“He's terrific, Mona. He's only thirty, but he's really got his act together. He owns a hair salon, and is wildly successful. He remodeled it a little over two years ago. The construction firm I worked for got the bid. So, I got the job and the guy.”
“He treats you well?” I asked. As far as I was concerned, this was the only thing that mattered.
“Like gold,” he said, and the dreamy look returned.
“Does your mom know?” I asked.
“I'm telling her when I see her,” Robbie admitted, sounding nervous. “I'm not sure what she'll say. I actually thought Tommy would be okay with it, and Mom would freak. Maybe I got it backwards,” he said, sounding hopeful. “Does it bother you, Mona?”
“Not at all.” I didn't fashion myself someone who judged or was prejudiced. I just didn't like assholes. I didn't care what color they were or who they loved. “Are you afraid to tell people?” I asked
“I was afraid to tell Tommy and Mom. Everyone else can go to hell if they can't handle it. They have to take me at face value, and if they can't, I'll spend my life with people who can accept me for who I am.”
I sat quietly while Robbie bared his soul to a woman he barely knew. As we talked, a friendship grew, the kind I knew would last forever. Robbie had a pure heart and was absolutely genuine. It was impossible not to love him.
“Thank you for letting me talk,” Robbie said, and I reached for his hand. “I hope Tommy's okay,” he said selflessly.
“I'll check on him,” I offered. I grabbed another beer, and headed to the porch.
My husband sat at the patio set which was still wrapped in plastic, partly because we procrastinated everything, but primarily to protect it from bird shit.
“Tom?” I said gently.
He turned, his expression blank. “What?”
“You should talk to him. He needs you.”
“Go back in the house, Mona. This isn't your business,” he said, and I felt anger building inside me.
“No?” I asked, as my anger reservoir sprung a leak. “Can you imagine what it took for Robbie to tell you this? I bet he was scared shitless. He's brave enough to tell you, and you run away. I sat there with him while he told me about the person he loves, and how scared he was to admit to you who he is. And, he's part of my family, too! So, tell me, Tom Siggs, how is this not my business??”
Tom looked like I'd hit him, but I didn't care. I didn't like this guy who sat before me.
I didn't like this guy at all!
“Mona, stop,” Robbie said from the doorway. “I can't do this to you guys. I'm gonna go.” I crossed the porch to stand beside him. “It was nice to see you. Everything my brother said about you is gospel. You're a terrific girl,” he added before leaning in to kiss my cheek.
I remained still as Robbie headed down the steps. I willed the shithead I married to say something, and the entire scene played out like something in the movies. Finally, at the last possible moment, my husband said the words I'd been waiting to hear.
“Robbie, wait,” Tom said, rising to his feet. “Don't go. Not like this.” Robbie turned, and Tom walked slowly down the steps. The two men embraced, and I decided I liked my husband again. For a moment there, he'd really disappointed me.
“Got yourselves a threesome going, you freaks?” Thurman yelled, and my husband flipped him the bird.
“Who the hell is that?” Robbie asked, as we all filed back into the house.
“Don't let him bother you,” Tom said, then proceeded to tell his brother about our neighbor from hell.
“You remember Edward McCade?” Robbie asked, once we'd all settled at the kitchen table.
“The one with the crazy wife?” Tom asked. I got up to light the oven and left Tom and his brother to their trip down Memory Lane.
“Yeah. Remember she used to throw stuff at us?” Robbie said, and Tom laughed.
“I remember that. She used to swear at us all the time, and Dad told us to ignore her, but not so much we'd forget those were bad words.”
“We had someone like that in our neighborhood,” I said. “Weird, old guy lived in this creepy house on the corner lot. Jillian VanArdle and I cut through his yard one time, and he chased us with a pitchfork. Jillian peed her pants she was so scared.”
Everyone laughed at Jillian's expense, which was fine, since I hadn't seen her since graduation. I imagined she recounted the story from time to time, and expected, in her version, I was the one who'd wet myself.
“I'm sorry about before,” Tom said, and the conversation returned to a serious tone. I put the pizza in the oven, and eavesdropped from the safety of the other side of the room.
“It's all right,” Robbie said. “I know it's a shock.”
“Maybe not as much as you think,” Tom said.
“No?” his brother asked.
“I saw you once, trying on Mom's clothes. You thought you were alone, but I'd skipped Drama Club because I was sick. I hid in the downstairs bathroom for an hour, more out of necessity than anything else,” Tom said, and Robbie smiled. “Anyhow, when I came out, you were back in your own clothes, and when you asked me how long I'd been home, I lied.”
“I saw you. I wondered if you saw me. I wanted to tell you, but I was fourteen years old, and I thought I was a freak. Other guys liked cheerleaders, and I liked other guys.” The conversation stalled, and both men looked forlorn.
“Tom thought I was gay last week,” I blurted.
“Jeez, Mona,” Tom said, and I felt the blood drain from my upper body.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“What's up with that?” Robbie asked.
“We had a little downtime in the sex department,” Tom said, flashing me a look that said we were about to go into another slow season.
“What's a little?” Robbie inquired, and in an attempt to escape, I clicked my heels three times, which was asinine, since I was already home.
“Five years, Robbie. So, you see, heterosexual folks are just as screwed up as everyone else. Pizza anyone?” I asked, cautioning a glance at my husband, who wouldn't meet my eyes.
“You didn't do her for five years, man? Are you nuts? I don't even like women and I'd sleep with her.”
“It was my fault,” I said, digging myself a deeper hole.
“It was our fault, and if it's okay, I'd rather not discuss it any further,” Tom said.
“We can talk about my sex life with Jason,” Robbie offered, and Tom went pale.
“What else did you want to know about the five years?” Tom asked, and I thought back to the night I'd almost died in the hospital. Shame to think I'd have missed all this.
“I'm kidding. It's your business, brother. All I'm saying is don't get so wrapped up in the bullshit that you throw away something great,” Robbie suggested.
“There's no way I'm going to let that happen again,” I said, and Tom finally looked at me. “Sorry,” I mouthed, and he rolled his eyes.
“So, I'd like to introduce another topic of discussion.” Both men looked at me. “Robbie, why don't you tell your brother how much it's gonna cost us to remodel this house.”
What little color remaining in my husband's face, faded in a blink.
I always knew exactly what to say.
Sixteen
Inviting someone into your nightmare can often serve
as a grim reminder of how nightmarish your nightmare truly is.
A day and a half later, I was feeling like a million bucks. My strength had returned, the crows hadn't, and I was enjoying my regularly scheduled day off.
I spent most of the morning in the bathroom, and not because the flu had returned, but because Bathman & Robin had performed a miracle. Everything was shiny and new, and Robbie, who had become our houseguest/live-in contractor, had primed the entire bathroom, and added two coats of a delightful paint called Desert Sand. The avocado green tub and sink were gone, hauled off to a retro heaven designed for discards of the seventies.
Tom had told his brother a
bout the railroad stocks, but the news didn't thwart Robbie's enthusiasm for our restoration. He now performed each task as if it were in an episode of This Old House, including narrating his every move. I have to say, it was pretty darned entertaining.
I stared slack jawed at the Bathman & Robin miracle. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, with the bathroom door as my rabbit hole. I went through the hole into another world, and slipped back through the hole, and returned to The House of Hoarding. It was absolutely amazing, and I was in love.
Robbie was busy carrying boxes from Aunt Ida's Tribute to Fangerhouse Museum, as I ogled my HGTV fantasy room.
“Something's missing,” I said, louder than I expected.
“You say something, Mona?” Robbie called, his voice muffled by a tower of boxes.
“I said something's missing in this bathroom,” I repeated, as Robbie squeezed into the hallway.
“I think I know,” he said, and I arched a brow. “Accessories!!!” we said together, before giving each other the high five! In less than two days, Robbie Siggs had become the best darn girlfriend a woman could ever hope to have. He cranked up the testosterone when his brother was around, but with me he felt completely free to be himself.
“Pier One?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“Home Goods,” I said, and Robbie gave a little squeal.
“Race ya to the Jeep,” he said, and I followed.
Robbie drove, and I sat in the passenger seat. “You know, I meant to ask about these mannequins. What is up with that?” Robbie asked.
I told him what I knew.
For the past ten years, Tom had been a member of the Tri-County Theater Guild, which attracted members of two counties, something I'd never understood, but had never questioned. Despite his membership, Tom had only been on stage once in five years, at Teddy's Bar & Grill. He kept up his dues, which gave him a certain amount of benefits, including but not limited to, borrowing a bunch of musty mannequins to make scarecrows.
“You guys have a thrift store around here?” Robbie asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “What did you need?”
“I thought I'd go tomorrow to get some stuff to make the scarecrows. It wouldn't be a bad idea in case those birds return.”
“You wouldn't mind?” I asked, and Robbie shook his head.
A few minutes later, we arrived at Home Goods, and Robbie and I skipped across the parking lot like a couple of kids on Christmas Eve. We poked around for two hours, and I spent a sick amount of money on designer towels, candles, and scented soaps.
We were home by four. The yard was a madhouse of birds.
“They're back,” I whispered.
“Holy shit,” Robbie said, as we sat in the Jeep in the middle of the nightmare. It was his first encounter with the crows, and his pallor suggested he wasn't taking it well.
“Told ya,” I said, and Robbie looked at me.
“What do we do?” he asked.
“We run like hell.”
We sat for another minute. “Ready?” Robbie asked, and I shrugged. I shoved all my purchases into one bag, and covered my head with the other. Robbie made a dash for the porch, and I followed, looking like the UniShopper in my plastic hood and mirrored sunglasses.
“This is horrible, Mona. When you said crows, I pictured a few. There must be hundreds of them out there. Isn't there anything we can do?” Robbie asked, once we were safely inside the house.
“One of Tom's friends dropped off a CD that's supposed to scare them away. We could try that.”
“Okay. I want to take a look at the roof real quick. You think it's safe?”
I looked out the kitchen window. “Maybe you ought to wait,” I suggested.
Robbie waited until the crow situation calmed to a mini frenzy, then bravely ventured outside to assess the condition of the roof. I set up everything in my spa and returned to the kitchen table for a cup of decaf.
I sipped the coffee and stared at the notebook I'd bought at WalMart three days ago.
I'd written four words across the top of the first page. Mona Lisa's Bucket List.
“Good start,” I whispered. I wasn't sure if young people had a bucket list, but I figured with my commitment to procrastination, it probably wouldn't hurt.
So, what did I want to do before my life ended? Did I even know?
Yes, I did.
I knew what I wanted, what I wanted more than anything else. Bravely, I wrote my first entry.
Have Tom's baby.
I sat for a long time thinking about this. I made no additional entries. One was enough, at least for now.
A sound overhead interrupted my solitude.
Thump.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
I stared at the ceiling as if it would speak to me, revealing the source of the noise.
“Hello?” I called.
“It's me!” Robbie yelled back.
“What happened?” I wandered around the kitchen, staring upward like an extra in Independence Day. “Robbie? What's going on?” I hollered. I heard some odd crackling overhead, and a moment later, Robbie fell through the ceiling and landed on the kitchen floor. “Sonovabitch,” I whispered. “God, Robbie. Are you okay?”
“Roof's bad,” he groaned, and I couldn't help it. I lost it. I started laughing like a crazy woman. Robbie joined in, and we stood in the kitchen with tears rolling down our faces. “I gotta get a tarp. Right away. There were freakin' crows everywhere, and if it rains, we are positively screwed.”
“Take my Jeep,” I said, scooping up my keys, and tossing them to my slightly wounded contractor. His injury was limited to a bloody scrape on his left arm and I grabbed gauze and antiseptic cream, and did the best I could to bandage the damaged limb.
“You have some mad medical skills, darlin'.” Robbie spoke musically, in a truly genteel blue-blood-style, southern drawl. I smiled. I knew he was kidding. I'd used enough gauze to turn the poor guy into a mummy, along with a quarter tube of antibacterial goo.
“All right. Let me get out of here. I'll be back with a tarp, then I'll slap some plywood on that thing. That'll keep the elements and the critters out. If Tommy gets here before I do, tell him I'm wicked sorry, but there is some good news here,” Robbie said.
“And that would be what?” I asked, curious as to the silver lining in this latest disaster.
“The kitchen floor is a lot sounder than we thought.” This earned him another laugh, and I shuffled him toward the door. “I got a job for you while I'm gone,” Robbie said.
“What's that?”
“There are about ten empty Fangerhouse boxes in the spare room. Take one and patch the kitchen ceiling. If anything gets in here, let's make sure it stays in the attic.”
“Patch it with cardboard?” I asked.
“Yeah, and duct tape. There's some in my tool box,” Robbie said.
“Cardboard and duct tape?”
“Yeah, Mona. Believe me, you can repair anything with cardboard and duct tape. It'll work fine until we can get something more permanent up there.”
“Will do, boss,” I said, as Robbie disappeared out the front door.
I lumbered back to the kitchen and took a moment to appreciate my new skylight. I remembered hearing rain was in the forecast.
Great!
You knew you were screwed when your bucket list actually included buckets.
Seventeen
Being brave enough to tell someone what you want,
is often the easiest way to get it.
I was in the kitchen washing dishes when I first heard the singing.
“Who is that?” I said aloud.
It sounded like it was coming from the drain. “Hello?” I said into the kitchen sink.
No answer.
“Huh.” I picked up my coffee and carried it to the porch, where I discovered the source of the singing. The CD player was blaring, and I recognized the distinctive voice of Celine Dion.
“I thought you were gonna play the crow CD!”
I called to Robbie.
He made a hand gesture I assumed meant “I can't hear you,” and I scoured the new CD player for a power button.
“I thought you were gonna play the crow CD!” I repeated, once the music stopped.
“That's it!” he said.
“Celine Dion scares crows?” I asked.
“Evidently. That's what was in the case,” Robbie said.
“If you say so,” I said, depressing the button once more. The music restarted, and I went back inside.
A few minutes later I heard the deer car. I hauled myself to the porch to greet my husband. Celine was going full throttle, and I recognized the song from the movie Titanic.
“What the hell is he doing?” Tom asked, as he came up the walk. I left the porch, and moved to stand beside my husband. I peered up at the roof and laughed loudly.
Robbie was balanced on the edge of the roof with his arms straight out - head thrown back, eyes closed - surrounded by birds.
“Is he supposed to be Jesus?” Tom asked.
“I don't think so,” I said.
Tom's brow creased in thought. “Alfred Hitchcock?”
“No. I'm gonna go with Leonardo DiCaprio,” I said.
“Jesus,” Tom said and I looked at him.
“You all right up there, Leo?” I asked, once Tom had turned down the volume.
Robbie opened his eyes. “Actually, I'm Kate,” he said. “This is the best part! God, I love this part.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“What in the name of God is he doing?” Tom repeated.
“He's acting out one of the scenes from Titanic,” I explained.
For a moment we said nothing, and Tom and I just looked at each other. “For the love of God. You know, I bought that CD player for the crow CD,” he complained.
“That is the crow CD,” Robbie explained. We hadn't heard him descend the ladder, and Tom and I jumped, then recoiled. Robbie was covered in bird shit.
“Crows are afraid of Celine Dion?” Tom asked.
“We were wondering about that. If they're supposed to be, it doesn't seem to be working,” Robbie said, surveying the damage to his clothing, which was colossal.
Becoming Mona Lisa Page 13
