After Steve’s first podcast interview, Bick was in no mood to continue to clean and polish the truck. Convinced he had been dealt a bad hand, he bristled at the thought of continuing to handle all the behind-the-scenes drudgery while his partner cooked up fun schemes to entertain himself.
Bick still needed a small cash infusion from Eunice. He called her to apologize.
“If you and dad want to have another go, that’s up to you,” he said. “I’m sorry I was so negative. My head is in a bad place right now.”
“Never mind,” Eunice said. “I’m going shopping. Come with me. Afterwards we’ll get dessert at Café Lalo. My treat.”
Bick spent the afternoon following his mother around Saks Fifth Avenue, kibitzing about mostly nothing while Eunice tried on outfits. She made several purchases. When they got to the menswear floor they lingered.
“This would look great on Steve.” Bick lifted a pale linen number from a folded stack of shirts to show Eunice. “He wears the same outfit every frickin’ day. Jeans and a grungy t-shirt that he pulls out of the bowels of his closet. When I ask him to spruce up, he ignores me.”
Eunice suddenly wore a sly grin. “I have an idea. Let’s shop for Steve. Buy him some new clothes right now. New shirts. New pants. It will save him the time and trouble.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know …” Bick looked uneasy. “Anyway, I don’t have the money to buy clothes for him.”
“Oh, come on!” Eunice was clearly sold on her plan. “It will be fun. You can repay me later.”
Eunice was not to be denied. She bounded down the menswear aisles, veering from shirts to socks to pants to underwear.
“Steve has plenty of socks. And I refuse to buy him any of those tighty-whities he’s so fond of.” Bick made a face at the thought of seeing Steve’s underwear in the laundry basket. He had tried for years to convince Steve that boxer shorts were more comfortable, but he refused to switch.
At the cashier’s counter, Bick plopped down the pile of garments destined for Steve’s closet. Shirts with collars, pants in non-denim fabrics, and a pricey Tommy Hilfiger belt chosen by Eunice. She produced a Saks credit card from her purse to pay.
It had been a productive shopping trip.
* * *
After butting heads with Bick in the truck, Steve went home to edit the interview with Iris. It was going to be the first episode of his podcast and it needed to sound professional. Too many umms and ahhs might lose listeners.
When Steve turned on his voice recorder, a surprise was waiting. In addition to the interview, the entire heated exchange afterwards between him and Bick was recorded.
Steve listened to it carefully. He was astonished at the level of animosity he heard. Yet, he had to admit that it had felt gratifying to provoke Bick. And not just provoke, but to stand his ground. He was going to create a podcast. His own idea, his own project.
Excuse me for dreaming my own dream.
Ten months ago, Steve thought that he would be able to transform himself into a foodie entrepreneur. Instead, he had gone down a different path. A path solely of his own choosing. A path that would bitterly disappoint his partner.
Photography. Creativity. Putting beauty and happiness out into the world. These things matter to me.
Steve found himself dreading the reopening of the Mr. and Mr. on Wheels food truck.
It was time to take Gracie and Jerard for a long walk. He would take them to the park and call Jessica.
“The good news is I started my podcast,” Steve said after waiting for her to find a spot with better cell phone coverage.
“I’m getting into hiking out here in a big way,” she announced.
“That’s great, Jess.” Steve continued. “I did my first interview with a food blogger named Iris. It was good. The not-so-good news is Bick is being difficult.”
“I’m sorry but that’s not news, Stevie,” Jessica laughed.
“Yeah well, I accidentally recorded a couple minutes of outrage at the end. Can I play it for you?”
“Sure.” Jessica was hiking to a higher elevation and trying not to breathe heavily into her phone.
“Okay, here goes.” Steve hit the play button so Jessica could hear the interview with Iris and the confrontation with Bick afterwards.
“So?” Steve asked when the recording finished. “What do you think?”
Jessica stopped in the shade of a pine tree to catch her breath.
“You should see this tree, Stevie. It’s gotta be more than a hundred feet tall. Nature takes my breath away out here.”
“That’s great, Jess.” Steve calmly waited for her to continue.
“I love your podcast interview. It’s a great first episode. I heard a lot of enthusiasm. You know what else I heard, though?”
“What?”
“I heard deceit. Why did you say the food truck was your passion? The truck has never been your passion. Not since day one.”
“Well, at one point I thought I could convince myself.”
“Yeah, you’ve been trying to do that for the past six months,” Jessica said. “And it’s obvious to me—and apparently to Bick—that you’re faking it.”
“Well …” Bick called Gracie and Jerard to come. Their playtime in the dog run was over. “I have to get the dogs home, Jess. And you are right. I’ve been living a lie.”
It was late when Steve got home from the park. He acknowledged Bick sitting in the kitchen with a “Hey” and went to his closet to change into a fresh t-shirt. He opened the closet door and screamed.
“What the hell? What’s all this stuff?”
New shirts and pants with price tags still attached were hanging where his own clothes were supposed to be.
Bick appeared at the doorway of the bedroom. The beginning of a smile on his face quickly faded when he saw Steve’s anger.
“What have you done with my clothes?” Steve demanded. His temples throbbed. He tugged at a brown-and-yellow checked linen shirt, then at a pair of cream-colored linen pants. He pulled the designer belt off the door hook.
“You hate to shop. I thought you’d be grateful,” Bick said. He stood his ground, not budging a step closer to Steve and the closet.
“I will never wear any of this! It’s not me!” Steve said forcefully.
“Eunice picked out most of it,” Bick said.
“That figures! Eunice loves to shop.” Steve saw a green trash bag pushed to the back of the closet. He reached in and dragged it out to the middle of the bedroom floor.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked.
Bick looked sheepish and turned away.
Steve untied the twisty tie from around the top of the bag and peered inside. His jeans and t-shirts lay stacked like used-up rags ready for disposal.
He lifted the bag, dumped the contents onto the floor, and picked out a t-shirt to wear.
“All your clothes are there,” Bick said. “Don’t worry. I’ll return the new stuff.”
“You do that.” Steve pulled on his t-shirt and glided past Bick through the bedroom doorway without looking back.
“I’m going out,” Steve called over his shoulder. He slammed the front door behind him.
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