Chapter Ten

THE CHANDELIER IN THE SHITHOUSE

"Don't forget to call Mrs. Stuart. She called again this morning before you came in," Dave Hamilton reminded Wilbur.

"Yeah, okay," Wilbur answered. "I'll get it later."

Wilbur wanted to call her but hesitated. Despite her beauty and affluence, he felt sorry for her. Dave Hamilton interrupted his thoughts.

"The second telephone pole with a red reflector past the chicken farm," Dave said. "One Econo King waterbed with a particle-board pedestal to go. Hold the headboard and the vibrator. Wilbur, thank God, Nature does not pass on the acquired traits of a parent to its offspring. Woe unto any child you'll have. A five-year, pro-rated warranty. That's all the little Dobber would get out of you."

xxx

"But never mind," Wilbur thought later as he drove the newly repaired van. "Here you are, driving up and down this fucking country road for half an hour, 40 miles from home, trying to find a telephone pole with a red reflector on it. Forget about the phone call from Celeste Stuart. Forget about who you are and why you are here. Forget about a cure for cancer. Forget about the important stuff. Find that telephone pole! Pronto!"

Wilbur's frustration with finding the delivery house fueled his impatience.

However, this soon gave way because there it was, exactly where the directions said. The telephone pole was a tall, wooden cylinder highlighted with red reflector circles.

It immediately reminded Wilbur that the great, Roman orator, Cicero, had found the overgrown tomb of Archimedes one hundred fifty years after his death. The neglected, overgrown tomb was marked by the simple engraving of a sphere inscribed in a cylinder.

"It only took fifteen runs past your destination to see it," he chided himself. "Hey, you can't see a house around here anywhere! Why not drop the waterbed next door at the chicken farm? But wait, there is a dirt road that heads into a nice, secluded, capitalist glen surrounded by shady, idyllic trees, overgrown with vegetation like Archimedes' grave, far from the muscle and tussle of the city."

Wilbur continued on the dirt road.

"And here comes the waterbed van bucking over this dirt road back into Shangri-La and bouncing the Econo King from here to Timbuktu."

He spied the house.

"And there it is, a sprawling house along with two hundred forty pounds of Spot guarding the yard."

There was a large dog in the front yard.

"Man's best friend, the attack dog. And there was a little boy with his dog, Spot. Aw, isn't that sweet, a boy and his attack dog? Get the fuck out of my way, or I'll run over your goddam dog!" Wilbur thought.

xxx

When Wilbur knocked on the front door it wasn't Archimedes or a facsimile thereof who greeted him.

"Right this way," the attractive, dark-haired woman said.

She was much younger than the silver-haired man who stood next to her.

"Waterbeds don't leak, do they?" she asked almost immediately.

"Only if they get stuck with something sharp," Wilbur assured her.

"Well honey, now, we're not going to worry 'bout that, huh? I mean, I ain't missed yet now, huh?"

The old guy roared while his belly jangled around his midsection like a money belt.

"Jesse...",

She looked at him sharply.

"Be serious now."

"I am, hon' bunch. Right this way, pal. Y'all brung a hose now, didn't ya'?"

"Yes sir."

He led Wilbur to a spacious bedroom at the rear of the house. One whole side was sliding glass doors with beige drapes. Outside, was a patio, and an area where they parked their Jeep with roll bars and huge tank tires. Alongside it was a jacked-up pick-up truck and a camping trailer that wouldn't fit into the two car, junk-filled garage.

"We want it centered there on that wall and use this headboard," Jesse said, motioning to a free-standing, maple headboard with book shelves.

"That's a nice piece of furniture," Wilbur commented.

"Bought it off'n a fella. He was moving and wanted to sell it. Gav'm 50 bucks for it."

"Not bad."

At that moment Wilbur knew what he had to do.

"Your job is to butt the mass-produced Econo King up against this finely crafted, maple headboard and make sure it was centered on the wall. Then Sugar Daddy is going to start poking his darling."

There were some logistics to take care of before he could start.

"Can I pull the van around back so I don't have to carry all my stuff through the house?"

"Why sure, son. Whatever'll make it easier for you. Just get it set up. We ain't had a good night's sleep in a week, and I ain't been asleep for two whole days."

"My husband has back problems. He's been miserable."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wilbur said. "A waterbed oughta help."

Minutes later Wilbur drove the gaudy waterbed van around to the back yard. On the front of the van were: fog lights in shiny chrome, highly reflective frames; headlights, orange dimmer lights, yellow reflector lights, red reflector lights, and on the rear were white mud flaps with red reflectors and shiny chrome trim. There was also another set of red, safety lights below the brake lights. When he finally parked it next to the other vehicles it looked like a mobile, advertising billboard.

"Thanks," Wilbur said when Jesse opened the sliding glass door for him. "I'm glad you have such a big bedroom. Gives me plenty of room to work. I really appreciate having this much space."

Jesse had a curious look on his face.

"It comes in parts, huh? Glad I decided to have some'un set it up. I'd be at it 'til hell freezed over. I didn't realize it had so many parts. You really have to be an expert to set it up," he added, as Wilbur returned again from the delivery van for the third time.

"Yeah, it has lotsa pieces," Wilbur agreed, while checking off a memorized inventory of parts.

After several minutes of steady hauling, Wilbur was startled from the routine he had established for himself.

"Hey, this is particle board!" Jesse exploded as he confronted Wilbur.

"Yeah. The Econo model comes with a particle-board pedestal. That's why it's in the lower price range."

"That boss a yours told us it came with a stain finish. Why, that son bitch.!!"

"That's extra. That doesn't come as standard equipment," Wilbur said innocently.

"That son bitch!"

Jesse scratched his chin.

"Honey, this is particle board. That stuff ain't worth a shit!"

"It's extremely strong," Wilbur maintained. "It'll hold up anything."

His words belied how he actually felt though. He remembered the one-and-only axiom of Twentieth Century dream mechanic philosophy that he had acquired so far on the job: whenever and wherever possible, balance thirteen hundred pounds of water ten inches or more above the floor on particle board supports that are extremely water soluble. In fact, if the particle boards ever get wet they crumble like wet toilet paper.

"Jesus! That son bitch!" Jesse muttered for several minutes until he cooled off. "Shit. Go 'head. I'll call that son bitch tomorrow. I wanna sleep on it tonight."

"Okay. Yes sir."

He was glad that Jesse calmed down. He was certain that Dave would remain unscathed by the current ruckus. It wouldn't ruffle his Lazyboy one bit.

"I'll hep you center the headboard where we want it."

Wilbur was surprised by his offer considering the preceding tirade.

"Hey, thanks."

They walked the heavy, maple headboard to the wall.

"That's good, don't you think, hon' bunch?"

His wife just returned to the room.

"Yes, that's fine."

"I better put a shim under the headboard to keep it from tipping over while I work," Wilbur stated as they all looked at the bookcase headboard.

"Naw. That thing's heavy as lead. It'll stand free and clear by itself," Jesse assured Wilbur.

Wilbur was hesitant but acquiesced.

"Okay."

Just then the phone rang in the adjoining bathroom. Jesse walked a few steps into the bathroom to turn on the light. A bright light transfigured the coal-black bathroom.

"How the hell ya doin'?" Jesse shouted. "Havin' my waterbed set up. Yep. Sleep good tonight, I reckon," he said loudly to the caller.

Wilbur had never seen or heard of a telephone in a bathroom. He was amused and astonished.

"You have a phone in the bathroom?"

"Yes. Jesse put the phone in there when he added the bathroom. Some people read in the bathroom. Jesse, he talks on the phone. Saves him time in the morning so he doesn't have to run all the way to the kitchen. You'd be surprised how much work he does before he leaves here in the morning. He sets up his day's schedule without having to go to the office. He does it all from the telephone."

A few minutes after her explanation Jesse walked out of the bathroom. In the meantime, Wilbur lined up everything to be assembled.

"Uh. Mind if I use your bathroom?" Wilbur asked before he started.

"Why sure. Light switch is on the right. Let's get a beer, hon,." Jesse suggested to his wife as they left the bedroom.

Wilbur strode into the bathroom and closed the door after flicking the switch. Light flooded the room. Small but bright lights blazed around the vanity. The smoky, black-tiled shower and bathtub were sunk below ground level. Three steps led down into it. The main lighting was several feet off center from the toilet. Wilbur looked up curiously at the chandelier dangling from the ceiling.

"A chandelier in the shithouse!? What'll they think of next?" he thought.

The chandelier was like a sparkling earring. Its light reflected off all the small mirrors, the smoky-colored tile and the large mirror that ran the length of the front wall.

It reminded Wilbur of a short story, "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place," by Ernest Hemingway. He had read it while taking a dreaded, freshman English class at the University of Urban Failures. Wilbur imagined himself living in such spacious and luxurious accommodations just before hearing a loud crash. He hurriedly finished in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.

"Son of a bitch!!" Wilbur gasped. "The headboard tipped over. It cut the particle boards right in half," he explained to his customers who had beelined to the bedroom after hearing the crash. "I should have shimmed it. Damn it! I knew I should have shimmed it."

"Don't you carry any extra particle board?!" Jesse demanded.

"No. I barely got enough room for one bed in the van as it is."

"How 'bout Super Glue? We can Super Glue'm back together. Hon', get me that Super Glue in the kitchen," he said feverishly.

"Super Glue? I don't know," Wilbur said.

They tried the Super Glue but it was to no avail.

Ten minutes later Wilbur climbed into the van for the trip back to the store for another particle board pedestal. By then night had fallen.

"Super Glue, my ass! Get the fuck out of my way, Spot!" he yelled at the dog who was still in the front yard.

When he reached the main road the telephone pole was transfigured by all the red reflectors on it. They were like the hundred eyes of the ancient monster, Argus, who guarded the young maiden, Io.

He dreaded having to drive to The Dream Mechanic and then back here again in one evening. His thoughts then shifted to something more pleasant.

"What in hell does Celeste Stuart want?" he wondered.