appeared that no one by the name of Trixie Snelling had ever actually existed.
I had some pasta on the counter and was looking in the fridge for a half-full jar of spaghetti sauce when Angie came into the kitchen. I felt the same thing I always felt when I saw her-that I had the most beautiful daughter in the world, and I’d be a fool to think I could take any of the credit.
“Hey, stranger,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you.” She hugged me and I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You here for dinner?”
“What are we having?”
I love this question, the one that says, Hey, there’s nothing like getting together with family, so long as you’re serving something decent.
“Spaghetti,” I said.
“Don’t worry about me,” Angie said. “I’ll grab something somewhere. I’ve got to go back downtown tonight for a lecture anyway.”
She blew threw the kitchen like a twister, there one moment, up the stairs the next. I heard the front door open, a new storm system approaching.
“Well, I hope you’re happy now,” Paul said, forcing me out of the way as he reached into the fridge for a can of Coke.
“Happy about what?” I asked.
“I got a job. Just like you and Mom wanted. I won’t have to be bugging you for money anymore.”
“That’s fantastic!” I said. “About the job, not the money thing. When did this happen?”
“This afternoon. After school. I went by this place, they needed help, they had, like, this sign in the window, I applied, I got it. You want to hear how the interview went? I go, ‘I’d like to inquire about your job?’And they go, ‘You start tomorrow.’” He scowled.
“Where’s the job?”
“That place over on Welk? Burger Crisp?”
“Burger Crisp? What do they serve, burnt burgers?”
“I know, it’s a fucking stupid name. The ‘Crisp’ is supposed to refer to the fries, but I guess they didn’t want to call it Burger and Crispy Fries, so they called it Burger Crisp. These are the people I’m going to be working for, who can’t even come up with a non-sucking name for their establishment.”
“Well,” I said, putting on my positive face, “this is clearly a cause for celebration, then.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “This is my new life, flipping burgers, scraping grease, and I have to wear a frickin’ paper hat over my hair that makes me look like some guy who couldn’t make it into the retard academy. And the woman who runs this place, she’s like Greek or Russian or Turkish or something and looks like if she stood in front of a moving tank she’d total it. And she’s got these two twin daughters who help her run the place, look like they could be playing for the NFL. If they fell over, they wouldn’t be any shorter.”
“So,” I said, struggling to maintain my cheerfulness, “when do you start?”
“Tomorrow, after school,” Paul said. “Unless I blow my brains out tonight.” He shook his head, unable to believe something this horrible could happen to him. “When my grades start to go down, it’s not going to be my fault.”
“Why don’t you go share your news with Angie,” I said. “She just got home.”
I figured, with so much joy in the house, why not spread it around?
Paul trudged upstairs, his every step shaking the house right down to the foundation.
The phone rang. “Hello?” I said.
“It’s all set up,” Trixie said. “We’ve got a sit-down with Martin Benson to talk some sense into him. Tomorrow. One o’clock.”
6
Paul had come back downstairs and was in the kitchen, looking in the fridge for something to snack on. “I heard you saying to Mom the other day that we swear too much. Like, look in the mirror, Dad.” He found a processed-cheese slice, peeled the cellophane wrapper off, folded it in half, downed it in two bites, walked out.
Trixie did not call back. Not during dinner, not that entire evening. I left two more messages asking her to call.
So I had to decide whether she’d gone out and wasn’t there to take my calls, or was ignoring me. She likely had caller ID, so I placed one call using Paul’s cell phone, which he’d left on the table by the front door, and still she didn’t answer, which convinced me that she wasn’t home. I only hoped Paul didn’t hit Redial and find himself connected with a dominatrix.
After dinner, while we were clearing the table, Sarah said, “So what, exactly, did Trixie want today? You said something at work about journalistic ethics?”
I shrugged, like it was no big deal, doing my best to cover the fact that Trixie’s actions were very much on my mind. “Oh, there’s some reporter, for the Suburban, wants to do a story on her, and she was asking my advice.”
“What kind of story? About what she does for a living?”
“I guess. Kink in the burbs, that kind of thing.”
“So what was she asking you? Whether to do it or not?”
“Yeah, sort of. I think she’s a bit uncomfortable with it.”
Sarah snorted. “Well, considering that what she does is, to the best of my knowledge, against the law, I can see that.”
“Anyway,” I said, wanting to move on, “it’s her decision. Whatever she wants to do, doesn’t matter to me.”
Sarah gave me a look. “She’s not dragging you into some sort of trouble, is she?”
“Trouble? Are you kidding? Do I look like someone who needs any more trouble? Haven’t I had enough trouble lately?”
“You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?” Sarah said.
“Promise?”
“The one you made? Just a few days ago? When you got back from your dad’s place? That you weren’t going to get into any of these ridiculous messes again? Where you end up, Jesus Christ almighty, where you end up nearly getting yourself killed?”
I finished drying off a dish and threw the dish towel over my shoulder and turned and held Sarah by the shoulders. “The last thing in the world I want to do is get into any more situations where I, or anyone in this family, is put at risk. If anyone understands how unsuited I am to that sort of thing, to taking on the frickin’ forces of evil, believe me, it’s me.”
Sarah eyed me warily before slipping her arms around me. She rested her head on my chest. “Okay,” she said. Then, more softly, “Okay.”
