A Cut Above, Part VI "Boner"

At noon, I find Nigel sitting at the counter in the Whitman, slurping the special of the day, barley and beef stew. “You shouldn’t have done it, Nige,” I say, sliding onto the stool next to him. “He’s sooo mad.”

      Nigel shrugs. “Have the stew. It’s good today.” He goes on slurping, but I can see in the mirror over the back of the counter that he’s smiling into his spoon.

      “I’ll help you load it back in your car. Did your friend Tony make it?”

      “Pretty good, huh? I call him ‘Boner.’”

      “Well, that’s appropriate.” I laugh. “You should have seen old Rev. Bleat.”

      “That asshole. What about Mrs. Farnsworth?”

      “Well, actually, I think she thought it was funny. But they whisked her out of there so fast.... You know, I like the idea of a dog. Just one a little tamer. A little smaller, maybe.” I see the waitress approaching with her order pad and wave her away. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

      Nigel dunks a piece of bread into his bowl. “I won’t be over today. Got some work on the West side. I’ll come by after the shop closes and get the dog.”

      “Okay. See ya later. You know we’re going to have to work extra to make up for this.”

      Nigel shrugs again and turns back to his stew. “Yeah, yeah. See ya later.”

 The next day Nigel and I start early and work silently and hard. About two-thirty, we take a break and go over to A Cut Above. Jilly and Lorene are each with a customer, so Nigel and I stand in the doorway to talk. The customer getting her hair cut eyes us with some alarm, and I’m aware of how disheveled we look.

     “Where’s Lyle?” I ask. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

      “Over at Mrs. Farnsworth’s house. He talked to her this morning.” Lorene’s got her name badge on today, so I know it’s her. She rolls her eyes at Nigel. “He was so pissed yesterday. He stomped around here for an hour. Couldn’t even cut his appointment’s hair. I had to do it. Good thing you were gone.”

      “So, what’s he doing with the Farnsworth woman? Apologizing?”

      “No. That’s what’s weird. She called him, and I’m not positive, but I think she was laughing about it. Don’t you think, Jilly?”

      “That’s what it sounded like from this end. I think it’s Rev. Bleat who’s the most up-tight, but I saw him when he was stuffing Mrs. Farnsworth into the car, and I think he was laughing, too. Just didn’t want anyone to know he was.” Jilly’s bending over the sink, shampooing her customer’s hair. The customer, her head a bubble of soap and curls, tries to sit up, but Jilly pushes her back into place. Jilly flips soapsuds in Nigel’s direction. “You knot head. You had to know Lyle’d be pissed. They might have disqualified him.”

      “No, Honey, that’s just what they wouldn’t do. I’ve seen some of the other entries. There’s nothing in town that comes close to this yard. Not even my other gardens.” Nigel tweaks the points of his neckerchief and turns to me. “Com’on. Let’s get back to work.” 

      We strain over the granite stones of the pond, heaving them into place, and Nigel mutters, “Boner or no Boner, this yard’s going to win. Lyle knows it. That stupid committee knows it. Just wanted to give him a little jolt. That fat queen has been bossing me around for years. ‘Nigel dig this.  Nigel plant that. Can’t you get me some birch bark? Why did you give so-and-so my baby pines?’ You watch. He won’t say a thing to me about this.”

He’s right. We spend the next three days finishing the pond, laying some stepping stones, and planting a pile of chrysanthemums Nigel’s rescued from a dumpster in back of K-Mart’s garden center. We stay out of the shop, and Lyle busily comes and goes from A Cut Above, pretending not to see us. Our backs bent over our work, we pretend not to see him.

      I bunch together straggling stalks of baby’s breath, and Nigel binds them with twine. “Nige, I’m curious. What did your friend Tony say when you took the dog back? Did you tell him what happened?”

      “Oh, he knew what would happen. He laughed the whole time he was casting it.”

      “What’s he going to do with it? I can’t imagine anyone else will buy it.”

      “Sure they will. He just took his little chipping hammer and--bonk!--performed a doggy circumcision. Boner’s fine. Just not as well-endowed now.”

      “So, are you bringing him back? I’m not sure the garden committee could stand seeing him again, even in his ‘altered’ state.”

      “Naw. I’ve got a new Boner. Very modest. Paws together and all that. I’m bringing him by tonight.”

On the fourth day, Lorene asks Nigel to go get her some wine, so I dig up a bulb of garlic and pick a plateful of beans, and we take them into A Cut Above for a little snack. Lyle’s there, finishing up a cut and style. We’re in the back, zapping the beans in the microwave when Lyle comes in, his flip-flops trailing snippets of hair across the tile.  

      He pours himself a glass of wine. “Everything goin’ okay?”

      “Sure, sure. We’ll have it all ready by Tuesday. No problem.” 

“Need anything?”

      “Nope, we’re fine.” Nigel casually peels a slice of blistered skin off his arm.

      “Okay.” Lyle shuffles back out to the front of the shop. “By the way,” he says, without turning his head toward us, “the new statue looks good.”