Unscrewed

by Ren Alexander

  Seemingly short-staffed, George Washington arrives at our table, probably to recruit us into the Continental Army. “Drinks?” Her curled white hair is cropped close to her scalp, except for the massive tufts ringing around her head. If she ditched the lipstick and wore a Revolutionary War military costume, she could have a killer side hustle signing autographs and taking pictures downtown for dimwits who think she’s the real deal.

  No surprise when Simone is the first to blurt out her order of blackberry iced tea. When the original Commander-in-Chief tells her they’re out of it, Simone pouts. She returns to the menu, talking the whole time while deciding. For fuck’s sake. She’s ordering a drink, not pulling the plug on her grandmother. In the course of the rest of us ordering our drinks, and two Grey’s Anatomy episodes later, Garrison decides on peach iced tea.

  As Washington retreats, I pick up my menu to deflect the brunt of Wilder mostly, but also so I don’t stare at his wife in front of him. Hadley asks, “So, Rhonda, do you have plans for the weekend?”

  We all look toward Rhonda, who tucks her head lower like a turtle. And not the ninja kind. At first, she just stares at Hadley, probably killing her a thousand ways for compelling her to speak. Rhonda finally says, “There’s a music festival downtown. I thought about going.”

  “Do you have anyone to go with?” Hadley grins at Rhonda but doesn’t look my way. It doesn’t matter. I know she’s still matchmaking, especially for Wilder’s benefit, throwing him off my trail. The only place I lead to is nowhere, but he’s welcome to take a hike there.

  “No.”

  Simone says, “I’d go with you, but I’ll be in Dover most of Saturday.” Rhonda dodged a nuclear bomb there.

  Wilder asks his sister, “You’re going to Mom’s?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Shit. I was only asking.”

  While they argue, I hold up my menu, pretending to be interested in it. Instead, I seize Hadley’s attention directly across from me. Initially, she tries to ignore me, paying attention to the snorefest her husband and Garrison are attending, yakking about their mother. As I’m about to give up, Hadley coolly looks back at me. I mouth, “I’m sorry. I miss you.”

  Not expecting a response, I’m proved wrong when she slowly nods, trying not to draw attention to herself like earlier. I wonder if she and Wilder know about each other’s discussion they had with me, one telling me to stay away while the other declared me as hers. Fucked up shit.

  I sit back, setting down the menu, feeling like my aunt Edna had been riding me piggyback. It may not be much, but it’s still progress if Hadley doesn’t hate me that much.

  General Washington returns with our drinks and asks for our orders. Simone goes first, ordering the bacon burger. Her loss. I order the chicken pot pie, and as I hand her my menu, at the same time, Hadley smiles at me. I smile back but do it, looking around the old diner. When I make eye contact with a middle-aged woman wearing Keds, bib overalls, and a bun in her hair, I’m sorry, yet intrigued. How did she choose her outfit? Did she flip through 90s teen magazines while watching Gunsmoke?

  Simone asks, “What about you two? Any plans or are you a boring married couple now?”

  Hadley answers, “My friend Bethany will be visiting. I’m helping her pick out wallpaper and paint for her new shop.”

  I laugh, shooting at Wilder, “Rip-roaring weekend there. You should make that your next dare.”

  “Hilarious.”

  Simone takes a big gulp of her tea and then asks, “So, will you be with Ricky then?” Subtle, Garrison.

  Wilder shrugs. “Probably.”

  Instead, I say, “Please don’t tell me it’s a softball field or a police station. Live a little.”

  Not knowing the meaning of restraint, Simone asks, “Where do you usually go with him?”

  Wilder’s confusion is obvious, as is my exasperation with his sister. “Uh, we usually go to a bar. I’m just his wingman and DD.”

  “Which bar?” She needs a muzzle.

  “Jake’s. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  Giving up since she’s already gone this far, I ask, “East Main?”

  “You know it?”

  “I live near it. I’ve been there. Not exactly the greatest place to be.”

  “Ricky and I are friends with the owner. Yeah. It’s kind of out-of-the-way. We’ve been going there for years.”

  Garrison kicks me under the table, delicately telling me we’ll also be appearing at Jake’s Saturday night. Hooray.

  Old George returns with our lunches, and I’m glad to not only have my pot pie in front of me but something to shut Simone up for five minutes. That is, until she says, “You should see Greg with Birdy. She’s already reeling him in.”

  “She is not.”

  “You don’t even see it,” Simone contends, reaching over and snapping off part of my pie crust.

  “What the actual fuck?”

  “This is really good.” She crunches into it, smiling. At least her mother will appreciate the smile in her casket. I’m going to prison for sure. I’ll have Gloria represent me since she used to be a prosecutor. She’ll work against me, her client, but win me a fast-tracked death in the electric chair, putting me out of my fucking misery sooner.

  “No shit!” Backstreet Cougar and the rest of the diners all gawk at Table Six. Just what I wanted.

  “Keep your hands off my food, Garrison.” I move my plate farther away, but it almost lands on the floor. I suppose if I’m getting the chair, it’s okay to eat my pot pie off the floor.

  “You can have a bite of my sandwich. It’s delicious.” She shoves it in my face, and I push her arm away.

  “Yeah. No, thanks. Your mouth was on it.”

  “I’ll tear off a piece from the back.”

  “Just eat your own food.” I already feel like I’m in prison, fighting off other prisoners from my food.

  Wilder says, “I don’t even do that to my wife, Sims.”

  “Good for you,” she retorts, taking a bigger bite of her sandwich than Jaws did eating a swimmer. When her mouth isn’t full, she says, “You’re so quiet today, Rhonda. What’s up?” How is this different from any other day?

  Apparently, Rhonda replies because everyone else nods and smiles at her. I’m pretty sure Uncle Cecil spoke louder than her, and he was a con artist and street performer—a mute mime. Actual mute. He swindled a grand from a New York mobster’s grandson in a shell game gone horribly wrong for all involved. The guy didn’t get his money back, so he took my uncle’s voice. How Cecil managed to whistle with half a tongue is a mystery for the ages.

  We all finish eating at the same time. After getting our checks, with Simone paying for my lunch, I’m relieved to be nearing the finish line of this clusterfuck. Standing, I say, “Well, it was fun, but I gotta get back to work. Thanks for lunch, Simone. See you all later.”

  I try not to run, but Garrison catches up with me, saying, “I’ll be at your place after work.”

  I pull open the door and head outside, not looking for Hadley. “You don’t have to stay tonight. I think I got it.”

  “No, really. It’s fine. I said I’d help you.” Simone smiles, brushing the wind-blown shorter hair from her face.

  “You have your own shit you need to get back to.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Meeting us on the sidewalk, Wilder says, “Maybe he doesn’t want you there, Sims.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Why didn’t I? Shit.

  Wilder tilts his head, questioning, “So, you do?” His judgmental attitude has overstayed its welcome.

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  I turn to leave, but Hadley says, “Wait a minute. Rod, can you do me a huge favor?” Stab your husband with a butter knife? I can saw off his tongue. It happened to my uncle.

  I try not to be too interested. It’s probably something horrible. Hadley says, “I need to pick up Finley for her appointment. I was going to take Rhonda back first, but since you
’re here...” Goddamn it. I was right. She’s saddling me with Rhonda? I’ve had more riveting conversations with a lamp.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Like I can turn it down. We’re going to the same damn place.

  “Thanks. Is that okay, Rhonda?”

  Rhonda looks as if she was just hit by a dump truck. Still, she says, “That’s okay. Thanks.” Great. Her silence might make me fall asleep at the wheel.

  Simone giggles. “Just make sure you wear your seatbelt and say your prayers.”

  I frown, but that only makes Garrison laugh more. “Shut the hell up.”

  Rhonda timidly smiles, appearing uncertain if Simone is joking. If Rhonda believes Simone, she can catch a bus for all I care while Garrison takes a flying leap. Both are good options.

  Sighing, as Wilder bends to kiss Hadley goodbye, I turn away. Simone says, “Later, Greg. Drive carefully. Rhonda would appreciate it.” She laughs, heading to her car.

  “Bite me.”

  I start walking to my truck, whether Rhonda follows or not. This isn’t obedience school. I don’t have a dog treat as a reward. But she needs to make up her damn mind fast because I’m also no cabbie.

  Unlocking my truck and climbing in, I almost forget Rhonda was following me when the passenger door opens. She stands there for three seconds before deciding to get in, buckling herself first thing. That ruins all the fun when I do 80 mph on North 5th Street. Party pooper.

  After five minutes of painful silence heading back to work, I ask, “See any good movies lately?” Rhonda shakes her head. “Bad movies?” For the love of Betty White, just make something up!

  Mostly to myself, I say, “I don’t see many movies. Waste of time and money because I end up falling asleep in the theater anyway.”

  Rhonda slightly nods, any corpse six feet under outperforming her on their worst day. I’ve heard fetuses say more in the womb.

  More silence. When I move to turn up the radio, Rhonda says, “I love music.”

  I almost veer off the road in shock. “Do you? What kind?”

  Her response is almost a whisper. “All kinds.”

  “Same here. I can swing from Maroon 5 to Garth Brooks to Dr. Dre in a heartbeat.

  “I love Dr. Dre. The Chronic...”

  I laugh, body-slammed to the mat. “Really? I didn’t take you for a Dr. Dre fan.”

  Rhonda shrugs but doesn’t elaborate, which I’m still recovering from the initial shock of her even speaking to me at all.

  When we reach our office’s parking lot a couple minutes later, I say, “Back to the bump and grind.”

  Rhonda says, “Yeah. Sure.” Okay. Weird. But I’m still floored she talked to me.

  We walk through the parking lot, and when we reach the curb, she says, “I wanted to ask...”

  I stop, squinting at her through the midday sun. “Ask what?” If she wants to know what the buzzing sound coming from Betsy’s office is, there’s no way in hell I’m telling her.

  Rhonda practically paces side to side, as much as she’s suddenly antsy. “Would you like to go to the music festival downtown Saturday? With me?”

  Come again?

  If there were awards for a blown mind, I’d sweep all categories. “Uh...”

  “I’ll buy you dinner. If you want.” Is she asking me on a date? Holy fuck. It’s the Apocolypse.

  “Well...” I clear my throat and debate bolting to the lobby. A pussy I am. “Saturday I have something going on.” I have to be at a dive bar to help a non-friend win a manwhore.

  “Oh. That’s okay. I didn’t think you’d want to go. I was just...” Rhonda shakes her head and looks to the parking lot. “I forgot something in my car.” Is she taking off?

  “Okay.” Not sure what she wants me to do with that.

  Rhonda leaves the sidewalk and rushes across the parking lot to her car. Letting her deal with her own problems, I head inside. When I step into the elevator, It’s then that I feel kind of sorry for turning her down, but how in the hell would that work, going out with Rhonda? We’re total opposites. She’s too quiet for a fucking library while I’m the one who gets kicked out for being too loud.

  Exiting the elevator, Patrice laughs at Amos. What the hell is he doing here? I can’t escape him ever. Stopping at the desk, I ask, “Ditching court?”

  “Lunch break and I had to grab some things. Where’d you go for lunch?”

  “I had lunch with Hadley at Sage’s Diner.” Amos’ eyes bore into the side of my skull for not listening to him. As if I’d really listen to him. So naïve.

  Patrice says, “I thought Rhonda had lunch with Haley.”

  “Hadley.” I roll my eyes and Amos tips his head, scolding me for being petty. Fuck that. “Yeah. Rhonda was there. She just went to her car for something.” I don’t want them surmising I murdered her after lunch. She isn’t on my list of kills.

  Patrice slaps her hand on the counter, saying, “You and Rhonda had lunch? With your ex-wife? How’d that shake out? Hair pulling? Name calling? Car stealing?” What in the hell does she watch on TV?

  Unable to discern if she’s joking or confused, Amos asks, “Ex-wife?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t ask.” I then tell Patrice, “Lunch was fine, except Simone gave me heartburn.”

  Patrice frowns. “Simone? That girl is a cart short of a horse.” Enough said.

  “I hear you, Patrice.” As I go to leave, Amos’ smirk stops me. “What?”

  “I see it.”

  “I hope you mean a courtroom.”

  He leans on his elbow, which is on the reception counter. “What you’re doing. You’re trying out my suggestion.”

  “Of eating lunch? Such a guru.”

  “Taking it to a group setting to test the waters with you-know-who.”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” I go into my office while he trails me, always the groundhog shadow predicting another shitstorm.

  “Lunch with Hadley, though?”

  I cross my arms at the doorway. “And her husband. And Simone. And Rhonda.”

  “But you’re considering what I said about Simone?”

  “Only if I were deaf, dumb, blind, and this was my last day on Earth.”

  “I think you’re missing out on a great woman.”

  “Not interested.”

  “I think you’ll change your mind.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you’d better hurry. You know Judge Keller is a hardass.”

  Amos checks his Rolex and frowns. “Time flies.” Not fast enough for me. Vaughn’s still here.

  After he goes into his office and grabs papers he needs, he waves at me with a smug grin. He doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking. He’s calling my bluff.

  Okay. I’ll fix that.

  Hearing Patrice talking to Amos as he leaves, I wait for a beat and then return to the reception desk, where Rhonda has returned and is sorting through mail. She looks up at me but then immediately drops her gaze to the junk mail in her right hand.

  Leaning onto the counter, I speak quietly, so Patrice doesn’t overhear. “Hey.” Rhonda’s brown eyes are hesitant before meeting mine again.

  “Yes? Did you need something?” She’s polite, but the sting from turning her down is still apparent.

  “Uh, yeah. I need to go with you to the festival on Saturday.”

  “What?”

  “If you still want me to go...”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  I nod. “Good. It’s a date then.”

  Her eyes nearly swallow her head. “Okay. A date.” What the hell am I doing?

  Before I chicken out again, I push off the counter and go back to my office to do nothing before I leave for the daycare appointment.

  There, Amos. Mind changed.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Honey, I’m home!”

  I roll my eyes, shutting the door after she blows into my apartment. “It’s a nightmare on East Main Street.”

  Simone dumps her purse on the floor and takes Birdy from
my arm. “Hey, cutie patoot!”

  “Let’s put a lid on the creepy names.” I go to the kitchen to check on the bottle in the warmer.

  Unfortunately, Garrison follows me, still jabbering to Birdy in an unknown language. As I grab the bottle from the warmer, swirling the milk, I say, “I took her out of that shithole daycare Shasta had her in and moved her to Finley’s.”

  Simone’s eyes widen. “Really? Did you tell Shasta?”

  “I texted her. She told me I’m paying for it.” Saying that reminds me of what I need to do. Putting the bottle on the counter, I pull out my phone from my pocket to text Nico, knowing I’m scraping the bottom of a never-ending barrel.

  “That’s not fair. I hope you told Shasta that.”

  I shrug as I type. “She already does way more for Birdy than I do.”

  “Like what? You give her money to buy formula and diapers.”

  “But she does everything else.”

  “You’re doing more now.” When I don’t look away from my phone, she asks, “How is this new daycare?”

  “It smells like waffles.”

  “Upgrade.”

  “Yep.” Setting down my phone on the counter, waiting for a response from Nico, I ask, “Do you want me to feed her or do you want to?”

  “I will.” She walks over, picks up the bottle, and gives it to Birdy. Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms, watching Birdy’s fingers curl around one of Simone’s. Glancing up from Birdy, Simone asks, “Why were you and Hadley so quiet?”

  “You monopolized most of the damn conversation.”

  “I did not. Nobody else was talking, though. She didn’t even invite you to lunch?” Christ.

  Staring at the oven, I lie, “We see each other all day. What’s the big deal?”

  “I just wondered. You’re always together. You both seemed kind of off today.”

  “I had things on my mind.”

  “I guess so.” I hear her frown when she says, “I can’t believe Shasta.”

  “I can. But anyway, that’s my fault.”

  “As it is hers. Don’t let her off that easily.” Simone walks to the kitchen window above the table to look at the apartments behind this building. Nice view.

  “Yep.” Shifting as I check my phone for a response but see none, I then grip the edge of the counter behind me. “So, you’re going to see your mom Saturday?”