Never Again – 20

 

Over the next few weeks Joseph became an integral part of the Rebuild NOLA, working with several of the other men on the team, most of whom had been homeless before Cal had hired them. He now knew more than he ever thought possible about how to rebuild hurricane and flood damaged houses, from the initial health issues involved in cleaning them so they would be habitable, to the final painting before they were to be refurnished and given over to their new owners.

During all that time, he rarely saw Cal other than just before leaving whichever site he was at. Cal would show up, check everything, and give the men, including Joseph, their next assignments if the current job was finished.

One evening just before Labor Day, after Cal had come and gone, Joseph asked Terry, one of the men he'd become friendly with, "Is he usually like this?"

"No. I've never seen him so uptight, except once right after I met him. He's usually the kind of guy who'll pop for a six-pack then sit and drink it with us."

"Really?" Joseph replied in surprise.

"Yeah. Guess something's going on with him again, not that he'll talk about it. He never says anything about his personal life. Sometimes I wonder if he even has one."

Joseph wondered as well, but refrained from commenting. After all, he was hardly one to talk when it came down to it. Since the first day he's started working for the team, he had gone straight home to eat and then collapsed into bed. He hadn't even gone for a run.

* * * *

Labor Day morning dawned hot and sunny with not a cloud in the sky. Cal had given everyone the day off, which left Joseph at loose ends as far as he was concerned. Beth and Brian had invited him for their annual barbeque, but that wouldn't start until early afternoon.

I might as well take advantage of the time off and head out to the Bayou, he thought while he threw together an omelet for breakfast. If I don't, Beth will call me snappish, and I probably would be. It has been a while since I've shifted.

It occurred to him the only reason he hadn't been uptight in the last few days was the fact he'd managed to work off any excess energy on the job. Guess there's a lot to be said for hard physical labor.

The thought was reinforced half an hour later as he looked at himself in the bedroom mirror while dressing. It wasn't that he was ever overweight. Given his genetics, it was impossible. But now he was as lean and muscular as he'd been when he was just a youth and new to his shifting abilities. My face however… he studied it, seeing faint wrinkles around his eyes and creases in his forehead. Nothing remarkable and they'd vanish as soon as he shifted back after his run. Not that anyone will notice, I'm sure, expect perhaps Beth if she was to see me right now. Just like Elizabeth, she knows what to look for.

He finished getting dressed then took off. As he headed toward Bayou Sauvage, he began to realize today might not be the best one for running. The traffic was heavy, going in the same direction, which meant families and tourists were planning on making a day of it sightseeing there. So, staying on Route Ten, he continued on to Morgan Bluff, where he parked beside the river then crossed to the bayou side. Once he was deep into it, he shed his clothes and shifted.

Exhilaration flooded him as he raced, splashing through the water, adroitly evading two alligators who were sunning on a fallen tree a few yards away. He darted between cypress trees, and even raced along a half-destroyed wooden path built for tourists and long abandoned. Finally he dropped down along the edge of the water, batting playfully at some fish as they swam lazily past him.

Then realizing it was close to noon, he returned to where he'd begun, shifted, dressed, and headed back to the city.

 

 

Never Again – 19

 

"You're late," Cal grumbled, after Joseph parked his car in front of the house they were working on and came to join him.

"So shoot me. I got tied up in traffic."

Cal actually grinned, barely. "Maybe once we're finished here."

"Something to look forward to."

"Getting shot? Or finishing?"

Joseph chuckled. "Finishing. I'd rather pass on getting shot. It hurts like hell."

"No shit." Cal was back to scowling when he turned on his heel, walking swiftly around the house toward the back.

Oh boy. Guess I hit a nerve on that one. 

Since, according to what Cal had said last evening, they were finished with the clean-up, Joseph only grabbed work gloves and a cap when he followed Cal.

"So what's on the agenda for today?"

Cal pointed to a large stack of Sheetrock leaning against the back of the house. "You ever put this stuff up?"

"Nope, but I'm a fast learner."

"Let's hope. We'll start with the living room." Cal grabbed one side of the top piece, waited for Joseph to get the other side and they set to work.

* * * *

By the end of the morning Joseph knew more about installing drywall than he ever wanted to. Cal was a good teacher, which impressed Joseph, only barking at him a couple of times when he was still trying to get the hang of taping.

"Lunch?" Joseph asked when he stepped back to admire their handiwork in the now-finished living room.

"Yeah. Same place as yesterday, unless you got somewhere else you'd like to go."

"Nope. Your car or mine?"

"Yours, since you designated 'car'," Cal replied with a grin. When they got outside, he stripped off his coveralls, tossing them and his gloves on the pile of Sheetrock.

Joseph followed suit and his gaze locked on Cal for a moment. Once again the man was wearing something that accented his hard, muscular body. This time it was a tank and shorts. Joseph felt a flash of lust, which vanished as quickly as it had flared up. Don't go there. He's not up for grabs—wouldn't be even if he wasn't straight. Besides, I'm not looking.

Thus he was surprised when Cal commented casually, "For a rich boy, you take care of yourself."

Sure, he was wearing a tank and shorts as well, but somehow he didn't think he came close to measuring up to Cal physically, despite the fact he was a shifter. So he shrugged, replying, "I try to keep in shape when I get the chance."

"You're getting it now." Cal chuckled, as he started toward the street. "Come on, rich boy. Let's go eat."

* * * *

"Now you get to see I can handle them," Cal said, ordering two hot sausage po'boys.

Joseph laughed, ordering one, too, and a beer. "I never really doubted it."

"Sure you didn't." Cal leaned back, studying Joseph much the way he had when they'd first met. "I still don't get it. Why are you willing to put yourself through this?"

"The work? Like I told you, I want to do more than…" Joseph paused, digging into his pocket for the envelope with the check, which he handed to Cal.

Cal opened it, his eyes widening when he saw the amount of the check. "Holy hell," he whispered, looking at Joseph. "What did you do, sell the family jewels?"

Joseph snorted in amusement. "Nope. I like them right where they are."

It took Cal a moment to get it then he laughed. "Yeah, I suppose you do. Thanks for this." He held up the check. "It'll go a long way toward making some people's dreams of a new life come true."

"That's the idea."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Cal, I'm sure. Believe me, I don't do things unless I want to." He smiled when Cal carefully put the check in his wallet, still looking a bit shocked.

"Can I ask, umm, did owning the news site really make you that much money? Okay, forget it. It's none of my business."

"That's okay. It didn't by itself. I inherited a sizable fortune and put some of it to work, which earned me more. I guess you could call me a one-percenter, although I do pay my taxes, all of them, without resorting to shenanigans."

"The government must love you for that."

"They don't complain," Joseph agreed with a laugh.

Their food arrived at that point and this time, unlike yesterday, they talked as they ate, discussing what came next once they finished with the house they were working on at the moment. Cal seemed surprised that Joseph intended to continue helping out but accepted it, telling him about two more houses that were in the process of being cleaned up.

"How did you get into this in the first place?" Joseph asked at one point, since none of the information he'd read had told him. "And more to the point, why?"

"The 'why' is easy, for the same reason you're here—to help people. The 'how' is a bit more complicated. I decided not to re-up when my tour of duty was over. They sent me back here, processed me at the base then let me go with my discharge papers in hand. The problem was, I really had no place to go that was mine." Cal stopped, looking at Joseph. "Why am I telling you all this?"

"Because I asked?" Joseph replied with a smile.

"Yeah, well it's not something I talk about," he growled.

"If it makes you nervous, then don't. I was just interested."

"Why?" Cal's expression was tight and distrustful now.

Joseph chuckled, hoping to defuse the situation, which seemed to be getting worse by the moment, at least on Cal's side. "My newspaper gene kicking in I guess."

"Well kick it out." Cal took the last bite of his po'boy, washed it down with a swallow of beer and stood, tossing some money on the table. "Time to get back to work."

The drive back to the site was filled with silence, Cal staring out the passenger window the whole way. From what little Joseph could see of his face, he was not a happy man by a long shot. It wasn't until they were back in their coveralls and ready to start on the next room that Cal finally said, tersely, "Sorry."

"No problem. We all have things we'd rather keep to ourselves."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

Never Again – 18

 

"Hot sausage? You sure you can stomach it, rich boy?"

"Yeah, can you?"

"You bet, but today I'm in the mood for a catfish po'boy, with a side of sweet potato fries."

"Uh huh." Joseph grinned knowingly when he watched the waitress walk away after taking their orders.

Cal scowled at him. "You calling me a liar?"

"Now why would I do that? I don't know you well enough to say one way or the other."

"Ain't going to, either," Cal muttered, taking a long pull on his beer before setting the bottle down again.

Joseph was very tempted to reply 'Thank God'. He resisted only because he didn't really want to make an enemy of the man sitting across from him. Last night he had read all the information in the thick folder Cal had given him and came away impressed with Rebuild NOLA and its aims. From what he could tell, Cal was the mainstay behind the organization, putting all his time and energy into it, taking only enough out to pay for his cheap apartment and the essentials he needed to live on.

There was almost nothing in the files about the man himself. Jennifer had been correct when she'd said he was very reclusive, as Joseph discovered when he did his own Internet search on Cal Gilbert. All he'd learned was he had been born up north, joined the Army when he was eighteen, and had served primarily in Iraq until two years ago. As far as he could tell, Cal had left with an honorable discharge when he was twenty-six, which would make him twenty-eight now. He looks older, but maybe being in the military did that. Although… Joseph shook his head sadly. The last time I was really aware of soldiers they were all so young.

"Something wrong," Cal asked, bringing Joseph back to the present.

"No. Just a fleeting thought."

Cal cocked an eyebrow but didn't pry, which was just as well. Joseph wasn't willing to elucidate on where his thoughts had gone.

Their food arrived then and they ate in silence. Afterward, they returned to the house.

By the time evening arrived, Joseph was more than willing to call it a day. On the other hand, when Cal hinted as they returned to Rebuild NOLA he didn't need to come back the next day, Joseph made it quite clear he intended to see the job through to completion. Cal seemed surprised, so Joseph added, "I may be a 'rich boy', as you insist on calling me, but I don't quit in the middle of something, no matter what."

Cal nodded. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Definitely."

* * * *

"I feel like something the cat dragged in after I'd run a marathon," Joseph told the koi as he ate his supper by their pond in the backyard. "But damned if I'm going to walk away. Cal's doing a good thing and I want to be a part of it, not just financially but physically."

He had already written out a sizable check to help fund Rebuild NOLA, which he would give Cal tomorrow. And hope he doesn't sneer at it or me. 'Rich boy' might be true but I earned it fair and square, even if it did take a century and a half, more or less.

Leaning back on his hands, he stared up at the star-filled sky above him. I suppose I should count myself one of the lucky ones. I've been able to make a positive difference in the world, albeit a small one. I've had love, true love, which comes rarely to a person, I think. I live well. I'm content, as much as anyone can be. I have friends, a few of them, and family. Compared to what I've seen in the last few days, or perhaps more to the point, what I've finally become aware of because it's always been there, yeah, I'm damned lucky.

For a brief moment his emotions spiraled downward. If I only had someone to share it with. Then he shook his head sharply. I chose my life after Rawleigh died. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. "Alone," he said aloud and chuckled softly. "That would be me, the Lonesome Cowboy, although I'm no cowboy and in truth I rarely feel lonesome any more. I guess after all this time I'm used to it. Besides which—" he grinned as he gathered up his dishes and headed back inside, "—being alone means I can leave these until morning and no one will carp at me."

He didn't actually. Being a creature of habit, he washed the dishes, set them in the rack to dry, and then, exhausted, went up to bed. As he fell asleep, he wondered what tortures in the way of work Cal would inflict on him in the morning.

Never Again – 17

 

Joseph tried not to laugh at the look on Cal's face the next morning. He'd arrived on time, and dressed to work, both of which quite obviously surprised the man. "Did you expect me to show up in designer coveralls instead of used ones?" he asked.

Cal barely nodded. "Truth? Yeah, I think I did. You ready?"

"I'm here and not just to stand around. Are we taking both cars?"

"Mine's a truck and you can follow me. That way when you're ready to fall on your face, I won't have to drive you back here."

"You don't think much of my dedication, do you, Cal?"

Cal turned to look at him, eyeing him from head to toe. "Well, you dressed the part but time will tell if it's all for show." He walked to a large, well-used 4x4 parked in the drive next to the house. "We're going about a mile from here, so keep up."

"Ass," Joseph muttered under his breath as he got into his car.

* * * *

"Is it safe to presume the house has been cleared of any toxic materials?" Joseph asked when he donned the gloves and cap Cal handed him. He was already wearing the disposable suit with its elasticized cuffs Cal had given him to put on over his own clothes. "And where is everyone else?"

Cal smiled a trifle maliciously. "We're 'everyone'. The house has been gutted and decontaminated, the old furniture's been removed, and now we're to the point of doing one last surface cleaning prior to putting up new Sheetrock. I figure between the two of us we should be able to do it, which frees up the rest of my crew to start on the next place."

Joseph nodded. "Does Rebuild NOLA own these properties?"

"Yep." Cal handed him a stiff-bristled broom. "Start in there"—he thumbed toward one of the rooms—"work from the ceiling down to get rid of all the residual bits of insulation, drywall, and mold. If you find any nails still in the framing pull them out or bend them in. And for God's sake, go get a damned respirator."

It took Joseph a moment to find one in the safety area outside the house. Returning, he started to work. By the time two hours went by, his arms ached, he was covered with dust and dirt, and was sweating profusely. He took a quick glance into the next room where Cal was working and vowed if the man could keep on with what he was doing then he for damned sure wasn't going to quit either.

Noon had passed and then some when Cal finally came in to inspect what Joseph had managed to complete. Leaning against the doorjamb, he slowly scanned the area. Finally, grudgingly Joseph thought from his tone of voice, Cal lifted his respirator to say, "I'm impressed. Let's take a break."

Joseph smiled slightly, setting his tools down in one corner of the smaller room he'd moved to once he'd finished the larger one. "Sounds good to me. I'll admit I'm starving. Besides which"—he rubbed one shoulder—"I think I've found muscles I didn't even know I had." The latter statement was pretty much an act. Yes, he ached, but being what he was, it wasn't nearly as bad as he was pretending.

"Come on then. I'll even buy your lunch, rich boy," Cal told him with what almost passed as a grin.

"Boy?" Joseph shook his head as he followed Cal to the cleanup area. Stripping off the suit, he tossed it in the covered bin Cal pointed to. The gloves and shoe covers went on a low table next to a row of hooks, one of which held the coveralls he'd arrived in. "You could have warned me all I needed was a pair of shorts and a tank," he grumbled, wishing he'd worn them under his coveralls, not jeans and a tee.

"Now where would the fun have been in that? Besides, you're supposed to be smart enough to know what the heat is like at this time of year. Now wash up thoroughly and let's get moving."

Never Again – 16

 

It was late the following morning when Jennifer got back to Joseph to tell him he had an appointment with a man named Calvin Gilbert at three o'clock.

"He heads an organization called Rebuild NOLA."

Joseph cocked an eyebrow, saying, "That sounds like a construction company, not a group that helps the homeless."

"That's what I said when I interviewed him. He somewhat snarkily told me rebuilding a city involved all its citizens, including those who had no place to go home to. He'd made it his mission to solve the problem."

"Hmm. I remember seeing the organization mentioned in your files for your story but not his name."

"I know. He's very… how shall I put it? Reclusive? As far as he's concerned, and he made this very clear to me, what his organization does is what's important, not the people involved in it, including himself. I was lucky to even get him to talk to me."

"And yet you managed to get me an appointment."

"I think"—she laughed—"I might have mentioned you had money and were interested in investing it in the organization if it met your criteria."

"Gee, thanks. Now he's going to think I'm some dilettante with nothing better to do than spend my time looking for good causes."

"Hey, whatever works. At least he is willing to talk to you."

"Good point. Thank you, Jennifer." When he asked, she gave him the address where he was to meet Mr. Gilbert and they hung up.

* * * *

At two-fifty-five that afternoon Joseph was standing across the street from an obviously rebuilt house on the edge of the Lower Ninth Ward. It was surrounded by its less fortunate neighbors and areas where nature had taken over, filling vacant lots with weeds, some standing a tall as a man's head, others covering the ruined structures with clinging vines. He wondered what sort of things lived in the weeds, what sort of trash was buried beneath them, and he decided he didn't really want to know when it came right down to it.

A sign on the front door of the house announced Rebuild NOLA in plain lettering. No logo, nothing but the two words. Joseph cocked an eyebrow at that when he rang the bell. He heard footsteps then the door swung open.

The man standing there was about two inches taller than Joseph's five-eleven. He had short, almost military-cut dark hair, and piercing dark blue eyes. The black tee shirt he was wearing emphasized his muscular torso.

"Mr. Gilbert?" When the man nodded sharply, Joseph held out his hand. "I'm Joseph Moncure. I have an appointment."

For a second, Joseph thought the man would ignore his outstretched hand. He didn't. Shaking it briefly, he gave a quick jerk of his head to indicate Joseph could come inside. "I'm Calvin but I prefer Cal. If you'll follow me, we'll go into my office to talk."

The office was utilitarian at best with a large metal desk in the center, two armless straight-backed chairs facing it on one side and a somewhat more comfortable-looking wheeled executive chair on the other. One wall was lined with tall, steel file cabinets, the second held a large window covered by Venetian blinds. On the wall opposite the file cabinets, there was a low metal table with a coffee-maker and a few unmatched cups. Above it hung several framed documents. From where he was now seated, Joseph thought they were awards and perhaps graduation certificates.

"How may I help you?" Cal asked, lacing his fingers, as he stared at Joseph.

"To begin with, I want to know exactly what it is you're doing to help the city's homeless. I also need to know more about the problem itself. It's one thing to read about it or listen to news reports. It's another to talk face-to-face with someone who's intimately involved."

Cal shook his head. "Do you always talk like a lecturing professor, Mr. Moncure?"

Joseph winced. "Not usually, I hope. And call me Joe, if you would."

Getting to his feet, Cal crossed to one of the file cabinets, took out a thick folder, and came back, setting it down in front of Joseph. "This should tell you all you need to know about my organization, Joe."

"Can't you tell me?"

"I could, but I have better things to do than spend time talking about it when all the information is right there in front of you."

"I think," Joseph replied, feeling anger rising, "you need to find someone to talk to potential donors who is a bit more courteous."

Cal gave him a brief smile. "I let my work speak for me." He leaned forward to tap the folder. "It's all in there, as I said. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do." He stood, obviously waiting for Joseph to do likewise so he could escort him out of the office.

"Go ahead and do them." Joseph got up, but only long enough to take off his suit coat and hang it over the back of the chair. Then he sat, rolled up his sleeves, and opened the folder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cal barked out.

Joseph looked up at him, biting back a small grin. "What you said, reading the information."

"I meant…"

"I know what you meant, but I'm not that easily gotten rid of. I came here to learn about your organization and perhaps, if I agree with what it's all about, to lend a hand."

"Meaning you'll toss a small donation our way," Cal growled, sitting down again looking sourly at Joseph.

"Partially," Joseph agreed with a nod, not taking his eyes off Cal. "However it takes more than money to help people who need help but might not want it or be willing to accept it."

Cal leaned back, hands behind his head as he stared at Joseph. "Somehow I don't see you as the hands-on type."

"Why?" Joseph asked, genuinely curious.

"For starters, you're wearing a suit which probably cost somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars. Secondly, your nails are well manicured. Third, I'd be willing to bet you visit your barber at least once a week to keep your beard and mustache so well trimmed. I'd also bet you live in, hmm, Lake Terrace or Lake Oaks. You're a wealthy man, Joe, and your kind doesn't do hands-on."

Joseph laughed. "Don't judge the book by the cover. If I were to do that with you, I'd say…" He tapped his fingers together. "You're ex-military, work out, dress for comfort no matter what, probably not married since you're not wearing a ring. You might have anger-management issues. If so, you've learned to control them but only if you aren't pushed too hard."

Cal frowned as Joseph talked. It had deepened by the time he was finished. Still, there was a small smile on his face when he said, "You pretty well nailed it, other than the working out. I don't have to. I spend at least part of every day at a site, working with the crews rebuilding houses here in the Lower Ninth to make them habitable again for families who need them." He chuckled low. "Now how close was I about you?"

"Pretty much on target, although I don't go to the barber that often. I do know how to wield scissors and clippers. And"—he smiled slightly—"I live in the Garden District."

"So like I said, wealthy."

Joseph shrugged. "I won't deny it but it doesn't mean I'm one of the idle rich. I've spent my whole life working…"

"Doing what?" Cal interrupted.

"You didn't do your homework when Jennifer set up this appointment?"

"Okay, yeah, I sort of slacked on that part. She mentioned you used to be her boss and I didn't take it any further." Again he studied Joseph. "Your whole life is what, thirty years, and at least twenty of them you had to be just growing up. So you've been working for ten years give or take. If you were her boss then you've been sitting on your butt running that news site. Hardly hard labor."

"True, but I still bet I could match you move for move, working on one the houses you're rebuilding." Joseph knew he probably shouldn't have sent out the challenge but Cal's attitude was getting to him. All he wanted was to do something positive to help the homeless and the man was acting as if he didn't have the right to care about them.

"You're on," Cal replied with a smirk. "Meet me here tomorrow morning, dressed in something other than a thousand dollar suit. And be prepared to lose that great manicure, Mr. Moncure."

"What time?" Joseph asked as he stood, picking up the folder and slinging his suit jacket over his shoulder.

"Seven, on the dot. I'm not waiting for you."

"Deal."

* * * *

"Open mouth, insert foot," Joseph muttered under his breath when he walked away from Rebuild NOLA and Cal Gilbert. On the other hand, I can keep up with whatever he wants me to do. That's no problem. I'll show him you don't have to be built like a heavyweight boxer to do hard labor. He laughed aloud, immediately wondering if the men sitting on the stoop of a partially rebuilt house he was passing thought he was crazy. He noted the familiar 'X', faded but still visible on the wall beside the front door. If anything, they probably think I'm just another do-gooder or a wandering tourist checking out the damage Katrina wrought.

He continued on his way, passing a small cluster of eco-friendly houses that he recalled had been paid for by some actor. Good, as far as it goes, he thought. But the area needs a hell of a lot more.

Nearing his car, he saw one house still in total disrepair. As he passed it, he saw the tall weeds move then two people inched their way along the side of the house toward the back. One had a large, very battered backpack. The other carried a bedroll slung over one shoulder. Both were dressed in layers of well-used clothing.

So what I read was right, the homeless are taking over at least some of the abandoned houses. Not that he'd doubted it, but now he had the visual proof.

He wondered if he should inform someone. But who? And what good would it do? They'd probably, at best, roust them out of there and they'd just move on to another place. God knows there are still enough derelict houses around here, despite the efforts of the government and the do-gooders. Of which I'm one, he thought with a soft chuckle.

As he drove away, he noted a beauty salon, repainted and open for business, although there didn't seem to be anyone inside other than two women he figured were the owners or employees since neither was working on the other's hair. At the corner of the same block he saw a bar with a few people sitting outside, chatting, smoking, and drinking. That seems to be it for neighborhood businesses, at least right around here. And how many of them—he glanced back at the men through his rearview mirror—are homeless too?