by Lois Winston
In less than twenty minutes we arrived back at the condo. Mama had stripped off her wet clothes and now wore a gray and navy Pollack Motors sweatshirt, the same one Lawrence arrived wearing. She’d wrapped her wet hair in what appeared to be Lawrence’s white T-shirt.
Mama let loose a deep sigh when I handed her the bag containing her clothes. Her lower lip jutted out and trembled ever so slightly. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind about not continuing to paint. We won’t be able to move tomorrow, otherwise.”
Sarah Bernhardt lives! Mama made a valid point, though. I weighed spending the remainder of the day rolling shades of gray against another week of Mama versus Lucille warfare within the confines of Casa Pollack. Not to mention two less mouths to feed, one two-legged and one four-legged.
“We might as well finish,” said Zack. “We’re already here and covered in paint.”
Mama brightened, rewarding him with a smile and a batting of her lashes. She placed her hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Zack dear.” Zack had managed to find a quick way back into Mama good graces at my expense.
Mama turned her attention, along with pleading eyes, back to me. “Am I really asking that much, dear? Zack is willing to stay, and Lawrence and I will help.”
I capitulated. “All right. As long as you stay at least five feet from any open can of paint.”
“Really, Anastasia, you can’t blame me for what happened in the bathroom. How was I to know Zackary had a gallon of paint precariously perched on a ladder behind the door?”
I bit my tongue. Hard. Zack appeared to be doing likewise. I mentally counted to twenty before speaking. “You and Lawrence need to pick up another gallon of Mother of Pearl for the bathroom after you change and dry your hair.”
“Of course, dear. Did you bring my makeup?”
“Just a brush and hair dryer.”
Mama turned to Lawrence. “We’ll have to stop back at Anastasia’s before heading to Home Depot. I’m not going to the store without makeup.” Having dictated the agenda, she sashayed into the empty bedroom to dress.
After Mama and Lawrence left the condo, Zack asked, “That will keep them busy for awhile. How much do you think we can accomplish before they return?”
“The way Mama primps? We should have the rest of the living room and the dining room painted before they return.”
“At which point we can send them out to pick up lunch. If we keep them busy running errands all day, we should be able to avoid any further disasters.”
I wrapped my arms around Zack’s neck and kissed him. “I like the way you think.” Bad move. A certain body part sprang to life between us. I quickly broke the kiss and stepped back. “Grab a roller.”
“I’d rather grab you.”
“After you help me finish painting.”
“Killjoy.”
“Me? I’m the one who wanted to walk out earlier, remember?” I picked up my roller, loaded some Stratus paint onto it, and returned to the wall I’d left half-painted after Mama’s collision with a gallon of latex. “Start rolling. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get out of here.”
By five o’clock Zack and I had finished painting the entire condo. Lawrence offered to take us out to dinner, but all I wanted was a long soak in my bathtub. Every muscle in my body berated me for having overworked them.
“We’ll bring something in,” said Lawrence. “I’ll see if Ira and the kids can join us.”
I stifled a groan. Was it too late to change my mind and agree to dinner at a nice restaurant? But Lawrence had already whipped out his cell and placed a call to Ira. A moment later I learned I’d be having four additional guests at the dinner table.
~*~
Instead of a long soak, I had to settle for a short shower in order to make room in the house for dinner guests. Mama’s cartons and suitcases still covered much of the living room and dining room, although by now most of them were packed. Since neither she nor Lawrence had helped paint, I gave them, along with Nick and Alex, the task of clearing space and setting the table while Zack and I showered and dressed. Separately, of course.
A short time later Ira and his brood arrived with two shopping bags filled with cartons of Chinese food. I eyed Ira’s three kids. None of them looked happy to be back at Casa Pollack, but I noticed their hands were gadget free. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have a repeat of our last encounter.
“Isaac and the twins have something to say to you, Anastasia,” said Ira after giving me a wet peck on the cheek. I exerted extreme willpower to keep from wiping the slobber from my face.
I waited for the kids to say something.
“Children?” prompted their father.
The three of them mumbled something indiscernible. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you,” I said. “Please speak up.”
“We’re sorry, Aunt Anastasia.” The words came out in unison, sounding less than heartfelt and full of sing-song belligerence, but at least this time I heard them. I didn’t push my luck by asking exactly what they were sorry for because I knew they weren’t at all sorry. At least now, hopefully, I could expect not to have a repeat of our last encounter.
“Thank you for apologizing,” I said.
“I’ll help you with the food,” said Ira. He carried the bags into the kitchen. I followed, wondering if Lawrence planned to reimburse his son-in-law for the dinner. Lawrence manipulated Ira more than Mama manipulated me.
Ira set the bags on the kitchen table. “Thanks for forcing me to wake up,” he said. When I stared blankly at him, he continued. “About my children. Everything you said the other night?”
“I know it’s hard to play the bad guy, Ira. Being a single parent isn’t easy.” I grabbed serving dishes and utensils.
“Understatement of the year.”
“How are they adjusting to Cynthia’s departure?”
Ira barked out a laugh. “They’re thrilled to be rid of her. Frankly, so am I. I never should have married her, but then, Flora and Lawrence wouldn’t have met. I guess everything happens for a reason.”
“Have you spoken with Cynthia since she left?” I didn’t let Ira know Lawrence suspected Ira had thrown Cynthia out on her Size Zero butt. That bit of gossip came from Mama, and years of experience had taught me to question everything my mother told me.
Ira opened a carton of fried rice and began spooning the contents into a bowl. “I tried calling her a few times. She’s not answering her cell. Probably having too much fun with her new boy toy.”
“She was having an affair?” Mama failed to mention that juicy tidbit of gossip. Either Lawrence didn’t know or was too embarrassed by his daughter’s behavior to discuss it.
Ira shrugged. “I’ve suspected for some time. The pool boy. How cliché is that?”
“When did Cynthia walk out on you?”
“A week ago. She didn’t even bother leaving a note this time.”
This time? “She’s run off with someone before?”
“Twice. She’ll come crawling back soon enough when she runs out of money. I cancelled her credit cards. Once the well dries up, the pool boy will dump her. This time I’m not taking her back.”
“I’m sorry, Ira.”
“Don’t be. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“What will you do about childcare once Lawrence moves to the condo?” Ira’s kids certainly weren’t old enough to leave alone for hours at the McMansion.
“The kids leave for school before I have to leave for work in the morning. I’m hoping Lawrence and Flora will come to the house in the late afternoon and stay with them until I arrive home.”
Red flags began waving in my mind. Ira’s three kids were incorrigible. If they decided to stage a rebellion, I doubted Mama and Lawrence would survive the initial attack. “Have you spoken to them about this?”
“Not yet.”
I was about to point out the downside of his plan, but Zack chose that moment to enter the house
through the back door. Seeing me alone with Ira, his alpha male sprang into action and commenced territorial marking.
He crossed the room, wrapped his arm around my waist, and kissed me. Unlike Ira’s wet pecks, Zack’s kisses never made me think of a St. Bernard’s slobber. Maybe I should suggest Zack give Ira kissing lessons. If Ira knew how to kiss, he might have better luck finding and keeping his next wife.
“Need any help?” asked Zack after finally separating his lips from mine.
“You’re timing is excellent.” I handed him two bowls of food to bring out to the dining room. “And have one of the boys tell Lucille dinner is ready.”
Lucille and Mephisto had walked into the house shortly after Ira and his kids arrived. She took one look at the commotion in the living room, grunted, and headed for her bedroom.
I had glanced out the window in time to see Harriet Kleinhample, designated driver for the Daughters of the October Revolution, pulling her antiquated orange Volkswagen minibus off the curb and back onto the street. At least she’d missed the oak tree this time.
Ira’s three kids wolfed down their plates of moo goo gai pan and chow mei fun before I had a chance to take more than three bites. “Can we be excused?” Melody asked Ira. Or was it Harmony? I needed a way to tell the difference between those two, especially now that Mama was marrying Lawrence. Something told me by default I’d drawn the short holiday hosting straw from now on.
“Me, too?” asked Isaac.
“Ask Aunt Anastasia,” said Ira.
The three of them turned toward me, their silent expressions almost daring me to deny their request. If they were my kids, I’d make them stay at the table until everyone had finished eating. But they weren’t my kids. For that I launched a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward. At least I’d won the genetic roll of the dice when it came to Pollack offspring. “You can watch television in the den if you want, but leave Ralph alone.”
“Who’s Ralph?” asked Isaac.
“The parrot. Don’t stick your fingers in his cage or open the door.”
“Whatever.”
The three of them raced from the room without so much as a thank you.
Less than a minute later they were back in the dining room, hands on hips, pouts on lips.
“You’re TV’s busted,” said Isaac.
Great! Another expense I don’t need. “Won’t it turn on?”
“It turns on,” said Harmony/Melody, “but it’s only getting a couple of lame channels.”
“Your cable is out,” said Melody/Harmony.
“We don’t get cable,” said Nick. “Not anymore.”
One of the major sore spots for my son when it came to accepting our new life of near-poverty—no ESPN. Cable hook-up, along with many other luxuries my family once took for granted, had gone the way of the dodo bird at the Pollack homestead.
Isaac’s eyes grew wide. “How can you not have cable? That’s like not having Internet.”
“Jeez, you’re practically pre-historic,” said Melody/Harmony, rolling her eyes at me. She turned to her father. “There’s nothing to do here, Dad. Why do you keep dragging us to visit these losers?”
“Melody, that’s not a very nice thing to say,” said Ira. “Apologize to—”
“I want my phone!” demanded Harmony/Melody, planting herself next to her father’s chair and sticking her hand out under his nose.
“Me, too,” said Melody/Harmony, coming up alongside her sister and shoving another hand at Ira.
Ira caved immediately. So much for the lesson he claimed to have learned. He reached into his sports coat pocket and handed the girls their phones.
“What about me?” asked Isaac. “Where’s my Game Boy?” Ira reached into his other pocket and produced Isaac’s game. His son snatched it out of Ira’s hand and started to head back to the den. Halfway into the living room he turned around and asked, “What are you, like poor or something?”
Ira turned to me and mumbled, “I’m sorry,” as Isaac raced toward the den.
Right now I felt sorrier for Ira than I did myself. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to see into the future when it came to those kids of his. I glanced at both my sons. For all his wealth, I’d never trade places with Ira. I was far wealthier where it mattered most.
~*~
We were clearing the table when my doorbell rang. “That’s for me,” said Ira. He dropped an armload of dishes back on the table and headed for the front door.
The rest of us, minus Lucille, carried stacks of dirty dishes into the kitchen. A moment later Ira joined us. He waved a large white envelope in front of my face. “Your new wheels have arrived.”
I walked into the living room and glanced out the window in time to see a Pollack Motors panel truck pulling away from the curb. Behind it sat a silver Jetta.
Ira came up beside me and dangled a set of keys in front of my face. “Take it for a test spin. If you’re happy, I’ve got all the paperwork here.”
I held out my hand. Instead of dropping the keys into my palm, Ira gently placed them in my hand and folded my fingers over them, holding my hand in his. I pulled away.
Ira followed me into the kitchen. Zack was loading the dishwasher. “Leave that,” I said. “Let’s go for a ride.”
Zack grabbed a towel to dry his hands. We’ll be back soon,” I said, dashing out the back door.
“I think Ira expected to accompany you on the test drive,” said Zack after we settled into the car. “He looked downright crestfallen.”
I slipped the key into the ignition and turned it. Unlike the Hyundai which coughed and rattled each time I’d start it up, the Jetta purred. As I pulled away from the curb, I told Zack about the keys-in-hand incident.
“That man has developed a serious crush on you.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
“Should I be worried?”
I rolled to a full stop at the corner and turned to him. “You’re joking, right?”
He grinned. “You know me so well.”
Not really. Nothing Zack said would ever totally convince me he was just a photo-journalist, but that was an ongoing conversation best left for another time.
“The more I get to know Ira,” I said, “the more he creeps me out. Between his obsessive compulsion to please and the way he’s raising his kids, I’d really like to distance myself and my family from him and his brats.”
“That’s not going to be easy with Flora about to marry Lawrence.”
“Let’s hope Ira’s next wife has a father who will replace Lawrence.”
“Don’t count on it. Ira holds the mortgage on that condo. Lawrence and Flora will be sucking up to Ira for the rest of their lives.”
“My worst fear. And exactly why I didn’t want to become indebted to Ira for a car.” I sped up as the speed limit changed, and the Jetta adjusted without so much as a sputter. “It’s a nice car, though, isn’t it? Clean. Low mileage. Guaranteed.”
“And affordable. You’d never get a deal like that from anyone else.”
“That’s the problem.” I sighed. “I’m not thrilled with the invisible strings attached to this deal. I may only be paying under five thousand dollars for a car worth twice that, but I’m afraid I’ll be paying a much steeper price for years to come.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What choice do I have? I’m forced to deal with the devil I know, rather than risking getting stuck with another lemon. I’m just not happy about having to make the choice in the first place.”
Yet something else I could blame on my dead louse of a spouse. Thank you once again, Karl Marx Pollack, from the bottom of my poverty stricken heart.
~*~
Ira arranged for several of his mechanics to move Lawrence and Mama on Sunday. I was certain they hadn’t given up their day off out of the goodness of their hearts. Ira bought their help the same way he continued to buy his way into our lives.
In that respect he was no different than his half-brother. K
arl had manipulated me into believing he was someone he wasn’t; Ira tried to manipulate me with his wealth. I couldn’t help but wonder about the dearly departed Isidore Pollack. Had he, too, been a manipulator, or did both his sons inherit some long dormant manipulator gene?
As much as it bothered me that Ira was insinuating himself deeper and deeper into my family, I was grateful that I didn’t have to spend the day lugging cartons and hauling furniture. I only had to help Mama unpack, sort, and find places for all her belongings.
To my surprise, Lawrence arrived at the apartment with little besides a few suitcases of clothing and a carton of books. “Where are all Lawrence’s things?” I asked Mama as we unpacked and washed her china.
Mama screwed up her face. “Cynthia donated all his belongings to charity after she moved him into the McMansion. She didn’t even tell him until the Salvation Army had hauled everything away.”
“That’s awful!”
“That’s Cynthia. Lawrence said if he had to do it all over again, he would have raised her with a lot more discipline and a lot less giving in, no matter how much she whined. You know the worst part?”
“What?”
“He sees Ira making the same mistakes.”
I glanced into the living room where Ira’s kids sat zombie-like on the sofa, watching a movie. They were the only ones not helping unpack the apartment. Ira and Lawrence were in the bedroom, assembling the bed, while Alex placed towels and sheets in the linen closet, Nick filled the hall coat closet, and Zack hung pictures for Mama.
Surely, Ira could have assigned some task to his kids. Even nine and eleven-year-olds are capable of drying dishes or unpacking and shelving books. Instead, the moment he arrived with his kids, Ira set about connecting the television to the cable box to keep Melody, Harmony, and Isaac from dying of boredom.
Is there a Twelve Step Program for over-indulgent parents? I wondered what Ira was like before his first wife became ill and died. Maybe his obsessive need to please came from insecurity and the fear of losing another loved one, not simply from poor parenting skills. Either way, the man needed professional help before his kids turned out like Cynthia. Or worse.
