MaineCourse

Two Little Words

Leon is Chris’s painter. He’s Italian, not tall, but thick, with a barrel chest, and biceps I used to dream about. He’s also opinionated. “What’s that crap? “ He kicks at the wood nailed below the closet’s sliding doors. We’re in Chris’s son’s room and Leon is sizing it up, thinking about how much to charge.

“What’s what crap?” Chris asks.

I know what Leon is talking about because I had to remove that length of wood to fix those doors.

“What’s that crap?” he kicks it again. “That don’t need to be there. Take it off.”

“It traps the sliding doors so they don’t flop around,” I explain to Chris, “Russ is right, it doesn’t need to be there.”

“Go to Home Depot and buy a piece of plastic. That’s all you need.”

Maybe Leon is ham handed, but only if you take offense. After he leaves I tell Chris, “With Leon, what you see is what you get. You know he’s not holding anything back. You know there isn’t some little guy sitting in his head thinking something other than what you’re hearing.

We both like him and this is the third time I’ve bumped into Leon at Chris’s house. We met after I remodeled her kitchen, and he arrived in his white panel van, ready to paint. Leon is talkative; I like to talk, Leon’s personality overwhelms; I disappear in a room of three. Which is why I’m so attracted to him. I tell Leon that I hate to paint, but what I really hate is cleaning up. I buy cheap rollers and brushes, I use them a few times, and then I throw them into the garbage.

Leon listens to me prattle on about my cheap roller method. He gives me an I’m-not-amused look and drags me into Chris’s bathroom with his paint-filled roller. “It’s easy. Take the roller comb and ... . “ After a few strokes under the faucet water he proudly holds the roller up - like a bunny's butt the nap is all white and fluffy. I follow him back to the kitchen while he’s teaching me about good brushes. “Buy expensive brushes, ” but, he says, “The most important thing is to stick the paint brush back in its card board wrapper. The one it came with.” He looks around and can’t find the one for the brush in his hand.

I think to myself how as soon as I remove the brush from its package I throw that wrapper away. It’s suddenly clear how the cardboard retains the shape of the brush and protects the bristles.

Leon is peeved about losing his brush wrapper. He’s grumbles, unfolds his tarp, kicks his tool boxes, looks as if he’s going to kick me. His frenzy draws Chris’s attention. She’s sitting at her dinning room table shuffling through bills. “Wait a minute. Does it fold back on itself and tie with a string and a button?” Chris asks. “I think I know where it is.” Chris walks to the wastebasket and picks it out of the empty vanilla ice cream container. I’m thinking, uh oh, and I’m also thinking, I’m glad I didn’t throw it way.

Leon reaches out with his left hand for the brush cover, throws Chris an icy what-would-you-expect-from-a-woman look, and with a shooing motion of his right hand, he says, “ Go Cook.”

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Tomorrow: My Week With Leon by Chris

I can't wait for the followup to THIS tale and those two little words. But I'm still laughing at "like a bunnie's butt".........

All my good brushes still have their cardboard. But I bag a roller for future use rather than clean it out, usually finally laboriously carving them off with a matte knife when they set up solid and I need the roller for something else 4 months later. 1 outta 10 times it's a good idea. Usually stupid.

Posted by ham.

Somehow I missed the "bunnie's butt" comment the first time I read this. That is hilarious. I remember the "go cook" comment well. I thought I was hearing things. It is a line that Michael occasionally throws my way for a laugh. Leon is quite a character and quite an excellent painter and paperer, if anyone is looking.

Posted by chris.

Posted by Michael at October 1, 2004 05:05 PM