Another short story by me

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ANITA

Adamo approached the refrigerator slowly. He didn’t much like this one. Most days, he had favorites. But this one would certainly be a least-favorite. First, it was stainless steel. He didn’t like the trend of stainless steel refrigerators. Magnets didn’t stick to them like they did to normal fridges. He thought of his and Anita’s fridge. It was covered in ABC magnets and pictures of the kids. He couldn’t believe José  was already starting club soccer, and that Mia and Isabel had just turned five. Pictures of their birthday party at McDonalds covered the top portion. Other pictures covered the surface so well that it didn’t matter that the old fridge had faded to a yellowy color over the years. 

He didn’t know this family, but felt okay judging them, and thought that conveniently enough, people wealthy enough to have stainless steel refrigerators probably didn’t have family pictures worth looking at. Then again, he thought, they probably didn’t have family pictures at all. They were too busy polishing the porsche and dropping of their daughter at equestrian school. 

Adamo had been a repair man for seven years, and had seen the way refrigerators changed style every few years. His other least favorite were the ones with hardwood doors. They blended with the cabinets nicely, as if the family wanted to conceal the fact that they stored food. He loved the irony of these new, sleek appliances. They were the most expensive, and based on his work load, required the most attention after purchase. He and Anita bought their house ten years ago and took the fridge that came with it. A 1970’s ChillBox brand with sticky soda can stains on the shelves and a metal handle held on with putty glue. Still, the fridge never required any work. Not in ten years. 

This refrigerator today had a problem cooling down. He smiled at the complaint. The one task that this appliance had and it had failed. “How does it feel, Kenmore?” he mumbled. God forbid these people have cheese cubes with their wine that weren’t quite chilled to perfection.

  Adamo opened the door cautiously as he always did at jobs. Ever since he read about Jeffrey Dahmer hiding his victim’s body parts in his freezer, his job gave him the creeps. But he needed it, so any fear he had needed to be dealt with in a mature way. After all, people with nice refrigerators probably had better ways to dispose of a body. He fiddled with the temperature buttons, none of which seemed to respond. He took out his toolbox so he could unscrew the thermostat and reprogram it.

 

As he worked, noises from the house floated into the kitchen. The wife was home. Someone had to be there whenever they repaired something. It was part of the customer service clause or warranty or something. Adamo didn’t know much about his job other than how to do it. He knew most people felt awkward and annoyed waiting for a repair man to fix something so they could leave. He tried to hurry, even though he was sure that this trophy wife had nothing to do today, other than a botox appointment, maybe. 

For as much money as these things cost, he thought, they could at least make them work well. Or at least higher the salary of the guys who fixed them so often. Or, he was on a roll, buy the repairmen better uniforms. Anita called his navy blue jumpsuit “the creature from the black lagoon” when placing it in the washing machine. It made the kids laugh when she called it that.

He squinted at the thermostat as he reprogrammed it. Technology sure had a catch to its convenience. Soon, he was screwing it back in. The refrigerator’s temperature began to drop as soon as he pressed the buttons. He closed his toolbox, satisfied. 

  “Ma’am?” he called, stepping around the corner. “Ma’am? I’m finished.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she called from upstairs. 

  Fair enough. He filled out her receipt. He didn’t have the heart to charge them full-price for such a small repair, even if they could afford to pay double the price. His company was better than that, and so was he. They promised to be better, and cheaper than Sears. 

  She walked in with her checkbook and asked him how much. Adamo handed her the yellow receipt and she filled out the amount. She handed him some cash and he held up his hands. “We don’t accept tips. But thank you anyway, ma’am.” 

  She put it away and glanced at the shiny vault-looking appliance behind him. “Does it work now?”

  He wanted to say, “Nope. I made you write out a check just because I wanted to see how pretty your handwriting was. There are no guarantees in life, sorry.” 

But he settled with, “Yes, ma’am. The thermostat just needed to be reprogrammed. Sometimes these electrical things get messed up during a storm or something.”

“I appreciate it,” she said in a distant, insincere tone. 

  He nodded and told her to have a good day. 

  “Sir?” she stopped him. 

  He turned around.

“I’m sorry, I just have a quick question.”

  Adamo had never been propositioned on the job before, and knew his buddies would laugh at the story this coming poker night. How cliche, they would say. The lonely housewife and the lucky repair guy. He would make sure they knew that he refused. Even if Mrs.--whatever her name was--was attractive, which she wasn’t, she was not Anita. She was at least forty, a good ten years older than Adamo, and thus not anyone he would ever consider fooling around with. 

He walked out of the door, replaying in his head what he had said to her, making sure it was polite, professional. “I am flattered, ma’am. But I am a married man. And I am here to do my job.”

  It was nice enough, to the point, he decided. 

  She didn’t say anything back, though, which worried him. She had nodded and allowed him to see himself out. 

“That’s not like you, Adamo,” his boss said to him the next day. “But I’m going to have to send you back. They said it’s still broken. They’ll get a refund, and I expect you to fix it correctly this time.”

  Adamo didn’t argue. Arguing wasn’t in his nature, and it wasn’t worth it. He knew this horny Stepford Wife was pulling his leg. Why else would she ask for the same repairman, the one who “didn’t fix it right” in the first place? 

  She let him in and he walked into the kitchen silently. “Still not staying at the correct temperature?” he asked robotically. 

“It sure isn’t.”

  “I may need to order a new part,” he said, writing down the thermostat model. “I think this is corrupted.”

  This Misses didn’t question him or seem to care. He was fine with that. If her husband was home, he’d know that “I need to order a new part” was repairman code for “I’m going to overcharge you for something I shouldn’t.” But she didn’t know the difference. And right before he left, she asked him again. 

Adamo thought that most girls just cried after the first rejection and quit trying. But this woman didn’t cry until the 4th rejection, when he made a special trip over on a Saturday to install a new part. He didn’t have any desire to apologize again or stick around and mop up her mascara-stained cheeks, so he left. This time, he was confident she would move on. Maybe her TV would go out soon, and one of those inbred hillbillies from the cable company would come to her rescue, get her soaps back on, and stick around to reenact a scene.

After his sixth visit out there, Adamo confronted his boss to explain the situation. As expected, Adamo received a  hearty chuckle from him, and not much else. 

On Monday, Adamo returned to her house--Margie Wilson’s house--he’d learned her name by now. This time, he’d set her straight. 

  “Mrs. Wilson,” he began.

  “Call me Margie.”

“Margie. Would you...would you mind just sitting with me at the table and having coffee?”

  The coffee was weak, and he guessed that she was used to their housekeeper making it. But Adamo didn’t care much. He wasn’t there for the coffee. 

  “I think I know why you keep asking me to...you know...” Adamo shifted uncomfortably. “I think it’s because you aren’t getting enough love and appreciation from your husband. Is that right?”

  Margie hesitated, but nodded.

  “Well I am sorry he acts as if you are not important. I need to tell you why I can’t give you what you want, Margie. One big reason. Her name is Anita.”

He sat back like he was waiting for the past to catch up with him. “Anita and I met in high school. We both grew up in Phoenix. She was beautiful. Prettiest girl in school. But boy was she shy. She barely talked to anyone, let alone a second-string soccer player like me.

“One night, I went to the school’s play, West Side Story. The lead girl got sick and Anita was her understudy. So Anita played Maria.” He caught his breath, as he had to when thinking about that night. “She was amazing. No one would have ever guessed she was so shy. Her voice, her eyes, everything. That was it for me. And I knew that if someone as shy as her could step up and play that role, someone as dorky as me could work up the nerve to ask her out. So I did. Margie, Anita and I have been married for ten years. We have three beautiful children. And that is my life. Please understand. I only hope that you can someday find someone who loves you like Anita loves me.”

Margie’s eyes were watering. Her apology still sounded insincere, but Adamo decided that’s just how her tone was these days. They shook hands, and he headed home early, for the first time in a long time.

Later that night, Anita would cry and say “it just happened.” She would beg for him to talk to her, but Adamo would only sit silently, thinking about the jumpsuit on the floor. The Sears logo on the front pocket. The name Chuck sewn on the other pocket. The way Anita pulled the sheets over her slim body, like maybe there was still something to hide. 

“Who are you?” Adamo asked. He looked at Anita when he asked it, but Chuck answered. 

“I was just here to fix the refrigerator,” Chuck scrambled around the room, pulling his clothes back on. It won’t cool.”

Adamo left the room and headed to the fridge. He opened it. Examined it. Chuck was right. The cooling engine had blown. He shut the door and looked at his family, held together with ABC magnets, and at this point nothing else. Their fridge was broken. And it had never given them any trouble. Not in ten years.