Craig Lancaster - Edward Adrift

I think Jay L. Lamb just said, in a nice way, that I’m fucking loaded.

“I accept the position,” I say. “When do I start?”

“Let’s say January second, the Monday after the new year. It’s going to be a ghost town around here between now and then. Be here at eight a.m. and we’ll get you started. Welcome aboard, Edward.”

We shake on it. This astounds me.

I’m home by 2:42 p.m. While I’m grilling chicken for lunch, I watch the next Dragnet episode on my bitchin’ iPhone, since I may be late at my mother’s tonight. I wouldn’t want to miss Dragnet so early in my return to it.

“Administrative Vice: DR-29” is the seventeenth episode of the third season of the Dragnet color episodes, which ran from 1967 to 1970. This episode originally aired on February 6, 1969, and it’s one of my favorites.

One of the things I appreciate about Dragnet is its authenticity. Unlike television shows today that are monuments to falsehood, Dragnet shows you how police work actually takes place. In addition, Sergeant Joe Friday (played by Jack Webb) often provides a history lesson on Los Angeles in the intro. I will not hold my breath waiting for Jersey Shore to do something similar.

My mother’s condo is in a place called the Stapleton Building downtown. When it was built in 1904, it was the tallest and most glorious building in Billings, Montana. It held the city’s finest department store, Hart-Albin; offices; and even a men’s overnight club. For much of my life, however, it was empty and dilapidated (I love the word “dilapidated”), until some local developers turned it into something new, with the condo units and restaurants and shops. My mother moved here after my father died, and now she splits her time between here and Texas—with an increasingly larger share of the time being spent away from here.

My mother rings me in from the lobby, and I ride the elevator to the third floor, where her condo is. She has a view of the downtown streets. It’s a very nice place, although I still prefer my bungalow on Clark Avenue.

My mother opens the door and sweeps me into her condo.

Jay L. Lamb is standing in the living room.

“Hello, Edward,” he says.

“Hello, Mr. Lamb.”

My mother, having closed the door, has walked up behind me and wrapped an arm around me.

“Jay was just telling me about your new job. I’m so glad this worked out.”

I wrench myself out of my mother’s arm.

“My ribs still hurt,” I say, and she quickly apologizes.

“Why don’t you two chat?” she says. “I’ll finish with the dip.”

Jay sits down and invites me to take a spot on the couch opposite him. Instead, I follow my mother into the kitchen.

“Do you need something to drink?” she asks.

“No, Mother. Why is Jay L. Lamb here?”

“I invited him.”

“Why?”

“He’s our friend, and he just did something very nice for you.”

“And I appreciate that. I thought you and I were going to talk.”

“We are.”

“With Jay L. Lamb here? I have some things I need to say to you.”

“Go right ahead.”

My mother is being obtuse. I leave her and go back into the living room. Jay L. Lamb is stirring his drink. I go to the window and look down on Broadway, with my back to Jay L. Lamb and my mother so they don’t see how flummoxed I am.

“What’s new, Edward?” Jay asks me.

“Since you saw me four hours ago? Not much.”

My mother comes into the room carrying a tray of crackers. I can see her reflection in the glass.

“Edward, are you ready to talk? We have some time before the roast comes out of the oven.”

“No.”

“Could you come sit down, dear? We’d like to chat.”

I turn from the window and walk to the couch across from Jay L. Lamb and my mother, who are sitting together. I sit on the far end, as far from them as I can. I’m not hungry. I thought I was, but I’m not.

“Edward,” Jay L. Lamb says, “you remember how I told you I’m retiring.”

“Yes.”

“Your mother has asked me to come with her to Texas, and that’s what I’m going to do—if it’s all right with you.”

I look at my mother. She’s nodding, smiling at me.

“Why?”

“Because we care about each other.”

He reaches into my mother’s lap and takes her hand in his.

Holy shit!

“You mean, like, you’re her boyfriend?” I ask.

“Something like that.”

“Something exactly like that,” my mother says.

I look at them sitting there, holding hands. They look so happy, and that makes me angry. Two days ago, I was holding hands with someone, too. Now look what has happened.

“How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Until recently, there wasn’t a lot to tell,” Jay says. “I know you’re surprised, Edward. We were, too.”

I want him to shut up and never say another word to me. I don’t look at him. I look only at my mother.

“We’re selling the condo,” my mother says. “We’re going to live full time in Texas.”

I cannot even believe what I’m hearing.

“But Jay L. Lamb just told me ‘if it’s all right with you.’ Does that mean I have veto power over this?”

My mother squeezes Jay L. Lamb’s hand tightly.

“Not exactly veto power. What Jay wants is your blessing. It’s important to him, and to me, too. I think he’s showing a lot of respect for you by asking.”

I am dimensions beyond flummoxed.

“You told me you didn’t want a smelly old man living with you!”

Jay L. Lamb coughs some of his drink back into his glass, and then he looks at my mother incredulously.

“That’s what I thought when I said it. And by the way, Jay, you’re not smelly at all. Things change, Son.”

“How long have things been changing?”

I sound shrill and angry, and I realize that I am shrill and angry and that, furthermore, Dr. Bryan Thomsen’s best advice is not going to help me now.

“It’s been gradual,” Jay L. Lamb says. “Imperceptible. We’ve spent time together these past couple of years, gone to a lot of the same functions, shared our hearts. It just happened.”

“You should be happy,” my mother says. “For me, you should be happy.”

I stand up again and return to the window.

“I’m not happy, Mother. Not just about this, but about a lot of things.”

“Let’s talk about it,” she says.

“No.”

“I should go,” Jay L. Lamb says. “You two should talk first.”

“No,” my mother says.

“Yes,” I say.

Jay L. Lamb looks like a trapped animal. I take bitter pleasure in this.

“Jay, please sit down,” my mother says, and he does.

I turn around and face them.

“I’m leaving. I’m going home. I can’t believe you are just going to leave here. And with Jay L. Lamb! What would Father think? No wonder you said you don’t miss him.”

My mother’s face has lost color.

“I think he would be happy for me, unlike you. But it doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and I’m here. I found someone I want to be with. You’re selfish to be against that.”

“It’s selfish of you!”

I leave the condo, and once I’m in the hallway, I run for the elevator. My ribs scream out their objection to this, and I don’t care.

On the street, I find my new Cadillac DTS. The one Jay L. Lamb bought for me. The one my mother drove to take me away from Cheyenne Wells. The one parked next to Jay L. Lamb’s Volvo.

I go around to the driver’s side door of the Volvo, rear back my right foot, and kick hard against the door, leaving a size-fourteen impression.