Ronnie and I lived in the apartment in Cloverdale for almost a year before Mr. Pfar moved in. He used to work for a government agency in D. C. before he retired early at the age of 52 on one of those "early out" programs they offer from time to time to reduce the number of high paid government employees. He told Ronnie one time that, when they offered him almost a years salary to retire early, he "took the money and ran."
Mr. Pfar is separated from his wife. I don't even know her name. He had two sons, Mike and Craig, and both of them lived in Fremont, just about three or four miles from Cloverdale. They would visit him on the weekends sometimes, and they would often take him out to ball games and to restaurants and movies. Mr. Pfar never dated that we knew of, he just spent his time with his computer and sometimes you would see him walking in the neighborhood with his red and black flannel coat and his floppy hat that I used to call his Sherlock Holmes hat 'cause of the way the ear flaps tied up on top. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Harmless, I guess. I never spent much time talking to him. He always seemed to end up talking to Ronnie when we ran into him.
Last Sunday we ran into him on the walk path down by the basketball courts. We were coming back from getting some ice cream at the High's store, and he was just out on one of his walks apparently. We stopped and talked for a few minutes about the weather and such. Then Mr. Pfar asked Ronnie something about "the tapes" and whether Ronnie got them back all right. Ronnie seemed flustered for a second, and told him that he had and that everything was all right. We said out good byes, and started walking back towards the apartment.
"What tapes was he talking about?" I asked Ronnie.
"Oh ... that was ... ah ... nothing. I loaned him a couple of my X-rated movies last weekend. His sons were over and they had nothing much to do, so he asked if they could borrow a couple. Guess they had kind of a stag party ... sitting around watching dirty movies. Kind of does your heart good to see a father and his sons have a common interest, doesn't it?" Ronnie teased.
"Oh sure ... " I laughed. "Some common interest ... a dirty old man and his dirty young sons all sitting around watching dirty little movies together. And they say the American family is falling apart. It's traditional family values like that give me faith that the family will always be the fabric that holds this great country together."
Ronnie laughed. "I'm glad you feel that way ... under the circumstances ... "
I had to stop and think for a second. And that left an awkward pause in the flow of our conversation. Finally I said "... under what circumstances?"
"Well ... ah ... nothing. I meant ... like ... ah ... under the circumstances that ... ah ... you know ... he's our neighbor ... and all. That's all ... I ... meant ... "
I wasn't sure what Ronnie meant. I had the distinct feeling that he was hiding something from me though. I didn't know what it was then, but I was sure he was up to something. We continued walking all the way back to the apartment without saying a word to each other. And that long silence spoke volumes to me. Ronnie was planning something. He always got quiet like that when he was thinking something through in his mind. I didn't know what he was planning, but I knew it involved Mr. Pfar somehow, and I had an uncomfortable suspicion that I wasn't going to like what he was planning.
Later that evening I was ironing some dresses for work when Ronnie came into the bedroom. He had been out in the living room pretending to listen to the stereo, but I know he was thinking about something else. When he came into the bedroom, he looked agitated.
"Do you have to spend all your time cleaning and ironing?" Ronnie barked harshly. "You're always working ... and ... always dressed in those damn dungarees and sweatshirt. You've been wearing that some sweat- shirt for three days now, God damn it!"
Ronnie's tirade caught me off guard. I stammered "I'm sorry ... I ... ah ... I'll clean up, and change ... I'm ... ah ... sorry, Ronnie ..." I ran past him and out into the hallway. As I ran down the hall towards the bathroom it dawned on me that Ronnie's anger seemed a little contrived. It seemed almost like he wanted to pick a fight with me on purpose. But I didn't know why he would want to do that. And after all, he was right. I had been wearing that some sweatshirt for a couple of days. I hadn't really cleaned up nice for him in a while. Maybe that's all he wanted was for me to take a shower and dress up a little for him. Maybe then he would be happy with me.