"So what do you think?"
His new roommate, who was also a former roommate, looked around and said, "Just like old times."
"No kidding. I can't believe you got your orders changed. I was sure you were on your way to Beaufort."
"Same here. I was checking out of the squadron in Iwakuni when the XO grabbed me and told me I was going to Miramar instead."
"However it happened, I'm really glad you're here. Your uh, your nitpicking aside."
"Nitpicking? Seriously?"
"You uh, you do tend to...find fault."
"That's called 'attention to detail'," my friend.
Not wanting to get into all that—again—his roommate dropped it.
Brad Kyser had been renting the apartment by himself for the last three months since arriving in southern California from MCAS Iwakuni, Japan, a Marine Corps Air Station located in the Pacific. He and his old roommate, Tom Fryer, were both 27-year old, newly-promoted captains who both flew the F-35B. Both men were now assigned to the same squadron, VMFA-314, the Black Knights, in which the 'V' represented fixed wing aircraft and the 'MFA' standing for Marine Fighter-Attack. Thus, VMFA-314 or just '314' (said 'three-fourteen') as most Marines called it.
Brad was a graduate of the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland, while Tom was an alumnus of the Virginia Military Institute. They'd been good friends since flight school, and since finishing flight training, had roomed together for the better part of a year overseas. The alma mater rivalry between them was real but all in good fun.
All that mattered was that the 'Dynamic Duo' was once again reunited, although having some help with the very steep rent was kind of important, too. At least to Brad.
His recent promotion to captain had made it bearable, but housing was outrageously expensive in all of southern California, and with MCAS Miramar being located just north of San Diego, it was part of an extremely high-cost area, with two-bedroom apartments averaging $1,800 a month. But with Tom now picking up half the monthly expenses, there would be plenty of money for other things with 'other things' meaning the three Bs: beer, barbecue, and babes.
Being a typical bachelor, Tom's worldly possessions included two suitcases and a seabag's (duffel bag in the Army) worth of clothes, an expensive bicycle, and his uniforms. With Brad's help, everything he owned, outside of the new Corvette he drove, was in a closet or dresser drawer within 15 minutes of dropping the bags on the floor.
After putting his things away, Tom looked around and said, "No offense, but this place looks like a sanitarium."
Brad nearly said, "Here we go again," but in this case, he couldn't really argue.
"It needs some paint, but we can take care of that."
"Paint? This place needs...everything. I don't even have a rack to sleep in!" Tom said, using the Marine word for bed.
"You've got a blowup mattress, right?"
"Yeah, and that's fine for a few days, but we need something to sit on other than the campstool in the living room. Unless we get this place looking livable, I may as well get a blowup doll, because no woman is gonna want to hang out here."
"We've got TV and a stereo," Brad reminded him, even though Tom's point was valid.
"How can you be the smartest guy and know and yet be so dumb?" Tom asked his friend. "Women like...nice. Nice as in furniture. Maybe some pictures on the wall. A lamp or two and a rug here and there. That kind of stuff."
Tom was exaggerating, but he wasn't too far off the mark. Brad had two wooden chairs, an old wooden table, and a large chair with a ratty-looking ottoman. But other than his bed and a small nightstand that was it.
"No problem. I'll get someone to take care of it."
"Uh, no you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because they charge an arm and a leg for 'taking care of it'. On top of cost of the furniture itself."
Brad looked around again then asked what Tom had in mind.
"Don't look at me. I can barely a shirt with a pair of pants. You're the sophisticate, right Mr. Naval Academy?"
Brad laughed then told Tom he wasn't any better at that sort of thing.
"How hard can it be? You go to a furniture store, tell whoever you meet you're a dumb bachelor—which is true, by the way—and that you need some help. She'll take pity on your sorry ass, show you some stuff that matches—and don't forget the pictures and lamps—and you plunk down your credit card, and a few days later, the stuff shows up."
"Right. Then I can spend the next three years trying to get my half of the money out Mr. Tide Wad over there."
Tom laughed and admitted that was true but offered to go with his roommate.
"Wait. You're going to a store? To buy something other than beer?"
"I can shop," Tom said with mostly phony defensiveness.
"No. You can pay, but you can't shop for sh...squat. A man's gotta know his limitations, and yours involves buying anything but beer, cars or video games. So no worries. I'll take care of it."
"Well hurry it up then, because chicks dig decor, and this place has four white walls and bare floors. We'll never get laid here."
Brad laughed and told his roomie he agreed, but for the first time since he was 18, he wasn't all that excited about getting laid. And the truth was, he'd had some success already in the 'ultimate bachelor pad', but even the two women he'd brought there had mentioned how awful it looked. One even asked him if he even owned the place or had he just broken in because no one lived there.
At the time it had been funny, but now that Tom was there, it wasn't quite as humorous.
"I'll take care of it on Saturday. You know, while you're sleeping off the hangover," Brad said, getting in a little dig.
"Yeah, because heaven forbid you put a couple of ounces of fat on that eight-pack of yours," the VMI graduate said both snidely but good naturedly.
Brad never mentioned it, but anyone who knew him was aware that he had the whole Adonis thing going on. He was 6'2, had jet black hair, blue eyes, the high cheekbones and the square jaw and a body he kept in perfect condition, the occasional beer aside.
Tom was a decent looking guy in his own right, but he was the mere mortal of the two who stood 5'10" and had a great smile (and a dimple in his chin) that women loved. He was in decent enough enough shape, but Tom leaved beer more than crunches or running and had a little ring of flab around his waist to show for it.
Brad laughed at his fellow Marine's comment but didn't...comment. He refocused the conversation on getting the apartment squared away, and with that, Tom asked if he even had a grill yet. He laughed even harder when Brad showed him one that was only slightly bigger than a hibachi on their modest patio.
"Okay. That's totally unsat. I'll spring for a decent grill, but it comes out of my half of the remodel."
"Deal. You go pick up a grill, and I'll go get some paint. And yes, I know it needs to be neutral. My mom was addicted to HGTV and I've seen enough shows to know that, so don't worry about having orange walls, okay?"
Tom slapped his buddy on the back then said, "There may be hope for you yet, Annapolis."
By dinner time, the two of them knocked out the apartment, putting two coats of neutral-colored paint on the walls, then fired up the new grill Tom brought back in Brad's Chevy Silverado. He'd also stopped at a store and picked up some ribs, corn on the cob, and a case of beer on the way, and by 2200 or 10pm, both men were full and had killed a twelve bottles of Heineken with Tom killing ten and Brad drinking two. And while Brad would be up at oh-dark thirty running it off, Tom would be in bed sleeping it off.
As predicted, by the time Brad finished a five-mile run, showered, and got dressed the following morning, Tom was just getting up.
He squinted at the sunlight hurting his eyes then said, "We uh, we gotta get some curtains in this place, too."
Brad chuckled and thought about getting loud just to tweak his new/old roomie. But he was merciful and quietly said, "I gotcha covered. I'm headed out to a couple of places right now, and by the time you feel normal again, we'll be all set."
Tom, his short hair matted down and a growth of dark hair covering his face scratched the middle of his underwear, farted loudly then said, "Good deal."
