Frankenstorm

by Ray Garton

  A yelp of laughter gets out before I can stop it. I ignore it and say, “That’s interesting.”

  His head bobs a few times. I’d like to put it on the end of a stick.

  We round the corner of the house to the backyard. “Would you like a beer?”

  “Wylie told me to bring this,” he says, taking the bottle of wine from under his arm. “I had it in the fridge for a while to chill.’”

  “Let’s go in the kitchen for a glass. I’ll introduce you to my wife,” I say, thinking, Oh, yeah, she’s just dying to meet you, buddy.

  Nadine is laughing her loud, wailing laugh as we walk into the kitchen. Ricky is washing his hands in the sink and Renee is taking a platter of deviled eggs from the refrigerator, setting it on the counter.

  “Renee?” I say. “Chick’s here.”

  As she turns, I feel genuine suspense. I have no idea what will be on her face, what she will say.

  She is grinning.

  “Hey, Chick,” Ricky says, drying his hands on a couple of paper towels.

  “Chick, this is my wife, Renee. Renee, this is Chick Teklenburg, our neighbor who keeps to himself.”

  He glances at me and chuckles.

  Still grinning, Renee rushes toward him, and for an instant, I fear she’s going to pounce on him, take him down to the floor, strangle him, and I almost step forward to stop her when she reaches out for his hand.

  “Well, it’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Teklenburg,” she says as they shake. “You know, I’ve wanted to drop by a few times, maybe bring you some cookies, or something, but you’re so quiet down there at the end of the street, I’m afraid I’ll be disturbing you, or interrupting something.”

  If it weren’t for the fact that I know what is going through her head at that moment, if I weren’t in on the whole thing, I would have no idea she wants to kill the man. She is genuinely warm. I married Meryl Streep.

  “He’s an artist, honey,” I say, smiling.

  “Really?” She turns to Nadine. “Did you know we had an artist living on the street?”

  “I had no idea!” Nadine said loudly. She is even more outgoing than Wylie. I’m surprised she hasn’t hugged Teklenburg yet. After all, she has no idea what he did to her daughter. “All this time we’ve been running into each other at Raley’s a couple times a week, and you never said a thing.” She swiped the dish towel at him. “Self-employed, he says. You’re too modest, Chick.” She points at the bottle. “Can I get you a glass for that, or are you drinking it straight from the bottle tonight?”

  He laughs, nods. Nadine takes the bottle to open it.

  “What kind of artist are you, Mr. Teklenburg?” Renee asks. She’s giving him the same look she gives her clients, the you-are-the-only-other-person-in-this-room look.

  “Call me Chick,” he says. “Mr. Teklenburg is my dad, and man, if he’s here, I’m gone.” Renee laughs. “I’m a digital artist.”

  “That’s fascinating,” she says.

  Nadine hands Teklenburg a glass of wine and we leave the kitchen, go outside to join the others. Renee and Teklenburg chat the whole time.

  “Hey, Chick!” Wylie says. “Didn’t know if you were gonna make it. I hope you brought an appetite.”

  “I’m ready to eat.”

  “Won’t be long now. I’m having a little trouble with the briquettes. Deeny bought a case of some off-brand at Costco and they’re not worth a piss into the wind. Lessee, you got your drink. Here comes Deeny and Ricky with the appetizers.”

  Nadine and Ricky carry the trays to the patio and put them on a table. Wylie heads back to the barbecue and we go to the table, munch on celery, potato chips.

  The sun is going down and long shadows are being dissolved. The lights in the covered patio have not been turned on yet, but in spite of the murkiness, I can see Melinda talking with Wylie’s girls. They are leaning close, as if conspiring. She has not noticed Teklenburg. Not yet. Suddenly, Melinda stands up, looks around until she spots me. She hurries around the tub of ice.

  “Dad, if it’s only for a minute, can I go with Cherine and Erica to Target for a—”

  “No.”

  “But we’ll only be gone for a—”

  “I said, no. And I’ve got news for you. Cherine and Erica can’t go anywhere, either. Wylie told me. Have you met our neighbor?” I turn to Teklenburg, who is facing the table, dipping a chip. “Chick? This is our daughter, Melinda.”

  As he turns, he lifts a chip with a glob of green dip on it to his mouth. It freezes an inch from his parted lips when he sees her.

  “Melinda, this is Chick Teklenburg,” I say, smiling. “He’s a digital artist.”

  She freezes, too, jaw slack.

  As if cued by God Himself, the patio lights come on and they gawk at one another for a second. Finally, he pops the chip in his mouth, wipes his hand on his jeans, and extends it to her.

  “Melinda,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah. Nice . . . to meet you, too.” After a single shake, she drops his hand and turns to me again.

  “No,” I say before she can speak.

  With a long sigh that sounds like her whole life is one big torture, Melinda turns and goes back to the corner to rejoin Cherine and Erica.

  Teklenburg turns back to the table. To compose himself, I’m sure.

  “She’s a very obstinate girl,” I say, slowly shaking my head.

  Renee says, “We’re thinking of selling her into slavery. You know anybody who’d be interested, Chick?”

  His head turns to her in jerks and he stares at her a moment, mouth open. When Renee laughs, I laugh with her, and Tek-lenberg’s whole body relaxes as he smiles slowly, finally laughs with us.

  Lights on the back of the house brighten the backyard. Barry Murchison and Phil Halprin have started a horseshoe game on the lawn. Wylie is hovering nervously around the barbecue. He checks his watch. Ricky joins him and they confer, heads close together.

  “Clark says you have a lovely koi pond,” Renee says.

  “Oh, yeah,” Teklenburg says, head bobbing. “The koi. They need a lot of attention, but they’re so beautiful, they’re worth it.”

  “I’ve been thinking about putting a koi pond in the backyard,” she says.

  “You have?” It’s the first I’ve heard about it.

  “Oh, I haven’t told you, of course, because you’d just say no and complain about what a bad idea it is, and then I’d go off and do it, anyway. I figure, why bother you with it,” she says with a smile, puts an arm across my shoulders.

  Teklenburg laughs.

  “Anyway, I have been thinking about it,” she says. “I just haven’t looked into it. I know nothing about koi, or ponds. I’ve tried to find information on the Internet, but I just can’t figure out those damned search motors.”

  “Engines,” I say. “Search engines.”

  “Whatever.” She turns to him, hooks a thumb in my direction. “He’s no help, because he doesn’t know any more about the Internet than I do.”

  I shake my head. “Not interested, thank you. I’ve got enough distractions in my life.”

  “Do you have much experience on the Internet, Chick?”

  His eyebrows rise above his wire-framed glasses as he puts another potato chip into his mouth. Chews slowly a moment before saying, “The Internet?”

  “Yeah. You know, I bet you could sell your work on the Internet. Or, maybe you do. Do you?”

  He empties his wineglass with one gulp.

  I say, “I’ve heard a lot of people are making money on that, um . . . what is it?”

  “EBay,” Renee says, nodding. “I have a client who makes little animals out of hot glue, puts eyes and ears on them. Makes a fortune selling them on eBay. So, do you sell any of your work on the Internet, Chick?”

  His head bobs again, but he is tense. “Yeah, I’ve sold a few things on the Internet. At online art galleries, that sorta thing. Uh . . .” He looked around, eyes darting. “Could I use the—”

&
nbsp; “Do you surf the web a lot?” Renee asks. Suddenly, there is an edge to her voice that I have heard before. It means she’s getting angry and is about to blow.

  “Well, not a lot,” he says uncomfortably. “Could you tell me where the—”

  “It’s nice to know there’s art on the Internet,” she goes on. “I mean, the way people talk about it, you’d think there’s nothing but naked girls and people having sex out there.” She laughs, but it was a laugh that could cut flesh.

  I close my hand on her elbow, squeeze. “Honey, I think you’re keeping him from going to the bathroom.”

  He smiles and chuckles, but it’s forced. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

  “I’ll take you, Chick,” I say with a jerk of my head in the direction of the house. I lean close and whisper in Renee’s ear, “Keep an eye on Snow White, over there. And calm down. Have another beer.”

  I take Teklenburg into the house. As I turn to close the kitchen door, I see Wylie hurrying in my direction.

  “Right down that hall,” I say, pointing. “Second door on the right.”

  As soon as he’s gone, Wylie comes in, speaks in a whisper. “Goddamned briquettes wouldn’t burn. I just put the first batch of patties and weenies on the grill.”

  “Where’s Ricky?” Without meaning to, I whispered, too.

  He leans close. “Down the street.”

  “I thought you were going with him.”

  “I was, but I couldn’t get the fucking briquettes going. Figured I’d have a buncha burgers done by now. You wanna take over the grill for me?”

  “Not if I’m supposed to keep an eye on him, too.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll have Deeny do it. But I don’t want it to look like I’m sneakin’ off somewhere.”

  “Get a couple veggie burgers cooked. Give him some food, and I’ll try to keep him occupied for a while. How long will it take?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “Come on, Wylie, I can’t keep him here forever.”

  “Shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes. Just don’t let him leave till we get back.”

  “You don’t know how long it’ll take? I thought you had this planned.”

  “Give me a break, I planned this overnight. If it hadn’t been for—”

  Footsteps in the hall shut him up. Teklenburg comes out of the hallway frowning, a hand on his stomach. “You know, guys” he says, “I’m not feeling so well. I’m thinking maybe I should go home and lie down.”

  Panic hits me hard for a moment. Ricky is already in the house, but if Teklenburg decides he really wants to go home, how can we stop him?

  “You just need to eat, that’s all,” Wylie says with booming enthusiasm. “I’ll put a coupla yours on right away.”

  “No, really, I think—”

  “You want some Alka-Seltzer?” Wylie asks. “Some Pepto-Bismol? Maalox? I got ’em all.”

  I put an arm around Teklenburg’s shoulders and my insides recoil as I smile. “Can you try to stick around a little longer?” I ask. “This is the first time a lot of us have had a chance to meet you. Nadine would be very disappointed, I think, if you—”

  “Oh, Deeny’d be beside herself,” Wylie said, going to a kitchen cupboard. He opened it and removed something, handed it to Teklenburg. A packet of Maalox tablets. “Chew up a coupla these. If they don’t help, then you should go home. But for Deeny’s sake, stick around awhile. I’ll get you a burger.”

  Wylie hurried out ahead of us and I followed with Teklenburg at my side.

  A few more people wander in and the music changes from Dixie Chicks to Garth Brooks to Faith Hill. Not my kind of music, but it’s just white noise. Nadine brings us hamburger patties and hot dogs on paper plates. We take them to the table where the condiments and buns are waiting.

  “You feeling better?” I ask Teklenburg as I apply mustard and lettuce and onions to my burger.

  “Yeah, I think so. A little hungry after smelling this.”

  “Good. You looked pretty sick for a few seconds, there.”

  He simply chuckles and says, “Yeah.” Then bites into his veggie burger.

  Nadine is cooking at the grill. Wylie is nowhere to be seen. After we finish our burgers, Renee suggests a game of horseshoes.

  “I know!” Renee says. Her beer is showing. “We can play in teams.” She turns back to the patio and calls, “Melinda! Come play horsehoes with us.”

  Melinda mutters something grouchy.

  “This is neither a suggestion nor a request, Melinda. Come, now.”

  She comes out of the patio with her head down, shoulders slumped.

  Renee says, “You and Chick against your dad and me.”

  “Mom!” Melinda says, dragging the word into two long syllables.

  Teklenburg smiles and holds up a hand, palm out. “Um, maybe I’ll sit this out, ’cause I’m pretty stuffed, and I—”

  “Oh, don’t pay any attention to her,” Renee says. “She’s just feeling persecuted this evening. Come on, let’s play!”

  We walk over to the two metal stakes in the lawn and take sides. Teklenburg and Melinda talk to one another quietly, but try to keep their heads down when they do it. Probably hoping we won’t notice. As we play, Renee and I whisper back and forth.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” I say.

  “I can’t either. You should never let me drink.”

  “Right now, they are two of the most uncomfortable people in the world.”

  “Yeah. Ain’t it a riot?” Her words are cold, without humor. “What do you suppose they’re saying to each other right now?”

  “I don’t know, but the only reason I’m allowing it is that I know that son of a bitch is gonna be dead in a while.”

  I nearly burst out of my skin when someone claps me on the back.

  “All systems go, Houston,” Wylie says in my ear. Then he raises his arms high, waves his hands and shouts, “Deeny and I play the winners!”

  5

  We’re smiling and holding hands, Renee and I, as we walk home. Melinda mopes a couple of steps behind us.

  Laughter and shouting and splashing come from behind the Morgan house, just two up from us. Obnoxious rap music, too. The glow of their torches hovers over the backyard and tendrils of smoke rise above the roof of the house. Several unfamiliar cars are parked on both sides of the street. A couple of adults stand on the front lawn smoking cigarettes.

  “Well, that was a pleasant evening,” I say on the way up the front walk.

  “Yes, it was,” Renee says. “Did you have a nice evening, sweetheart?” No response. “Melinda? Did you have a nice evening?”

  “No, the evening sucked.”

  I stop and turn to her. “Hey, you want to watch your language, little girl? Especially when you’re talking to your mother. Maybe you talk that way around your friends, but not with your parents, do you under—” I interrupt myself by spinning around and going up the steps to the door. “Never mind, we’ll talk inside.” I take my keys from my pocket, unlock the door, and go in the house.

  Melinda slinks away and heads down the hall for the sanctuary of her bedroom.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” I say. “In the living room.”

  Sighing and harrumphing, she turns and goes into the living room. A second later, the sound of a studio audience laughing itself silly comes from the television.

  We’re still standing in the entryway when Renee whispers, “You sure you want to do this now? I’ve been drinking.”

  “That’s right. And you’re happy and cuddly and a lot less likely to kill her.”

  She tries to suppress a laugh, but it snorts through her nose as she nods. She smiles, hooks her arm through mine, and leans on me as we go into the living room.

  Melinda sits at the end of the sofa, legs curled up beneath her, watching Family Ties on television.

  “Turn it off,” I say.

  She aims the remote, turns down the volume.

  “I said off, no
t down.”

  Jutting her jaw, she turns off the television as Renee sits at the other end of the sofa. I sit in my recliner, swivel it toward her. Lean forward with elbows on knees. “Did you enjoy meeting Mr. Teklenburg tonight?”

  She fidgets, brings her legs out, hugs her knees to her and stares at the television as if it’s still on.

  “Didn’t you find him interesting?” I say. “I mean, Chick being an artist, and all, I thought he was fascinating, didn’t you?”

  She ducks her head lower, trying to hide behind her knees. Her eyes glisten with unfallen tears.

  “I’m talking to you. Tiffany.”

  She buries her face between her knees. Her body quakes a few times, but she does not make a sound.

  “I saw your video,” I say. “One of them, anyway.” I wait for some response. Instead, the phone chirps. Renee, who has been unusually, almost unsettlingly, quiet so far, starts to get up. “Let the machine get it,” I say, and she nods. I turn to Melinda, open my mouth to continue, but I cannot. Out of habit, I am unable to ignore the answering machine. After my recorded voice, the beep sounds, then:

  “Renee? You there, honey?” Renee’s mother, Enid. She pauses a moment. “I been thinking about that neighbor of yours, and I think you’d better have Melinda checked for AIDS, and make sure she’s not pregnant.”

  Melinda lifts her head, face red and streaked with tears, and shrieks, “You told Grandma?”

  Enid’s voice drones on as I say, “Dammit, Renee, I told you—no one.”

  Renee spread her arms wide. “Who’s she gonna tell? She lives twenty minutes away in Cottonwood. It’s not like she hangs around the neighborhood here.”

  Dropping her feet to the floor, Melinda grabs a throw pillow from the sofa, puts it in her lap and pounds a fist into it repeatedly. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you told Grandma!” Her voice is quivery and thick with tears. “Who else did you tell, Mom? Did you put it in the Recycler?”

  Renee’s voice gradually raises as she says, “You’re in no position to complain, young lady, so I don’t want to hear any—”

  “Whoa, hold it,” I say, “can we quiet down, please? This is not going to be a shouting match. We’re going to discuss this calmly and quietly, okay? Now, Melinda. Can you tell us, calmly and quietly, why you’ve been having sex with Chick Teklenburg on the Internet?”