Chapter 21

Martin’s hair was still wet from his two-minute shower as he drove his Mazda into Jean’s driveway, but at least he was on time. He touched the ignition key, but didn’t get a chance to turn it off because Jean opened the door, and called out, “Don’t get out, Honey. I’ll be right there,” and disappeared back into the house, leaving the door ajar.

Martin put the car in park, leaned his head back on the headrest, closed his eyes, took in a big breath of air through his nose and let it out slowly. He was glad to have a quiet moment before Jean descended with all her Jean-ness. The slamming of the front door disrupted the quiet, and he lifted his head to see his mother scurry around the car to the passenger door, waving at him through the windshield. She appeared to be wearing a new dress, though Martin couldn't really tell. One over-embellished polyester garment with a matching short sleeved jacket from J.C. Penney tended to look exactly like the next one after a while.

“Oh, Martin, this is so wonderful,” Jean said as she crawled into the car, a little breathless. “I’ve been primping all day.”

Martin looked over at her as she buckled her seatbelt, and noticed her hair was styled and freshly bleached her trademark blond. “Did you have your hair done at Lady by Lovely? It looks pretty.”

Jean touched her hair, and nodded, obviously pleased that he had noticed. “I did. I was at the salon for almost 4 hours. Such luxury!” She looked over at Martin for the first time. “You look nice. It looks like you just got out of the shower.”

“That’s because I did just get out of the shower,” he said. “I spent the entire day getting my apartment ready for my mother’s visit, and barely had enough time to make it here by 5:30 to pick her up for the grand unveiling.”

Jean’s smile never left her face during the seven minute drive from downtown Siren to Risky Dick’s.

+ + +

Martin was glad that the parking lot was fairly empty when they drove in to Risky Dick’s. Being Good Friday, even the regulars would feel the need to repent and possibly go to church. The place wouldn’t be full until about 8:15 – long after Jean and Martin had finished their dinner and headed to Redeemer Lutheran Church down the highway.

Jean peered out of the car window at the building, trying to get the lay of the land. “Where is your apartment?” she asked, truly confused.

“There’s a stairway on the side. My place is just up the stairs, second door on the right,” Martin answered as he put the car in park. “Come on, Mom, I’m anxious for you to see it.”
Martin climbed out of the car, slammed the door and raced around the hood to open Jean’s door for her. He’d convinced himself that if he killed Jean with kindness, flattery and good manners, she wouldn’t notice the many warts in and around his apartment.

Martin held his hand out to help her out of the car, and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as he walked her through the pothole filled parking lot, trying to keep her navy pumps from getting too muddy. “Now, Mom, you have to be a little careful on these stairs. They are pretty steep. Hold on to the railing.”

As Martin disengaged her hand from his arm, he reached over to the railing to test its strength. It felt strong and didn’t move when he nudged it with his hand. He bent over slightly to look at the construction which he remembered as being much more rickety, and saw a series of bright new nail heads securing the rail better than it had been in years.

Jean grabbed the rail and briskly climbed the steps ahead of Martin. She stood primly by the second door on the right, which had a new mail box attached, as well as a name plate Martin had never seen before. “Martin Lundeen, #2” it said, looking as official as it possibly could given the fact that it was above the biggest dive in Burnett County.

As he went to unlock his door, Martin noticed the exterior of his windows looked as clean as the insides, and he wondered if Sharla had done that when he was busy with something else that afternoon. But then, he realized it couldn’t have been Sharla. She never left the room the entire time they worked.

The squeaking hinges of his door had been oiled, and the door opened easily, allowing Martin and his mother to sweep into his apartment. In addition to the new decorations and freshly clean carpet, Martin could tell that someone had sprayed an extra dose of air freshener in the room, making it smell even cleaner and more inviting than when he had rushed out to pick up Jean.

“Oh, Martin, this place is just lovely!” Jean exclaimed. "The colors are so handsome, so masculine!" He watched her ooh and ahh over every little item he and Sharla had purchased at WalMart that afternoon. Someone had put some new magazines on his bedside table – GQ and The New Yorker – and some fresh flowers on the small coffee table, all intended to create an image of Martin Lundeen for a mother who wanted desperately to believe her son was living a sophisticated life in a quiet, affordable efficiency on the outskirts of town.

As they walked down the stairs to have dinner at Risky Dick’s, Martin thought to himself, “Somehow, I’m going to have to thank Don for all of this.”