Chapter Nine
"Ralph, come back to bed," Pam said, standing at the living room entrance in her nightgown, the light from one lamp enabling her to see her husband across the room.
It was 2:00 a.m. and Ralph sat in his pajamas on the sofa, staring at the black alien box on his lap, his suit folded up neatly inside it. He held a half drunken bottle of beer in his hand; an empty lay on the carpet at his feet. He glanced briefly at his wife, and then went back to meditating on the box.
"He's going to be alright," she said. "And it wasn't your fault, anyway."
"Dr. Henderson thinks I'm a jerk," Ralph said, sipping his beer. "You should have seen how mad he was, storming out of the room. But, there was nothing I could say."
Pam came and sat down next to Ralph on the sofa, putting her hand on his arm. "Dr. Henderson doesn't know anything! He doesn't know about Palmdale, about the desert and the green guys, and the suit, and all the good you and Bill are doing! You can't let him get to you, honey."
"Can't I? Maybe Bill should stop working with me. Maybe we've done enough and two other poor slobs can take over."
"The aliens don't think so. You know they're happy with what you're doing."
"The aliens!" he scoffed, waving his beer around. "They didn't holograph the room they were in! They didn't almost kill their best friend! They don't have stitches in them, again, and a cast plastered over a broken bone, again."
It usually wasn't in Pam's nature to argue, although she did wield a wicked wit at times, usually directed, though, at Bill. They sat silently for a moment and then Pam asked, "So, what do you want to do?"
"I don't know. I really don't know."
"You know what Bill wants."
Ralph finished his second beer and put it on the floor, clinking it against the first bottle. "Huh! Yeah. Bill's gonna shrug this all off, saying 'It's nothing; Don't worry,' when I apologize, and stumble out of the hospital with doctors and nurses chasing after him trying to get him to stay." He turned to Pam. "He's pretty predictable."
"Yup," she agreed.
Then, in pensive mood, Ralph added, "Except when he's not."
Pam sat back on the sofa, her shoulder rubbing against Ralph's. "You know, he really is a good guy. A drive you totally crazy kind of good guy."
Ralph teased, "So, he's your best friend, too?".
Pam's eyes widened so much they almost took over her entire face. "No, I wouldn't say that. But, he is a, er, close acquaintance."
Pam Davidson was raised by quiet, conservative parents—who called each other "Mother" and "Father"--in a quiet, conservative town. She grew up going to church on Sunday, playing the piano, being polite and respectful to her elders, and doing her chores without needing to be reminded. Her home life fit her own reserved, controlled personality, where talking was always done in quiet tones, where grand displays of behavior were frowned upon, and blazing extroverts were treated as social pariahs. One conformed and never raised one's voice.
Meeting and having to spend a great deal of time with non-comformist Bill Maxwell—loud, in one's face, sarcastic, demanding—had been difficult for both of them, but more so for Pam. Her main form of communication with him in the first two years had been through insults, which Bill didn't like, but never sent back at her, instead usually complimenting her. There had to be some deeper reasons by now why Pam could still be so reactive to Bill, when she should be used to how he spoke and acted, as he regularly admitted his respect for her beauty, brains, and her skills as a third string utility back-up. Ralph knew she could be as pleased to hear Bill praise her help on a case as he could be, and she was honestly and deeply upset to have heard about his injuries today. Perhaps one day he and his wife would sit down and play lay psychologists and try to pry out the relationship nuances which existed between her and Bill. In the meantime, Ralph figured it was high time for her to admit she did care for Bill, because—no matter how much Bill grated against all she held in reverence regarding her upbringing--they both knew it was true. It was simply as hard for her to admit it as it was for Bill to admit he liked Tony Villacana.
"Come on, Pam," Ralph said, egging her on by pushing on her shoulder. "You know he holds you in the highest esteem. He'd give his life for you, too. Even more important, he ate your curried tofu."
Pam gave Ralph a long suffering look. "Alright, alright. I can't believe I'm saying this. Yes, I consider him a friend. Of sorts. And, he'll have a fit if you say you want to hang it up."
Ralph grinned. "I should say it just to see his face. He's got great facial expressions. Priceless, at times. Have you noticed that?"
"Yup, he does."
"I love that about him."
The sat on the sofa, almost in the dark, as the minutes ticked away, Pam patiently waiting for her husband to return to bed. Finally, Ralph whispered, "It'll kill me, Pam, if he dies, and I was at all responsible."
"Ralph, he feels the same way about you. You told me how he dragged himself along and kept calling out your name, frantic to learn if you were okay. It's a risk both of you take for the good of the country, and you know, without sounding too corny, the good of the world. You're close friends. It's only to be expected."
"But, the risks aren't equal. I've got the protection of the suit, and he doesn't."
"True. But, you've been knocked out twice wearing the suit. And you've saved Bill's life too many times to count. You've got to focus on that, Ralph, not just the occasional times Bill is injured. It's not fair to you."
"Yeah…I guess so."
"Just think where the world would be without you and Bill dealing with all these 'scenarios'."
Images poured into Ralph's mind. Nuclear destruction. Smallpox epidemic. Electricity monster devouring civilization. Mafia criminals running drugs. Spies stealing vital US information. Rural towns decimated by bikers. A child dead from hypothermia. Charities devoid of millions of dollars. The list went on and on. The world would have been much worse without them.
"And who knows what's going to happen in the future? How you'll save the world next?" she added. "As much as I absolutely hate the imposition of the suit into our lives, it's, well, comforting, in a way, knowing you and Bill are working together for the benefit of the planet. You make a heck of a team. The aliens were right about that."
How many times had Bill also mentioned they were a great team? Pam and Bill were right, Ralph thought, this really was bigger than all of them. Mistakes would be made; they were only human. Perhaps Bill had the correct attitude—shrug off the mistakes, the injuries, and just move on. They just had to do their best, stay together, look out for each other, and keep making a difference.
There was simply no turning back.
"You know, you used to just tell me to make my own decision and not try to convince me one way or the other," Ralph mentioned.
"I know. But, I've thought a great deal about all this. I still hate the suit. I wish it had never entered our lives. But, I do realize the necessity of it. If someone has to have one, I simply can't think of a better person for it than you."
They snuggled up, their arms wrapped around each other. Ralph pushed the button on the black box and it slid open, lights shining down on the red suit and the alien emblem in the middle of the tunic.
"I kind of like flying, you know," Ralph said. "It's exhilarating."
"How about landing?" she joked.
Ralph pouted, "No, I still don't like doing that. Comic books make it look easy, but it's not, you know. It's just not."
Pam remembered the jumbled and painful landing she experienced when they arrived on the island where Bill was being held captive. "I know."
"Maybe Bill will help me learn to hover. Then I can fly down to right above the ground, hover, and touch down lightly on my toes. I kind of did it that once, landing in your car, but I haven't been able to be consistent at it. Boy, the suit is hard to figure out."
They both spoke wistfully, "Sure could use that instruction book," and then laughed out loud at the shared comment.
Pam said, "Ask Bill the next time you do a desert practice session to focus on hovering. That has practical applications, too, like looking in upper story windows."
"True. You know, I think I will ask him. Better than setting something else on fire behind me. It drives me bonkers that I can't figure out how to set something on fire in front of me."
Pam kissed him on his lips. "You're a great suit wearer, Ralph. The best."
Ralph moved the black box off his lap and put it on the sofa. "Bed," he said, and they wandered off together.