Summary:
Saturday, November 11, 2006
It's a misty, rainy Veterans Day in San Francisco.
Nick Williams (83, almost 84) and Carter Jones (86) are getting ready for their annual shindig at the Top of the Mark.
For the past few years, they've invited LGBT veterans to join them for lunch while the usual parade is happening on Market Street.
It's a special event that honors the men and women who've done their duty under fire even when their country hasn't fully honored their service.
This year will turn out to be even more special than the ones before, however.
A retired Navy corpsman stops by for a quick chat and Nick realizes this kid might be very special, indeed.
Uncle Paul said there would be five.
Four are in place...
Could this be the last of the guys Nick and Carter have been waiting for?
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is the nineteenth in a series of short stories and novellas all centered around specific holidays.
Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.
Decoration Day, 1933 #11
Summary:Tuesday, May 30, 1933
It's Decoration Day and Nick has decided to skip school because he doesn't want to take his history test.
With a fistful of money, he tries to convince his sister, Janet, to head out for a day at Chutes-by-the-Beach where they can ride the Big Dipper and visit the Fun House.
She finally agrees since she never gets to eat the hot dogs with mustard that she likes so much!
Will they have the time of their lives or will someone snitch and turn them over to the police for truancy?
Either way, it's quite likely going to be a day both children will remember for many years to come.
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is the eleventh in a series of short stories all centered around specific holidays.
Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.
Independence Day, 1976 #14
Summary:Sunday, July 4, 1976
It's America's Bicentennial! And it's a day the whole country has been anticipating for a while.
The original plan was for Nick and Carter to take some of the old gang out for a cruise around the bay and watch the day's fireworks up close once the sun sets.
Unfortunately, it's July in San Francisco and the forecast is for fog to settle in and not budge.
Fortunately, Nick comes up with a new plan and moves the festivities to a vacant apartment in a building he owns on Russian Hill that's above the fog line so that everyone can see the big, bright explosions celebrating the nation's independence!
Problem solved!
So, the 4th of July should be a walk in the park, right?
Well... between breakfast with a famous French director and actress, a Soviet defector who really doesn't like Nick, and a completely unexpected visitor from the past...
There might be a few metaphorical fireworks before the sun finally sets on the Golden Gate.
Still, at the end of the day, it's America's Bicentennial! Don't miss out on what promises to be great fun!
Pearl Harbor Day, 1991 #22
Summary:Saturday, December 7, 1991
It's the fiftieth anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, an event that propelled the United States into the Second World War.
Mike Robertson has decided he wants to take Nick and Carter out for dinner to clear the air about something that happened way back then.
But then some other friends get involved and they end up in the last apartment that Nick and Mike shared before the war.
And Mike is cooking his famous pot roast, the only thing he really knows how to make.
Over dinner, Nick begins to tell his version of the events that happened fifty years ago in that very same apartment.
Needless to say, it's definitely going to be a night to remember!
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is the twenty-second in a series of short stories all centered around specific holidays.
Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.
Original Review November 2023:
Decoration Day, 1933 #11
What can I say that hasn't already been said in my reviews of this deliciously fun Nick & Carter Holiday short story series? Not much but I'll give a try😉.
I wasn't sure just what to expect in this entry with the 2006 year setting. Nick and Carter would definitely be older than the rest of the series which on one hand you'd expect the MCs to be in a limited capacity as to their activity level but on the other hand it's Nick and Carter, I can't imagine there ever being a down time before their last breath. It was that "other hand" that had me a bit worried going in and that worry hung on a bit when I realized Nick was once again seeing his deceased loved ones in his dreams. Was that a sign of the end? For that answer you'll have to read Veteran's Day, 2006 yourself.
Between the time they have yet together looming, the visits by past cherished friends, and the Veteran's Day setting I think I can safely say 2006 is my favorite holiday adventure yet(I only have one to go so I'm thinking it'll retain that moniker). War time and/or patriotic holiday settings have always tugged at my heart more and left many a tear fall more so than "typical" dramas. Perhaps it's the heartache that follows loss, separation, friendships forged under fire, or maybe it's because I was Baptised on Veteran's Day that left an unofficial connection to my soul. Whatever the reason I'm always prepared to be left teary eyed going in to stories like Veteran's Day, 2006 and a few tears were shed during this leg of Nick and Carter's journey. Don't get me wrong there were many of the happy, quirky feels that go hand-in-hand with a Nick & Carter adventure that make this an all around grand gem.
One last mention: a brief bit of convo reveals that Carter didn't feel like he completely fulfilled his wartime effort as a firefighter left to protect the homefront versus serving on the frontlines as Nick did. Nick of course tells him how untrue that is and that it's a disagreement they've had many a time over the years. My grandfather did not serve partially for health reasons but also, he and his youngest brother-in-law were told their services were best needed here as farmers to feed the homefront. Too often this aspect can be overlooked and so I want to make a special shout out of Thanks! to Frank W Butterfield for those few lines of dialogue helping people understand that not everyone served on the battlefield but still provided a much needed service to their country.
Decoration Day, 1933 #11
Original Review May 2022:
Decoration Day, 1933 is a delightful glimpse into the life of a young Nick years before he and Carter meet. I have yet to read anything but these holiday shorts in Nick and Carter's journey and as this is Nick's childhood there is no need to read any other entry first. Having said that, I think what Decoration Day does do is show yet another event that helps make Nick into the man he becomes. So I'll just say this as to not give anything away: once again Frank W Butterfield has created a little window into the younger life of one half of his famed couple that delights, entertains, and makes the reader smile.
Independence Day, 1976 #14
Original Review July 2022:
Another great short in the holiday journey of Nick and Carter, though this is probably a tad longer than the previous ones I've read. In 1976, I turned 3(though only 2 1/2 at the time of this short) so the events of the time don't really stand out for me but Frank W Butterfield tells Nick and Carter's Bicentennial celebration in a way that you can't help but feel you lived it with the pair.
I really won't say too much to the story itself but I will say I felt like had I read their original adventures I might know a few ins and outs when it comes to one of their surprise guests for the holiday. Having said that, I wasn't lost by any means, enough is revealed to the readers that details fall into place.
We meet old and new characters(well new to me not having read the originals yet) and together they all find a place to celebrate our country's bicentennial and as always, Nick and Carter have each other and they have yet again bumped up a notch on my TBR list.
Pearl Harbor Day, 1991 #22
Original Review December 2022:I think so far this has been my favorite in this series of holiday windows into the lives of Nick and Carter and their friends. Maybe it's the history buff in me, maybe it's the inclusion of friends, maybe it's the set-up of flashback/memory recall, or most likely it's a combination of all three.
We all have at least one thing happen in our lives that we'll never forget, no matter how old we get so seeing Nick and company recall the days of that fateful day 50 years later is not only realistic and believable, but also heartbreaking and heartwarming. Heartwarming because you feel the emotions behind their story, heartbreaking because, yes they obviously survived the war but hindsight lets us know what lies ahead of them.
Pearl Harbor, 1991 gives us a look at the characters of the author's Nick and Carter universe(Nick more than the rest) both in the historical and contemporary setting, not always easy to do in a short story but Frank W Butterfield accomplishes it wonderfully. Once again his original tales of Nick and Carter creep up higher on my TBR list.
On a personal note, the author mentions in his notes that he referred to a list of broadcasts on the NBC Red and Blue networks for complete details of the news on December 7, 1941 and I've mentioned before how I collect old radio shows. When 9/11 occurred I was home helping my mom recover from surgery and they sold vegetables off the farm so there was always too many tomatoes left and I was cooking up some of the extras. When doing kitchen work is when I often listen to OTR shows, one of the episodes I remember listening to that September was an episode of Fibber McGee & Molly from December 9, 1941. The announcer, Harlow Wilcox, said they are keeping the show on to keep morale up and that the sponsor, Johnson's Wax, agreed to let NBC cut in with any war news if it became available. I never forgot that episode(anyone who is interested in looking it up for a listen the episode title is 40 Percent Off).
RATING:
Veteran's Day, 2006 #19
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, CA 94108
Saturday, November 11, 2006
6:15 a.m.
Nick opened his eyes and sat up a little. The clock on the table—Carter's table—said it was a quarter past 6.
The fire on the hearth was burning brightly which meant that Carter had been by at some point in the last hour or so. Nick figured his husband had gotten up and stopped by to stoke the fire before going to the gym behind the pool.
As much as he missed sleeping with his husband, Nick had to agree with their doctor who'd said it was better if they slept in separate beds. Nick's bones weren't in the best shape. And Carter was still as muscled as ever. He'd already broken Nick's wrist a few months earlier by rolling over on it while they were fooling around. The funny thing was that it hadn't really hurt and neither of them had noticed until Nick realized his hand wasn't working right.
Pushing the covers off, Nick slowly stood and then made his way into the bathroom. For all the other problems he was having at the age of 83—almost 84—an enlarged prostate was not one of them. Their doctor had jokingly suggested it was because of their healthy sex life. Nick and Carter had both agreed. They still did something or another at least twice a week, if not more.
As he relieved himself over the toilet, Nick grinned when he thought about how he could still take what Carter had to give and that happened at least once a week. Of course, they didn't bounce around on the bed like they once had. The two of them would stretch out on their sides. Carter would gently wrap his big arms around Nick's chest and slowly do his thing. That had been an unexpected change for the better. They used to really go at it—pushing, shoving, pulling, wrestling—lots of sweat and noise—a real workout. Now, it was more leisurely and, to be honest, much more pleasurable.
Nick closed the lid to let it mellow and then walked over to the sink to wash his hands. Since the room was dark except for a small nightlight, Nick couldn't check the mirror to see if his dimple was still there, so he ran his finger over his chin. It was. His mother's threat about it disappearing if he misbehaved had yet to come true. And Nick had misbehaved a lot over the years.
With a sigh, he dried his hands and then walked back into the bedroom. Instead of crawling back into his grandfather's bed, he grabbed a pillow, walked over to the Chesterfield, and made a nest for himself with his favorite blanket so that he was propped up and staring into the fire as his eyes drowsily closed.
Decoration Day, 1933 #11
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Tuesday, May 30, 1933
After breakfast
"Come over here and quick!" hissed Nick across the hall to his sister who was just walking out of her room with her brown leather satchel in one hand and blue coat in the other.
Turning a quizzical face in his direction, Janet asked, "What?"
Nick motioned. "Come on. And don't dawdle."
Janet rolled her eyes but walked across the hall and into her brother's room. She sat down on his bed, threw her coat to one side, and let her satchel drop to the floor.
Nick softly closed the door and then, with his back against the knob, looked at his sister, as he whispered, "Wanna play hooky, today?"
Janet thought for a moment and then shook her head. "Today's the day they're bringing flowers to school and we're going to the cemetery." Looking exasperated, she said, "It's Decoration Day, you know."
Ignoring Janet's usual way of being bossy, Nick glanced over at his desk. "But I've got a buncha dough."
Janet's eyes widened a little. "Oh, yeah? Wheredja get it from?"
"Never you mind," said Nick, wondering if maybe his idea wasn't as good as he thought it would be. "I got the dough and now I wanna spend it."
"Nick!" hissed his sister. "We're gonna be late for school! Both of us!"
Crossing his arms, Nick shrugged. "I don't care. I gotta test today and I don't feel like takin' no test and that dough's burnin' a whole in my pocket." He grinned. He'd heard someone talkin' just like that on the radio a few weeks ago.
"How much?"
Nick's eyes widened as he quietly said, "Fifty bucks!"
Janet leaned forward and almost fell off the bed. "Fifty dollars! Wheredja get money like that?"
"Never you mind." Nick tilted his head. "You wanna go to Chutes-at-the-Beach and ride the rides?"
Before Janet could answer, they both heard Zelda clap twice and call up from the bottom of the stairs. "Children! Time for school!"
Janet jumped off the bed and grabbed her satchel. "I'm not gonna be late. Allie would be so mad."
Nick shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you'll find me at the usual place in the park." He reached into his front pocket and pulled out five dollars. Waving the small wad of bills in his fist in front of his sister's nose, he said, "Here's car fare from that snooty school of yours to our place in the park."
Janet blinked twice, looked at the money, and then looked at her brother.
"Children!"
Shaking her head, Janet dashed around Nick, opened his bedroom door with her satchel in hand, and then ran down the hallway towards the stairs.
"Janet!" exclaimed Zelda. "How many times must I tell you not to run down the stairs? Do you want to break your neck and end up in the hospital for six months like that poor child I told you about in Salt Lake City?"
Seeing that his sister had left her coat behind, Nick shoved the dough in one of its pockets, and then, running into the hallway, said, "Janet! You forgot your coat!"
Independence Day, 1976 #14
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, CA 94108
Sunday, July 4, 1976
6:05 a.m. PDT
"Nick?"
I stretched and opened my eyes. Carter Jones, my tall ex-fireman of a husband, was looking down at me. Somehow, in the muted light of the foggy dawn, the blend of white, red, and blond hair was highlighted all over his beautiful body.
And, from where I lay in bed, he appeared to be wearing nothing but a pair of red shorts with a white racing stripe down the side. It was a tight pair and showed everything.
I figured he was also wearing his usual pair of white Adidas sneakers (with matching red stripes) and white athletic socks with a red trim. I leaned over to look and confirmed that I was right.
"This is the red workout set," he announced.
"Is the jock red?" I asked. During the previous couple of years, Carter had started wearing a jock strap when he worked out. That was a new thing for him.
He pulled the band of his shorts out a little with his thumb and showed me that it was white. "I'm not completely nuts, Nick."
I put my hands behind my back and grinned. "You coulda fooled me."
He rolled his eyes.
"The only reason you're dressing this way is because of the Russian kid you and Ferdinand are parenting."
Carter frowned. "Parenting?"
I rubbed some sleep out of one eye as I nodded. "Yeah. I'm convinced he defected because he saw a photograph of you back in..." I paused. "Where's he from?"
"Kiev. And he'd be the first to tell you that he's Ukrainian, not Russian."
I shrugged. "It's all Soviet to me."
Carter leaned over and kissed me on the lips. Brushing his lips over my cheeks, he asked, "Did Doris tell you what she's making?"
"Poached eggs served on a mushroom and rice pilaf. Waffles. Bacon. Ham and cheddar quiche."
"Sounds good. Anton is coming over in a minute. We're working out and then it'll be time to get ready for company."
I kissed him back. "I'm going back to sleep then."
. . .
"Parisians?" asked Uncle Paul as his ridiculous monocle glittered in the sunlight. "In my brother's house?"
I snorted. "Yes," I said, not bothering to hide my irritation. "There've been Parisians in that house before. Whole gangs of them, in fact." I looked out at the ocean. We were standing on the deck of our house up in Sonoma County.
Uncle Paul turned to look out at the ocean. "And, yet, you could be here instead."
"Ben asked us to host a brunch," I replied, "so we are."
"I find the entire idea of brunch to be one plainly devised by the bourgeoisie. Don't you agree, Nicholas?"
I didn't reply. There was nothing to say.
"The weather will be quite nice up here while you entertain your new friends in the dampness of the fog."
He was right. Even though he was dead, he was right. Even though he was annoying, he was right. The weather in the City was predicted to be miserably cold and damp and the bay would be socked in. So much for the Bicentennial fireworks.
I turned to look at him. I wondered how, with all the wind, his top hat stayed perfectly perched on his head. "Did you come all the way from the other side just to give me a weather report?"
He smiled. His mustache (which came and went, depending on his mood) was out in full force and twirling on its own like it sometimes did. "No, my dear Nicholas, I brought you here to remind you of the tale of Jacob and Esau."
I frowned. "That's from the Bible, right?"
His eyes danced with amusement as he replied, "Ask Carter all about it."
. . .
"Nick?"
I sat up.
Carter was sitting on his side of the bed, his back covered in sweat. He was peeling off his athletic socks. Without turning, he said, "Time to get up."
"Jacob and Esau..." Feeling like an idiot, I suddenly remembered who they were.
He stopped moving. "What about them?"
Jacob, the older of the two, had shot me on the front steps of The Ritz Hotel in Nice in July of 1957. After trying to kill me, Jacob had shot himself.
Thinking about that day made the spot in my shoulder where the bullet went in begin to throb a little. According to Carter, there was barely a scar there. And I rarely ever thought about what happened that day anymore. It had been 19 years, after all.
Although the bullet didn't do much damage, I lost a lot of blood, went into a coma, and had a weird dream where Uncle Paul took me to see myself at some point in the future. The future me had looked old, wrinkled, and shrunken.
I'd come through the experience with nothing more than a small scar on my back, but Jacob's father, Jean-Louis Auguste Tremont, half-brother of my own father, had a kind of mental breakdown afterwards. However, last I'd heard, he was still going strong and still as much of an asshole as he'd been in '57.
Turning to look at me, Carter asked, "Why'd you ask me about them?"
"I had a dream. Uncle Paul mentioned their names."
Carter looked at me for a long moment, his emerald green eyes searching my face. "What do you think it means?"
I shrugged and then reached over my shoulder to try to scratch the scar, which was beginning to itch. "Dunno. What do you think?"
He watched me struggle for a moment and then stretched out on the bed and patted his belly. I lay across it, feeling how sweaty it still was. Carter began to scratch the skin and rub the scar at the same time.
I purred a little. "I forgot how you used to do that, fireman. That feels good."
"I wonder whatever happened to Ésaü?" He pronounced the name like the French did.
"I don't have a clue."
He continued to rub and scratch. After half a minute, or so, of doing that, he said, "Actually, Nick, I think I know what happened to him."
I was too relaxed to care enough to ask.
. . .
After we'd showered, shaved, and dressed, I was leading Carter down the hallway to the stairs, when the doorbell rang.
"That should be Ben and Carlo," said Carter.
"Yeah," I replied.
By the time we got to the bottom of the stairs, Gustav, our butler and valet, had opened the door and let them in. Ben was looking pensive while Carlo was grinning.
We said our hellos and exchanged hugs. Gustav asked about drinks. We all put in for coffee. With that, he disappeared into the kitchen and I led everyone into the great room.
"How was the penthouse at the Mark Hopkins?" I asked.
"Nice as always," replied Ben. "We really could have stayed here, but we didn't make it into town until almost midnight."
"And we didn't need to stay in the penthouse," added Carlo.
I shrugged and got a good look at both of them.
Carlo, who was a little taller than me, never seemed to age. He had classic Italian features, including beautiful black eyes. His wavy hair was still black. I knew we were around the same age—53—so I figured he'd found someone in Beverly Hills or West Hollywood to make sure his hair stayed black. He also, somehow, had no wrinkles, other than little lines around his eyes when he smiled. I wondered if he'd had work done. They lived and worked in Hollywood. It wouldn't have surprised me one bit.
Ben, who was a little shorter than me, had visibly aged over the years since we'd met back in '53. His wispy blond hair had long ago turned white. And his face was full of wrinkles. In fact, he looked older than the rest of us even though we were all about the same age. I was probably to blame for that since he worked for me, managing Monumental, the movie and TV production company I owned.
"So," said Ben as we all stood around the fireplace, "I see nothing really changes around here."
I asked, "What do you mean?"
He pointed to the roaring fire. "It's the 4th of July."
I laughed as Carter pointed to the open doors which led out into the garden. "That's why."
"Never see anything like that at home," said Carlo.
Carter grabbed the poker. As he pushed a log back and let some sparks fly, he asked, "So Hollywood is home now?"
"We've lived there for 20-odd years, so yeah," replied Carlo.
Gustav arrived right then with coffee.
. . .
Once we all had our cups, Gustav retreated to the kitchen. Carlo and Ben sat next to each other on the sofa. I took the chair facing the front door. Carter put his cup on the coffee table and walked behind me, squeezing my shoulder as he passed by. "Music," was his only comment.
"Did you make a new tape?" I asked.
"Yep."
Carlo looked up at the ceiling. "Did you install those speakers we were talkin' about in April?"
"Yep," replied Carter as he knelt in front of the reel-to-reel tape deck he kept in a cabinet next to the bar in the dining room. "The whole house is wired now."
"Nice," said Carlo as he glanced at Ben over his cup of coffee.
"No, Carlo Martinelli," said Ben in a sour tone of voice, "you may not install speakers all over our house. I don't want to see a mess like that."
I looked at Ben, trying not to grin, and said, "All the wires are hidden."
"I don't care," said Ben as "Philadelphia Freedom" by Elton John began to play.
Carter walked over, grooving a little as he did. When Elton started singing, Carter began to lip synch.
Carlo put down his coffee cup, hopped up, and, in front of the fireplace, held his hand over his belly and made a sliding move.
Carter met him and the two did the bump a couple of times as Ben and I laughed.
"Can you follow?" asked my husband.
Carlo nodded and took Carter's offered hands. "Sure."
The two of them began to do a kind of modified boogie fox trot. Carter led him to the other side of the fireplace. Once they had the room to make the move, he dipped Carlo, quickly brought him back up, and then spun him around once.
It was an impressive thing to watch. Ben and I got up and both applauded. I tried to whistle. It didn't come out right. But no one seemed to notice.
Carter led Carlo to the other side of the room. He spun him around twice and then pulled Carlo in close. The two held tight and boogied in place.
Out of nowhere, Anton, dressed in his waiter's uniform, appeared and began to dance like he was on Soul Train. I knew he'd been watching the show religiously so he could figure out how to dance like all the kids his age did. I had to admit he knew his moves.
As all this went down, Ben and I were both dancing (neither of us were very good, to be honest) and clapping along with the rhythm of the song (or trying to).
Right then, Carter glanced over at me and let Carlo go. Carter said something I couldn't hear because of the music. But Carlo and Anton both nodded and then the three of them formed a line and began to do a synchronized move that reminded me of seeing The Spinners on TV a couple of years earlier. It was amazing and gave me a nice, warm feeling to watch my husband do another one of the thousand things he was naturally good at.
Then the song was over. Ben and I both applauded as Carter, Carlo, and Anton held hands and bowed. That was when I heard other people applauding. Turning, I saw Gustav, Ferdinand (his husband and our gardener and ersatz chauffeur), Doris (our cook), and Rachel (her latest girlfriend) all applauding. Doris whistled and then said, "Y'all should take that act on the road!"
We all laughed at that.
Pearl Harbor Day, 1991 #22
579 Eddy Street, Apartment 5-C
San Francisco, CA 94109
Saturday, December 7, 1991
6:55 p.m. PST
Carter pulled the Cougar into a garage on Eddy Street, between Larkin and Hyde, as Nick asked, "Now, tell me again what we're doing?"
"Hold your horses, son, and you'll find out."
Once they'd handed the car over to the attendant, Carter took Nick by the elbow and led him towards Larkin.
"Are we going to dinner? Around here?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
Nick frowned as they walked. The area wasn't the safest part of town, not that Nick ever cared much about things like that. Usually.
He wondered if maybe Carter had found some new restaurant and, if that was the case, whether it was Thai or Vietnamese. Carter was on a real kick, lately, trying any out-of-the-way Asian restaurant he could find in the Bay Area. What he most wanted, he'd said, was to find places owned and run by immigrants from places like Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, etc. Nick liked that idea, on principle, but didn't always enjoy driving to Hayward or San Pablo to try out the newest spot.
Before they got to the corner, Carter jaywalked across the street, still holding Nick by the elbow.
Suddenly, Nick realized where they were. "Did you know—?"
"Yes, I did," said Carter as they walked up the steps. He looked for a button and then pressed it.
"5-C?" asked Nick.
Carter grinned at him as the buzzer sounded and the door clicked open.
. . .
At the end of the hall, Carter rapped on the door. Nick could hear music playing and voices talking and laughing. He could also smell something cooking. He wondered if maybe it was pot roast. That made him grin.
The door opened and, with an apron wrapped around his waist, Greg Holland stood there with a big smile on his face. "Come on in. You're the last to get here."
Carter stepped back to let Nick go in first. He hugged Greg and asked, "What is this?"
"I'll let Mike explain," replied Greg. "Let me have your coat."
Nick removed his jacket and handed it to Greg who opened a door in the hallway revealing a closet with other coats hanging inside.
"Wow," said Nick as he looked inside the closet and then down at the floor. "It hasn't changed much."
Greg said, "Mike's in the kitchen. I think you know the way."
Nick chuckled and walked into the living room. There, sitting at a big dining table which was covered with a white cloth and crystal and china, sat Henry Winters and Robert Evans.
They both looked up. Robert smiled and said, "Mike wants to talk to you first."
"He's in the kitchen," added Henry, pointing to the kitchen door.
Nick nodded. "I know the way."
They both laughed.
. . .
Pushing his way through the swinging door, Nick stopped and then backed up. He moved the door back and forth, noiselessly. "I see someone fixed the squeak."
Standing over a relatively new stove, Mike grinned at Nick and nodded. "I hear the current landlord is a real dick, but he's not that bad when you get to know him."
Nick laughed. "I own this building?"
"According to Robert, you bought it in 1972."
"Robert bought it, you mean."
"Same difference."
Nick walked over and stood next to Mike. "Is that your famous pot roast?"
"Yes, sir. Your favorite."
"The only thing you actually know how to make unless Greg has taught you some of his tricks."
"Nope. I make the pot roast. He makes everything else. It's almost ready, by the way."
Pointing to the two smaller pans, Nick asked, "What's this?" He grinned up at Mike. "Could they be... vegetables?"
"Potatoes are vegetables."
Leaning against the fridge, Nick laughed. "This feels so familiar."
"Yeah?" asked Mike as he removed the lid from one of the smaller pots. Using a big, slotted spoon, he stirred and then put the lid on an empty place on the range top.
"Do I see green peas?"
"And they're fresh. Greg knows someone near Half Moon Bay with a greenhouse who grows 'em year-round."
"Nice."
"Pardon me," said Mike as he reached for the fridge door. "Need to get the butter."
Moving over to the sink, Nick asked, "What's going on here?"
"Well," said Mike as he sliced off about a quarter of a stick of butter into the peas, "I figured it was finally time for me to be a man and apologize."
Nick laughed. "For what?"
"For knocking your block off 50 years ago."
"Well, it was on the 9th, not the 7th, if you'll remember."
Mike glanced over with a warm smile on his craggy face. "After 50 years, bud, who's countin'?"
Nick felt himself getting emotional right then, so he just nodded.
. . .
They were all at the table with glasses and plates full. Nick was about to raise his glass to offer a toast when Carter suddenly jumped up. "Hold on."
He walked over to the built-in cabinet in the corner opposite of the kitchen. It was where Mike had once kept his guns and ammunition. Carter opened it up, revealing a big microphone and cassette tape recorder.
"What's that?" asked Greg.
"I am going to record this conversation," said Carter. "I have a whole box of tapes, so we can stay here until dawn."
Henry sniffed. "Is this for a book?"
"Yep," replied Carter as he inserted a cassette into the recorder and messed around with some wires.
"That's a good idea," said Robert.
"Why?" asked Nick. "Why should we record what we say?"
"For posterity," said Carter, "and maybe a book." He pressed a button, waited, and then pressed another button. "That's all set for when we're ready." He walked back over to his chair next to Nick and sat.
Mike said, "The way this came about is that Greg suggested we take the two of you out for dinner tonight. Then I had the idea of including Henry and Robert and making my famous pot roast."
Greg added, "We were going to invite everyone to our house, but then Robert suggested we do everything here since the apartment was vacant."
"Due to the recession, no doubt," said Henry, darkly.
"No," replied Robert, quietly. "The previous tenant passed away in October. His parents came into town from Idaho and cleared out all his stuff. The rent was paid through March"—he glanced at Nick—"and Mrs. Neely, the manager, offered to sublet it out, but the parents haven't got back to her." He sighed. "I don't think they will."
"AIDS?" asked Mike.
Robert frowned and nodded. "And the parents were not very nice according to Mrs. Neely."
"Why don't we move someone in who needs a place to live?" asked Carter.
Robert shook his head. "I checked with Bob Carmichael at WilcoxRoss and he said it would be illegal." He looked around the room. "So, this place stays empty until March."
"If the parents still hold the lease, does that mean we're squatting?" asked Nick.
Robert grinned. "It does. Should I notify the landlord?"
"According to Mike, he's a real dick."
Everyone laughed.
Mike looked at Nick. "I suppose you're the one who pre-paid the rent."
"Did I?"
"Not directly, but, yes, more or less," replied Robert.
"What was the kid's name?"
"Mark Peterson."
"Then he gets the first toast." Nick lifted his glass of wine. "To Mark Peterson, wherever he is."
Everyone else lifted their glasses and, in unison, said, "To Mark."
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.
From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.
Saturday Series Spotlights
Author Bio:
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Veteran's Day, 2006 #19
Decoration Day, 1933 #11
No comments:
Post a Comment