Free The Passionate Attention of an Interesting Man by Ethan Mordden Page B

used to Tom’s momentary lulls, simply waited.
    “He won’t bother you again,” said Tom at last. “I know that much.”
    Jake suddenly went very still, slowly turning around to end up looking right at Lloyd. Then he whispered, “Do you know what I’m going to do to you, little jazzboy?”
    “You hold on there, Jake,” said Tom.
    Lloyd stood up, his eyes blazing, as Tom grabbed Jake with “You going to miss the pre-game for me, now, Jake?”
    “Let me smooch him up?”
    “ Out !” Tom cried, though he winked at Lloyd as he and Jake left.
    Moving the laptop to one side, Lloyd sat back down, taking out a sheaf of the blank copy paper he had laid in. Now it begins: he made his first rough diagrams for the model railroad he and Tom would build. It would take many hours and a ton of sheets, but when Lloyd was sure of what he had he was going to make four-color plans to show Tom: a layout with fascinating towns, a mountain overlooking a trestle bridge, and perhaps a roundhouse for storing the rolling stock. Real life in it. Then they could start construction.
     
     
    Tom was already on it, picking up four by eight plywood sheets, raw wood for joists and stringers, and two by fours from the lumber yard for the raising of the table. Sturdy. Permanent. Upon it, a little world would form and evolve as a simple starting oval reached out to branch lines and turnouts, as graded inclines accommodated the surrounding geography, as roads and figures socialized the space.
    Tom and Lloyd worked on their table only when both were free at the same time, because it was theirs to create together; if either was to sneak in and advance the project by himself, it would have felt like adultery. Tom set up a miniature tool bay there, where his father had lived and died, with an X- Acto knife folded into a safety case, needle-nose pliers, a screwdriver set, tweezers, a rail nipper, a mill file and needle files, pastels and dull cote for weathering, paints and brushes, and a variety of adhesives for work with plastic, metal, or wood.
    “Aviator glasses?” asked Lloyd, rummaging around in the shallow see-through plastic tray while Tom worked on the table.
    “When you cut rail,” said Tom, aligning one table leg with a corner of the top, “little bits of metal go crashing right up at you.”
    Striking a pose in the glasses, Lloyd said, “’Men, this mission we fly today will save a corrupt and unknowing world!’”
    “How about you fetch me the hammer which I can’t reach it while holding all this together, instead of playacting the day away?”
    Handing over the hammer, Lloyd said, “’Commander, the men are proud to serve under you.’” Tom suppressed a smile as Lloyd added, “’They’re too shy to tell you themselves, sir.’”
    “How about giving me a little room, Lindbergh?”
    “Boy, you really could have started this thing anytime, Tom. You always had it in mind, right? Why did you wait till now?”
    Working a nail a half-inch into the wood before he hammered it, Tom said, “I sent for the Walther’s catalogue. From Wisconsin.” After hammering a bit, he put in, “Because they won’t have everything we need in The Hardware. We can make a start, sure. First purchase is always a locomotive, right? Track and a bit of stock. Gravel, tree stuff. Maybe a house or two. Get the feel of the thing as it begins.”
    “Gosh, there’s so much… makingness in it. I guess that’s why guys get so proud of their layouts.”
    “Didn’t you do any building on that railroad at the orphanage?”
    “It was all built when we got it. The family came over and set it up for us. The Hickses, by name. Then they shook hands with us, and we just started running it.”
    Tom readied another nail in the wood. “Shook hands with you?”
    “Yes. Even the youngest kids in the family. It was very ceremonial, and they said ‘Good morning’ while they did it. Sister Charity lined us up for it, and I liked it so much that I got back on line