by D. M. Guay
I'd like to tell you that my two days off were relaxing, rejuvenating even, but no.
Mom kept poking her head into my room to say hello and to see if I was “okay” or “needed anything,” which I suspected were code words for “are you on drugs? Are you high right now? How did it come to this? Where did I go wrong? I'm a terrible mother! Hurp hurp ha hurp.”
I mean, I'm guessing. But when you live with the same chick as long as I have, you pick up on a few things. Every time I went downstairs, I half expected to find a handful of loved ones sitting in a semicircle in the living room, flanking my sobbing mother, ready to stage an intervention. She'd been on me for two days like white on rice.
Speaking of rice, I was absolutely starving. Angel eight ball followed me around for two whole days lecturing me about diet and exercise. When the judgmental comments didn't alter my habits, he upped his game. He knocked a root beer out of my hand. He hopped out of the meatloaf dish and broke my plate when I went back for seconds. He slipped me a bowl of straight up plain lettuce, no dressing, by scooting it across the kitchen island when my Mom wasn't looking.
Seriously. Can't. Deal. I even caught him in the pantry hiding the Doritos behind the cat food bin. He said, “Eat carrots, fatty” before he rolled away.
My stomach rumbled. I was so hungry, I could eat my hand.
And don't get me started on my crazy-go-nuts employee manual. I caught it dragging the month-old remains of a half-eaten ham sandwich out from under my dresser in the middle of the night. I said don't judge. I told you I'm working on the cleanliness and godliness thing. He and Gertrude even got into it. I had to put her outside after she hissed and swatted at it.
Work wasn't shaping up to be any better. When I walked up to the front door of Demon Mart at ten on the dot, thanks to my “Wake up or God will smite you” alarm clock—which consisted of the entire house shaking, Gertrude nearly being struck by lightning, and Angel Eight-Ball falling directly onto my genitals from what felt like one hundred yards up—there were at least fifteen pixies gnawing on that discarded pumpkin spice fritter.
Dude.
They did not even care that it'd been lying outside on a dirty sidewalk for two days, visited by flies and stepped on by human shoes. (It had a boot print on it. I swear.) No sirree. They fought each other for crumbs, shoving dirty scraps into their mouths, grunting and groaning like it was delicious.
The sad part? I was so hungry, I wanted to shoo them away so I could eat it.
Bump. Ow. A guy walked right into me like I wasn't there. My shoulder snapped like a slingshot. “Hey. Watch it!”
“Uuuuuuuh?” He stopped walking. He had his back to me. He stood there for a minute, hunched over and swaying.
Well, that's odd. Maybe he tied one on a little too hard at the Temptations Tavern.
“You okay, buddy?”
His head turned, and he sniffed the air, up and around, his nose moving like a rabbit's. Uh oh. Maybe he's not drunk. Maybe he's the walking dead. Hard to tell. Could go either way.
“Are you okay?” I backed up slowly while I waited for his answer, putting one hand on the door. Because yes, I was totally gonna turn tail and run if this guy was a zombie.
He shuffled around to face me. Drool trickled from the corners of his mouth. He seemed to be looking past me, not at me. He lurched forward and said, “huuuuuungreeeeeee.”
Phew. Drunk it is! Because zombies can't talk, right? Right? (This is the part where I really need you to agree with me so I can feel better.)
He reached out to me and said, “buuuuuurger.”
“Across the street, buddy.” I pointed at Monster Burger.
His gaze followed my finger. Then he shuffled the rest of the way around, and off he went across the parking lot, drawn to the giant green Frankenstein like a moth to a flame.
Wow. Dude needed to cut back on the booze. I did feel a little bad for him, though. He really needed to eat down that buzz, but he was gonna be waiting a while. Monster Burger had quite a line. Around the block. Again.
I went inside. Kevin had one of his back up Monster Burger combos laid out on the counter, eighty percent eaten. And oh my God, I knew Monster Burger didn't taste as good as it used to, but the sight of it made my mouth water. “Guys.” I held my stomach, hoping to curtail the rumble. “The pixies are back and they are all over those pumpkin spice doughnuts.”
“Muhmmm vummmm mummmm.” Kevin's cheeks were so stuffed full of food he couldn't close his mouth, but it was pretty clear it was not a proclamation of joy. His face flushed a shade darker. He shook his tiny roach fists. Then, he disappeared behind the counter and emerged with a fresh new draw-string garbage bag. He stomped to the edge of the counter, swallowed hard and said, “Kid. Call Henrietta and ask her why the Pixie Rid is taking so long. Tell her we need a whole case. Now watch and learn. Uncle Kev's about to take out the trash.”
He said it like an action movie one liner. He jumped off the counter, tucked and rolled across the welcome mat, and slipped through the door crack. And got stuck. His back half wiggled. “Can you give me a hand, kid? Oof. The door must be crooked or something.”
I opened the door for him and noticed that he was bigger around the middle than he used to be. He waddled outside, pulling the garbage bag behind him. A second later, he was kick-boxing pixies and pulling the remains of that pumpkin spice fritter into the trash bag.
“I really hope those are regular doughnuts. We sure don't need mutant pixies around here.” DeeDee, clad in elbow-length rubber gloves, stood emptying a pink watering can over the Larries' pot.
Holy shit. Big Larry was Bigger Larry, so tall his giant melon head had to hunch to keep from bumping out the ceiling tiles. The baby Larries' sock puppet heads had doubled in size, and each was sucking on a Colossal Super Slurp cup filled with Spanish Fly. Not sucking, so much as rattling. The cups were empty.
“Can you give the boys a refill? I can't keep up. These babies are the hungriest we've ever had.”
Sigh. I collected an armload of empty cups and shuffled to the slushy machine. Another day, another dollar, right?
I had just about filled the last cup when the front door chimed. I assumed it was Kevin, but the look on DeeDee's face said otherwise. She nearly dropped her jaw and her watering can. Even the Larries all froze in place, not so much as a leaf or root moving.
Great. There was a monster behind me, wasn't there? I turned around, slowly, and when I saw what was there, I wished I hadn't. I should've stayed home where it was safe. It was a monster all right. The worst kind.
Caroline Ford Vanderbilt stood in the doorway. Well, stood isn't quite the right word. She balanced on the sleekest, most advanced set of shiny black crutches I had ever seen. Of course. If designer crutches existed anywhere in the world, Caroline Ford Vanderbilt would own them.
An impossibly long man held the door open for her. He had to be nearly seven feet tall. He wore a black double breasted suit, a chauffeur's hat, and a frown. The brim of his hat cast his eyes into complete shadow. He stood silently by the door as Caroline Ford Vanderbilt click click clicked in on her top-dollar crutches.
Caroline Ford Vanderbilt. Ugh. Where do I even start?
She's the snooty socialite who's so upper crust she uses two full last names. Her family was a founding member of the Country Club, and she never let you forget it. She was head of the Charity Ladies' Auxiliary, not from any philanthropic urge, but because she enjoyed bossing people around. She also gave birth to my high school arch nemesis, snooty Yale law student and head cheerleader Madison Ford Vanderbilt. (Three last names. See what I mean?) Oh and did I mention Caroline Ford Vanderbilt was once possessed by a failed Internet cult leader in aisle five? Yeah. It didn't end well. That's why she needed those designer crutches. At one point, her foot was on backward.
Caroline wore a long fur coat—real fur—and stood up stick straight. She usually did. Better posture put her surgically perfected nose at a higher angle. Better for looking down it. At you.
Although, she had a little medical assistance with her posture tonight. A fat black cast ran up one leg, from her toes all the way up her pencil skirt, and although I couldn't see it, I'm pretty sure it went up over her hips. I mean, that cult leader had busted her thigh into bits and worn it backward. You didn't get up and walk away from an injury like that.
“Is that you, Lloyd? Why, I didn't know you still worked here!” Caroline's voice was sweet and sticky as syrup, as she glanced around the store with a tight mouth, obviously disgusted. “It's so great you still have this little job. More businesses should employ those with special needs. It's such a noble cause.”
Oh, did I forget to tell you? Caroline Ford Vanderbilt believed that I was in some way disabled. I didn't know why. Maybe in her world, that was the only conceivable reason a man my age would live at home and work in a convenience store.
“I see you have an aide now.” She turned to DeeDee and grinned, baring perfectly white straight teeth, capped to disguise the shark teeth that lay underneath. “It takes a special person to do what you do. I couldn't do it, personally. The salary. My word! Peanuts! But I suppose this is more of a calling than a career. I'm Caroline Ford Vanderbilt, and you are?”
DeeDee said nothing. Caroline had met DeeDee before, but she wasn't high enough status to remember.
“Lloyd is a capable adult and can take care of himself,” DeeDee said, ice cold.
“Oh, yes. Yes, you certainly are. Bless your heart.” She leaned in and pinched my cheek. Her fingers clamped hard, like manicured vice grips. “There's nothing more heartwarming than people who overcome difficult circumstances.”
My entire face burned. Dear Jesus, why? In front of DeeDee? I wished I could melt into the floor and disappear.
“What brings you in tonight?” DeeDee inserted herself between me and Caroline, like a human shield.
No, DeeDee, no! Stay out of the line of fire!
“I meant to stop by days ago, but I have been such a busy little bee. Cocktail hours, tee times. I'm president of the welcome committee at the Country Club, you know. It was a stretch, but I just had to pop by to meet my new neighbors.”
Mic drop. What?
She opened her big brown Louis Vuitton bag and pulled out a stack of glossy business cards, which she handed to me. “These are for you. A token of goodwill. And yes, I have some for you as well, sir.”
She held out more cards, but they weren't for me. I turned around. Doc, clad in a blue work jumpsuit and brandishing an oily wrench, had stepped out of the beer cave. He took one look at Caroline, said nothing and walked right back into the beer cave.
“Well, I never. Some cultures just do not value manners and civility. Now, where was I? Oh yes. As I always tell my friends, you must be kind to the locals when you're revitalizing a downtrodden area. The poor have endured so much already.” Caroline shook her head and tried to look like she had empathy, which must be extra hard when your face is frozen by that much Botox. “You know, I really admire the poor. So thrifty. Pinching pennies. Minimum wage. Can you imagine? It's such a romantic, old-fashioned ideal.”
While Caroline waxed philosophical, I glanced at the cards. They were coupons for free Monster Burger meals. There had to be forty of them here. Oh God. Did that mean? “Monster Burger?”
That was all that came out. Seriously. No wonder she thought I had problems.
“Why yes. You dear sweet boy. My business partner and I are reviving that sad old restaurant across the street. It was such a unique opportunity, we just couldn't pass it up. It's the first step in turning this neighborhood around. It's certainly overdue for reinvestment. We have a vision that will revitalize this corner and bring prosperity to all. After we sweep out the trash, of course.”
It was subtle, but I could swear her eyes darted between me and DeeDee as she said it. Yep. We were the trash.
“Our commercial corridors reflect who we are as a community. They should meet the same rigorous standards we set for our residential neighborhoods, don't you think? The restaurant is just the start. You won't even recognize this neighborhood in a year!”
Jesus. She sounded like a real estate brochure.
Click. Click. Click. She clopped over to Big Larry, who hadn't moved a leaf or a root since Caroline walked in. “Goodness, what an interesting plant.” Her nose squinched up like she'd smelled something bad, and to be fair, she probably did. Big Larry's diet didn't lend itself to floral notes. “Is it real? So exotic.”
She rubbed one of his leaves like she was trying to figure out if he was alive or plastic. I knew that rub. My Mom did that at TJ Maxx. A lot. Like every single time, even though the plants there were always plastic.
That's when Kevin pushed open the front door, dragging the trash bag behind him. Except this time it had something in it, and that something was moving. Well, shit. He put the pixies in there, along with the doughnut, didn't he?
“Damn straight. Disgusting jerks.” He jabbed a leg up at the chauffeur. “What's up with Lurch?”
I pointed at Caroline.
“Good luck with that.” Kevin shook his head, then cracked open the stock room door and dragged that wiggling trash bag in back.
Caroline turned around and looked at DeeDee, head to toe, like she was seeing her for the first time. “My. That's a bold outfit. I just love how you don't care how you come across.”
A dozen of Larry's arms—stems?—rose up behind Caroline, and the tiny mouths on the ends opened up, baring spiky yellow teeth. The Larries lunged at her like she was lunch. Easy mistake. They liked to eat rotten meat, and Caroline was rotten to her core.
“Bad Larry!” DeeDee swatted Larry's vines as they moved to grab Caroline. “Bad!”
“Anyhoo,” Caroline cooed, unaware that she was almost lunch for Satan's ficus. “Please do come see us at the restaurant. Food is free for all the neighbors. Company policy! It's the least we can do.” She closed her eyes, tilting her head like a statue of the Virgin Mary, as she attempted to look pious, as if free burgers would save the world. “Well, I really must be going. This area can become quite unseemly at night. Stay strong. We'll change that.”
The looming silent chauffeur held open the front door, and Caroline Ford Vanderbilt click click clicked right on out into the parking lot. We watched him insert Caroline into the backseat of a Hummer stretch limo.
“Let me see that,” DeeDee snatched a coupon out of my hand and flipped it over and over. “There has to be a catch.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The broken leg? The possession? She sued Faust and the store.”
I shouldn't be surprised. Caroline liked to sue. She convinced the school board to fire my middle school gym teacher because a kid accidentally kicked a soccer ball into the side of her SUV while she was in the carpool line.
“She lost, even though she subpoenaed the security tapes.”
Gulp. Cue Reddit thread with video proof of ghosts/monsters, starring me in three...two...one. “Oh, God.”
“Don't worry. There are a zillion magic spells on this place. The lawyers and the judge saw Caroline deliberately squirting dish soap on the floor, falling, then paramedics taking her out. It looked like she did the slip and fall on purpose. Case dismissed. Frivolous lawsuit. Still, Faust paid all of her medical bills. I mean, he's not a monster. Well, he is, but you know what I mean.”
“That still seems dishonest.”
“Yeah. It is. And if it were anyone but Caroline, I'd feel bad,” DeeDee said. “But this is the way it has to be. There can't be any evidence. We've got the answers to the mysteries of heaven and hell, life and death, what lies beyond. We can't let that out. It'd be a nightmare. If Jesus' face on a screen door can draw a crowd of a thousand people, can you imagine the mob of crazies that would descend on us?”
“Good point.”
“Anyway, when her case was dismissed, Caroline lost it. I mean, she unraveled. Faust offered her a million-dollar settlement, but she refused to take it. She said it wa
sn't enough. She said she'd find a way to ruin him.”
A million dollars? She must be nuts. That was a lot of Prada.
“She's up to something. She didn't buy the business right across the street from us for the good of the neighborhood. Hmmm. What's this?” DeeDee pointed at some impossibly tiny marks on the bottom of the coupon, so small they looked like scratches. She put the card nearly up to her nose. “HHNF, Inc. dba Monster Burger. Not responsible for any injury that may occur from use of this product. Interesting.”
“What does that even mean?” Did you catch that? Reminds me of every online terms and conditions form I'd ever ignored before I clicked “agree.”
“Well, dba means 'doing business as,' which means HHNF is some sort of parent company, which must be owned by Caroline and her mystery business partner.” She slipped the coupon into her pocket. “This one's mine. For research. Because if Faust didn't buy Monster Burger, we really need to find out who did. Caroline is definitely in over her head if she's got a zombie permit.”
“Are those coupons for free food?” Kevin had somehow managed to scuttle back to the counter. He was lying on his burger wrapper, surrounded by crumbs. His midsection was bulging and taught. He looked like he'd swallowed a tire, whole. Okay, a Barbie tire, but still.
Pffffffffffffffffffrrrrpppppttttt.
And...that was a roach fart.
“Oof. Excuse me. Something must a hit a bump on the way down, heh heh. Why don't you run across the street and get me a Number Three, kid? No onions. I'm starving.”
“What are you talking about?” DeeDee asked. “You've got a dozen combos in the fridge.”
“I had combos. I ate them all. Now I got none. Zero,” Kevin said. “And I'm starving.”
“Are you telling me you ate all fourteen combo meals already?”
“Sweetheart, I finished those off yesterday, and I'm too tired to keep walking all the way over there on these tiny legs to get more. I been there four times today already. A man's gotta eat.”
We looked at Kevin in disbelief.
“What? They taste good, and I'm hella hungry. Maybe I'm hitting a growth spurt or something. Who knows? So come on, kid. Do me a solid. Walk one of those coupons across the street and bring me back a free meal. I'm a roach. It's not like I have a lot of sources of joy in my life.”
