The Last Day For Rob Rhino

by Kathleen O'Donnell

  Liam grabbed the keys to his Range Rover and headed toward the closed doors with Claire on his heels, her hysteria climbing like the Donner Party through the Sierra Nevadas.

  She screamed at his broadcloth covered back. “I wish you’d die.”

  Claire woke gasping and pawing at the air. She fought off an attacker, someone holding a pillow over her face, suffocating her. Only there was no one, only regret and her addiction.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Morning, Claire, how’s the deathbed?”

  Rob Rhino strolled in carrying a Dunkin’ Donuts bag and a small bouquet of baby pink roses.

  “Rob Rhino, you’re something else.”

  Claire hoped the donuts were for her. She was starved. She hadn’t eaten since lunch with Annabelle. She’d been in the hospital more than twenty-four hours but hadn’t felt like eating even though her stomach’s contents had been thoroughly vacated. She didn’t think the crap they’d brought her on a tray looked worth eating anyway. Deep fried fat rolled in sugar. That was a food group.

  “A girl can’t be in a hospital room with no flowers.” He gave her the flowers, flushed like a schoolboy.

  Nurse had removed her IV. She took the spray with feeble hands and held the beautiful blush-colored buds under her nose, inhaled their sweet scent. “They’re the loveliest flowers I’ve ever seen.” They were. He was one gracious porn star. “You’re so thoughtful, really.” She handed them back. He set them on the table next to her bed.

  “Trained by the best.”

  Rob Rhino rewarded her with his finest toothless smile.

  “Gloria?” Claire looked at the donuts.

  “Uh... no, ma’am. That would be Grandma, thank you very much.” Rob handed her the bag. “You get to pick first. I’ll eat whichever ones you don’t want.”

  “Grandma?”

  “Yeah, she brought me up. My mom died when I was four. Dad split way before that.” Rob put a chubby hand into the donut bag and came out with a maple bar. “My grandma took me in and raised me. One hell of a good woman. She died when I was seventeen, left me a little money, which is how I got my undergrad degree here. Private school was beyond my means without her help.”

  “So no family?”

  Claire couldn’t remember eating anything as good as the cinnamon sugar goodness exploding in her mouth. The soft dough slid down her throat slick as wet noodles.

  “No. Just Freddie Eddie. He’s close enough.” Rob talked with his mouth full.

  Claire savored her cinnamon twist. Freddie Eddie. Close like fungus. Or chiggers.

  “Speaking of family, I don’t want mine to know where I am. They—”

  They’re felons and Linda Tripps, but they’re all I’ve got.

  “You’ve done so much for me already. I hate to ask you to do anything else—”

  “Anything.” Rob was already wiping his hands on a napkin, ready to jump into action.

  “Could you check the messages on my hotel room phone? All you have to do is push the blinking light if there are any.” Claire talked with her mouth full too.

  “Can do.”

  “Oh but I can’t call them from here. The number will show up on their cell phones. They can’t find out about this... this... unfortunate accident. They’d...” Use it against me.

  “Don’t you have a cell phone?”

  “I think it’s around there somewhere. Maybe near the TV. Can you grab my purse? The tan Prada bag—”

  Rob Rhino looked confused.

  Claire explained. “It’s the only Prada bag there. It has P-R-A-D-A on the outside by the clasp. The phone cord’s in it. I hope.” Claire swallowed her bite of donut. “Can you check on Liam? He’s the one in the urn. By the TV.” Just taking a couple bites of donut tired her out, despite the sugar rush.

  “For sure gotta check on Liam. He probably ran amok while you were gone. Had a kegger.”

  ****

  “Jordan says—Mother, if you’re not too pissed, give me a call so I know you’re reasonably well. My whatchamacallit isn’t as bad as you think. Really.” Rob looked over the paper he’d dictated her messages on. “Jordan’s your son?”

  Claire tried not to move any facial muscles. “So they told me at the maternity ward.”

  “Okaaay.” Rob glanced over the top of his bifocals.

  “Continue, please.”

  “Next up... Annabelle? Says you probably don’t care, but she made it home.” Rob’s voice went falsetto. “Please, please, please, don’t be mad at me. I know I look bad ’cause of the money, but I thought I was helping Clairesicle.” Rob laughed. “Clairesicle? Like icicle? Perfect. Who’s Annabelle?”

  “My stepdaughter who would benefit from an ass whipping.” Claire narrowed her red bleary eyes at Rob Rhino. “Are there more?”

  “Two from Annabelle. The second one because you haven’t called since she left the first. She’s worried. You look like something the dog drug—”

  “I get it. Anything else?”

  Rob’s PhD sized brain whirred. “She was here?”

  “Unfortunately. Next?”

  “Grace.” Rob stopped, smiled. “Almost called her back myself. Rehash old times. Have a few laughs.”

  Claire smirked. “What’d she want?”

  “Has her dearly beloved been exhumed?” Rob twitched his bushy upper lip. “She hates to be a pest and all. Poor Pat.”

  Claire wrinkled her naked brow. “Now she’s in a hurry. Bloodsucker.”

  “And good ole Joe Lansing says the mausoleum is ahead of schedule.”

  “Seriously? For once, some good news.” Was she the first person in history to have her mood considerably brightened by a crypt delivery?

  “Not by much, just a few days.”

  “I’ll take what I can get. I’ll need to call him right away.”

  “No, you’ll need to get some rest. Another day or two won’t matter. Dead is dead sister friend. And Liam still will be in a day or two.”

  Normally an argument would’ve ensued. A new normal moved in. Claire kept her mouth shut.

  Rob paced as he read. “Here’s a promising one—Conchita called.” He stopped, his eyes misting over as he stared off into the distance with a goofy smile. “I knew a girl named Conchita once. She had this weird nipple and could pick up quarters with her—”

  “For God’s sake can you just give me my messages without the disgusting commentary?” Conchita did seem limber, now that he mentioned... maybe... no. God, now he has me doing it.

  “Okay. Last but not least, someone named Andrew. Needs to hear from you pronto while you still have a prayer.”

  “He said that?”

  Rob consulted his paper. “Yep.”

  “Fucker.”

  “Oh my, not a friend of yours?”

  “He’s my attorney. Supposed to be handling the mess with Liam’s kid and his girlfriend. Instead he’s conspiring behind my—” In no shape to revisit ground zero she stopped. “Is that it?”

  Rob handed her the hotel notepaper with the scribbled messages on it. “Here you go. If you need written reminders. Good luck deciphering my handwriting.”

  “Thanks again, Rob Rhino. I’ll be glad to get out of this booby hatch. Never thought I’d say it, but I’ll be thrilled to see that ratty hotel again.”

  “Yeah, well, about that.” Rob pulled up the chair to his usual bedside spot.

  Claire didn’t like his tone.

  “What do you mean about that?”

  “The hotel... you see... umm.” Rob licked his lips.

  “Spit it out would you?”

  “They kicked you out.” Rob ducked down in the seat.

  “They what?”

  “You can’t stay there anymore. Vamoose. The overdose. They can’t have that kind of thing at their establishment. At least that’s what the manager told me.”

  The same manager of the fine establishment that let Annabelle into her room for a hundred bucks?

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”


  She could see he wasn’t.

  “What now? My clothes, the car, Liam—”

  Could her life get worse?

  “Got it all under control. We took all your stuff to my place, Liam too. Freddie Eddie got your keys out of your purse, drove your car there.” Rob’s usual shit-eating missing tooth grin took up most of his fleshy face. “You’re gonna bunk with me.”

  Welcome to worse, a lot worse.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Her cell phone had thirty-three old messages on it. She ignored them. Was there anything else she wanted to know? Claire called Conchita to update her on the situation. Sort of.

  “The hotel was a dump. Turns out the dean is offering up a nice cottage near the university for the rest of my stay. When you drop a load of cash here they accommodate you.” The lie ran like melted butter off her tongue.

  “Christ must be descending from the heavens if you’ve actually plugged in your cell phone. I’ll get Jimmy to get your money refunded from the dump.” Claire could tell she wasn’t sold on the university’s generosity story. Conchita was a tough sell.

  “Can you let the kids know the deal? I’ve got a ton of crap to do yet. No time to yack on the phone. You know how they like to go on and on.”

  No way would Claire talk to Annabelle until she figured out what to do about that whole debacle. Jordan needed to cool his cocaine-fueled jets before she’d reward him with a phone call.

  Claire wished she had the strength to think of plan B. But so far plan A wasn’t working out so well so maybe she ought to suck it up. Rob Rhino, her roomie? Why did she have to pick now to give up her drugs?

  Doctor Levinson worked out a weaning schedule and started her on it. He reminded her that the new yellow pills weren’t like the old ones. They’d take three to four weeks to kick in and weren’t sedatives. He was hopeful she’d have good results but reiterated he’d prefer she check into a rehab center.

  “You’re more than welcome to see me on an outpatient basis when you and Rob are here in town if I can’t talk you into an inpatient program.”

  She had to admit she already felt a little better than she did before although she had no reason to. Maybe she felt hopeful. The mausoleum would be here sooner. Her job here was almost done. She could see an end date. The burden she carried felt lighter and soon it’d be tucked behind a concrete slab.

  The doctor and Rob Rhino conferred in the hallway while Claire gathered up her meager belongings and got dressed in the clothes she wore when they brought her in. Rob had taken all her other clothes from the hotel to his place. He’d had on the same outfit since he’d been in town. Bringing her a fresh set of clothes wouldn’t make the top of his list. She’d need to remember to peek in his closet when he turned his back. See if he owned anything else.

  “Well, Claire, I think you’re ready to go.” Doctor Levinson handed her a prescription. “Your fiancé here will fill this and take good care of you. He assures me.” He winked at Rob, looked like Doogie Howser again. “He sure takes care of a lot of people in our rehab facility.”

  Claire tried not to visibly shudder. “Oh he’s a regular Gandhi.”

  Rob put his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “That’s right, honey bunch. We’ll get you home, tucked in, and I’ll take real good care of you.”

  He’d pay for that. Smartass.

  She fidgeted out from under his smelly armpit. “Thank you, Doctor Levinson.” she said and left it at that. What could she say? Good call sending her home with the perv and his giant prick?

  Claire and Rob Rhino headed toward the hospital doors and the outside. Claire moved slow. The overdose had taken a lot out of her. Not that she’d been in great shape before. Annabelle was right. She looked like something the dog drug in well before her hospital stay.

  “Freddie Eddie’s waiting. He brought your car since it has more than two seats.”

  Claire stopped dead. “Freddie Eddie? Is he still chauffeuring you around?” All she needed was Freddie Eddie looking down his pierced nose at her. “Isn’t Trustee Week over yet?” Claire stuck her bottom lip out.

  “Yeah, a few days ago.” Rob pulled her arm gently to keep her moving. “He’s worried about you too. He insisted on coming to the hotel with me when you overdosed. You should thank him.”

  “I’m gooey over it.” Claire gave him major stink eye.

  Rob pushed through the double glass doors, maneuvering a complaining Claire. Freddie Eddie waited at the curb, engine running. When he saw them he jumped out of Claire’s rental and popped the trunk.

  “She doesn’t have anything remember?” Rob Rhino said his voice a boom, so the back rows of the lot could hear. “It’s just me and her.”

  Freddie Eddie slammed the trunk, slithered around to the passenger side, and opened both the front and back doors.

  “Claire.” Freddie Eddie nodded his head at her and gestured for her to get in the front seat. “Glad to see you’re feeling better. You gave us quite a scare.” His eyes flickered over her jaw and neck. If he had an opinion about their condition he kept it to himself.

  Claire met him with defiance. If she’d planned to shop for a fight he disappointed her. Freddie Eddie looked, for lack of a better description, sad. But for who? At least there was no smarmy attitude, no thinly veiled I told you so. She felt disarmed, not quite sure how to respond. So she didn’t. She got in the car—in the back.

  Claire wanted to lie down in the back seat but didn’t dare. Not with Thelma and Louise in the front seat. She looked at the back of their heads as they drove through the quiet Pennsylvania streets. One balding badly dyed combover porn star and the other badly dyed greased back West Side Story reject.

  Freddie Eddie turned on the radio. Rob Rhino squealed. “Tammy Wynette. Who doesn’t love her?” He sang along, off-key, loud.

  Freddie leaned in toward the center of the car, closer to his duet partner, in full torch and twang they stood by their man.

  “Her catalog suffered after she and George called it quits.” Freddie Eddie told Claire in the rearview mirror. His mouth spoke soft, his eyes glinted hard.

  Claire rolled down her window and put her head out, like a trapped bald dog.

  How bad could the psychiatric ward have been?

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The house that porn built was grander than Claire’d imagined. She didn’t know for sure but she’d bet it was in the nicest part of town. It looked nicer than any part she’d seen. A far cry from where Liam’s mother lived. And not exactly the nothing fancy Rob had described earlier.

  Like most things in town it looked at least a hundred years old, red brick, possibly historically significant. The large yard, no doubt kept perfect by a professional, buzzed with bees and hummingbirds. The wraparound porch had a Better Homes and Gardens magazine welcoming feel to it, right down to the wicker furniture and rag rug. Not a place a porn star would fit in, much less call home.

  “I thought you said your place here was small, no big deal?” Claire slammed the car door behind her and headed up the stone walkway. She shook off Rob’s hand on her arm.

  “Compared to your estate, I’m sure it is,” Rob said.

  “What makes you think I live on an estate?” Claire stopped.

  Both Freddie Eddie and Rob Rhino came to a standstill, stared at her, eyebrows lifted.

  “Never mind.” Claire continued toward the house. “It’s beautiful. Seems big.”

  “Five bedrooms.” Rob opened the front door. “These old houses always have lots of bedrooms. Back in the day families were bigger.”

  Freddie Eddie went straight into the house down the long hall next to the impressive staircase and disappeared in the back.

  Rob Rhino’s grandma must’ve come back from the grave to decorate. Where would a man like Rob Rhino get doilies? Claire could see her reflection in the wood floors where they weren’t covered by carpets. She supposed the old lady décor was called Victorian or Early American—Claire got those mixed up—and fit
the house.

  “Wanna tour?” Rob said.

  “Love one.” They strolled through some of the rooms. “Don’t tell me you did all this yourself.”

  Claire couldn’t believe they hadn’t come across a bean-bag chair or a lava lamp. No Daisy Duke posters and not one of the curios had an erection. She’d only seen part of the first floor though.

  “Nah. Afraid not. Had a decorator—Mavis Applebee. She’s famous.” Rob leaned against the wall of the dining room tastefully covered in velvet flocked paper. “I haven’t lived here long. It’s quite an upgrade from the house I owned before. This one is a historical landmark. I wanted to respect the period.”

  “You’re a marvel, Rob Rhino.”

  They got to the end of the hall that Freddie Eddie’d last been seen ducking down. Claire was shocked to see a large office in complete working mode. With a young girl behind a computer screen. Tastefully dressed.

  “Oh Melissa. I forgot you were here today.” Rob slapped his hand on his forehead. “I’m sorry. Did you find everything okay?”

  Melissa smiled. “Yes fine. No worries. I’ve been coming a while now. I know where everything is.” She looked at Claire’s head, then the ground, then her computer screen.

  Freddie Eddie intervened. His specialty.

  “Melissa, this is Claire. She’s a good friend of Rob’s. She’ll be staying here a few days. She’s in town for a family memorial service.” He was a smooth operator.

  Claire’s lips made a slight smile—tight, fake. She probably looked like an embalmed corpse. “Hi, Melissa. Nice to meet you. I won’t be in the way.”

  “Melissa helps us out with all the paperwork, orders, scheduling, you name it,” Rob said. “She’s the brains of the outfit.”

  “Really?” Claire felt surprised. Surprised he knew a woman with a brain. “I guess I thought your gig at Alex’s and the reality show was it. Oh and I guess the film distributing but—”

  “Rob’s got lots of irons in the fire.” Freddie Eddie leaned back in his ergonomically correct desk chair. “We’ve got another reality show starting up in the fall. He’s got tons of merchandise, T-shirts, lingerie, baseball caps, vibrators, lube, coffee mugs, mouse pads, with more in the works. There’s Fresh Flesh Films, of course. A few legit film offers, some other TV roles coming up. Some talk shows. Speaking engagements, personal appearances, his charities, and he’s working on his autobiography.”