LEMONHEAD
Lemon was another friend of Fish’s. They had also been roommates in Baltimore and Lemon never left. Fish had to sell the house to get him to move out. Anyway, Lemon was due for a visit on the weekend of the Preakness. Fish thought I knew Lemon from the past, but I didn’t remember. That’s all anyone spoke of the week before his arrival. “Here comes Lemonhead!”
Over the course of Fish’s ten years in Carolina Beach, Lemon had visited and worked around the shop. He had built the roof over the yard and was a good all around handyman. I didn’t know why they called him “Lemonhead.” I didn’t find out till later it was Lemon; he hated being called “Lemonhead.”
“When he walks into a room everything turns sour,” Fish told me.
Everyone devised practical jokes to play on the man, as paybacks for jokes he had played on them. I had no idea what Fish meant by everything turning sour. Everyone was having a ball with the expectation of Lemon’s appearance on the island, especially Rollo the surfer, a former alligator wrestler. Rollo had a special payback in mind for something Lemon had done to him on his last visit. The anticipation was almost exciting. I thought maybe even the name “Lemon” was a joke of sorts.
Rollo had been banned from the barbershop a few times but Fish always let him back in.
“He’s from old money, which he lends me when I’m in a jam,” Fish said, “little bit eccentric. I’ve gotta put him in his place once in awhile.” t was Fish’s barbershop and his apartment, and both were unique from years of gathering from yard-sales and flea markets and bartering in the barbershop for booze and services. He was proud of his collection of original art from artists he had known and sheared. He worked hard. The last time Lemon was in town Rollo had fallen asleep in one of the barber chairs expecting Fish to give him a duck’s ass and Lemon shaved his head clean. Fish thought it was as funny as everyone else did. Lemon must have had some heavy duty blackmail leverage on Fish
Anyway, on Friday I talked Brent into driving to the airport and giving Lemon a ride back to the Beach. He didn’t seem very excited about the idea. In fact, he didn’t seem very excited about Lemon coming to town at all. Since we were in Wilmington anyway it seemed logical to do a friend a favor and save him a twenty-five dollar cab fare. Reluctantly Brent agreed. I called Fish to see if any other arrangements had been made and told him the plan.
“Brent is going to pick up Lemonhead?” he said. “Brenda hits on him every time he comes to town. She can’t keep her hands off of him.”
“Oh shit,” I said. “Who is this guy?” Maybe Fish was exaggerating—he had also told me that Brenda got a little crazy when she had a few drinks too many, and I hadn’t seen that side of her. The last thing I wanted to do was cause an uncomfortable situation for Brent. We had a ton of work ahead and it was a job keeping him focused, even when he was enthusiastic and happy. I felt fortunate to be free of personal ties. My relationship was with my work, and part of that work was keeping Brent working. At that point, without him there would be no project.
I had seen a group photograph in one of Fish’s old barbershop posters but Lemon had been wearing a flight helmet. I didn’t think he would recognize me and I certainly wouldn’t recognize him. I wrote up a sign that said “Lemonhead.” Brent’s usual quick wit seemed to have dried up, but the prospect of announcing to a group of people that they’d just flown with someone called “Lemonhead” seemed like fun.
We arrived at the airport. After about the time it took to drink a beer, watching through the airport bar window, we saw the plane pull up to the gate.
Brent sat off to the side where he couldn’t be seen and I held the sign in the air. Passengers began filing out of the plane and into the airport, looking like the sourest bunch of people in the universe even though many were being greeted by others happy to see them. Suddenly it seemed as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the entire airport. A few seconds later a short dumpy guy in an Orioles baseball cap strolled right past with a carpetbag. He looked like an assistant in a butcher’s shop. I felt enthusiasm sucked from my body and knew that must have been him.
Brent limped over to me. “Did you feel that?” he asked.
I was speechless. We followed Lemon out of the airport and he walked directly to the taxi stand. He had either missed the sign or simply ignored it.
“Lemon!” I called out from behind. He turned. “We came to pick you up,” I said.
“Why?” he said.