Steve got up early to make breakfast for himself and feed the dogs. They were scheduled for their regular Sunday morning visit to Liberty Nursing Home.
He and Bick had barely spoken in the past twenty-four hours, and it was a relief to sleep in the spare bedroom—which he still thought of as Nestor’s room. He took advantage of the quiet solitude to organize his notes for his podcast.
Gracie and Jerard made excited quacking sounds when Steve filled their bowls with breakfast kibble. Oliver rousted himself from the corner chair and plopped onto the floor. That’s when Steve noticed a white cloth on top of Oliver’s head. It was a pair of briefs. In fact, Bick’s underwear.
“Ohhh, Ollie! You are going to be in sooo much trouble.”
Steve lifted the underpants from Oliver’s head. The briefs appeared more like a ragged skirt as the crotch had been chewed away.
“Looks like you had a fun time with these, Ollie. We better hide this before Bick wakes up.”
Steve shoved the ravaged underpants to the bottom of the kitchen trash bin, covering them with banana peels and cantaloupe rinds.
He patted Ollie on the head. “I understand if you feel at odds with Bick. Me too.”
He called to Gracie and Jerard who had chowed down breakfast and now waited by their leashes.
“Okay you two. Let’s go. Time to bring some joy to old people.”
* * *
It had been five days since Jessica had talked with her brother when she called to chat for five minutes. She still had moving boxes to unpack, and Steve was in the throes of a possible break-up.
They both had a lot going on.
“Stevie, I gotta get to my class, but I wanted to ask you about your documentary idea. Is it coming along?”
“I’m focused on the podcast right now,” Steve said. “The documentary is on the back burner for now. Are you taking a yoga class out there?”
“No, not yoga. I guess I didn’t tell you. I’m training to be a massage therapist!”
“Oh. That’s something different.”
“Yeah! I have to do 500 hours of class and then I can take the exam. If I pass, I’m a licensed massage therapist.”
“So, when did you get so interested in muscles?” Steve asked.
“When I discovered that there’s an endless supply of them out here. Guys are jacked. Jimmy lets me practice on him,” Jessica chuckled, “which is fun.”
“Hmm …” Steve mused. “Dudes with hard bodies. Maybe I should sign up for that course.”
“I gotta go, Stevie. I’m late for class. Let me know whenever you decide to come to Boise, haha.”
“Sure,” Steve chuckled. “I have to go, too. I’m on my way downtown with my two therapists. It’s always a love fest with them at the nursing home. A lot of fun.”
* * *
“Very impressive work,” Eunice said to Bick. “You’d never know this truck went up in flames six weeks ago.” Eunice had shown up that morning to check on the restoration of Mr. and Mr. on Wheels. In less than a week, the big reopening was scheduled to take place.
Dressed to the nines, Eunice looked out of place among the assortment of vehicles that used the commissary yard as a base of operations. She was still anticipating getting a return on her original investment.
“Thank you for the compliment, Eunice,” Bick said, extending his arm to draw her attention to the entire space. “What you see is the result of hours and hours of hard labor.”
“Where is your so-called partner to help you?” Eunice asked while rummaging in her bag for a cigarette.
“Oh, Steve needed a break from the truck.”
“That figures.” Eunice lit her cigarette and managed to show contempt for Steve while taking a deep drag.
“I told him he could go play at his photography—just until we reopen,” Bick said. “There is no smoking in the truck, Eunice.”
“Right.” Eunice glanced around for a place to put out her barely-smoked cigarette. With a look of disgust, Bick directed his mother to the handwash sink. He would have to scrub the sink later.
“I thought you were going to quit.”
“Maybe someday,” Eunice said, with an air of detachment. “By the way, Bickford, your father and I are thinking of getting back together.”
“What?” Bick stared at Eunice in surprise. “Really? What happened to the bimbo he was living with?”
“Oh, she ran off with a scuba instructor down in Florida. Your father told me all about it. He and I talk regularly now.”
Bick exhaled loudly. “Jeez, this is some news, Eunice.” Bick used his best feeling-put-upon voice. “If dad moves back to New York, where does that leave things?”
By things Bick meant a demand on Eunice’s time and money. In Bick’s mind, his dad was a mooch. A freeloader who lived off Eunice’s inheritance when they were together. But Bick was going to need some more help from Eunice to pay for restocking inventory before the truck reopened. He had waited to bring it up with her.
“What do you mean?” Eunice asked, scrutinizing each wall and corner for deficiencies.
Bick cleared his throat and paced nervously. “I mean this is my chance to finally make my mark as a chef. But I’m going to need a little more of your help, financially, to get this operation up and running again.”
“I see. And what does that have to do with your father moving back in?”
“Let’s face it, when he’s around I become the invisible son,” Bick said, trying hard to stay calm. “Honestly, I have not missed having him around.”
“Well, that’s a hurtful thing to hear from my only son. Especially since you were the reason he left us.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “He was cheating on you for a year! He was going to take off with that dippy broad one way or another!”
“Your father and I were working things out. Then you blew it all up,” Eunice said, heading for the door. “I need a smoke.”
He followed Eunice outside. “Oh, puh-leez! You’re smoking crack, Eunice. Dad will stick around for a while, spending your money in the bars until something better comes along. And then he’ll leave again!” Bick was hollering now.
Eunice stood calmly smoking and scanning the skyline of Queens. When she finished, she delicately flattened the stub on the ground with the heel of her Gucci sandal.
Wanting Eunice to leave, Bick retreated inside.
“You resurrect this business and then we’ll talk,” Eunice called over her shoulder. “And your indifferent partner needs to do his fair share of the work.”
* * *
Sitting on the downtown number 3 train, Steve scanned his blog for a message from Nestor. Among the many hearty wishes from customers longing for the truck to reopen, there was no sign of him.
He quickly texted “missing u” and hit send.
Trying not to feel gloomy, he strolled into the nursing home with Gracie and Jerard. When they entered the reception area, the papillons instantly cranked up the charm. For the next forty minutes they pranced from one room to the next, stopping to cuddle with each of their devoted regulars, many of whom were bedridden.
Melva, in a wheelchair, was especially fond of Gracie and presented her with a piece of cookie that she had saved from the dining room.
“Gracie always loves to see you, Melva,” Steve said. “I can tell by the way she lays her head in your lap. She doesn’t do that with just anybody.”
This made Melva smile.
Before leaving the nursing home, Steve handed some extra Paws for Love business cards to the director to pass along to new residents.
“We’ll see you next Sunday morning!” Steve said. The canine therapy visits were going well. To see the residents perk up when he walked in with the dogs lifted his spirits. And Gracie and Jerard clearly enjoyed the love.
Steve dropped the dogs off at the sitter and hopped on the R train to Queens. Although he hadn’t mentioned it to Bick, his plan was to conduct his first podcast interview that day from inside the refurbished truck in the commissary yard. A loyal fan was meeting him there to be interviewed.
Would Steve be able to play-act the enthusiastic entrepreneur and convince the interviewee—and himself—that reviving the food truck business was his most important goal?
Surely, I can pretend for 45 minutes.
“Hey.” Steve stepped inside the truck.
Bick was on his hands and knees storing paper towels and napkins in a cupboard. The two had not said much to each other for the past couple days.
“What are you doing here?” Bick asked, without bothering to look up.
“I’m meeting a New York food blogger for my first podcast episode.” Steve tried to sound nonchalant yet energized.
“Oh?” Bick sat up now and looked at Steve. “This is the first I’m hearing about it. That’s not going to work.”
“What do you mean?” Steve glared at Bick. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m getting the truck ready to reopen, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh. I get it. You’re the martyr in this endeavor,” Steve said. “Or, are you the hero? Which is it?” He hung his cap on the hook by the door and took a notebook and pen from his bag.
He continued. “I distinctly remember the words coming from your mouth that you no longer needed my help. So, shoot me. I’m doing a podcast, instead. It’s advertising that costs nothing. Again, what’s the problem with that?”
He pulled a very small voice recorder from his bag and tried to show it to Bick. “Check it out.”
Bick showed zero interest in Steve’s new gadget. “I don’t want you doing interviews in here. You’ll be in my way,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” Steve said. “And by the way, someone was smoking by the truck. There’s a cigarette butt outside on the ground.”
“Eunice was here this morning,” Bick said, coolly.
“That figures.” Steve made no effort to hide his sarcasm.
“Ah, and here is my first victim.” Steve greeted the young woman who had just appeared in the doorway. “Iris O’Keefe, I presume?”
“Yes. Are you Steve?”
“That’s me. I see you found the truck. Come on inside.”
Steve introduced Iris. “This is Bick. He’s cleaning and polishing.”
After a barely audible acknowledgment from Bick, he and Steve pretended to ignore each other during Steve’s interview with Iris.
Steve gave Iris a tour of the newly renovated kitchen, then positioned himself and Iris next to the serving window. He had not formally interviewed anyone before. He clipped the voice recorder to his pocket and held the small microphone and cord in his hand. He quickly scanned the notes he had jotted down beforehand.
“Okay, let’s get started, shall we?” He cleared his throat. Iris gave him a thumbs up.
Steve spoke into the microphone. “Hello and welcome to The Second Coming podcast.”
Bick had situated himself by the fry station and didn’t budge. It rattled Steve a bit at first but he kept going.
“I am your host Steve Ramos Colón and this is episode one. My guest today is Iris O’Keefe. Iris, you were one of the first customers to visit the Mr. and Mr. on Wheels food truck back in June. Tell me what you remember about your first visit.”
Steve didn’t like that his speech sounded overly formal. Need to loosen up.
“Ohmygod,” Iris exclaimed. “Mr. and Mr. became my favorite food truck. I mean, like immediately. The empanadas with carrot salsa! Ohmygod! I was hooked after the first bite.”
“That’s great to hear, Iris.”
“And ohmygod I love a good meat loaf sandwich. Your meat loaf is like to die for.”
Bick with his back turned at the other end of the truck was paying close attention to the interview and the fact that Steve made no mention of the creative talent behind the menu, especially the meat loaf.
Iris spoke about her experience visiting the food truck.
“Having a very popular food blog, like ohmygod I’ve been to a lot of New York trucks. And like this is the best. Before the fire happened, I came back like at least a dozen times.”
“I am so happy to hear that, Iris. This truck has been my passion,” Steve lied. He glanced over at Bick standing by the fry station. The back of his neck was flame red, a sign of his fury.
“Iris, you quickly became a regular customer. I remember that,” Steve continued. “You mentioned the fire. Of course, no business owner ever wants to deal with a catastrophic event like that. I can go into details in a future podcast. For now, let’s just say the cause was bad luck and leave it at that. But as you can see, I will be up and running again very soon.”
Steve suggested that Iris return next week for a second interview.
“In fact, on the first day of reopening I’d be happy to turn the podcast over to you. You could interview the first customers who show up.”
“Ohmygod, I would love that,” Iris said. “I have like a ton of followers on Facebook.”
Steve was relieved that Bick had managed to refrain from interjecting himself into the interview.
However, after Iris waved goodbye Bick exploded.
“That was some load of bullshit!” Rage oozed from Bick’s pores. “Iris no doubt thinks you’re the talent and I’m just the janitor. This truck is your passion? The hard work, the renovations, it’s all you? The food is all you? What a crock!” Bick hollered.
Steve stood by the sink with his arms crossed. “Oh, get over yourself. You want nothing to do with my podcast. Why should I include you? I’m drumming up business for us. People like Iris will promote us on social media.”
“Stop spinning b.s. and set the record straight, Steve! In case you forgot, we are Mr. and Mr. You talked as if you’re the only mister.”
Bick continued to pace and shout inside the truck.
“And let’s get another thing straight! If this truck is going to have a future—hell, if you and I are going to have a future—you need to forgive and forget!”
“Oh?” Steve asked. “And what would I be forgiving and forgetting?”
“Stop being coy! You know damn well it’s the fire.”
Steve stuffed his notebook and the voice recorder into his bag. “Unless you’ve changed your mind and actually want me to help, I need to work on the interview. Do some editing and make it sound professional. I need a good intro and outro.” “Fine by me,” Bick said with a dismissive wave of his arm. “Go play with your little tape recorder. I have real work to do here.”
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