Chapter 5

Another day, birds sing, the boxes from my office tilt on the porch. Max and Ruby arrive in painter pants. “Hey, there,” Ruby says, a cigarette going in the corner of her mouth. “Here we are, two painters ready to go.” Her hair is done up in a bandana. “I’m Ruby, by the way. I guess that’s obvious. So where do you want us to start?”

Mary takes her off to the living room, pointing out color chips. Max gets the ladder and paint trays from the truck. When he comes back inside, I pull him aside and say, “Did you put a pressed ham on my front window or was it me?”

“It was you, old man. You did one at the liquor store, too.”

“The liquor store?”

“Sure. Right after you bought a case of whiskey. It’s under the boxes on the porch. Don’t you remember?”

“A case?”

“Go see if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“I put your jacket over the whiskey.”

“I thought I’d left it back at the office.”

“Where do you want the ladder and stuff?”

“Living room, I guess.”

Mary and Ruby are still going over the color chips in the bedroom. Then Ruby comes out and holds her cigarette under the kitchen tap. “I’ll start on the trim,” she says to Max. “Are these all the drop cloths? I thought we had more in the garage.” She lights another cigarette. “Sorry we don’t have more cloths, folks. Otis probably wrapped something up in them. It could be anything from his guitar to the cat. I haven’t seen the cat lately. Have you, Max?”

“Otis probably traded it for records.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

They start painting like a couple of pros. Ruby does the cutting while Max works the roller. She calls it “cutting,” which is really doing the trim. They’ve got their own language. You’d think they’d make a mess, moving as fast as they do, but there’s not a drop anywhere.

“We’ve done this before, Sam,” Ruby says. “You should see us when we get going.”

Her cigarette smoke mingles with the paint and Mary makes the occasional wave with her hand. She hates smoking. I have to smoke out on the back deck. I keep expecting Mary to say something, but she’s too thrilled with Ruby’s painting skills. Ruby fills her brush with paint, running a straight bead as far as she can reach. Then she’s down the ladder, moving it over, and going up again. Mary retreats downstairs to put the sheets on Muller’s cot.

“You’re not shitting me about the liquor store, are you, Max?” I say as soon as she’s gone.

“You bared your ass, old man.”

“Who bared their ass?” Ruby says.

“Sam did.”

“What for?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I say.

“You were stoned, old man.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me old man, Max.”

“I didn’t know you smoked grass, Sam,” Ruby says.

“Blame Max for that.”

“Nobody held a gun to your head, old man.”

“Stop calling him that, Max.”

“Sorry, Ruby.”

“How long do you think all this painting will take?” I ask.

“We’ll finish before your daughter arrives, Sam.”

“Ruby’s big on schedules,” Max says.

“Very professional.”

“You’re just happy to be away from Otis, aren’t you, Ruby?”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Had enough of The Stylistics, yet?”

“Love The Stylistics, Max. Hate the player.”

“I’m hearing it in my sleep.”

“So am I. That’s what worries me.”

“You’re not going to cave, are you?”

“We’ll see, Max. I’ve still got a pretty good hate on.”