by L. A. Zoe
Not understanding, Rhinegold shook his head. “What’s worse than the hospital?”
“The morgue. She’s tried suicide before, but I was always there to catch her.” She paused to catch her breath, supressing tears. “Now I’m not.”
Chapter Seventeen
Protecting Rhinegold
Back in our apartment, I returned the dishes to the shelves as Rhinegold brushed his teeth. I flicked off the light, headed for the bed to sleep, and stubbed my bare toe on the goddamned shopping cart. It clattered, and aluminum cans tinked together.
Mom and Crazy Georgie. George and my mother.
I still could hardly believe it. Sure, Georgie was a nice guy. When I was homeless, I liked him. I still liked him. I just couldn’t see what my mother saw in him. Nothing romantic.
A sharp pain from my foot, and the wet feel of blood flowing. I must have torn a nail. Great. I sat down on the edge of a chair to catch my breath. I breathed hard.
The yellow sodium streetlamp outside penetrated the drawn curtains, making the furnishings look ghastly pale. Wood furniture cheap when Mr. Herald’s parents bought it sixty years ago. If he donated it to the Goodwill, they’d trash it. Nobody would pay even a dollar for it.
A single bed with a cracked headboard that creaked loud enough to wake Rhinegold every time I turned over. A dark-stained, scratched and warped dresser. A small plastic table to eat on. A worn wool rug with a fake-Persian design. A large couch with springs bent to hold buttocks much larger than either Rhinegold’s or mine. Several chairs he pushed out of the way at night.
Not even a TV, yet.
Mother could have one. She had plenty of time to watch her old musicals and All in the Family reruns. Me, I wanted to save my money to attend college in September. When I wasn’t at work I read library books. I tried reading some Rhinegold loaned me, but they were too weird and old-fashioned. Give me a good thriller.
Rhinegold’s opinion didn’t count, of course, unless he wanted to buy the TV. But he stayed busy working out, practicing his kata, protecting kids for free, and prostitutes for money—and me, of course.
As though I wore a long gossamer gown, carried a magic wand, and talked to animals like a Disney cartoon character.
The first wave of pain receded just as Rhinegold came out of the bathroom. “What happened to you?”
I didn’t speak.
He turned on the light. More blood than I realized. “I’ll get clean cloth and hot water,” he said. “Do you have nail scissors?”
I nodded. “Georgie’s shopping cart.”
“Just sit there. Hold on.”
Rhinegold put my foot in his lap where he could best in the light. More tenderly than I imagined he could, he wiped off the blood with hot water, clipped off the broken nail, stopped the bleeding without causing too much excruciating pain, poured a liquid antiseptic all over, causing me to scream when it hit my raw flesh, then wrapped it with white bandages. And brought me several Aleve and a glass of water.
“Calling Dr. Rhinegold,” I said, half-drunk from shock. “Dr. Rhinegold to the Emergency Room, stat. A princess stubbed her toe.”
“You ought to keep it raised as much as you can,” Rhinegold said. “Don’t move around, or it’ll start bleeding again. Let me get you into bed.”
I didn’t object, expecting him to let me lean on his shoulder while I hopped over there. Instead, he picked me up, gently laid me down, then pulled the blanket over me, taking care not to jar my damaged toe.
I looked around at the shadows on the walls, hunkering near the floor, just outside the rim of the dull yellow light. I wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide, just hide, forever. Alone. Forgotten. Safe within myself. Only myself.
I had what I’d always wanted for as long as I could remember—my own place. My own little cubbyhole in the world.
And yet somebody lived there with me. No matter how nice, how protective, how chivalrous, he had to go.
I grabbed his hand before he walked away. “Tomorrow morning, when Georgie’s comes by for his shopping cart, you better go with him.”
I couldn’t look at his face during the long pause.
“I see,” he finally said. “It’s up to you. It’s your apartment.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’ve been protecting you.”
He squeezed my fingers then let my hand drop. “I’ll go now.”
“Keep your extra things here,” I said. “What you can’t carry, I mean.”
He didn’t respond, just began putting his winter coat back on.
And it hit me. I did some quick mental math, adding up my checking account, the cash in my wallet, and my next paycheck, minus several usual hours plus three full dinners and a bottle of expensive wine to mollify Helena and Keara. And the new top and pants Helena bought to replace the ones I ruined. Just her new clothes could swallow my entire next paycheck.
I needed Rhinegold to pay half the rent, or I’d soon be back on the street myself. But I couldn’t ask him to do that without allowing him to sleep there. Not fair.
Another calculating side of my brain realized as long as I continued to work full time at the Sunshine Garden and business was good, I could pay the full rent myself, but if things started to go downhill, I’d be in trouble.
Rhinegold continuing to pay half the rent was not only a form of insurance, but would allow me to save up money for a car. If I had a car to drive everywhere, I wouldn’t need Rhinegold to protect me on the streets.
So, like it or not, I had to share my little burrow with somebody. It may as well be Rhinegold. Who else?
I struggled to prepare my throat to eat my words. “Stay here, Rhinegold.”
“You just said—”
“Don’t listen. I’m half-crazy right now.”
He zipped up his coat, shook his head. “I understand. You want to be alone.”
I shouted: “Don’t go, goddamnit!”
He opened the door, waved his hand. “You ought to be safe now during the day, so I’ll pick you up tomorrow night after work. The usual time. Text me if it changes.”
“Don’t be such a freaking saint.”
Rhinegold stopped moving, frozen with uncertainty.
A wave of frustration broke out of my heart, washing me away with pain and confusion I didn’t understand.
So I held my arms to my face and cried.
A moment later, Rhinegold sat on the side of the bed, and leaned close to me. “You don’t owe me anything. We’ve settled that. And now would be a bad time anyway, your toe needs to stay still.”
“Just shut the fuck up and hold me.”
He leaned half his weight toward me, and placed his arm around my heaving shoulders. He whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“I want to live alone, but I don’t want to feel lonely.”
Chapter Eighteen
Georgie’s Advice
Another glitter cold day, yellow sunlight bright enough to shut down pupils but not bringing enough heat to warm a flea, reminding Rhinegold of a similar day in the park he spent with SeeJai, bringing a pang in the deepest part of his heart.
Happy together making a snow man and throwing snowballs at each other. A few weeks and a thousand years ago.
“I can’t figure her out, Georgie,” Rhinegold said.
They sat on a park bench near the softball fields. The ice covering the wood burned through his wool pants and long johns. Nearby, a group of children traipsed through the snow dragging sleds and toboggans.
Not far away, a trash can smelled of burnt wood, plastic, and rubber. Some of Georgie’s buddies must have set a fire in it.
“Typical woman,” Georgie said.
“Typical old fart comment about women,” Rhinegold said.
“Because it’s true. Always been true, always will be true. A woman a man understands ain’t no true woman.”
“You’re in love with her mother.”
“Yes, and no, I don’t understand her, and she can drive me crazy. You a
re in love with SeeJai.”
“She walks on clouds of fairy foam,” Rhinegold said. “Her voice chimes in my ear like a symphony of birds, and cast spells of powerful magic.”
“That make you talk like a kook,” Georgie said.
“Yeah, well, I am a kook.”
“Look, what’s the problem? You love her. She loves you.”
Rhinegold shifted his weight, leaving some of the fabric of his pants stuck on the ice. The winter wind dried his throat even as it pulled snot from his nostrils.
“No, she doesn’t.”
Georgie growled. “What do you know of love, boy?”
“Too much.”
“SeeJai loves you, she just hasn’t figured it out yet. You’re not sleeping with her yet, are you?”
Rhinegold shook his head. “I’m crazy like that,” he said. “I’ve got nothing against casual sex, but not with her. Not like we’re … just hanging out together. She wants that, so we argue sometimes.”
“You’re one for the books, kid.” Georgie shook his head. “I know, introduce her to your family.”
That reminded Rhinegold Father wanted him to bring SeeJai to the house. “No way.”
“Sure,” Georgie said.
“What’s the point?” Rhinegold said. “So she’ll want me for my father’s money? I’ve already told her Father’s rich. But the money’s not mine, and never will be.”
“Show her you’re serious.”
“I already protect her, do everything I can for her.”
“That’s not what women want.”
“What do women want?”
Georgie gave him one of those one-eyed, how stupid can a man be, stares. “Nobody knows, especially not women themselves.”
“That’s helpful.”
“It means, the more you do for women what you think they’ll like, the less they’ll like it.”
“So I should do something she hates?”
“Surprise her. Introduce her to your family.” Georgie hawked, spit. “You asked my advice. That’s it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday Visiting
Just the drive to Rhinegold’s family house took a billion years. It’s so far west of Cromwell, it’s halfway to California. Sunset Boulevard, here we come.
He rented a car, a red Toyota Tercel, shocking me at the rental office by pulling out not only a driver’s license, but a credit card. He planned to pay cash, but the company still wanted plastic for security. Maybe in case he died in a wreck, without first paying. At least they could ding his card. Homeless, with a Silver Visa. Still a rich kid at heart.
A pale Wonder Bread afternoon, the snow covering the fields stretching forever on each side of us bleaching all color from the sunlight. Dreary and blah.
And the farther Rhinegold took us toward sunset, the more my knee bounced up and down, out of control. I didn’t want to meet his father and his stepmother. I didn’t, I didn’t.
I’d rather be waiting on tables, earning those tips.
I didn’t care how much money they owned. How many big lawsuits Mr. Cunningham won.
I wasn’t Rhinegold’s girlfriend, yet that’s what they would assume. I hated them. I hated Rhinegold for convincing me to come. I hated myself for agreeing. I hated the world, just because—why not?
Rhinegold brought along a lot of the weird music he likes. Faun. Omnia. Elevuite. Stuff from the Middle Ages. Folk metal. What kind of idiot first though of combining folk music with heavy metal? Michael Row the Boat Ashore, thundering from a mountain of amplifiers?
They chanted in strange languages. He didn’t understand the words either, but didn’t care.
“Why’s this car smell so peculiar?” I asked. Plastic. Rubber. Cement. Paint. Chemicals.
“It’s still new,” Rhinegold said. “It’ll wear off.”
“You mean all new cars stink like this?” I asked. What did I know? After the accident, Mom never owned a car. Sometimes friends and neighbors drove us places, or I went along with friends in high school, but mostly I walked or took a bus all my life. I passed Driver’s Ed in high school, but never got my license. I’d have to take care of that after saving up more money to buy myself a car.
“If you want to turn back, tell me now,” Rhinegold said.
Of course I wanted to turn back. “And let them think I give a care they’re so rich their shit don’t stink?”
“All right, just double-checking.”
After he turned off the highway, he took some back access roads still treacherous with snow and ice.
Large brick and stone walls on each side of the entrance to the private subdivision held a black wrought iron sign reading: Hampton Lawns.
No snow or ice covered the narrow, winding road that began immediately beyond the entrance gate. Or the driveways and front walks of the houses we passed. Or the long driveway of the house Rhinegold parked in.
The driveway was nearly as long as a football field. We passed clumps of pine and spruce trees. I caught glimpses of a broad, flat, unbroken sweep of snow. All that a front lawn?
Rhinegold parked to the side of a circular area of pavement in front of a four-car garage.
“Home Sweet Home,” Rhinegold said in a joking voice.
“For you, not me.”
“Not me for several years.”
I got out, and caught my breath, startled, and not just by the brisk gust of wind that nearly knocked me over and froze me at the same time, reminding me suburban areas ran colder than inner cities.
Larger than I at first noticed, the house reared two stories tall, and extended back a long way. The grounds went even farther back and to each side. Rolling hills with clumps of trees, now all bare and glazed with ice. A forlorn gazebo. The deck of a tarp-covered swimming pool. Large snowy clumps of bushes.
I let Rhinegold take my arm as we trudged through the snow to the front door facing large areas of snow, raised by concrete beds. Gardens, I finally realized.
By May, the house would no doubt look beautiful on the outside, with lots of green lawn, trees bursting with new leaves and sap, flourishing bushes, and colorful, fragrant flowers.
Not that I would ever see it. If I never went there again, it’d be too soon.
Rhinegold’s father threw his welcome smile down at us as though challenging us to a duel. Or maybe just Rhinegold. Father/son rivalry? Or maybe just directed at me, the outsider.
Tall and big, so now I knew who Rhinegold inherited his size from, only he kept fit, and Mr. Cunningham’s waistline nearly filled the room. He wore sharply pressed tan pants and light blue alligator shirt with a navy blue blazer. A tennis player and yacht owner relaxing afterhours. Pure country club.
I shook his hand, and his fingers pressed mine with undulating caresses. His smile still dominated his face, but his eyes reminded me of Greco’s pets. Perhaps, a snake, spying a frog or rabbit. This man never slept alone on the floor with a woman nearby.
I turned my attention to the one I instinctively knew was the more important of the pair: Mrs. Cunningham. Rhinegold’s stepmother.
He didn’t talk much about her, which told me I should be frightened of her.
That is, if I cared about Rhinegold as anything except a friend and big brother protector. Which I didn’t.
She wore a royal blue satin outfit a notch fancier than her husband’s casual though affluent clothes. It suited her well, complementing her middle-age spread bust and hips. Frosted platinum hair. Too much makeup to prop up the falling features of her face.
Skin not as splotched as Mother’s, but enough to mark her as a current or former smoker.
When she spoke, her voice struck me as a touch too controlled, and husky with cigarette smoke, and—I guessed—booze, too. “So nice to meet you, dear.”
“Likewise,” I said.
“What can I get you two to drink? Hofbrau, Rhinegold?” She leaned closed to SeeJai. “He learned to like beer when we visited Germany. He was old enough according to their laws, so we let him. H
ow about you? I’ve got a nice Laurel Glen Cabernet Sauvignon bottle I’d like to open. Let’s us ladies share it.”
“Sounds wonderful I said. “I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I wasn’t going to let her have the satisfaction of knowing that instead of just suspecting it. I hoped I didn’t fall into a trap. Maybe that was a kind of cheap rotgut wine fit only for Georgie and his drinking buddies.
The inside of the house matched the outside. Lots of fancy, expensive furniture like something out of a movie about kings and rich people. Cream colored, textured wall paper. A mix of abstract paintings and landscapes, with gilded frames.
How did they really live there? It’d be like trying to feel comfortable in a museum.
Mrs. Cunningham, anyway. Rhinegold told me his father spent almost all his time at his law office in a big building downtown. Now I understood why.
“Help yourselves,” Mr. Cunningham said, leaning over to cut a big chunk of an orange cheese log and place it between two wheat thins.
I opted for spinach dip and rye crackers. When Mrs. Cunningham handed me a glass of red wine, I took a sip. Ugh! She watched me, so I had to force myself not to make a face.
Eventually we all carried glasses and paper plates of appetizers and balanced them on knees and coasters as we sat in one of the inner rooms, four nearby chairs, making conversation as we waited for the servants to finish preparing dinner.
All the polite civilities out of the way, Mr. Cunningham said to me, “One reason we insisted Rhinegold drag you here today, young lady, was to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“You’ve done what tried for two years, but couldn’t,” Mrs. Cunningham said, with a little laugh.
“Got Rhinegold under a roof,” his father said.
“I had a roof,” Rhinegold muttered, avoiding looking at all of us.
“With running water and central heating,” Mr. Cunningham added.
“It’s not such a great place,” I said.
