Papa,” Bella said.

“
She was wading in the fountain over there by the library and she got a little carried away and laid in the water,” Jake said. “She has been learning to swim at the Y.”

“
Well, Bella, it is certainly nice to see you again sweetheart,” Bella said. “Would you like a cookie?”

Little Bella looked up at Papa.
“Go ahead,” Jake said and nudged her forward. Bella reached out and took the frosted cookie.

“
Thank you,” Bella said and she took a bite of the cookie. “Yummy.”

“
What nice manners you have, Bella. Your mother taught you very good manners,” Bella said.

“
My mommy works in the hosta-piddle,” little Bella said.

“
No wonder you are such a nice little girl, your mommy is a nurse,” Bella said. “You are quite welcome, sweetie,” Bella said. “It’s good that you are learning to swim. I was always afraid of the water. You look like you are a whole inch taller than when I saw you last.”

“
Bye,” little Bella said.

“
You stay close to your Papa,” Bella said when she saw little Bella suddenly stop and bend to pick up a shiny bottle cap. “Hold on to his hand.”

“
Look Papa,” Bella said and held up the Pepsi cap.

He took the cap from her.
“That’s yucky, Sweetie.” He put the cap in his jacket pocket and took her hand.

“
Bye Bella. Bye Don,” Jake said and walked down the sidewalk holding on to Bella’s up-stretched hand. “Nice to see you again.” Jake gave a wave to the two.

“
You’re getting awfully friendly with those tourists there, Bella,” Don said.

“
I just love that little Bella. She looks so much like little Gracie,” Bella said. “Besides, I think that Jake is a nice man. He looks after little Bella.”

“
You can go that way if you want, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll meet you on the other side of the bridge,” Bella said and she started down the bank with her walking stick.

“
There ain’t no damn cameras,” Don said. “Here, give me that bag you’re toting.” He walked to meet her, took the bag of cans, and turned back up the slope. “One of these days you’re going to make a miss-step and end up in the river. I can swim, but I wouldn’t be able to save you. I got a bum leg, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“
I’ll be careful, I could do this in my sleep,” she said and continued down the slippery grass to the river’s edge.

“
It’s starting to get dark so be damn careful.” Don watched and halfway down the hill Bella took a tumble and landed on her backside.

“
I’m okay,” she said and got to her feet. “I’m okay.”

Present

I’ve been married to my cousin -- that’s first cousin not second -- Priscilla, for going on eight years. We couldn’t get married in the state where we live. Gays can, but we couldn’t. We had to flee the state and travel to Colorado to commit that particular sin. I doubt we violated any provision of the Mann Act since no slavery is involved and we’re both of legal age. Of course I haven’t read the Act, so I’m not entirely sure.

I thought we
’d have gotten a bunch of crap from the relatives, especially the ones who live in the Midwest, the right-wing religious nuts, about us getting married. It wasn’t them, but the other nuts, the right-wing non-religious ones that live on the West Coast where we got the most grief. It was from my sister who’s been married three times, twice to black men, Republicans, if you can believe that, who gave me crap about my relationship with our cousin. Rightfully, they should be non-religious left-wing Democrats.

She made a wisecrack to her grandkids about me and Priscilla. She said,
“We don’t marry cousins in this family, do we? ha-ha-ha.” The kids all snickered nervously, making embarrassing side glances at me. As if she, of all people, has any credibility in such matters. Now her grandkids think I’m a little deranged for marrying my cousin.

The Midwesterners have kept quiet about the whole affair. I have gotten hints of their feelings in indirect ways about social issues. Things like their outward hostility, at least verbally, to
ward gay people. Not outwardly against the gays in the family; that’s most likely because they probably believe there aren’t any gays in the family.

And there is still the remnants of bigotry toward blacks. Sometimes it is just their obvious comments where they try to throw you off the track by saying
“I’m not prejudice, but ... ” I suspect they are closet Jim Crow supporters.

I’m sure
one cousin marrying another are within the boundaries of that gay, black prejudice flavored conversations. I know Priscilla and I are definitely right in amongst those private conversations where they express their distaste for those other despicable folks. Makes me proud. I am doing something that gives discomfort to those uppity right-wingers.

One who is the most bigoted is one of the black relatives. He rants about all the fags running lose all over the place. Christ, he
’s black. Unbelievable. He listens to Rush Limbaugh for crying in the night. He and his wife, vote Republican. Now if that isn’t enough to make God drink out of a cat dish, I don’t know what is. They are receiving a butt-spank of state help because of their economic situation – they have custody of five grandkids. Definitely two votes that are a gift to the Republicans, those are. It seems to me that a sympathetic Republican would tell them to move over to the appropriate party of their ilk, the Democrats, and quit embarrassing the GOP with their support. I guess that tells you something about Republicans if they don’t have the decency to give up two votes for integrity’s sake.

The other relative has a brother who is gay. His family attend their Lutheran Church and pray silently for him to get well, I guess. It
’s not just any Lutheran Church, either, it had damn well better be the “right” one, it has a specific name, like Chicago Lutheran or North Dakota Lutheran.

There is yet another relative who is gay. Nobody talks about that. She
’s been the girl with an “unusual haircut” for nearly forty years. Incredible. I know.

And those are the ones I know about. I go to family reunions where there are nearly a hundred people attending. I wonder who the other eight gays are.

When I worked all those years at Big Richards, the only gays I knew about who worked there showed themselves only in the California stores. I didn’t notice that many of the gays I knew were trying to get back at The Man except for a few. Apparently most were not disgruntled and had other stuff to stress about. Or maybe they were just really good at it and didn’t register on the radar.

One guy who screwed Big Richards every day for four years was a very likable fellow, a fellow of considerable girth, the
appliance manager.

Andy never complained
about work. He did have a problem many men his age had, his hair was thinning, and to compensate, Andy got a tightly curled perm every few months to try to hide the sparseness of his hair. Andy was not nearly as “gruntled” as I had originally thought.

Andy approached me in September about the Halloween schedule. He absolutely, positively had to have Halloween off. He would just
“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said, “if I can’t get it off.” If he didn’t get it off, he might be forced to call in sick. He gave me the impression that he would anguish about it to the point of actually becoming sick if he weren’t permitted the day off. I said I would consider it and get back to him. I made a note to check for coverage in the department when the time came and then I took a glance at his attendance record and the only time I saw where he called in sick was on Halloween two years back.

But
there was something more disturbing, It surprised the heck out of me; he stuck it to The Man every day he worked. He was late every single, solitary day for the entire time he worked at Big Richards. He punched in exactly seven minutes late and punched out seven minutes early, every day of his entire career. It was never four minutes or six minutes or any other minutes but seven. He was the most punctual, late employee I have ever known. There is a rule at Big Richards about the time clock, the seven-minute rule. If you punch in seven minutes late or punch out seven minutes early, pay would not be deducted for the missed time.

We had a brief personal interview with him in the Human Resource office. I told him that his pay would not be adjusted for time missed if it fell within the seven-minute rule but he was, in-fact, late. We have a rule that employees are to be at their workstation when they are scheduled. I gave him an option, be at your workstation when you are scheduled, period. I gave him till the week before Halloween to correct the tardiness problem. If he couldn
’t show up for work on time, he would not have to worry about having Halloween off, he would be out of a job. Just for shits and grins, I asked him why he was late every day for the past four years. He said, “Nobody ever said anything about it before you.”

He got extra pay for no work plus he forced employees he was relieving into overtime. They sure as heck were not going to complain about the time and a half. He was sticking The Man by design, they were sticking The Man courtesy of Andy.

I did give him Halloween off. What the hell, he was a likable character.

Someone who got management indirectly was Deena, the girl that was in charge of the housewares department in one of the Washington stores, Spokane, I think. She stocked shelves and ordered merchandise such as cookware and such. Her department looked immaculate, always neat and full. End caps were always full and squared off, a perfect example of how Big Richards wanted a department presented. She was forever being praised by the district manager on how well her department looked.

One Saturday night, I was out with a few of the old drinking buddies and we happened upon Deena and her girlfriend, Kathy. They were sitting at a table near the dance floor at one of the local watering holes. I bought them several rounds of drinks in the course of a few hours, and after a while everyone got fairly lit. Deena and Kathy liked their booze and in the course of the bullshitting, the subject of work came up.

“
How is it that you are such a hard worker and are able to keep your department is such good condition?” I asked. “How is it that nobody else can even come close to you in productivity?”

“
It’s simple,” Deena said. “I am just smarter than all the rest of you gumbos.”

“
What do you mean? I’m serious, how do you do it?” I said and ordered another drink for the two of them from the passing barmaid.

“
It’s not that hard to do. You know we are supposed to keep fast selling items on the end caps?” Deena said.

“
Yeah, that’s nothing new. How is that so smart? I asked.

“
When I first started, I had to keep filling the end caps every day. I was working my ass off and I never had time for anything else. When I was promoted to department head, I change all that bullshit. There’s a secret in what to order,” she said. “I order the slowest selling items in the department to put on all the end caps. Simple.”

“
But if you do that, the stuff never sells,” I said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“
Of course it makes sense. It just depends on your point of view. What do I care if it sells? I don’t get commission on what sells. I get my butt chewed if an end cap is half-empty. If it doesn’t sell, I never have to fill it, the ends always look good, and I never have to order it again. So, my butt never gets chewed. That way, I have time to fill the rest of the department and I always get good department reviews and I always get my annual raises in addition to several merit raises each year.”

She said she told me because it wouldn
’t make any difference if I knew, I was being transferred to Montana. I was getting pretty disgruntled with Big Richards by that time so I didn’t pass on Deena’s little marketing strategy to the manager. I don’t think he would have believed me anyway. He didn’t care for me either. Let the fucker figure it out for himself.

One time, I had to intervene in a situation involving a sexual harassment complaint. One of the employees told another he had a nice butt. I had to interview each one separately and record the interview for Human Resources. The kicker was, they were both men. The employee did admit he thought the guy had a nice butt and told him so. The guy with the
“nice butt,” said he wasn’t gay and didn’t appreciate the butt admirer’s comments.

The guy making the comment said,
“He’s gay alright, I guarantee you he’s gay.”

I told him that his comments were not appropriate and they would have to stop or he may end up losing his job. He said,
“I’ll stop saying it but I still think he has a nice butt.”

The guy with the
“nice butt,” quit not long after that.

I didn
’t think his ass was all that great. Up until I met Priscilla, I thought the nicest butt I’d actually touched was Linda’s, the gorgeous little Pilipino girl from that Seattle store.

San Francisco was an eye opener for me. At a street fair, near the Castro District, there was a kissing booth where anyone, man or woman, could pay a buck and kiss guy who stood all primed and ready to go, anxiously standing in the booth. He never had a chance to sit on the barstool he brought along, apparently anticipating slack time. I never saw any female takers.

The booth next to the kissing both was the spanking booth. A man charged a dollar for the privilege of spanking his bare ass with a willow switch, a buck a whack. The guy in the booth would stick his bare ass out a little waist-high window for each whipping. That’s all anybody could see, a bare ass. It was like the whack-a-mole game in arcades with only the one target. That was enough to make me drink out of a cat dish, but there it was. I have pictures. Men queued to get their hand on that switch. The guy in the booth collected dollar bills at the front counter and had them folded between his fingers, fan-like, like you see strippers do in bars and then he would disappear behind a curtain. Next thing, a curtain over a side window would rise and a moon appeared to a crescendo of whistles and cheers. With each whack, the guy would howl in pain and scream for more. Even if he had thought to bring a barstool, I doubt he would have been in any shape to take advantage of it.

I saw a man, naked except for flip-flops, standing on a street corner talking to a policeman. Just a casual conversation. I stood and stared at that for a while, let me tell you. I made my wife go stand by them so I could take a picture.

Another scene stuck in my mind and it’s been over thirty years. There was a guy, probably fifty or so, dressed in a dark blue and green plaid skirt and a white blouse. Like you see in movies of Catholic girls in school uniforms. The blouse was tucked in only on one side. His wig was dark, shoulder length, uncombed and sat on his head a bit askew and his bright red lipstick was missing the mark. He was the ugliest man dressed as a woman I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a few. I lived in San Francisco for over ten years. He looked forlorn, like he had no friends and lost all pride in her appearance. He was frumpy. He stood, leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette looking down at the sidewalk. I always wondered if there were other equally unattractive men attracted to men dressed like a frumpy woman. There must be. After all, it probably wasn’t the first time he’d worn the outfit so he must have had some date luck.

Over the years, there have been photos I wish I had taken. That was one high on
the list. I sincerely wish I had had my wife stand by him for a picture. I always had to talk her into standing by people she didn’t know. I wanted someone in the photo who I knew so I could prove that I’d actually been there and seen that.