Amanda Ward - Close Your Eyes

Our street, Maplewood Avenue, was situated behind an elementary school. In the mornings, I could sit on our sagging front porch and watch kids arrive for school, their hair still mashed from bed, small fists rubbing their eyes. We had a house of bike messengers on one side of us and an elderly couple on the other side. Gerry and I often shared a cold six-pack with the neighbors.

When I turned onto Maplewood, I could see that the lights in our purple shed, which was now called ‘The Studio,’ were still on. ‘How’s that all going?’ asked Alex. ‘The, uh, podcast or whatever.’

I shrugged. Gerry had lost his job at Dell six months before, and after a week or so of moping around, he had declared his life’s dream. I thought my boyfriend’s ‘life’s dream’ was finally getting me to marry him (he had been asking for years), but no. In his boxer shorts and a dell bowling T-shirt, Gerry had stood in the living room and announced that he was going to start a blog and begin calling himself ‘Mr. Cheapskate.’ Wild-eyed, he showed me elaborate plans scrawled in a notebook he’d bought at Walgreens in the middle of the night.

‘There’s this guy who loves wine, okay?’ Gerry had said the next morning as I edged my way into the kitchen and began spooning coffee into the French press.

‘Okay,’ I said. I had to admit that he looked absurdly attractive with his unshaven face, his eyes alight.

‘So he makes podcasts, YouTube videos, the whole nine yards. He talks about wine. And now he’s rich! And you know how I always wanted to be a stand-up comedian?’

‘I thought you wanted to perfect neural networks,’ I said.

‘Before that, before that,’ said Gerry. ‘When I was in high school, I wanted to be a stand-up comedian. I won talent shows, the whole nine yards.’

‘You don’t really tell jokes or anything,’ I ventured.

‘ANYWAY,’ Gerry snapped, ‘my point is that I have personality.’

‘I’ll give you that,’ I said. I put the kettle on to boil.

‘So, and I’m cheap,’ said Gerry. He was cheap, of this there was no doubt. Gerry refused to order coffee when we went to a coffee shop, insisting he could sip from my cup. He fished newspapers out of the trash and exited airplanes scanning the seat backs carefully, hoping for free magazines. He had a plastic accordion folder for coupons, he knew every two-for-one night in Austin, and he was happy to buy three cans of a Campbell’s soup flavor he didn’t especially like (broccoli cheese, for example) because the fourth can came for free. Tea bags in his wallet, a favorite free parking place downtown that required me to walk twenty minutes every time we went to hear a band, a house filled with crap from Freecycle. Yes, my beloved was cheap.

‘I am going to be Mr. Cheapskate,’ said Gerry. ‘I’ve already bought the domain name.’

‘So you’re going to write about . . . about saving money?’

‘Oh, hon,’ said Gerry, ‘that’s just the beginning.’ As I drank coffee and nibbled a stale scone, Gerry talked about blog ad revenue, webcasts, social networks, and later, T-shirt sales and personal appearances. He outlined his plans for the dilapidated shed, which was to become the center of the cheapskate empire. He was never going to work for ‘the man’ again. In fact, he was working against the man!

I nodded and smiled, hoping against hope for an upturn in the real estate market, acknowledging with more than a little fear that my boyfriend might be turning into my deadbeat father.

Still, I felt a measure of pride as Alex and I pulled in to the driveway and could see Gerry through the grimy shed window, his face illuminated by the halogen bulb he’d installed. ‘Still at it, eh?’ said Alex.

I sighed. ‘He’s working really hard.’

Leaning against the car with our arms full of groceries, we watched Gerry gesticulate. His voice rose in the balmy night. ‘And they’ll tell you you have to get two of the same burgers to get the Hut’s two-for-one deal. But I’m here to give you the inside scoop, people. Your wife likes a cheeseburger, and you’re a plain-beef guy? Bring a slice of cheese in your pocket! And that’s the Mr. Cheapskate Secret Scam of the Day. So do good work, people, play hard, and BE CHEAP!’

‘Whoa,’ said Alex.

‘He actually has a medium-sized audience,’ I said.

‘That’s great,’ said Alex, starting to walk toward the house with his bag.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I said insistently. My dog, Handsome, came bounding out of the house to greet us, and I knelt down to scratch behind his ears.

Alex gave Gerry the big news as he made himself at home, opening the wine, pouring himself a glass. Then he said, ‘Before I go, I’m dragging Lauren on a road trip.’ Gerry, unpacking the groceries, turned around to meet my gaze questioningly.

‘It’s my final wish,’ said Alex, taking the box of cookies out of Gerry’s hand and helping himself. ‘She can’t refuse me. Besides, we haven’t seen Gramma since after the Astros game last spring.’

‘Please don’t be morbid,’ I said. I sank into the couch, suddenly both ravenous and exhausted. ‘Or is it moribund ?’

‘Alex,’ said Gerry, ‘I want you to know I really admire what you’re doing.’

‘Jeez, Gerry,’ said Alex, ‘thanks.’

‘I think it’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Doctors Without Borders? What’s wrong with borders? That’s what I’d like to know. I like borders. They make sense to me.’

Both Alex and Gerry ignored my commentary. As they ate the dinner I had so carefully prepared, they talked about how Alex would get to Iraq (Austin to JFK, then through Jordan, which had been our mother’s name and so seemed portentous, foreboding), what he was bringing (clothes, medicine, and lots of music), if perhaps the love of his life was also packing her stethoscope to join Médecins Sans Frontières (not likely but not impossible). I ate silently, then said I was headed to bed. No one seemed to mind.

I took two Tylenol PMs and lay on the memory-foam mattress I’d bought when I sold my first house. I listened to my brother and my boyfriend talk: a sweet lullaby.

‘You’re still in your clothes,’ said Gerry, unbuttoning my blouse.

‘Is he going to die?’ I said. ‘Do you think he wants to?’

‘He didn’t pick Iraq,’ said Gerry. ‘Doctors Without Borders could have sent him to Mexico or Thailand.’ He put his warm hand on my stomach.

‘But they didn’t,’ I said.

Gerry kissed me. ‘I think a road trip is a great idea.’

‘You do?’

‘He’s really jazzed about it.’

‘I know,’ I said.

‘Besides,’ said Gerry, ‘I just checked: they’re having a special at Beachview Cabins in Galveston. You can write about it for Cheapskate on the Road.’

‘I don’t even want to know.’

‘Cheapskate on Holiday?’

I touched my boyfriend’s cheek. ‘You really love this, don’t you?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Gerry.

‘I’m glad.’

‘So you’ll attach a tripod and camera to the Dodge?’

While trying to think of a witty protestation, I fell deeply asleep.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.