His Favorite Girl

by Steph Sweeney

  A quick laugh escaped my lips. “The talk? Really?”

  “Not that kind of talk,” he said, and suddenly his demeanor turned gloomy. Even his eyes seemed to dull, like two tiny patches of blue sky amidst dark clouds.

  “I was ten,” he said. “Brian was seven and already doing better than me in our lessons. We were all homeschooled—I don’t know if I told you that. My father used to scoff at people for allowing strangers to influence their children. He was a different kind of man. Some of my earliest memories are of him ranting to my mother about taking over the world. She thought he was crazy, so naturally I did too. Brian and I used to argue about it. Being the youngest, we had to share a bedroom. Clifton slept on a cot in the laundry room, and Sean had a room to himself. They were both older, in high school, chasing girls, sneaking liquor from Dad’s office, so Brian and I kind of stuck together, despite our differences.”

  “What differences?”

  “Brian was the favorite, and he knew it. When Mom died, I guess Dad put all his stock in Brian, being the last of us. The golden child, destined to be the super-genius in a family of geniuses—well, except for Clifton. Sean and I never lived up to Dad’s expectations. Sean because he didn’t give a damn. Me because I wasn’t cold and heartless like the rest of them. And not smart enough, I suppose. I’m the only one out of the bunch who took after our mother. I didn’t know her long, but from what I remember she was a kind woman. She put on a smile every day, no matter what Dad put her through.”

  He stopped for a moment, shaking his head.

  I waited.

  “You don’t want to hear this stuff,” he said.

  “Yes I do.”

  “It gets pretty ugly.”

  “Patton, all things considered, I think that goes without saying.”

  He nodded slowly, pursing his lips.

  Then he sighed and continued: “I walked in on them one night. I was four. The memory is cloudy now, but I know it was my mother’s screaming that drew me to the bedroom. He had her tied to the bed and he was standing at the foot holding out a broom like a sword. Fucking her with it from a distance.”

  “Good God, Patton.”

  “And when he saw me standing there, he chased me down the hall with it, screaming at me to stop. So I stopped and turned around and he swung at me. Hit me in the neck. I don’t remember the pain, but I do remember …”

  The wetness.

  I waited for him to say it, and I was glad when he moved on instead.

  “Anyway, long story short, my Dad was a sadomasochistic, abusive alcoholic with an ego the size of Alaska. World domination, like I said. When he brought Brian and me to his office that day, that’s one of the things he talked about. It was the first day of summer break. Dad went along with the county’s public school schedule. He said kids needed time away from their studies to explore and develop independence. Sometimes on a whim he would kick Brian and me out of the house and not let us back in for three days. We had to find ways to feed ourselves, find places to sleep. Sometimes we stayed in the woods a few miles down the road from our neighborhood. Sometimes we’d stay at a friend’s house, but that always meant taking a beating when we got home. Begging was the way of bums, he’d say. I guess he expected us to forage from trashcans. I don’t know. I keep getting off track.”

  “Keep going,” I said. “Just keep talking.”

  He took a bite of his cheeseburger and looked up at the ceiling while he chewed. I took the opportunity to scarf down some of my hash browns.

  “You asked where I’d begin my autobiography, and I said the day Dad took us into his office. Ten and seven, mind you, and the first thing he did was pour us each a glass of bourbon and told us to sit down and drink. I could barely stomach it. Just the one glass had us both hammered. And then we just sat there in those big leather chairs and listened while he talked. He told us we would be coming to work for him when we graduated college. That Brian would pursue an education in chemistry. Medicine for me. He was interested in pharmaceuticals, psychology, mind control. This was four years before World War II broke out. Also four years before Freud died. Dad used to say something like, ‘They’re going to invent all kinds of new diseases with psychology, and then they’ll invent drugs to treat those diseases. The profit potential is endless.’ That’s what he wanted to get into, and he was putting all his faith in Brian to grow up and make the next big medicinal discovery. Like insulin and penicillin.”

  I’d been waiting for him to pause so I could ask a question.

  “Where was Mr. Shriver in all this?”

  “When I was ten? Well let’s see … he’d already graduated from business school, so yeah, he was working for Dad’s company by then. I never saw him. When he came to the house, he was a stranger to us. Just one of Dad’s employees.”

  That made a lot of sense, but something else didn’t.

  “If Brian’s supposed to be the smartest, why didn’t your dad leave the company to him?”

  Silence for a moment while Patton thought. “Two reasons, I think. One, Mr. Shriver was the rightful heir in my father’s eyes. The oldest. But I also remember him saying that a creative mind can’t run a business anymore than an analytical mind can invent a product. If anything, my father had more time invested in Mr. Shriver than the rest of—”

  “Okay, enough with the Mr. Shriver shit. Sorry, but I can’t take it anymore. What’s the asshole’s name?”

  Patton looked down at the table, clearly embarrassed.

  “Okay,” he said. “My father had more time invested in Gene than the rest of us.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  He glared at me. I shrunk away immediately, feeling hurt. “You have no idea what he’s like, Melissa.”

  “Oh really?” I said, getting a little too loud but not caring. All I could think about was Flora—my first Flora—and the look on her face when Sean slit her throat. “No idea, huh? Not a fucking inkling?”

  “No!” He slammed his fist on the table, rattling our plates and silverware and drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Then he closed his eyes and put his hands flat on the table, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’ve seen him order Sean to do terrible things.” He leaned in close, whispering. “But I’m telling you—and I hope you never have to see it—Mr. Shri … Gene … he really is my father’s heir, in personality, in spirit, in every way possible. If you’d seen some of the things I’ve seen, you’d call him Daddy if he said so.”

  “What things?” I asked reluctantly.

  He shook his head. “We need to get back on the road.”

  He called the waitress over to ask for the check. Her hand shook as she lay it face-down on the table. She walked away briskly.

  Patton looked at the check and pulled out a twenty dollar bill from his pocket.

  “How much is the bill?”

  “That’s the business of the person paying,” he said.

  “How much?” I repeated.

  “Fifteen forty-two.”

  “Uh-uh, no way.”

  “What?”

  “Patton, you are not leaving that girl a four-dollar tip.”

  He smiled. “You’re mad because she ignored you.”

  “No, dumbass, I mean you better leave her more than that. You’re a fucking millionaire. Do you have any idea the shit waitresses have to put up with? If you’ve got money, you don’t just tip well—you make up for all the pieces of shit who don’t tip.” I looked away, shaking my head. “Fucking rich people. Jesus.”

  “Will this suffice?”

  I turned. During my rant, he’d laid another hundred dollars on top of the check.

  “That’ll do,” I said.

  We were both in a bitter mood now, and the next several hours passed in silence, except for the radio playing at low volume. I fell asleep twice, but mostly I stared out the window at the increasingly flat fields.

  I didn’t even know we were through Illinois until we hi
t the Iowa state line and crossed through Davenport. I slept through the entire state, waking to signs for Omaha, Nebraska. Here the corn fields consisted of low, lumpy hills, clustered here and there with trees.

  It was late in the afternoon and we were both hungry again. This time we went through a drive-thru at a fast food place I’d never heard of and sat in the parking lot to eat. In the corner of the lot, a group of road workers were sprawled out under a tree, some of them eating, some of them smoking cigarettes. While I choked down my greasy chicken strips, I fantasized about jumping out of the car and screaming that I’d been kidnapped, just to see how they’d react. They were all big, burly men.

  What would Patton do in that situation? Drive off and leave me? Would he be able to deal with half a dozen men who were each twice his size?

  Why did the prospect thrill me so much?

  “I have to pee,” I said.

  Patton waved me off with a mouthful of food, so I stepped out into the blazing heat and started across the parking lot, glancing over at the road workers.

  One of them was staring at me. I probably looked ridiculous wearing pajama pants this time of day—and in public, no less. Then he slapped one of his buddies on the arm and pointed at me, I turned and rushed into the restaurant.

  I sat in the bathroom for ten minutes after I’d peed and washed my hands, enjoying the cool air and the privacy. I read all the little messages scrawled in pen or marker or scratched into the tile wall.

  Tina sux dick.

  Fuck Obama.

  EAT SHIT.

  Hell is real.

  For a good time, call …

  Someone knocked impatiently so I opened the door and jumped aside as a skinny, leathery-skinned woman in a neon green tank top forced her way past me, mumbling something rude.

  Out in the parking lot, the road workers were more boisterous than before. When one of them spotted me, he called out, “Hey, darlin’!”

  I waved politely but kept my head down.

  Until another said, “Lemme see them titties!”

  I don’t know what got into me, but I stopped, turned to the men, and headed in their direction. They laughed as I approached, surprised by this turn of events.

  “What’s your name, baby?” said the one who’d first stared at me.

  “Melissa.”

  “Nice to meet you, Melissa.”

  “You guys want to see my tits, right?”

  That stunned them, and for a moment each was afraid to be the first to speak.

  I raised my shirt up to my neck, showing them my breasts, and immediately heard Patton’s car door open.

  “Nice,” someone mumbled.

  “You want more?” I asked.

  “Hell yeah!” said another.

  Their faces were full of eagerness, excitement. Something they could tell their friends over cheap beer for years and years to come. Most of them had wedding rings on their fingers. They would most likely go home this evening expecting sex from wives who weren’t in the mood—who hadn’t been in the mood for a very long time.

  This wasn’t a treat to these men. It was punishment for their unsuspecting wives. Punishment for staying in unhappy marriages. For reminding me of myself.

  Just as I hooked my thumb in the seam of my pants and started to pull down, I felt Patton’s strong hand hook me by the arm and pull.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He led me to the car and placed me inside like a police officer arresting a criminal.

  When he climbed in and closed the door, he immediately asked, “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “They asked to see my tits.”

  “Melissa!”

  “What Patton?”

  He sighed. “Nothing.”

  Then he pulled out.

  When the bitchiness started to wear off, my mind replaced it with guilt. I’d hurt Patton’s feelings, putting him in that position.

  “I don’t know why I did it,” I said to kill the silence. We were somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, surrounded by corn fields. I’d never seen such a big sky.

  “That makes two of us,” Patton said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t answer to me.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “So if I want you to pull over and let me out, you will.”

  He answered by hitting the brakes and stopping in the gravel emergency lane, kicking up dust all around the car. We sat there for a moment, me staring at Patton, Patton staring out the window, refusing to look at me.

  “If you want to go, then go. I won’t stop you. I can’t promise Sean won’t come after you, but I’m not your warden. If you think of me that way, you might as well get out. But I don’t want to control you. I don’t want to see you hurt. I’ll even buy you a car. Well, we can’t put it in your name.”

  “Wait, what? Why not?”

  He finally looked at me. “You and your husband are both considered missing persons. The minute you show up somewhere alive and Ted is still missing, you’ll become a murder suspect.”

  “Great,” I said, slapping my knee. “That’s just fucking perfect. So even if I do get out of this mess one day, I’ll pretty much be walking right into prison.”

  “So long as Gene still owns the company.”

  Gene. At least Patton was trying to make me happy.

  “Or Brian,” I said.

  Patton smirked. “Brian doesn’t have it in him. He’s smarter than any of us, sure, but he’s a child. He spends too much energy throwing hissy fits and not enough formulating a solid plan. He’ll never outmaneuver Gene.”

  “So why did you even include him?”

  “To keep an eye on him. To keep him in check.”

  I wanted to tell him what Judy had told me, that Brian was planning something on the same day Patton was to interview this professor for Judy’s replacement.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  To be honest, I wanted it to happen, whatever he was planning. It was a chance. What if I spilled the beans to Patton and we went straight back to Your Favorite Girl, Inc., only to find after we’d thwarted Brian’s efforts that the result would have been positive? The death of Mr. Shriver … Gene … whatever his name was. Maybe even Sean as an added bonus.

  “It’s been that way my whole life, really.”

  “What?”

  “Having to keep an eye on Brian.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pulled back out on the road, accelerating slowly. Not that it mattered. There were no other cars in either direction all the way to the horizon.

  “You want to hear a story?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, here goes. One afternoon, Sean brought a girl home from school. Her name was Betsy. A senior but underdeveloped for her age. A notorious virgin, strict religious parents. One of those quiet, well-behaved students who gets picked on for no reason, you know? A little homely about the face, but she had a nice body under the thick wool skirt she wore every day.”

  “God, what did he do to her? Kill the suspense and just tell me.”

  “Clifton used to call Sean the Devirginizer. It was his hobby all through high school. Charm some poor innocent girl, bring her home, and coerce her into sex. Our father was proud of him. They’d even have a drink together after the girl left.”

  “I’m gonna kill this fucker.”

  “This girl, though, she refused him. Not an easy thing to do, even when Sean was a teenager. He’s always had an intimidating presence. That’s why so many girls gave him to him.”

  “But not this girl,” I said hopefully.

  “No.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Sean kicked her out.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. Not in the least.”

  I waited, realizing that my questions were nothing but interruptions.

  Patton continued: “Brian went out and followed her. We lived in
this rich suburb with lots of parks and wooded areas, and the path Betsy took from our house to hers was perfect for someone who’s up to no good. Not that she’d think anything of it. He was ten years old, for God’s sake.” He paused. “A ten-year-old boy genius with a chemistry set.”

  I knew something bad was coming.

  “I still don’t know why he did it,” Patton said. “Maybe there is no reason. Brian has a jealous personality, and I guess he was happy to see Sean fail for once. Maybe he was trying to impress our father. I guess I’ll never know.”

  “Well?”

  He was stalling. When he glanced at me, his eyes told of his regret for having brought it up.

  “He threw hydrochloric acid in her face, and when she fell to the ground he knelt beside her and lit her wool skirt on fire.”

  ─Asphalt─

  WE SHARED a king-sized bed in Cheyenne, Wyoming, both of us too exhausted for sex. The room had a hot tub and a mini-bar, neither of which we touched. It was a very nice hotel with a bed almost as good as the one waiting for me back at Your Favorite Girl, Inc., but I tossed and turned all night. Probably restless from having dosed off so many times in the car.

  I awoke looking straight at the old-fashioned phone on the nightstand, recalling immediately what I’d promised Flora. When I turned over, Patton was sitting at the edge of the bed, already dressed.

  He broke the bad news by simply shaking his head.

  “She’s gonna be so worried.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “You keep saying that. Like you fucking know.”

  “Sleep okay?”

  “Not really.”

  I showered and dressed, this time in jeans. Down in the lobby we ate donuts and pastries with foreign names at the continental breakfast bar.

  Then we got back on the road.

  The entire day consisted of small-talk, rehashing the same discussions about Flora, Brian, Sean, Mr. Shriver, Kate, Clifton—everyone and everything. I actually started to get bored at times and found myself wishing I was back at the company. Partly because my worry for Flora and Judy lingered like a spot in my vision, but mostly I think I’d grown accustomed to having a problem to deal with.

  Out here, a thousand miles away from my problems and climbing, I couldn’t do a thing.