A Basic Renovation

by Sandra Antonelli

  Dominic smiled back. ‘I’m more a goatee and moustache man.’

  The sound gurgled in her throat as she held a mouthful of tea and chuckled. ‘To be honest,’ she said after she swallowed, ‘you’d probably gloss right over me in the Saint Michael’s yearbooks. I did sort of fade into the background. I was an average student with an average face, wearing the same uniform as everyone else.’

  ‘You certainly stand out now,’ he said and his eyes ambled from her face to her breasts and back up again. ‘Nice dress.’

  If another man had done the same thing, Lesley would have been irked by the overt caveman behaviour, but God help her, she wanted this man to look at her, to take notice. If Dominic wanted to see the goods, she was suddenly happy to oblige. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table and her cleavage on display. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘You can borrow it whenever you want.’

  ‘Next time I feel like cross-dressing I’ll call you.’

  ‘No problem, but you’d need to scrub that dirt off your neck before you try anything on.’

  He rubbed a hand over the skin below his ear and looked at the grime that came away. He wiped his fingers on his pants, adding a bit more colour to the dried mud and grass stains that were already there. ‘Hey, real men aren’t afraid of dirt or quiche. In fact we like dirt in our quiche.’

  She chuckled. ‘You and Kelly have some interesting ideas about what makes a man a man.’

  ‘What does your partner think makes a man manly?’

  Lesley snorted. ‘Oh, OK. I see. From the tone of your voice you’re still one big uninformed curious monkey. So let’s clear this up once and for all. My partner is a sixty-five year old straight man with two daughters still in college and a wife named Gillian.’ She lifted her iced tea and had a long drink. When she put it down she smacked her lips and said, ‘Ahhhh. And the truth shall set you free!’

  Dominic chortled loudly. ‘Come on. I know you’re not gay and you never were. That was all some kind of slow mind-screw from a very disturbed man, but all right, you want the truth so here it is. I’m still curious about something.’

  His grin was positively wicked, his eyes hotly devilish. Lesley wondered why she wasn’t sitting in his lap nibbling on his ears. He had the tastiest looking ears. She looked at him, deadpan. ‘No. I’ve never slept with a woman.’

  ‘That’s not what I was going to ask, but I would like to know if you might re—’

  The phone he’d set on the table buzzed and played a sped-up version of the theme from The Breakfast Club. Simple Minds’ vocalist Jim Kerr sang one line over and over: ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t you forget about me, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t you forget about me’. Dominic glanced at the cell. He made a face as he read the caller ID on the screen, but he made no move to answer it until Lesley waved her hand and said, ‘Go ahead and pick it up.’

  When she sat back to allow him a bit of courteous privacy, he growled, snatched up the device and flicked it open. ‘Oops,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be five minutes my ass,’ Fabian grumbled from the earpiece.

  ‘Like I said, oops.’

  ‘Where are you, Sunday?’

  ‘With Lesley.’

  ‘We’re on a job and you’re trying for a nooner? I missed lunch and you made me spend two hundred bucks on boots just so you cou—’

  ‘OK. OK. Go inside and have some popcorn. I’ll be there in a minute.’ Dominic snapped the phone shut and scratched his chin. He grabbed his drink and sucked up the last icy bits. Then he grinned at Lesley. ‘Sorry about that.’ he said. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go fix something, but I’ll be right back.’ The green straw made a hollow squeaking noise when he shook the empty plastic cup. ‘Would you mind getting me another one of these?’

  ‘Only if you cross my palm with silver.’

  Dominic fished out a five and handed it over. As he left, Lesley got in the short queue right behind Mrs Flanagan.

  The older lady turned around, smiled, and patted her arm. ‘Och, don’t you worry about that Holy Joe and his holy show. I think you’re grand. My nephew and your grandda’ think so too. They’ve both been tellin’ me all about you. Before he went into the little boys’ room, Marty was talkin’ about you bein’ in the fourth grade.’

  Lesley blinked for a second. GP wasn’t kidding. Mrs Flanagan sounded exactly like Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man. ‘Thank you. I’m not worried about Mr. Witteveen.’

  ‘Tell me,’ the Irishwoman leaned a little closer, ‘while you were sittin’ there listenin’ to him, did he mention his teeth? For the last three months I’ve had to listen to him talk about his dentist and his toilet habits.’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘All we talked about was history and Los Alamos.’

  ‘Lucky you. The old goat lives next door to me.’ The redhead took the Frappucino from Pia’s hand and uttered a ‘thank you’ without turning around. She lifted the beverage and pushed a straw through the hole in the lid. Then she smiled again. ‘Och, this isn’t for your grandda’. It’s for me. He said they’re good, so I decided to try one.’

  Clearly the lady was trying to cover for GP’s covert caffeine habit, but Lesley went along with the ruse. ‘I hope you enjoy—’

  The world suddenly shifted in reverse. Something snagged the back of her dress, jerking it hard. Two loose pearl buttons on the front popped off. They plinked against the selection of bottled fruit juice and Tazo teas in the open drinks refrigerator, just before she lurched sideways and fell into it.

  ‘Hey!’ Pia yelled.

  Mrs Flanagan reached out to steady her, a frown marring her lovely wrinkled face. ‘There now, watch where you’re goin’.’

  Lesley stood and started to straighten the bottles she’d knocked over. Buttons missing, her dress flapped open and she pulled the fabric together as she turned to see who’d stumbled into her so violently. When the long silver braid and Navajo printed vest with hand-polished turquoise buttons came into view, she hoped it was a simple hallucination.

  But it wasn’t.

  Peggy Brennan snarled in her face, ‘You could have blinded him! He could have a detached retina!’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘Terry has a black eye.’

  ‘So you admit you hit him?’

  ‘Yep. A sock in the eye isn’t half of what the liar deserved.’

  ‘Liar? You stupid bitch, he can’t see!’

  ‘Excuse me, there’s no need for shoutin’,’ Mrs Flanagan wagged her finger, ‘or language like that.’

  Peggy ignored the older woman. ‘His eye is swollen and purple! He’s going to press chawges!’ she hissed, just a hint of her New York-ese squeezing out. ‘And if he doesn’t then I will!’

  Pia rushed from behind the counter. She held a cordless phone in front of her plump stomach and she glared at Lesley. ‘Get out. And don’t come in here again! Ever!’

  ‘You’re banning me?’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘OK! I’m going.’ Holding up her hands, Lesley turned around and headed for the door. There was no solution, no way to win. In the eyes of Peggy Brennan, fiction had become fact. Calmly walking away from the manufactured truth was the only option.

  She didn’t get far. Long manicured fingers clamped down on her shoulder. ‘I’m not finished with you!’

  Lesley turned around. ‘Let go,’ she said flatly.

  Peggy dug in her nails. ‘You may fool my grandson, He may believe you’re sweet and nice, and helpful in a pinch, but he’s young and impressionable. He doesn’t understand his uncle’s life is a mess because of a dildo-loving carpet muncher!’

  Carefully holding her temper in check, Lesley exhaled. Unlike the way she’d behaved with Terry, this time, with his mother, she’d maintain her dignity instead of taking a swing. Her voice was clear and level when she said, ‘You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me and you know even less about Terry. Your son is a mess because he’s a skilled liar who takes advantage of women and that includes y
ou. He lies about everything. He cheats, he steals, he digs his own holes and he buries the bodies. At some point before you die you’re going to have to see it. Now let go.’

  ‘What I see is a lonesome, middle-aged hag who likes the taste of sna—’

  The loud sound of GP clearing his throat cut off Peggy’s words. Lesley glanced at her grandfather. He ignored the plaintive look she gave him. ‘Broad,’ he said, ‘if you don’t let go of my granddaughter I’ll knock you on your ass!’

  Peggy’s braid swung as she recoiled. ‘Oh, dear God, that horrid man is still alive!’

  ‘Who are you callin’ a horrid man, you doxie grey-haired feck?’ Mrs. Flanagan’s drink slammed onto the top of the counter. A geyser of chocolate erupted out of the straw and the plastic cup exploded, coating Pia with an icy mocha lava. The redhead tugged Lesley aside and came face to face with Peggy. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, you skinny squint?’

  ‘That’s my girl!’ GP yelled out, beaming.

  Peggy poked a finger into Mrs Flanagan’s bosom. ‘This has nothing to do with you! Get out of my way!’

  ‘Keep your feckin’ bony fingers to yourself!’

  GP smiled, all his teeth showing. ‘You heard the lady. Hands off, or kiss the floor!’

  ‘All right, all right! Lesley pushed between Mrs Flanagan and Peggy. ‘That’s enough!’ She looked from GP, his feisty elderly girlfriend, to Dominic’s mother. ‘Listen, this has been over for years. You want to wallow around in it, that’s your business, but I’m not hav—’ The snorting sound in the back of Peggy’s throat was barely audible. Lesley just managed to jerk away, but there wasn’t time to save anyone else.

  The sticky glob of spit hit Mrs Flanagan’s chin.

  The half hour he spent wandering up and down Central Avenue, waiting for Grandma to finish shopping in CB Fox, served as a blatant reminder of why he needed a car. If he’d had one, he could have taken Clementine to the vet and been home already. Or better still, he could have gone home, dropped off the dog, changed his shirt and driven over to Melody’s. Instead, the puppy was asleep on his shoulder and he was sweating in the afternoon heat because dogs weren’t allowed into any of the stores, except Trujillo’s, but there was no way he was hanging there. Who needed a reminder of the job he’d lost?

  He was tired of aimless walking. He took a seat on the shaded park bench in front of the Grill and started to think about Melody Farrell, trying to pinpoint what it was that he found so attractive. He’d only just begun to mull over her freckles when a police car screeched around the corner of 20th Street. It stopped in front of Starbucks. A short cop with thick arms shot out of the patrol car and ran inside the coffee shop.

  Kyle was on his feet in a flash. Pressing Clementine to his neck, he covered the few steps to the café and peered through the plate glass. A second later, the dog tucked like a football under his arm, he sprinted for the hardware store.

  He burst into Trujillo’s, sailing past Daphne and her squeal of delight when she saw Clementine. As he ran into the shop’s little office, he called out, ‘Dad! Dad! Some old lady’s got Grandma cornered with a broken bottle!’

  A laugh exploded from Fabian.

  Choking on a mouthful of popcorn, his dad jerked his feet off the top of his desk, chair squeaking backwards across the floor as he stood, coughing. ‘What?’ he sputtered, eyes watering. ‘Where?’

  By the time father and son made it to Starbucks, a uniformed police officer was handcuffing a protesting Lesley while the most obscene, homophobic language Kyle had ever heard spewed from his grandmother’s mouth.

  Chapter 15

  White-faced, her father tossed down a brochure on domestic violence and rose out of a worn steel-blue seat in the stark white lobby. His mouth disappeared beneath his pepper-flecked moustache. ‘What are you trying to do, Lesley, give your mother a stroke?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to bail me out. I asked you to call John Tilbrook.’

  Patrick grabbed her elbow and gave her a slight push towards the exit, walking alongside. ‘If my phone rings and my daughter tells me she’s in prison, why would I call a friend? Who cares if he’s a cop? You don’t ask a friend to bail you out of prison!’

  ‘I wasn’t in prison!’

  ‘County lock-up, jail, prison what the hell’s the difference? You were arrested for aggravated battery, aggravated battery – and at your age!’ He shoved against a glass door that swung wide and bounced against a rubber stopper mounted on an outside wall.

  Lesley followed her father out of the police station and into wall of bone-dry heat. Early evening sunshine still glared on the small parking lot. She shielded her eyes with the manila envelope that contained paperwork and all the personal belongings she’d had to remove before she’d been placed in the lock up. Just after she’d been patted down, she’d had to hand over her watch and bra – as if the underwires were going to help her pick a lock and bust out of the joint. She’d taken off her pantyhose too. Since they’d been torn in the scuffle, she’d tossed them in the trash instead of giving them to the policewoman to drop into a tray. The weight of things inside the envelope made it droop a little. Fatigued and braless, Lesley felt saggy the same way. Plus, it had been almost seven hours since she’d eaten. Her head hurt and her empty stomach rumbled like a farm tractor.

  Not that her father noticed. He was angry in that funny way dads and husbands sometimes were. Seeing no injury or blood loss, they went right into the do you realise how much this is going to cost me mentality. Maybe it was the way they processed their fear. Lesley had no idea. She simply rolled her eyes as her dad continued to take her to task.

  ‘First the damn motorcycle, now this. Are you having a mid-life crisis?’ Patrick paused for a moment to let a forest green Subaru pull into a parking space. Then he turned back to look at Lesley. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you? You were fingerprinted. You had mug shots taken. Now you’ve got a criminal record! A criminal record, Lesley!’

  ‘I won’t have a record unless I’m actually convicted.’

  ‘You mean you have to go to court? Your cousin Vic is a lawyer. We’ll ask him to represent you instead of some stranger from legal aid.’

  ‘Mr. Halverson is fine and Vic is an immigration lawyer, not a criminal attorney, and I didn’t do anything. At most, I’ll pay a fine. Big deal.’

  ‘Big deal?’

  ‘Can we just get this over with, Daddy? Bend me over your knee and spank me. I’m being blamed for something I didn’t do. I’ve had a bitch of a day. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I just want to get my sorry, shitty self home.’

  ‘Nice. Sometimes you’ve got a mouth on you like GP. Where is your grandfather anyway?’

  ‘Didn’t he come home waving his citation and talking about police brutality?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he’s probably with Mrs Flanagan.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His girlfriend.’

  ‘GP has a girlfriend?’

  ‘The studio apartment he wants to buy at Aspen Ridge Lodge, remember?’

  ‘Is that what that’s all about? Well, come on, get in the car. I’ll take you home. Your mother will be so relieved.’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘I don’t want to go to your house. I want to go to mine.’

  ‘I’ll take you there.’

  ‘I’ll take myself. My car’s parked in front of Trujillo’s.’

  ‘I’ll drop you off.’

  ‘I’ll walk. I need the air.’

  ‘It’s ninety degrees outside!’

  ‘Dad, please. I’ll walk.’

  ‘Mr. Samuels?’

  Patrick and Lesley both turned to look at the same time. John’s hair was cut so short, his curls were almost missing, but he had a deep five-o’clock shadow that revealed a scar Lesley hadn’t noticed before. There was a narrow, inch-long stripe where no hair grew. It glowed white on his face.

  He offered his hand to Lesley’s father. ‘I’m John Tilbrook,’ he said with a firm h
andshake. ‘Sorry it took me so long, Lesley. I just got your mother’s message. I’ve been down in Albuquerque since this morning.’

  ‘You’re the police friend of my daughter’s?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I remember you from the video store. She needs someone steady and rational in her life. Maybe you can talk some sense into her then, make her understand how serious this is.

  ‘For God’s sake, Dad, go home!’

  Patrick squinted at her. ‘You’re an adult, so act like one and settle down!’

  Head pounding, Lesley squinted back, copying his expression. ‘John,’ she said, holding a steady gaze on her dad, ‘my parents want me to find a good husband to make babies with. Would you mind if my father checked your equipment?’

  ‘That’s nice, Lesley, that’s really nice!’ Patrick roared.

  John glanced at them both, a sniff, sniff, sniff tipping up the corners of his mouth.

  She ground the heels of her palms into her eye sockets and exhaled. ‘Tell Mom I’ll call her later tonight. And the bail money will be in your account tomorrow morning.’ When she took her hands away, her father slammed his car door. She watched his Audi pull out onto Trinity Drive. Then she shook herself like a dog.

  John put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Suddenly I’m really interested to find out what happened to you today.’

  In the five minutes it took them to walk from the police station to the parking lot in front of Trujillo’s, Lesley had described the afternoon’s events. She started with the Mike Witteveen confusion and ended with Mrs Flanagan’s audaciousness. ‘Your aunt has quite a colourful vocabulary. No wonder my grandfather’s love-struck.’

  John took the keys from her hand and unlocked her Bronco. ‘Did she really snap the neck off a bottle of ice tea?’

  ‘Like a sailor in a bar-room brawl.’

  ‘That would have been kind of funny to see.’

  ‘It would have been nice if the officer who arrested me had rushed in the second before I got it out of her hand. But he didn’t want to hear it because the Starbucks manager was all over my ass the same way Dominic’s mother was.’