Steve paced in front of a set of bookshelves, claustrophobic in the small anteroom. Victoria sat rigidly at a worktable, fingers clutching a pen, poised to take notes. Zinkavich slumped in a cushioned chair, his love handles overflowing the armrests.
“Would you like something to drink?” Judge Rolle asked, her voice tinny over the speaker.
“Nope. Uncle Steve made me a papaya smoothie for the ride over.” Bobby's voice was high and nervous.
“Sounds healthy.”
“Makes me poop,” Bobby said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Sometimes we get the papayas from the fruit stand on Red Road.”
“They have wonderful produce,” the judge said.
“Sometimes Uncle Steve just steals them from a neighbor's trees.”
“I see.”
Yikes. Steve stopped pacing. If he were a smoker, he would light up about now.
“Do you do spend a lot of time with your uncle?” the judge asked.
“Like 24/7,” Bobby said. “Except when he, you know…”
“When he goes out on dates?”
“Uncle Steve doesn't go on dates. He just has chicks come over, hang out in his bedroom, then split.”
“Oh, shit,” Steve groaned.
“Do any women ever spend the night?”
“If they've had too many mojitos,” Bobby said.
“So I guess your uncle makes more than papaya smoothies,” the judge said, a note of sarcasm in her voice.
“I make the mojitos.” Bobby said it proudly. “The secret's squeezing fresh guarapo. Sugarcane juice. But not too much, because the rum is already sweet. And the mint leaves gotta be fresh.”
Zinkavich said: “We reap what we sow, Solomon.”
“Aw, shut up,” Steve said.
Over the speaker, the judge said: “Does it bother you when women sleep over?”
“No way,” Bobby said. “Sometimes I get to see bare boobs in the morning.”
Steve's throat felt constricted. He doubted he could swallow, wondered if he could even take a breath. He was pretty sure he heard the judge's pen scratching across a notepad.
“And Sofia makes huevos rancheros,” the boy continued. “But Lexy and Rexy don't really cook. They're models, and they eat like a slice of grapefruit and a thimble of yogurt.”
“Models,” the judge said, disapproval in her voice. “Does your uncle see either Lexy or Rexy now?”
“Not anymore,” Bobby said.
Steve felt relieved enough to exhale.
“Used to be, he'd do them both at once.”
“Oh, shi-i-i-i-i-t!” Steve wailed.
“They're twins,” Bobby explained, helpfully.
Steve whimpered and Zinkavich barked a laugh.
“Quiet, both of you!” Victoria flashed an angry look.
Steve said: “That stuff's ancient history, Vic. Six months ago, at least.”
“Please. I'm trying to listen,” she said.
Bobby was saying something, and they'd missed part of it.
“… been a while since Uncle Steve got any trim.”
“Trim?”
“You know. Some play. Booty in the bone shack.”
“So, no more booty?”
“Lexy, Rexy, Sofia, Gina. They haven't come over since Uncle Steve fell totally in love with Victoria.”
“Ms. Lord? His ex-fiancee?”
“Oh, that wasn't real.”
“Excuse me?” the judge said, puzzled.
“Being engaged. That was just pretending.”
“Whatever for?”
“Uncle Steve didn't want to lose me, and he thought Victoria made him seem more mature.”
“I see.”
“Not that he wouldn't like to marry her for real.”
In the anteroom, Zinkavich laughed so hard, spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
“So now only Ms. Lord comes to the house?” Judge Rolle asked.
“Just to work, not to do Uncle Steve. She's gonna marry this other guy, and Uncle Steve is totally bummed.”
God, this was humiliating, Steve thought. Why had no one ever invented a pill that could make you invisible?
“This isn't a court case, it's a soap opera,” Zinkavich said.
The judge said: “Tell me about your homeschooling.”
Yes, tell her, Steve thought. They'd rehearsed this.
“I'm reading the Aeneid in Latin. Virgil's pretty cool.”
Perfect. Way to go, kiddo.
“And The Iliad in Greek. The battle scenes are totally awesome. Better than that stupid movie Troy.”
“That's very impressive,” the judge said. “Did your uncle give you those books?”
“Yep, plus the fiftieth anniversary edition of Playboy.”
Aargh. One step forward, two steps back, Steve thought.
“I thought Stella Stevens was really hot. But she didn't show any cooch.”
In the anteroom, Steve banged his head against the bookshelves, knocking a dusty volume of Corpus Juris Secundum to the floor. Over the speaker, Judge Rolle seemed to sigh, then said: “Tell me what you do for fun, Bobby.”
“I play Little League, but I suck bad. Uncle Steve says it doesn't matter, but some kids are mean to me. Once I dropped a fly ball, and one of the dads yells, ‘Get that spaz out of there.'”
“That must have hurt your feelings.”
“Then I let a ball roll between my legs, and the same guy yells I should be in the Special Olympics.”
“Oh, my,” the judge said.
“Uncle Steve told the guy to quit talking smack, but he wouldn't. He was, like, humongous, with a fat head, and Uncle Steve yells at him: ‘Hey, big mouth, what position did you play, backstop?' And everybody starts laughing, so the guy comes after my uncle, who starts running backwards, and the guy can't catch him. Uncle Steve's saying, ‘You're so ugly your first name should be Damn,' and the guy keeps chasing and Uncle Steve keeps backpedaling and says, “If your ass had eyes, you still couldn't see shit.' And the game's stopped because they're on the field and the big guy's swinging at Uncle Steve but missing, and finally the guy stops, out of breath, all red-faced, and bends over and hurls chunks. Right on first base.”
“Must have been quite an experience,” the judge breathed.
“Later, Uncle Steve told me some people say nasty things because they're stupid and some because they're mean, and not to let it bother me, because I'm special in a good way.”
“I think your uncle's right,” the judge said.
“And he said if you're really mad at somebody, beat them with your brains, not your fists.”
“You really like your uncle Steve, don't you, Bobby?”
“He's awesome,” the boy said.
“How about Victoria?”
“I wish she was my mom.”
There was a long pause. Steve wished he could see the judge's face, wanted to know what she was thinking. He glanced at Victoria. She blinked several times, her eyelashes flicking away tears like silver drops of dew.
