Conheartists

by Webster, K

  He shakes his head but takes my hand and pulls out the chair of the small table shoved in the corner of the room. He sits me down and with a plastic fork, pokes at a piece of food, dipping it into a red sauce and bringing it to my lips. “Open.” I’m hesitant because Lord knows what he could be feeding me. “Frannie, do you trust me?”

  I don’t know, do I? Just a half an hour ago you were willing to allow him to take your virginity despite his marital status. Okay. Good point. “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Then open.”

  And I do. The tasty morsel slips off the fork into my mouth and the first bite sends me into a euphoric state of bliss. “My goodness, what is that? It’s delicious!” Just as I swallow the bite, he’s ready with another waiting. Three bites in, he opens another container.

  “Squid.” He pauses to smirk at me when I stop mid chew. “And don’t think about it too long or it gets weird. Tell me you’ve had bruschetta?”

  I shake my head. Squid does taste delicious, though I’m not going to ponder on it for long because then I think about the tentacles and—ack! Bruschetta. Focus on that. It looks good, but who would have thought to put small little tomato bits with cheese on a toasted piece of bread. When I take a bite of it, a strange moan filters up my throat and my eyes flutter just a bit. “How in heavens have I not had this before?” I ask while taking another bite.

  “No idea. But I swear I’m getting just as much enjoyment watching you eat if for the first time.”

  At that we both laugh. We go through each meal, not realizing that we’re now both holding forks feeding each other bite after bite.

  “Frannie, can I ask you a question?”

  “As long as you don’t stop with the pasta bites.”

  More laughter. “Deal. How is it you’ve been so sheltered? I don’t say that in a bad way. Just… How the fuck have you been so sheltered?”

  “Well, to be honest, I guess I never really knew I was. Teterboro is all I know. I was raised there and never went as much as a foot outside the town lines. I followed in the same footsteps as everyone else. Which are all into retirement so…” I take a minute to gather my thoughts. “I just, didn’t know really there was an outside world, besides what I read in my tabloid magazines. No one new or young came through our town. Everything was the same. So, I guess… to answer your question, I just didn’t know.”

  “Hey.” He grabs my chin to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I didn’t ask you to poke fun. I asked because for some fucking crazy reason, I enjoy watching you explore new shit. And if something as simple as calamari puts that smile on your face, then for the rest of our time together, I’ll work to keep it there.”

  We stare at one another, sharing a moment. An unspoken understanding. Even though we come from two different worlds, in this moment, we’re the same.

  “Well then, if that’s the case, I want to introduce you to Richard.”

  Whatever I’ve done right to deserve that smile. I thank the Lord above.

  “Richard,” he says, his voice smooth like butter on a warm morning biscuit, melting my heart.

  “Yes. If we’re going to continue on this journey, it’s a must you get to know Richard.”

  “Now?”

  “No time like the present.” I scoot my chair back, eager to show him. “Get up, mister. Quoting Richard’s famous words, move those buns!” With a smile as wide as the sky, I hurry to my suitcase and rummage through until I find the tape. Pulling it out, I pivot toward the TV, thankful to see a VHS recorder. I pop the video in and turn on the television. “Get your tush over here and prepare to have Richard change your life.” The intro portion starts and my adrenaline spikes. How I missed Richard. “You know, I watched an interview once. He said that no one is perfect. Like precious stones, we all have a few flaws. But to not focus on that. Focus on what we like about ourselves and that will bring us happiness and peace.” I look over at Luca, now standing next to me. “He’s very philosophical,” I say with a serious smile. Richard comes on and I begin to clap along with him. “Come on. Follow him—oh wait! Should I change into my leotard—”

  “NO… I mean nah. We don’t want to keep Richard waiting.”

  Good point. I turn back to the video. “Now, before we get started, we should get familiar with our heartrate…” Richard goes through his intro, making sure we’re ready for his workout. “Sweatin’ to the Oldies is my favorite. I bet it becomes yours too.” I offer him my energetic smile, lifting each foot up and down. Chandler yaps a few times, his tail wagging as though he agrees wholeheartedly.

  “Oh, I’m sure it is. I can see why,” he says. He may possibly be making fun, but he begins to lift his legs up and down, following Richard’s lead. It doesn’t bother me, because I know it takes just one full video to get hooked.

  Thirty minutes fly by and before we know it, we’re both laughing as Richard instructs us to swing our hips. Luca is even snapping his knuckles to the beat of the music. “See! Isn’t this fun!”

  “I’m loving it,” he says, laughter coding his sarcasm. But he is. He’s been smiling and following like a perfect little student since the tape began. Once it’s done, we both exhale and fall onto the bed laughing. “Wow, who would’ve known I’d actually enjoy me some Richard.”

  I position myself up on my elbows to lean toward him. “I told you. He’s magical. My favorite quote of his was from an article, ‘Love yourself for all of you, and everyone else will too.’ He just makes you feel beautiful—”

  I swallow the rest of my words when Luca’s head is off the bed, his mouth capturing mine. I don’t have time to prepare. Or remind him he has a wife. His hand cradles behind my head, trying to deepen our kiss. So unexpected, yet I find myself submitting to his touch, my lips fusing to his. With just a swoop of his tongue, I’m parting my lips and allowing him to explore. I’ve never officially kissed a man like this before, so I’m lost in what to do. He doesn’t take notice in my inexperience and takes my mouth slow. He tastes like chocolate. I muster up the courage and move my tongue around his, which earns me a subtle moan. His hand grips my hair, squeezing and pulling me even closer. This kiss is everything. I want to focus and memorize every little part of it. My hands lift from the bed and travel up his chest just as his phone starts to ring.

  Luca becomes rigid instantly, his grip no longer pulling me toward him, but now pushing me away. “Fuck!” He jumps off the bed, causing me to roll over, almost falling off. “Fuck!” he roars again and goes for his phone on the table. “What time is it?” he growls as my eyes hurry to find the time. Oh God. It’s thirty minutes past five. We were supposed to call Mr. Death. He has his wife. I’m a rotten person.

  “Luca—”

  I say his name with worry just as he grabs his phone, taking a deep breath and answering Mr. Death’s call.

  “I’m fucking sorry. I lost track of time. Please tell me they’re okay.”

  “Ahh, Luca. I can’t do that.”

  Luca

  The Goatfather

  My heart stops beating in my chest as pure terror floods through me. I don’t know this guy or his intentions. All I know is he has my family and he can’t promise they’re okay.

  Fuck.

  “Death,” I growl, hoping to put some fire behind my words. “Tell me she’s okay or so help me I’ll—”

  He chuckles, dark and wicked. “Or you’ll what? In case you’ve forgotten, young man, you are working for me.”

  I dart my gaze to Francis, who wears a worried, guilty expression. I’m such an asshole. She doesn’t deserve the shit I’ve put her through. The fact she kissed me and seems to like me is fucked up. This girl deserves so much better. Bottom line.

  When she bites on her bottom lip, she seems so fucking innocent and pure. What will this Death bitch do to her? Hurt her like he’s claimed to hurt my family.

  Fuck no.

  He wants her so bad?

  Two can play this game.

  Play along. My words are mouthe
d to Francis, but she gets me. This girl is clueless as fuck most days, but when push comes to shove, she always comes through.

  “If my family is hurt, then I suppose I’ll have to damage your goods. Only fair, hmm?”

  The line is deadly quiet. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You don’t know me, Dr. Death—”

  “Mr. Death,” he interrupts, sounding snooty as hell.

  “Yeah, what the fuck ever. You’ll wish you were a doctor when I finish with her.” I stalk over to Francis and grip her throat. “Let your Death sugar daddy know how loud you can scream.” I gently throttle her so she gets me.

  “Oh God,” she rasps out in exaggeration. “Don’t c-choke me. W-Who will take c-care of Chandler?” She coughs and chokes.

  “YOU RELEASE HER OR I WILL SKIN YOU ALIVE AND FEED YOU TO MY FUCKING GOATS!” Mr. Death screams.

  Francis’s eyes grow wide and then she grins wickedly. Her hand reaches up to grab the phone from me. I clutch onto it for a moment, worried, but then figure what do I have to lose. She turns it on speaker before she launches into her interrogation.

  “You have goats?” Francis asks. “What kind? Like fainting goats?”

  The line is quiet. “Pygmy,” he says. “Three Doelings and three Nannys.”

  “Any Billys?” she ponders.

  “Pardon?”

  “What are their names, Death? Come on, give it up.”

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “Gladys, Juniper, Crayola, Hendrix, Steve, and…”

  “Billy?”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have Intel, Death. And we’re on to you.”

  I widen my eyes. She’s squirrelly as fuck, but it seems to confuse the madman on the other line. Confusion is better than rage. We need answers.

  “Impossible,” Mr. Death grumbles. “I’m a ghost.”

  “A ghost with goats.”

  “Your point?” he urges.

  “My point, Death,” she bites out, looking sassy as hell, “is I know you have goats. Six of them. That means you live on land. We’re headed out west according to our MapQuest trajectory, so you totally have a farm. Am I right?”

  “What? A farm?”

  “Admit it, Death!”

  The line goes silent again. “Well, it’s not a farm by Nebraska’s standards by any means. It’s more of a tract of land,” he rambles. “I’d love to grow some crops, but that motherfucker just west of me sprays pesticides like it’s his job. I nearly lost Juniper last spring!”

  Crazy.

  Death is fucking crazy too.

  Thank fuck this girl knows crazy. Speaks the language—hell, she even teaches it. The girl has a PHD in LOCO. She has this shit in the bag. I nod at her to encourage her and earn a wild smile in return.

  Crazy mode: activated.

  “Juniper!” she shrieks. “He’s my second favorite to Billy! What the corn dodgers, Death? I thought you were a hit man! Go take him out for trying to take little J out!”

  “It’s not that easy,” Death growls.

  “Sorry, Mr. Whiner, I couldn’t hear you from all that crying you were doing,” she sasses. “Are you or aren’t you a hit man who destroys the lives of the innocent around you?!”

  “Listen, sugar,” Death says impatiently. “I’m not a hit man, I’m a mobster. Capiche?”

  “I thought mobsters killed people,” she argues.

  “They do, but Gordon is—”

  “Gordon is a monster!”

  “But I can’t just kill him—”

  “Because Juniper doesn’t matter to you? Seriously, Mr. Death! Listen to yourself!” Her neck is turning red. Holy shit. She’s totally pissed about this made-up bullshit. I always knew I secretly enjoyed her crazy.

  “Juniper matters to me!”

  “Then why are you going to let him die?” Francis’s lip trembles and fat tears well in her eyes. “Why?”

  “Oh, sugar, don’t cry,” Mr. Death says, his voice cracking. “I don’t like it when you cry.”

  She sniffles. “I want to talk to Lindsay.”

  Ahhh, good girl. My sweet little con artist.

  “I can’t let you do—”

  “I want to talk to her right now or I’m not coming to see you! And Juniper needs me! How could you do this, Death?!”

  He curses and then sighs. “They’re out back.”

  “They’re at Outback? You sent your prisoners to Outback?” She looks at me in confusion. My heart races in my chest.

  They’re okay?

  “Not Outback. The backyard.”

  “With the goats?” Francis asks, hopefully. “Are they looking after Juniper?”

  I hear a squealing laugh in the background and then my sister chiding my niece for getting too close to a water trough. He’s telling the truth. The fucker really has goddamn goats, and my family is safe. Gripping Francis’s jaw, I lean in and give her a chaste kiss before pulling away.

  “Juniper is fine,” Dr. Death assures her. “I just…I need…”

  Despite my elation at having heard my sister and niece, I’m not keen on the way this fucker seems so desperate to have my girl. My girl? Whatever, I’m going with it.

  “What do you need?” she asks. “Why do you want me? Will I be your new captive? Will I be the goatkeeper? Get it? Like gatekeeper but for goats?” She’s nervous and rambling. I take her hand and squeeze it.

  “We’ll talk about your responsibilities when you get here,” he grunts out. “You have two days to get to Tulsa and then I want a phone call at this time two days from now.”

  “Whoaaaaa Nelly, hold the phone,” Francis bites out. “No can do, fella. I heard about that place. Bad news.”

  I shake my head at her. “Stop,” I mouth.

  There’s no stopping this lunatic, though. When she gets the ball rolling, she just tumbles along until she’s wrecked everything.

  “Are you talking back to me?” he asks in astonishment.

  “I certainly am! You may be The Goatfather, but I’m terrified of tornadoes. You’re sending your precious jewel goat whisperer into tornado alley! Dr. Death—”

  “Mr. Death—”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing! No wonder Gordon is lording his power over you—you, the mobster! Because you make terrible decisions! I can’t go to Oklahoma! I’ll die! Do you want me to die? Of course you do because you’re Mr. Death.” She changes her voice to a deep sound to imitate him. “Hi, I’m Mr. Death and I am super dumb sending my valuable golden goose egg into the state that had one hundred and twenty tornadoes this year! I’m not ready to die.” A sob rattles from her. “Please don’t let me die, Mr. Terrible Mobster. Please.”

  I scrub my palm over my face. I’m not stupid enough to get in the middle of this shit storm. Death clearly hates me, but he has a weakness for Francis. We need to weaken him if I have any hope of pulling off the biggest scam of my life—switching my family for the girl, but then stealing the girl right back.

  “Frannie, sugar,” Mr. Death coos. “Don’t cry, love. Listen. Head over to Kansas City, Kansas, instead. It’s still on the way. Call me when you get past the city.”

  “Kansas…” she says. “Like The Wizard of Oz?”

  The line goes silent. “Minus the giant fictional tornado.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You’ll think about it?”

  “Yes,” she bites out, pacing the floor now and chewing her thumbnail. “It’s still creepy. You have to realize, Goatfather, that I rarely left my nest back home. My mother wanted to keep me safe. Teterboro is the safest place out east. You hear me, Mr. Death?”

  “I hear you.”

  “And now you have me gallivanting all over the United States, outrunning tornadoes because you need someone to set Gordon Buttface straight.” She huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it. We’ll go through Kansas City, but I’m only doing this for Juniper. Not you, Goatfather.”

  “Ehhh, thank you?” Mr. Death says.

  “You’re darn tootin�
� thank you!” she exclaims. “At least sound excited about it!”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Death says, this time with more enthusiasm.

  “Now text me a picture of Juniper. Proof of life. One with Juniper and the girls, too. Oh! And one with Billy by the fence looking pensive. And by golly if you send me a picture of Gordon, I’ll see what I can do.” She winks at me. “I know people, Dr. Death.”

  “Mr. Death.”

  “I want those pictures texted in one hour,” she sasses. “Or else.”

  The line goes silent and my heart stops.

  “Or else what?” Mr. Death asks.

  “You can say goodbye to Crayola.”

  “You won’t kill my goat, sugar.”

  “No, but Gordon is halfway there already. All it takes is one phone call, Dr. Death—”

  “Mr. Death.”

  “And the little kid will be hosed down with the pesti-juice. Capiche, Goatfather?”

  “Ehh…”

  I take the phone away from the crazy girl and growl into the line. “I think you meant to say, ‘Yes, Francis, I’ll get you your pictures.’”

  A long pause.

  “I have more demands,” Francis chirps. “Is there a Toto and Dorothy museum in Kansas? Asking for a friend.” She winks at Chandler, who yaps at her.

  “I’ll have your pictures,” Mr. Death barks and then hangs up.

  Two days.

  We have two days to make an eight-hour trip to Kansas City.

  Best of all, she knocked that fucker off his axis.

  Time to celebrate.

  “Come here,” I growl, pouncing on her. “We’re getting drunk and I’m going to reward you for being fucking amazing, partner.”

  “Partner?” She beams at me.

  I grab her hand and haul her over to the mini fridge that’s stocked with a nice selection of miniature liquor bottles.

  “Can we play a drinking game?” she asks. “I always wanted to play a drinking game, but Beatrice has diabetes, so she’s not supposed to drink, and Mabel has that ulcer that’s been bothering her since ’94. Henry, though…I bet ol’ Henry would love to play.”

  I thrust a mini bottle of vodka at her. “You fucking talk a lot.”