9. Clearance

Jamie spent Thursday getting ready to go back to Ohio. He got his hair cut, an oil change for the car, and he started loading the trunk with some of his mother's personal effects that he wanted to keep, small things like his share of her photo albums, a few books, a box of Haitian carvings she'd bought during her medical missions with the diocese, and especially her financial records. As the administrator of her trust he was responsible to his brothers, carefully accounting for his disbursements every month. It was important that he get all that right. He was very lucky that she had left detailed instructions in the event of her death, which made his job relatively easy—though he still had to manage 34 investment accounts of various sizes, each with its own rules about cashing out.

Even better, his brothers were explicitly supportive of the actions he took; they never fought over money or possessions after Thelma died, not one critical comment. His brothers praised him for his management, he was swift in his disbursements, and he intended to keep it that way. He was very proud of his mother and brothers; so many families stage greedfests when someone dies, but not his—not hers. She would have been furious at such a selfish spectacle, and if there was one thing the Foster Boys knew, it was Don't Piss Off Your Mom.

At the end of three months he'd disbursed about $300,000 and zeroed out half the accounts; if anything she was too diversified. But she loved playing with her money, making her own investment decisions, building her little nest egg. With certain other accounts it made sense to delay any action; the trust had a legal life of its own, and by waiting another month until year's end to sell the local municipal bonds, they would gain the annual interest.

Then there was the matter of the InFashion stock he'd given her, a sizable chunk that would trigger Federal Reserve reporting requirements, and the bro's agreed to let him study the best timing to minimize disruption to the company.

As he packed away these valuables, it occured to him that he ought to start bringing Kent into his financial considerations. They were a private matter up to now, but something very important changed a few nights ago on Kent's birthday. He'd been so cute these last few months, worrying about how Jamie was paying his bills, offering to help, longing almost to share his mythic Baseball Money; he seemed to think Jamie was broke or soon would be, with all the medical bills and no paycheck coming in. It was probably because of Thelma's house in the crummy little subdivision. It was nice enough for what it was, but she liked living inexpensively, saving her money, plotting her investments; she was good at it, though Jamie and his bro's were always trying to get her to spend a little more on herself. Now, of course, it was too late.

You never know what's going to happen. If you spend all your time planning for the future, you forget to live now.

He packed one of his two suitcases with the summer clothes he'd originally brought back in September, before the Incident. It was all just little stuff, the movers would handle the big items, but he got a lot accomplished and felt good about his day. Then all hell broke out.

Kent got home a few minutes before five o'clock and found Jamie in the kitchen and good smells from the oven. "Hey baby, whatcha makin'?"

"Little pizza squares. You might get sausage, you might get broccoli, you might get chiles or mushrooms."

"Ooh! Gettin' me some good stuff tonight."

"You got good stuff last night," Jamie objected.

"Didn't get me no chiles, though. I loves me some spicy."

"Wash your hands. Don't be bringing your cop grime into my kitchen."

Kent chuckled and washed, "Aw, you loves you some cop grime. Cop grime's the best. Gayboys loves 'em some cop grime."

"Not in the kitchen, they don't."

Kent kissed him. "Then I'll get you outta here, and make you cuddle some cop grime."

"Let me guess," Jamie grinned. "Not till after your little pizza squares."

"First things first," Kent shrugged. "Cops get hongry."

"Jeez," Jamie laughed, "cops get stoopid."

"That too," Kent allowed.

Jamie poured him some iced tea, then donned oven mitts to remove a tray from the broiler. The cheese was bubbling and golden brown. He used a spatula to arrange his pizzadoodles on a platter, which also held raw broccoli heads, celery and red sauce.

Kent sat at the table and started pounding his fists, "When do we eat? When do we eat?"

Jamie set his platter down and threw a piece of broccoli at him. Kent shagged it and popped it into his mouth. Then he surveyed the little platter, "Ooh baby, which ones got chiles?"

"Those," Jamie pointed. "Careful, they're hot."

"No prob," Kent said, "so'm I."

"You have entirely too high an opinion of cop grime."

Kent bit into a chile square. "Gayboys like it. Dang, this is hot!" He grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth. "I don't remember buyin' chiles when we bought groceries, though."

"We didn't. I picked these up today so they'd be fresh."

Kent stopped and stared. "You did? Where?"

"PayLess."

"How'dja get to PayLess?"

"I drove."

"All by yourself?"

"How else would I get there? All the way there and all the way back."

"Since when are you drivin' by yourself?"

"What do you mean? You weren't here to go with me, yet I'm supposed to have snacks promptly at five."

"You drove there by yourself, though?"

"Hell yes."

"When did the doctor say you could drive?"

"When did he say I couldn't?"

Kent stared some more; picked up another pizza square, bit into it, chewed, his eyes never leaving him. "Where's your medical clearance?"

"My what?"

"You gotta have medical clearance, man. A letter from the doctor sayin' you're okay to drive."

"When did this come about? I'm a licensed driver, perfectly legal."

"Don't mean you can drive after what you been through. You gotta have medical clearance."

"I'm leaving Sunday afternoon. I'm going to drive my car. You've known this all along, but you've never once said anything about needing a letter."

"So you just took it on yourself to drive to PayLess and buy a bunch of chiles?"

"Like I'll take it on myself to drive to Columbus, Ohio."

"Not without that letter, you ain't."

"I have a valid license."

"That don't mean squat. You better hand that license over."

Jamie's jaw dropped, his eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to keep me here? Is that what this is all about?"

"No, I'm tryin' to keep you fuckin' safe. Where's your medical clearance?"

Jamie got up, walked away and started banging dishes around, cleaning up the mess from his little meal. "All week long you've argued with me about going back to Ohio. How did you think I was going to get there, Kent? By Greyhound? Maybe carrier pigeon?"

"I didn't know you were drivin' already. Come to find out, he's out buyin' chiles. Where else you been goin'?"

Jamie faced him. "The LubeFast on the Bypass. I went to church on Sunday. I bought an Advent wreath. I got my hair cut. I bought moving boxes. I've gone anywhere I wanted. The post office, the bank, the CPA, the lawyer. Downtown, the broker's office, the galleries on Main Street, the office supply store, the confectioners' shop so you can get your candy fix. And now, three days before I'm going to leave, you're saying I can't even drive?"

"Jamie, you ain't bein' realistic."

"Whose reality is this, Kent?"

"Would you please come back here so we can talk?"

"We can talk perfectly well where I am," Jamie said, clattering the sausage skillet into the dishwasher.

"Not when you're mad we can't." Kent got up and went to him, held his shoulder. "Will you come back to the table, please?"

Jamie was reluctant, but the question was too reasonable; so he let himself be guided to the table. He yanked out his own chair before Kent could get it for him.

But he sat down, which was what Kent wanted, so he resumed his own seat. They both ate a pizza square.

"These are good," Kent said softly. "Thanks for makin' em."

Jamie didn't reply, but said, "How else am I going to get home?"

"This is home," Kent said forcefully. "I don't want you goin' off to Ohio. Guys there, a big Gay community, they'll be chasin' you everywhere you go. I'll tell you right now, it ain't happenin'."

"You've made that quite clear. But I have to get back to my job. Think of someone besides yourself for a change; Casey needs the help."

"No, he don't."

"He's been doing my job and his for months now. What he needs is a vacation."

"Jamie, you don't even got a job there no more."

Jamie sat back as if shoved. "What? What are you saying? I talked to him Sunday afternoon, he said he couldn't wait for me to get back."

"He didn't tell ya he hired somebody else? That was months ago, man."

Jamie was stunned, speechless.

Finally he stood up and strode to the family room, by the sliding glass doors to the patio; he glared at the night briefly, then yanked the vertical blinds shut. They swayed back and forth like a tennis match. He turned, eyed Kent and said, "Please hand me that phone."

Kent lifted it off the microwave and gave it to him. Jamie came and punched in ten numbers. Kent was alarmed and watchful.

Casey answered and Jamie demanded, "Do I have a job or not?"

In Ohio Casey blinked, "Well, um…"

"A simple yes or no; do I have a job or not?"

"Well, it's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

"When, exactly, are you wanting this discussion? Do I have a job or not?"

"Jamie, of course I want you involved with us."

"Involved? Yes or no!"

"Well, we've got to talk about it."

"Whom did you hire, then? Is there someone else in my office, working on my Macintosh? Going through my e-mail? Looking at my porn?" Jamie had bought that computer, it wasn't owned by The Ohio Gay Times.

"Clarice. She was already here and I needed the help. I don't think she cares for your porn."

"An intern? I've been replaced by a sophomore? Oh, tell me that's not what you meant."

"She already knows our way of doing things."

"So: I get stabbed for The Ohio Gay Times; then I get fired by The Ohio Gay Times. Is that how it works with you?"

"You didn't get fired; Louie put you on longterm disability."

"He doesn't even have a disability policy; there's nothing to put me on! I told him when Rick got sick he needed a policy! Now he invents one? And you went along with it?"

"I can't do the paper by myself, Jamie; I didn't know when you were coming back."

"So I get fired; and you get to fill up your newsprint with tales of victimhood, as told by Disabled Lesbians of Fiji!"

"I'm training her; she's getting better."

"Fuck you, Casey Jordan! We spoke four days ago; I told you I was coming back and you sounded all happy. You forgot to mention there's nothing to come back to!"

"When was I supposed to tell you? Right after you woke up from the coma? Boy, that'd sure help your recovery."

"I woke up in September," Jamie hissed. "It's now December. Every time I've called you, it's been how I can't wait to get back. When were you going to spring this on me? After I came back and found Clarice in my office, using my Macintosh for her December softball report?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

"Well, you certainly succeeded. I'm not the least upset. FUCK YOU, CASEY JORDAN!"

He slammed down the phone. Kent gently placed it back on the microwave.

It rang again ten seconds later. Jamie picked it up, "And fuck your mother too!" Slam.

He unplugged the bitch, but ten seconds later phones started ringing all over the house. Thelma had phones everywhere, the computer room, the sewing room, the bedroom, ring ring ring.

Kent got up and started unplugging them all. Jamie watched him go, and started feeling a bit grateful for his practical support.

He turned and gazed at the half-dead platter of pizza squares. Way to ruin a snack, huh?

He couldn't think. He got stabbed, then he got fired.

Fuckyoucaseyjordan.

Kent came back, took his chair again. "Drink your tea, baby."

Jamie sat morosely and munched a cold olive square. "How long did you know? And why didn't you tell me?"

"I figured it was his job to work it out."

"Clarice," Jamie groaned. "She's halfway good at building a sentence; it's what the sentence is about that's the problem. No news judgment; no awareness of what people will read. Just the travails of woebegotten women."

Kent chuckled. "I'm sorry, baby. No doubt he wants you back."

"To be 'involved.' But Louie won't cough up a third news paycheck. That son of a bitch, he's probably congratulating himself, Clarice is half as much money. All he ever wanted was a bar rag, and now he's got it."

Kent came and knelt next to him, gave him a hug. "No one can replace you; least of all some girl named Clarice."

Jamie shrugged. "I'm out of a job, though."

"No, babe. You just got a new one."

"What?"

"Takin' care of me, I hope."

Jamie frowned but nodded. "Hello, happy homemaker. Who doesn't even have a home in four weeks."

"We can still go to Ohio this weekend; I just wanna come with you, that's all. You need that medical clearance, Jamie, you really do. I hate to say it, but in the law's eyes you're still a coma patient. I can't let you on the highway unless a doctor says okay."

"I haven't had any trouble," Jamie told him.

"But that's just around town. What happens when you get on the highway? Do you ever get anxious drivin' over bridges?"

"I never have before."

"Well, that's good. Jamie, I gotta think about that fainting spell you had awhile ago. If somethin' was to happen on the highway and you got hurt, everybody at the post'd be askin' me, 'Were you nuts, what'd you let him drive for? He's a coma patient, he needs medical clearance. You shoulda confiscated his license.' If somethin' ever happened to ya, baby, I couldn't stand it. It'd be my fault, I didn't stop you. Anybody else, if I found out they'd been in a coma, I'd say where's your medical clearance? No letter, no drivin', I'm sorry. It's my job to protect you, and the public. We can't have coma patients, or epileptic people, or guys with brain damage runnin' around; we just can't. It's a public safety issue."

"But I have a license. And the doctor never said anything."

"I doubt he even knew you were drivin'. Did you tell him about that blackout? Does he even know about it?"

"It wasn't a blackout. I'm not epileptic."

"The doctor don't even know, does he."

"I'm not sure I've seen him since then. Has it been a month? I see him every month."

"I tell ya what. Call his office tomorrow, maybe he'll give you a letter. Maybe it's nothin' to worry about."

"For heaven's sake he's Jewish. He doesn't work on Friday afternoons, the only time to reach him is early, before his first patient. Kent, you're not just saying this because you don't want me to go?"

"No, baby. I don't want ya to go, that's for real; but even more, I don't want you crashin' your car, or hurtin' somebody. If anything happened to you… man, find me a tall bridge."

"I have to be able to drive, Kent; there isn't even any traffic when I go."

"You shoulda told me, though."

"What? Sunday morning after you left, I went to church; it's the first Sunday of Advent, the anniversary of my first Communion. There wasn't any traffic; the streets are empty on Sunday mornings."

"Well, then the grocery and the oil change and downtown."

"I went the back way to PayLess; it's prettier, and slower, I get to look around. There weren't that many cars on the Bypass in the middle of the afternoon when I went to LubeFast; I didn't think a thing about it."

"I'm glad you made it; you're a good driver, Jamie, you're always thinkin', always anticipating. A good defensive driver. But we ain't never been on the highway together since all this happened. I don't feel confident about you till I can see for myself, and the doctor clears you. I just don't want you gettin' hurt, baby."

"Well…"

"Give me your license, Jamie. Till you get that letter. I promise it ain't 'cause I don't want you to leave me. It's 'cause I want you in one piece. I know you gotta get back to Ohio; let's go this weekend, together. If you get tired from the long drive, I can take over."

"You're taking my license?"

"Yes. As your Commander and your husband. Give me your license."

"I can't believe this."

"Just do it, baby. 'Cause I said so, as an officer of the law. This is me pullin' you over."

Jamie sighed glumly and went to the bedroom, found his wallet, dug his license out. Pulled his car key off the keyring, came back and handed that over too. "Here, then."

"Nice," Kent said, taking them, putting them in his pocket. "'Cause I was gonna say, don't drive without your license. But you give me the key too, which I appreciate and respect."

Jamie looked down and said, "The pizza things are cold."

Kent scooped one up, "Don't matter," and ate it. "You're a good cook, baby. You treat me real good."

Jamie was sick about all this; unemployed, useless, a freaking housewife. "I want to cuddle."

"Yeah," Kent said, pulling off Jamie's sweater and guiding him to the bedroom.

They held each other in silence, and Jamie slept a little in those strong, warm arms. Kent stayed awake, blaming Casey for half of it, and wondering about epilepsy or whatever it was. The doctor didn't even know.++

© Copyright 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.