Little Black Box Set

by Tabatha Vargo

  I was choosing to pick my battles when it came to him. Technically, I had already won since he was actually going to the doctor. I didn’t need to push my luck.

  Two hours later, when he pushed through the bar entrance, I breathed a little easier. Up until that moment, he hadn’t gotten any better, but sending him off to the doctor alone had made me feel like I might never see him again.

  “What did they say?” I asked with my arms crossed over my chest.

  I nibbled at my thumbnail as the nerves took over while I waited for him to answer.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he took a seat at one of the stools and rested his elbows on top of the bar.

  “Pour me some of the good stuff, kid.”

  He tapped the top of the counter twice.

  Pushing away from my spot against the register, I grabbed a shot glass from beneath the bar and poured him a drink. Sliding it across to him, I poured one for myself.

  “Is that part of the doctor’s orders?” I asked, pointing at his shot glass with my own before I downed the fiery liquid.

  “Yep.”

  He lifted his shot and poured it down the back of his throat.

  I sighed, my patience wearing thin.

  “What did they say?” I asked again.

  He eyed me over the rim of his glass before he set it down on the counter with a loud clank.

  “Pneumonia.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”

  “I’m pretty sure that is a big deal, Clive.”

  He waved me off. “They said it was a touch. It’s basically a glorified cold. They gave me some meds.” He pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket and tossed it onto the bar. “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

  I eyed him suspiciously.

  Part of me worried there was something more, but an even bigger part of me wanted to believe what he was saying was the truth.

  A glorified cold.

  We could handle that.

  No biggie.

  “You were gone for a long time. Anything else happen?”

  He tapped the counter, and I poured him another shot. He downed it before answering me.

  “I had to make another stop.”

  He slid from the barstool and walked away.

  I followed right behind him.

  “Where?”

  “Hey, I don’t ask you where you go and what you do every time you leave.”

  I rolled my eyes and leaned against the doorframe of the supply room.

  “That’s because I never go anywhere, old man.”

  “Well, maybe you should change that so I can be nosy every once in a while. See how you like it.”

  “Go where?” I chuckled. “I’m here all the time. I have no time to make friends.”

  Not that I wanted any.

  Friends were highly overrated.

  “Plenty of girls eye you when they come to the bar. Ever think about making one of them your girlfriend?”

  I cringed. “Hell, no. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life. I’m good right here running Mike’s with you.”

  He looked up from his papers with a smirk.

  “Oh, so you’re running the place now?”

  I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  At that, he laughed.

  “Since I’m here running things, maybe you should get a girlfriend. Since you’re so fond of the idea.”

  He scoffed. “There’s no hope for an old man like me.”

  It was then that the coughing fit started. He grabbed a tissue and covered his mouth as his body weakened with each cough.

  “You sure you’re okay, Clive?”

  He looked up at me, stuffing the tissue into his pocket, and I knew he could sense my worry.

  “For now, I’m fine.” He swallowed hard, choking back a cough. “But there’s going to be a time when I’m not. I’m old. It’s bound to happen. When that time comes, you’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  I nodded.

  I opened my mouth to say more, but nothing came out. He needed to know how much I appreciated everything he had done for me, but the words wouldn’t come out. The fear of losing him, as well, was too much. I just hoped deep down he knew what he meant to me.

  “Promise you’ll tell me if you get worse?”

  He sighed but nodded.

  “Fine, but you have to promise you’ll try harder to make friends and meet a nice girl.”

  I laughed.

  “Fine.”

  I had no intention of finding a girlfriend, but if it made Clive happy to think I was looking, then so be it. My focus was getting him better, and then maybe I would try to fulfill my end of the promise. Maybe I would find my Jessica Rabbit and settle down.

  It wasn’t likely, but he didn’t need to know that.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  FROM THAT CONVERSATION ON, I DREAMED ABOUT AN ENIGMA.

  My Jessica Rabbit.

  Even when I spent time with the other ladies in my book, my thoughts would go back to the mystery girl without a face that I dreamed about almost every night. The only thing I could remember when I woke was her eyes and her mouth.

  Misty green pools and a set of luscious pouty lips.

  It didn’t make any sense to become obsessed with a dream, but it was happening. It was embarrassing, to say the least. I was a man who had women, yet the only woman who seemed to keep my attention wasn’t even real.

  That wasn’t the only bad thing going on around me. A month passed after Clive’s appointment, but it seemed to me that he never really got better. In fact, I was pretty sure he was getting worse. But the more I nagged him about it, the more he hid his sickness. Tucking away into corners to cough and hiding his blood-trickled tissues.

  I stepped into his office to find him having another coughing fit. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with a tissue and went about his business as if he hadn’t almost coughed up his lungs.

  “This is stupid,” I said, interrupting him and making him snap his head up in my direction. “Why don’t you just take the night off and relax? Let me oversee things for once.”

  He chuckled, and his voice sounded rougher than usual.

  “Keep dreaming, kid.”

  I moved into his space, taking a seat on the old chair in front of his desk.

  “I’m serious. I can do this. You taught me everything you know.”

  He shook his head, his jaw tightening at my words.

  “I’m sorry, kid, but no.”

  I tried a different approach.

  “I really need you to get better. Working all the time isn’t making you better.”

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

  “I’m fine, for the hundredth time. Now get out of here and let me finish.”

  I wanted to stand there and argue. I was as stubborn as the old man was, but I wanted him to get better not have a stroke from arguing with me.

  “Fine,” I mumbled.

  I left and made myself useful, stocking heavy boxes and doing all the things I didn’t want him to have to do.

  Hours later, we were too busy for me to find time to stress over Clive and his sickness.

  “What can I get you, sweetheart?” I asked without looking up.

  All I knew was it was a woman, and women loved it when I called them pet names. That was one of the first things I learned when Clive finally let me start bartending. The more pet names I gave out, the bigger my tips were at the end of the night.

  “Jack and Coke to start with, and then maybe your phone number to finish?”

  I looked up to find her staring back at me with a sly smile.

  She was cute in a sweet and innocent kind of way. Her short auburn bob and round face instantly reminded me of Velma from Scooby Doo.

  She wasn’t like the usual women I spent my time with, but suddenly, she appealed to me. I was having a hard time with my ladies since my dream woman seemed to be coming out of my dreams and affecting my real life. Maybe a change was what I needed.
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br />   I smiled at her and cheered inside when a sweet blush spread across her plump cheeks.

  “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

  We flirted on and off for the next hour, and when closing time rolled around, she was one of the last stragglers hanging around. I watched as she said goodnight to the girls she had come with and then made her way over to the bar where I was. It was Thursday, and we only stayed open until ten on weeknights.

  “I know it’s kind of late, but I know a great diner on Jefferson Street that’s open all night and makes the greasiest cheeseburgers on this side of the Village. It will be the second-best thing you ever put in your mouth. Want to go grab one with me?”

  I grinned and continued to wipe the same spot over and over again.

  “Oh, really. And what’s the best thing?” I flirted back.

  She looked down, letting her hair fall on her face before looking back up at me through the lush strands.

  “Me.”

  I chuckled, liking the way she brazenly flirted. She looked so innocent and sweet, and to hear her say such dirty things was a major turn-on.

  Still, I couldn’t leave Clive to close out on his own. As it was, I was trying to do as much as I could so he wouldn’t have to.

  “That sounds delicious, but I have to take a rain check on that. My old man …” I started, nodding at Clive. “He hasn’t been feeling very—”

  “Get out of here, kid,” Clive said, cutting me off.

  “But …”

  “I said get the hell out of here. Go have some fun. You promised.”

  He pulled the cloth from my fingers and started cleaning the bar top.

  The last thing I wanted to do was go out. Not because I didn’t want to.

  I did.

  I hadn’t been fucked properly in a month, and something about Velma, which was what I officially named her, told me she could give me the night I needed.

  My little black book had been put on hold as soon as I saw that Clive was getting worse. I couldn’t leave him.

  What if he needed me?

  “I’ll be fine!” he yelled out. “Now, get the hell out of here before I fire you.”

  He pushed me from behind the bar and took my coat off the hanger, tossing it at me.

  I caught it in the air before it could hit me in the face.

  “Go stuff your face.” He winked. “I don’t want to see your face again until at least noon.

  Velma looked back at me with a smile as she shrugged her shoulders and waited for me to respond.

  “Fine, but I’ll be back before noon. Please make sure you turn the heaters on this time. And close that damn window in the kitchen. You’re letting all the winter in through that damn thing. We’re going to end up freezing our asses off one of these nights.”

  I was procrastinating.

  Thinking of every reason I could to stay with him a little longer.

  It was weird how badly I didn’t want to leave him, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew he was right. I needed a night away, and I was sure he probably wanted a night away from me, as well.

  Clive waved a hand at me, dismissing everything I said. “Get, kid.”

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I repeated firmly.

  “And I’ll be here.”

  “You’d better,” I mumbled as I turned to Velma. “You ready?” I asked.

  I had to go. If I didn’t, I would never hear the end of it. Besides, I was only going to be gone a few hours. Nothing would happen to him in a few hours.

  I pulled open the bar door and moved so Velma could go out ahead of me.

  “Oh, before we do this, you should probably know my name is …”

  I stopped her, covering her pouty lips with my warm palm.

  “Velma. Tonight, your name is Velma. Got it?”

  Her eyes lit up with excitement. Some women were weirded out with my cartoon obsession and the need to keep myself separated from them mentally. But more often than not, they enjoyed the mystery of me and the fun of being someone else in bed.

  Turning before I left, I took Clive in once more. He scrubbed at the bar and cracked his neck.

  “Night, Clive.”

  “Night, kid,” he said, smiling up at me with a smile I hadn’t seen since he started getting sick.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I GOT HOME JUST AS THE SUN WAS COMING UP. When I walked in, I was relieved to see that Clive had turned on the heaters before bed.

  It was dark in the living room, so I flipped on a light. Peeling off my coat, I tossed it onto the couch and frowned when frigid air met my arms. Despite the heaters being on, it was still freezing in the place.

  “What the hell?” I grumbled as I turned to the kitchen.

  He hadn’t closed the window. I rushed over and closed it, cursing as the cold morning air met my arms. And that was when I saw him.

  The door to his bedroom was open, and instead of sleeping in his bed, he was sprawled out on the floor.

  I took off to his room, stumbling into the wall as I made my way inside. I pushed the door open farther, and it slammed into the wall with a loud bang. Still, he didn’t move.

  “Clive?” I called out from the doorway.

  When he didn’t respond, my lungs ached with the sudden stop of my breath.

  “Clive!” I called out louder.

  I moved into the room, my feet feeling like twenty-pound weights, and moved above him. His eyes were closed, his mouth opened just a bit, and I squeezed my eyes shut and silently prayed that he was just sound asleep.

  “Clive,” I whispered desperately, hoping his eyes would pop open and he would bitch about me waking him.

  He didn’t move.

  I bent over and shook him, and when he didn’t move, I just knew.

  Pressing my fingers against his neck where his pulse would be, I was met with no movement.

  Clive was dead.

  My father was dead.

  The only family I had ever had in my entire life was dead.

  Everything inside me shut down. Everything Clive had restored in my soul over the past few years collapsed, and my impenetrable walls fell back into place with a loud slam.

  If I couldn’t feel anything, then it wouldn’t hurt.

  If I couldn’t feel anything, then I wouldn’t die inside knowing the only person who gave two shits about me was no longer a part of our world.

  I moved away from his cold body and walked in a zombie-like state into the living room to call 911. As soon as I hung up the phone, I left the apartment. Being there knowing he was lying lifeless just a few walls away from me was too much.

  Fifteen minutes later, the paramedics found me downstairs at the bar. I remained on my barstool as I pointed at the stairs without a word. Another paramedic began questioning me, but I was only capable of single words.

  No full sentences.

  No emotional pleas.

  Just a word for every question.

  “What time did you find him?”

  “Seven,” I mumbled, not even sure that my answer was correct.

  I just knew the sun was coming up, and it usually did that around seven.

  I kept my head down, focusing on my fingernail as I picked at it.

  “And he was already deceased when you found him?”

  I nodded, my head feeling heavy and weak.

  “Yes.”

  Before the paramedic could ask me another question, the sound of more voices brought my attention to the stairs where they were wheeling Clive’s body out of the apartment.

  Our home.

  My family’s home.

  The only true home I had ever known.

  “I just have one more question,” he said.

  I nodded, my eyes stuck on the sheet covered body of the man I called my father.

  “What is your relationship to Mr. Brown?”

  It was strange hearing him call Clive, Mr. Brown. I had always known that was his name, but it was rare that I heard it.

  T
hey wheeled Clive outside and lifted him into the back of the coroner’s van. I turned away to look back at the paramedic, and one of my walls slipped out of place, allowing a single tear to roll down the side of my cheek.

  “I’m his son.”

  And no matter what, he would always be my father.

  As soon as they pulled away with his body, I locked the bar and left. I couldn’t be there without him. It wasn’t right.

  I stayed out all day and throughout the night. The thought of returning to an empty place was sickening. Instead, I froze on the streets as if I didn’t have a warm place to stay. I figured I might as well get used to it again.

  Word of Clive’s death filled the streets, and anyone who didn’t already know found out when they tried to go to the bar only to find it closed.

  By the time I got up the nerve to return, it was already morning again. When I opened the door to the bar, the rising sun filled the dead space with a dusty morning glow.

  I slammed the door behind me and locked it before I moved straight to the bar and pulled out two bottles of Jack. I unscrewed the first bottle and brought it to my lips to swallow down a mouthful. The liquid splashed over the top when I slammed the bottle down on the bar top.

  Gripping the edge of the bar, I breathed hard. All I could see was everyone who ever existed in my world and exited.

  Deloris.

  Jane.

  Vick.

  And finally Clive.

  Whether it was me running from them or them dying on me, everyone was gone, and there was only me.

  Nothing.

  No one’s son.

  No one’s anything.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, all I could see was Clive’s lifeless body. My nostrils flared as I pulled oxygen in, but it seemed to get stuck somewhere on the way to my lungs.

  I didn’t want to see Clive anymore. It was enough that I had nightmares about the people I murdered, but to see the body of the man I cared for—my father—was the last thread holding the seams of me together.

  I dug my fists into my eyes, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase the image. So until I could, I would drink.

  I’d drink every ounce of alcohol in Clive’s bar if it meant it would all just go away. I would drink until I couldn’t remember anything.