IdreamofBuddie

“Oh.” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Going on six years now.”

“What three words would you use to describe him?”

Buck’s eyes catch on something behind the camera and a mischievous grin curls his lips. “Stinky, lazy, and uninspiring.”

A muffled voice in the background says, “Fuck off.”

“Eddie. We’re on camera. The children.”

The camera spins and stops on Eddie where he's lounging on an arm chair, wearing an identical uniform to Buck. A TV plays HGTV in the background. Eddie pointedly looks down at the phone in his hands. 

“Anyway,” Buck says, when the camera focuses back on him. “Seeing as this jacket is selling this issue of Amateur Design, I think I should have half the profits. Actually, consider me the recipient of sixty percent of anything Eddie makes off his neurotic design hobby in the future.”

“Neurotic?” Julie asks. The sound of a pencil scratching over paper fills the silence. “Can you elaborate?”

“Oh, yeah, Eddie’s just particular, that’s all.”

“Buck,” Eddie voices, sounding pained.

"You're smouldering on this thing."

Boots thud against the hard floor, and then Eddie appears and plucks the magazine out of Buck's hands. "I do not smoulder."

"Tell that to the magazine."

Eddie's eye twitches and he opens his mouth to say something, peeks at the camera, and just storms off instead.

“I’m his best friend,” Buck explains, looking pleased with himself.

A paper ball soars into the frame and nails Buck in the back of the head.

*

“Uh, I wasn’t aware this was an in-house interview.”

“All in the release we had your chief sign,” Julie states, and a file of papers appears. Robert Nash— "Bobby, please, Robert makes me sound a hundred years old," — grabs the file with a suspicious look in his eye and flickers briefly through it before nodding once.

“Okay,” he says. “What is this for again?”

“Amateur Design.”

“I’m not familiar with this show.”

“It’s not a show, sir, it’s a magazine.”

“A magazine?” Bobby’s frown deepens. “About design? And you’re interviewing Eddie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m . . . confused. Do you have a copy of this magazine?”

“Right here, Cap!” Buck waltzes in out of nowhere, plopping the magazine in Bobby’s hands. “Get a load of this guy, eh?”

Bobby looks at the cover, and then up at the camera. “Is this supposed to be Eddie?”

“He’s wearing my jacket!” Buck huffs. “I made him famous.”

“Huh.” Bobby’s face scrunches up. “I thought you gave that jacket away. It hurts my eyes.”

“I wore it one time . . .” Buck mutters, walking away from the camera.

Bobby continues analyzing the magazine cover, and then his head snaps up and he beckons somebody over. “Eddie? Just a second, please.”

Eddie slouches into view. “Yeah, Cap?”

Bobby turns the magazine around. “What’s this? You never said anything.”

“I’m pretty sure Buck did at some point.”

“Buck says a lot of things. I tune most of it out. You, however. That I would have remembered.”

“. . . Sorry?”

Bobby tuts his tongue, eyes twinkling. “It’s decided then. This is going up on the station fridge.”

Eddie stares up at the camera, looking scandalized.

*

The camera pans out from a close-up of the magazine cover tacked to the station fridge, and then Chimney’s face— "The meaning behind the nickname? Come on, now, that’s a second date story, sorry," —comes into view. He has an energy bar in each hand.

“This is fantastic,” he sighs, peeling the wrapper off one after sticking the other in his pocket. “Best thing that’s happened all year.”

“You said Eddie redesigned this firehouse?” Julie asks.

Chimney nods, thinking as he chews. “Oh, yeah. Well, I mean, we all thought it was Bobby who did it, because—I mean, it’s Eddie, you know? I love the guy, but you have to understand, the other day he had his laptop open to the Old Navy website and just . . . a dozen henleys in his cart, three of which were the same color." He stares sorrowfully at his half-eaten energy bar. "Chris always looks so sharp, d'you think he uses all his style juice for the day on his kid?"

The camera turns to Julie, who blinks in an effort to process his words. "I'm not sure."

Chimney considers the thought for a moment more before shrugging and biting into the bar. "Well, anyway. It’s always the ones you least expect, you know?”

“It’s a good look. Other fire stations have tried to copy it.”

Chimney chokes on his energy bar. “What? You’re serious?” 

“There’s a station in Chicago who posted a picture on Twitter. They tagged Eddie in the design.”

“No shit—oh, shit, can I swear on this thing? You'll just cut it out? Awesome. Wow. I don’t really go on social media. Neither does Eddie, now that I think about it. His last post was like three years ago. Oh, my God.” Chimney cranes his neck, waving his second energy bar in the air. “Hey, Eddie! When’s the last time you logged on to Twitter?”

The camera pans over to Eddie walking up the steps. He turns around and walks back down.

*

"Wait, I thought this was about interior design. What does anybody care how many henleys I buy?"

The camera shifts over Eddie's shoulder and zooms in on the wide-eyed look on Chimney's face.

"Is this some kind of fashion magazine? I'm not—I thought you were called Amateur Design."

Chimney backs slowly toward the fire pole.

"Also, just for the record, there isn't anything wrong with henleys. My dad always said it was good to find a piece of clothing and stick with it. He had a bin full of polos."

Chimney snorts so hard he trips over his feet and nearly slams into the pole.

*

“No, I didn’t know Eddie was a closet design fanatic. And yet I’m not surprised. It’s a healthy hobby, though. Nothing wrong with it.”

Henrietta Wilson— "Call me Hen. If you say Henrietta I’ll think it’s my mother and hide," —taps a pen against the page of some sort of medical textbook. Behind her, Bobby smiles proudly at the magazine cover on the fridge before reaching inside for a carton of eggs.

“Is this really a big thing?” The camera focuses on Hen’s face. “Like, is Eddie leaving to design rooms for the President or something?”

“It could be a gateway to something much more,” Julie explains. “Some of our spotlighted amateur designers go on to have illustrious careers. One of them is the personal consultant for Oprah.”

“Oprah.” Hen whistles, shaking her head. “Karen is going to love this.”

A loud crash is heard in the background, followed by an undignified squawk. The camera follows Hen as she stands to track the noise down the stairs, where Eddie is hunched over laughing with his hands on his knees and Buck is on the ground with an upturned bucket of soap and water soaking through his uniform.

“Yeah,” Hen remarks dryly. “That guy. Working for Oprah. I can see it now.”

Eddie helps Buck to his feet and then shoves a dirty sponge in his face.

Hen gives the camera a flat look.

*

“Thank you again for sitting down with us in your house Eddie.”

“Of course,” Eddie says, rubbing his palms against the denim over his thighs. His eyes widen suddenly and he makes a move to stand. “Do you guys, uh, do you need anything? Water, tea, coffee—well, actually, Buck drank the rest of my coffee, but I think I have—”

“We’re quite alright, Eddie,” Julie cuts him off, and he sinks back into the couch, shoulders pensive. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

“As our newest featured amateur designer, I just wanted to ask you some questions about your inspirations, how you got into design, the basic stuff. You ready?”

Eddie nods with a face that looks the opposite of ready. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess. Yes. I’m ready.”

“Great.” The camera widens to show Julie seated on the opposite end of the couch, angled toward Eddie, notebook in her lap. “Have you always enjoyed interior design?”

“Um, uh. Well. I guess? I mean, I didn’t really do much with it when I was younger, but I guess I always noticed. The design work and stuff, I mean. Yeah. I guess you could say I’ve always been aware of it.”

“You spend your days and nights as a firefighter, but have you ever considered doing design full time?”

Eddie laughs. “Oh, my—no, it’s never crossed my mind. I love what I do. Interior design has always been more of a stress relief thing.”

“Well, your ‘stress relief thing’ has garnered you a lot of attention.”

He laughs again, a little more nervously.

Julie shifts on the couch, a hawkish smile on her face. “Now, I’ll be hunted down if I don’t ask for our readers, but the people want to know: are you single?”

Eddie’s face reddens. “Um.”

“Just between us, Mr. Diaz.”

The camera shifts over and zooms in on a picture sitting on a table beside the couch, of Buck and Eddie and Christopher smiling together at the beach, as Eddie says, “No, I’m . . . I’m not really seeing anybody at the moment, I guess.”

“The people will be relieved,” Julie smirks, but notes his discomfort and smoothly glides to the next question. “What would you say your biggest inspiration is?”

Eddie’s eyes flit about the space. “Uh, I don’t think . . . I mean . . .”

The door opens, cutting off his sentence, and the camera follows Eddie’s gaze as Buck and Christopher walk through the door. Buck blinks at everybody gathered in the living room. Christopher grins a toothy smile.

“Awesome,” he breathes, as Buck says, “What?”

“Dude.” Eddie vaults off the couch. He corrals Buck in the hall, away from the crew. “I told you I had this stupid thing today. Weren’t you going to the zoo?”

“Zoo’s closed,” Buck answers, sneaking a peak at the interview crew over Eddie’s shoulder. “Something happened to one of the elephants. Some kid saw and totally freaked. There’s a lawsuit pending.”

“So you came back here?”

“Yeah, man, what’s the big deal? I’ll go to Christopher’s room. We’ll be quiet.”

Eddie drags a hand down his face, sighing heavily. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. This is stressful.”

Buck smiles, something soft and fond and amusing all at the same time. He rubs a hand down Eddie’s arm. “I know. Tough being in the spotlight, huh?”

“Screw you.”

“Mmhm.” He nudges his shoulder and follows Christopher down the hall. “Well be in the room. Definitely not listening to everything you say.”

Eddie groans and waits for the door to click shut before sitting back down on the couch. “Sorry. Where were we?”

“Biggest inspiration,” Julie repeats.

“Right,” Eddie says, and fumbles his way through an explanation. Something scuffs against the floor, and the camera switches to the nearest doorway where Buck is propped. He puts a finger to his lips when he sees the camera, eyes falling back on Eddie as he listens. He’s smiling.

*

After Eddie's interview, Julie talks quietly with the crew as everybody packs up. Eddie disappears down the hall with a mumbled excuse. Buck materializes by the camera and scoots closer. “I have my own copy of the magazine,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I’m going to keep it on my nightstand until the day I die.” And then, cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouts, “Hey, Eddie, will you sign a copy of the magazine for me?”

Something clatters in another room, followed by a muffled slew of words. 

Buck turns back to the camera and grins.

*

Buck's first interview at the station got cut off by a call, so he lets the crew in his apartment to wrap it up.

“Oh, yeah, he signed it alright,” Buck says, a far off look in his eyes. After an awkward period of silence, he jerks to attention, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t—what? What is that look for? Is there something on my face?” He pats at his cheeks just as the door to his apartment opens and Eddie walks in, Christopher behind him.

“Oh, Jesus." Eddie ducks behind the bag of groceries in his arms. “Seriously? You could have warned me, man.”

Christopher gasps. “Am I going to be on TV?”

Buck scoffs, hopping up from the couch. The camera follows him as he walks toward the kitchen. “Sorry, buddy, it’s just for a magazine. Your dad isn’t that cool.”

“Wow. Ouch.”

Buck cackles, absorbing himself into the world of his two guests, seemingly forgetting that the camera crew is present. The camera pans over to the magazine forgotten on the couch, zooming in on the words scrawled across the inside flap in sharpie:

Thanks for always being my biggest inspiration.