Page 34 of Faking the Book Boyfriend

“Hold on. I’ll conference him in.”

I arrive at the pool equipment area with the tool kit in tow. I hear the phone ringing, indicating that Cheetah is calling his cousin.

A man answers, saying something in Spanish.

Cheetah happily responds, “Coma estas, Miguel?”

They start conversing in Spanish. I don’t know what the hell they’re saying.

“Trey, Miguel said to make sure the heater power is on and then feel the top of it to see if it’s hot.”

“What the fuck does a pool heater look like?”

After another Spanish exchange, he says, “It will be the biggest rectangular box in the pool equipment area. Like a washing machine. Pipes should be coming out of it and leading to the pool.”

I look around and locate what must be the heater. “Okay. I see it.” I check the panel. “The power is on.” I feel the top, but it’s not hot. “It’s not hot though.”

They start talking again, leaving me clueless.

“He thinks it’s probably a pilot light issue. He said to check the gas line.”

“I’m not fucking with the gas line. I don’t want to cause an explosion. Dying isn’t on my list of activities for today.”

“Hmm. Fair point.”

They chat back and forth.

“Miguel wants to know if you have a wrench.”

I look through the toolbox and locate several. “Yes. I have lots. What size?”

“He said to get a big one.”

I find the biggest one and pull it out of the box. “Okay. Now what?”

“He said to hit the top of the heater with it.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No. He said that works sometimes when all else fails. It needs a little kick in the ass for the pilot light to ignite.”

“This is stupid.”

“What other choice do you have? Just do it.”

I tap the top of the heater.

I hear Cheetah sigh. “You’re a fucking ball player. Hit the damn heater like you mean it.”

I rear back and slam the top of the heater with the wrench three times…and it fucking kicks on. I can hear the pilot flicker on and then see the gaseous heat radiating from the large machine.

“Holy shit. That worked. Cheetah, you’re a genius.”

He chuckles. “I can’t believe that worked. I mostly just wanted to see if you’d do it. Gracias, Miguel.”

I concur, “Gracias, Miguel.”

“De nada.”

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