The Last Day For Rob Rhino

by Kathleen O'Donnell

  “Say what?”

  “Hard to believe. I know.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell my mother?”

  Claire laughed. “No. My asking about your dad’s burial wasn’t popular in the first place.”

  “Do you think she knows already?”

  “She might.”

  Connor didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Bet she does. She never let on.”

  “Any idea who’d donate that kind of money?”

  “No,” Connor said with a laugh. “We don’t know anyone with that kind of money.”

  They were both quiet.

  Connor broke the silence. “Except Liam.”

  “Now you’re kidding.” Tired of standing, Claire sat on the edge of the bed. “Your family had been long estranged by then.”

  “Indeed. My mother would’ve never asked Liam for the money.” Claire heard the vacuum start up again. Connor hollered over the noise. “My mother wouldn’t have asked Liam for help of any kind.”

  ****

  Someone had called while she talked to Connor. Her phone didn’t ring this much at home.

  Annabelle.

  “Okay. I talked to Conchita. She’s gonna pack up some stuff and send it tomorrow. You should get it Tuesday. Said she’ll go to the house on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays if you need to reach her. She sends her love. She talked to Jimmy. He extended your reservations at the hotel and the rental car place. She’s sending your prescriptions. Guillermo’s back from Mexico City, whatever that means. Conchita said you’d know. Oh yeah. I’ll throw in your mail.”

  Claire exhaled. It took a village.

  ****

  Claire drove out of town, back to Alex’s, where she’d dropped Rob Rhino a few days earlier. How far was it for God’s sake? She thought only a few miles out of town. She couldn’t keep anything straight.

  Claire passed the strip joints, the churches, the massage parlors, and the dive bars without pause. It felt familiar, nothing out of the ordinary. Hard to impress now, We Strip for Jesus, went almost unnoticed. She drove by Alex’s preoccupied. Oh right. Alex’s. That’s the place. She spun around. The guy honking his horn in the oncoming lane waved his free arm like he was putting out a fire with it.

  “Prick.”

  She careened back and forth across both lanes a few feet before pulling off into the dirt in front of the warehouse. The parking lot teemed with cars, trucks, and SUVs. Only a small spattering of cars dotted the church parking lot across the highway even though it was Sunday. A Corolla pulled out of All Saint’s and drove straight across into Alex’s. The lascivious were giving the Lord a run for his money. Claire drove around a couple times and got lucky. An old VW van pulled out near the entrance.

  At the double doors of Alex’s Claire noticed The Last Day for Rob Rhino on the marquee, unblinking. Marquees in daylight seemed sad. The giant porn warehouse with blacked-out windows sitting underneath didn’t help. Claire pushed through the heavy mirrored doors with both hands.

  “Macho, macho man. I’ve got to be, a macho man. Macho, macho man.”

  The disco music, strobe lights, smell of ash trays, and burnt rubber, hit her in the face. She should run. But didn’t. The party going on kept her riveted.

  Claire walked the center aisle on the Oscar-ceremony red carpet clutching her Prada bag. Metal racks holding God-knows-what, on both sides, stretched as far as Claire’s eyes could see, which wasn’t far with the dim lighting in the warehouse and her head. The voice on the loudspeaker was saying—no clue—she couldn’t understand it over the din. Like lewd lemmings on their way over the ledge everyone scurried in the same direction. Above the pack she saw iron cages suspended from the ceiling. Nude, not-so-skinny women, porn palace hostages, danced inside. One with a live snake wrapped around her neck.

  “Macho, macho man.”

  Yep. Time to run screaming. This was probably a bad idea.

  The crowd parted. With might-as-well-be-naked honeys on both arms Rob Rhino held court center stage. A long line to his left curled around the side of the warehouse where men and women of all shapes and ages gripped Rob Rhino merchandise in their sweaty (didn’t want to know where they’d been) palms waiting for the Ruler of All He Surveyed to give his blessing.

  Claire was about to hightail it out when he homed in on her like a heat-seeking vibrator.

  “Claire. You made it,” he said loud, shook off the bimbos, and skipped over. A communal groan went down the line. “Come with me.”

  Claire stood cemented to the spot.

  Rob scanned the room. “Don’t let this scare you. It’s PR. Just for show.”

  Claire took a tentative step forward. The Village People stopped singing. The naked dancers opened their cages with a clang and started climbing out. Sounded like prison at exercise time. A rope ladder unfolded from a cage and a burly guy in a tight T-shirt with a bright yellow “A” on his chest waited on the ground with a crate and a stick. Must be the snake handler. An identical guy to his right held a robe and a towel. The stripper handler.

  “You’d be a hit here you know,” Rob said.

  Claire peeled her eyes away to look at Rob Rhino and said her first word since entering Sodom. “What?”

  “Bald is a fetish.”

  A vein in Claire’s forehead kept time with the strobes. “Leave it to you, Rob Rhino, to use my condition—”

  “Even better if you were an amputee. Or a midget.”

  “Okay, that’s it—”

  “I’m kidding. There I go again, pissing you off.” He started walking again, leading her by the elbow. “Loosen up. Try to have some fun.”

  “You’re nauseating, Rob Rhino.”

  “You’re uptight, Claire Corrigan. Come meet Alex and the girls. They’ll love you.” He steered her toward the platinum top-heavy titans. “Bald is a fetish,” under his breath, “so are amputees. And midgets—”

  Claire almost said, “Get your mind out of the gutter,” but this was a gutter so she kept her mouth shut.

  Rob introduced her to Cherry and Sundae, the twins, with a straight face. Both girls oohed and aahed over her smooth scalp. More than once Claire opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out—a baby bird waiting for its mother to drop in a worm.

  Alex, a jolly, ZZ Top, bearded lug of a man lunged at Claire. “Fantastic to meet you.” He pumped her arm up and down like her breasts would inflate. “Are you in the business? You’re hot. Love, love, what you’ve got going on up there.” He pointed at her head.

  Did he say she was hot?

  “I’m gonna sign for another fifteen minutes then its breaktime.” Rob winked and turned to the pimply faced kid with a DVD clutched to his concave chest waiting next in line. He looked too young. How much weirder could this get?

  “Hey son, get over here and get your picture taken with me and the twins, Cherry Sundae,” Rob Rhino said their names together, like the dessert, and slapped the kid on his bony back. “It’s another twenty bucks but worth it. No, your mama won’t like it, but your mama’s not here now, is she? She is? Well, let’s get her over here. Make it a quintet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Over here you’ve got your basic anal probes, nipple clamps, butt plugs, and penis extenders,” Alex said.

  He’d volunteered to give Claire a look-see around the warehouse while Rob Rhino finished up with his fans. Claire was anxious to escape the twin’s scalp ministrations (Cherry told Claire her head was the same shape as her grandpa’s), so she went along.

  Penises of all sizes lined one complete wall—large and extra-large sizes. And colors. Fluorescent pink, silver, gold, candy apple red, flesh, and pitch black. Plastic, foam, rubber, fiberglass, and ceramic. Battery operated, strap on, pump-ups, and plain standalone, do-nothin’ dicks. One was tattooed, another starred and striped, and one for the crafters—an embroidered patchwork doozy.

  “Who buys this stuff?” Claire couldn’t believe a who
le warehouse could stay in business full of dick stuff.

  Alex looked out across the sea of people in the packed warehouse. “You’re kiddin’ right?”

  Claire stayed close to Alex who looked disease free at least. Rob Rhino must think he’s trustworthy if he kept coming back. He said they went way back or something like that. You know what they say: the perverts you know are better than the perverts you don’t. She’d need to get her head examined if she got out of there alive.

  “Along here you’ve got your blowups, your ticklers, your strap-ons, your bangers, pumps, and your basic slings.” Alex squeezed a life-sized Angelina Jolie replica with her air-filled legs in a permanent spread eagle and her bee-stung lips in a perfect O. “If we don’t have it here, it doesn’t exist. And we gift wrap.”

  “What a relief at birthday and holiday time,” Claire said.

  Did she live in a bubble? Did these people live among everyone else undetected?

  “Here’re the films. Rob Rhino territory. They’re arranged by category: Anal, Bi, Asian, Black, Evil Empire, Anime, Diabolic...”

  He droned on while Claire tried to take in her surroundings. Big flat screens on the wall ran movies on mute. Claire squinted to get a clearer look. A dark-haired man in scrubs (shirt only) was giving his all to a blonde with a nurse’s uniform bunched up around her waist. In a hospital setting, of course. Good God Almighty... how big was his... Claire clamped her eyes shut. A much younger Rob Rhino. She could’ve lived her whole live without seeing that in high def.

  “My Granny Is a Tranny... Lard Lovers... Screw My Husband, Please... and one of my favorites... Tits Ahoy,” Alex was pulling DVD cases out of the racks, reeling off names to a traumatized Claire.

  “All righty then, is there a place to sit down?” Claire did her best to look peaked. Not tough to do.

  “And over here’s the fetish section... you’ve got your gimps... your knocked up... your fatties... I could get you in here in a sec with that scalp.” Alex stopped. “Oh hey, are you okay? Let’s hit the lounge for a minute or two, how’s that sound?”

  A lounge? God help her. Would CSI know where to look for her body?

  He led her toward the back where the restroom arrows pointed to a small quiet area that looked like the breakroom for employees in any company in America. Except for the six-foot erect penis jutting out from the wall. They sat.

  “Better?” Alex said.

  “Yes thanks,” she said to the enormous penis.

  Claire turned her chair away from the phallus wall art. Sweat beads lined up like a string of pearls across her throat and forehead. Her mouth felt rough. No moisture. She could feel the panic begin its dreaded ascent from her solar plexus. She thought she’d taken a pill a little more than an hour ago. This place was too much. She reached into her purse for another.

  He got her a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down. “So what’s your day gig?”

  “Mine?” Claire was taken aback. No one thought she did anything. They were right. “Well, I don’t have one. Unless you count rich widow.”

  “A widow? That’s a shame.” Alex rested his goateed chin in his hand. “Rich is good though. If you can get it.”

  “So I guess you’re not lookin’ for a job?”

  “No. Afraid not.”

  She took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her face, tried not to think of the erection behind her. Guess workplace sexual harassment wasn’t an issue here.

  “Too bad. We could put you to work in a New York min—”

  “No offense, but I don’t think I’m the porn type.”

  “What type is that?” Alex looked amused.

  “Well, you know better than me.” Claire readjusted her tail bone on the metal chair. “Low self-esteem, poor, uneducated, addicts.” Cherry and Sundae came to mind. Rob Rhino, too stupid to get out of the way of oncoming traffic. “Dumb as bricks. I’ve read the statistics.”

  Alex yanked the bottom of his beard, resting on his belly, laughing. “Is that so?”

  “I’ve been looking all over the place for you guys,” Rob Rhino sauntered in and opened the fridge. “Love my fans. It’s a great crowd. But man, sometimes I feel like a piece of meat.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I like mine bleeding. Cold and quivering in the middle.” Rob Rhino licked his chops, rubbed his hands together.

  The waitress looked at the floor. “What can I get you ma’am?”

  Claire ignored the slight. “I’ll have the chicken and dumplings. Cooked.”

  Claire wanted to get out of Alex’s. So much so that she agreed to walk across the highway with the man of the hour to grab a bite at Ma Pringle’s. Plus she felt starved. She lost track of when or where she last ate. She lost track of a lot.

  “I love the steak here. It’s a tradition.” Rob smiled. It didn’t seem to take much to make him happy. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t think you would.”

  “That’s two of us.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. You gotta admit.”

  “That place is any decent person’s nightmare. Explains a lot about you though.”

  “You always gotta bust my balls, don’t ya?”

  “Wouldn’t get near ’em.” Claire spied the creepy looking guys in the next booth, one pointing at Rob, whispering to his companion. “Alex seemed all right though.”

  “He’s a champ. Between Alex and my manager, they’ve kept me going.”

  “Your manager?”

  “Yep. He’s top of the line. I’m one lucky slob.”

  “Lucky, I don’t know. Slob, yes.”

  “There you go again, bustin’ my balls.”

  Claire wracked her semi-sedated brain for an appropriate segue to the question she wanted to ask. What’s a gracious lead in for what’s the story with your dead wife? The waitress brought a basket of bread and a bowl of orange-colored margarine. She almost dumped the whole thing in Claire’s lap, she stared at Claire’s head so close.

  “Oh. So sorry. Let me get that. Sorry.” The waitress plucked the bread slices off the table and tossed them back in the basket in a hurry.

  “Don’t worry about it. No problem.” Claire pursed her lips, brushed the crumbs off her shoulder.

  The waitress turned blotchy pink under her spackled makeup and scurried back to the kitchen.

  “You’re a champion, you know it? Bravest person I’ve ever seen.” Rob Rhino put his dimpled hand over hers.

  Claire let his hand rest. She didn’t want to feel moved. She rolled the inside of her cheek between her teeth, fought tears. “I’m not brave. I’m bald. I handle it, that’s it.”

  “No way. You fuck with it. Tell it to go to hell and beat it to the ground.” Rob shook his head. “I think you’re amazing.”

  She left his balls alone.

  ****

  The waitress cleared dinner dishes, wiped down the table, and brought their banana cream pie and coffee. She got it all on the table without incident. Claire was running out of time.

  He beat her to it. “Why have you waited a year to bury your husband?”

  Taken aback, she told the truth. “Because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do with him. What he most deserved.”

  Rob Rhino turned the sugar dispenser over and poured a steady stream of it into his coffee cup. “Deserved? Hmmm... what did you decide?”

  “That he needed to spend eternity with his father, his family.”

  He stirred, didn’t respond. Claire took advantage.

  “Why did you lie about where your wife is buried?”

  He kept stirring. “I didn’t.”

  “You did. I looked. That wasn’t her headstone.” Claire pushed her pie plate away. She wouldn’t admit she’d searched the cemetery database.

  “She doesn’t have a headstone,” Rob said.

  Claire hadn’t considered something so benign. “Where is she?”

  “Under the shade tree, the most beautiful place in the cemetery.” He’d stopped stirring.

  “W
hy doesn’t she have a stone?”

  “Because I don’t want anyone to know she’s there.”

  ****

  The bell over the door tinkled. A slick, dark-haired, had-to-be-a-used-car salesman in a lavender silk shirt with a Dali thin moustache said, “Hey Rob, let’s go. Your fans are restless. You’ve been over here forever.”

  Rob stood. “Freddie Eddie, come meet Claire Corrigan.” Rob scurried to the register to pay the bill. He yelled as he went. “He’s my manager.”

  Freddie Eddie slithered over, smirked, nodded. “I’ve heard about you.”

  Whatever he’d heard, it hadn’t impressed him, Claire could tell. Freddie Whattie?

  She primped her naked sweaty scalp, glanced up at Rob’s manager, forlorn. His eyes shone hard, his expression Mount Rushmore. Tough crowd.

  “I’ve never heard about you,” she said.

  Take that snake.

  Why would he have heard about her?

  Rob came between them, shoving his wallet in his jeans. He wiped his hands on his hula girls and palm trees. “Hey, Freddie Eddie, you got one of those flyers? For my speech?”

  Freddie Eddie had already pushed Ma’s door open. “In the car.”

  The sleek, blood-colored Corvette gleamed at the front door. Freddie Eddie hadn’t bothered with a parking space. He leaned into the driver’s side rolled-down window, pulled his head out, handed Rob a goldenrod paper.

  Claire gaped behind him. So Freddie Eddie was the mysterious driver.

  “Here. Come listen to my speech.” Rob pushed a flyer into her hand.

  Freddie Eddie slammed the car door behind him, started the car.

  “Speech?” Claire scanned the paper. “A Twenty-First Century Porn Star? You’re speaking at an alumni event at the university? For Trustee Week?”

  Rob opened the passenger side door. “Yeah. The Influence of Pornography in the Twenty-First Century.”

  She stared. That’s what it said all right. “Alumni?”

  Rob’s head wobbled. “Yeah. Got my doctorate. Then I taught there.”