The Last Day For Rob Rhino

by Kathleen O'Donnell

  Claire was impressed. “Wow. You’re a conglomerate, a brand.”

  Freddie Eddie laughed.

  “He’s the biggest dick on campus.”

  ****

  Rob held her elbow like a country squire as they climbed the wide staircase. She didn’t shake him off this time. Claire felt pooped. They poked around some of the bright spacious bedrooms upstairs. The closets were not. They stopped at the room Rob chose for her, the girliest so far. Pink floral wallpaper, window seat with a mauve tufted cushion, and porcelain figurines scattered about. The room’s centerpiece was the king-size crochet-canopied bed sitting directly in front of an ornate fireplace. Claire’s clothes covered half the room. Rob tried to fold, stack, and arrange in neat piles.

  “I put some stuff in the closet, whatever fit. Your shoes are all in there. Holy mother of God you’ve got a lot of shoes.” Rob whistled through his missing tooth gap.

  “All women do. You forget.”

  “I put the unmentionables in the dresser over there.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and pointed to the tall oak chest of drawers.

  Rob Rhino manhandling her underwear. Nice.

  “This is a magnificent room. The whole house—” Claire glanced around the room. She loved it. It was the house she wished she’d grown up in. If only.

  “And Liam’s there.” He pointed at the nightstand by the bed. Liam’s urn sat on a tea-stained crocheted doily.

  “He’s been passed around like a joint at a frat party.” Claire said. “Soon he’ll be where he belongs.”

  Rob clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Looked like he had something to say but thought better of it.

  She’d seen three of the five bedrooms. He hadn’t said if one was his. She hadn’t asked. She preferred denial. The cock king’s domain was better left a mystery.

  Who was she kidding?

  She’d die to know what it looked like but preferred the self-guided tour. Not the VIP one with the dick docent.

  She started to sweat. “What time is it?”

  “Shit. Your pills.” Rob reached into his pocket and gave her a pill.

  “Now you’re carrying pills in your pocket? That’s a shift.” Claire swallowed.

  “I’m taking care of everything. No worries. It’s all cool.”

  “Hey, what about your gig at Alex’s? I hope you’re not going to bail because I’m here.”

  “Nah. I’ve already been a few times. Just found out I’ve got to make a trip to LA. After your husband’s memorial. The reality show deal, so I’ve got to cut my engagement short out there for now.”

  Claire sat on the bed. Heaven. She toppled over, her smooth head landed on a pillow. Rob put her legs up on the antique white duvet, took off her loafers.

  “Excellent idea. You get some rest. You can see the rest of the house later.”

  “Rob Rhino?”

  “What?”

  “Are you really writing your autobiography?”

  “I don’t know. Freddie Eddie wants me to. We have a publisher chomping at the bit.”

  “What would you say about Gloria?”

  He climbed on the bed, kicked off his ugly clogs, wriggled his sock-covered toes, lay down next to her. Claire didn’t yell at him to get off.

  “I’d say for a few years I had everything.”

  Claire felt so tired. The heat from Rob’s body made her even sleepier.

  “What did you love about her?”

  “Truthfully? The way she made me feel about myself.” Rob put his arms behind his head. “She was so beautiful, perfection. Everybody knew she was too good for me. But she didn’t see it that way at all. I have a thousand faults but when she looked at me she saw the good stuff first. That’s a life right there.”

  Claire couldn’t break the spell to ask about her death. He seemed so happy.

  “You must’ve loved her very much.”

  “Still do.”

  Claire’s lids drooped. She rolled onto her side, toward Rob Rhino, rested her bare head on his hula girl-covered shirt, a constant comfort. He didn’t yell at her to get off.

  “What about you, Claire? What would you say if you wrote a book about yourself?”

  She snorted. “Good God. I’d never write about myself. I’m too horrid.”

  Rob laughed. “That’s true. And you’re a bad dancer.”

  Claire laughed even though she wanted to sleep more than anything. “You’re an asshole.”

  “You’re not so bad.” Rob reached for her face, gave it a soft rub. “You’d do the right thing if it came down to it.” He felt her forehead like a fevered child. “You’re good. Under all that anger there’s heart.”

  Claire yawned against his beefy chest. “Is that right?”

  “You have a thousand faults Claire Corrigan. But do you know what I see when I look at you?”

  Claire felt her weary eyes getting teary, her heart softening. “What?”

  “You’re really bald.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The bed beneath her creaked. Claire rolled over, restless, agitated. She took deep breaths like Doctor Levinson told her to, tried to calm herself.

  “Close your eyes and watch the light show behind your lids,” he’d said.

  Self-soothing without an overload of pharmaceuticals wasn’t her strong suit. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  You’d do the right thing. She wanted to believe Rob Rhino, her new friend.

  Would she? Had she ever? Claire started to cry, rocked herself back and forth. All she wanted was the absence of pain. Even when she did the right thing it felt wrong.

  Claire’s stomach knotted. She looked to make sure the bedroom door was shut, reached for her purse on the floor and her phone. It took several minutes of digging through her wallet for the number but she found it. She could barely make out the numbers anymore, scribbled in faded pencil on paper torn from a prescription pad. She punched them out.

  “Volunteers of America. This is Abby. Can I help you?”

  Claire didn’t know what to say, right out of the gate. It’d been so long.

  “Hello? Volunteers of America this is Abby, can—”

  “Yes, yes, hello.”

  Claire cleared her throat. “Can I speak to—”

  “Ma’am, I can hardly hear you. I think we have a bad connection or something.” Abby yelled like she hoped to set the example.

  Claire’d been whispering. She swallowed, spoke up. “Can I speak to Mercedes Miller?” She cleared her throat again. “This is... it’s her... her daughter. Claire. Claire Corrigan.”

  “Do you know what unit she’s in?”

  “Yes.”

  I pay for it. Of course I know.

  “She’s in Jonah’s House.”

  “I’ll transfer you.”

  Jonah’s House. Claire hated the biblical names. As if it softened the blow of total lockdown. Like Ronald McDonald House made cancer fun.

  “Hmmm?” The voice on the other end sounded dreamy, childlike.

  “Mom?”

  “Who is this?” Coquettish, flirtatious.

  “It’s Claire. Your daughter.”

  “Oh... Claire.” Disappointed, skeptical. “Where are you?”

  “Same place. California.”

  No point going into it all. Far from her still.

  “How are you feeling, Mom?”

  “Is Dad with you?”

  “No, Mom... he’s—”

  “Is he coming to get me?” Mercedes’s girlish tone changed to grown-up quick.

  “Dad passed away a long time ago, remember?”

  Claire could feel Mercedes’s damaged brain churning over the phone. “Did you ever have that kid?”

  “Yes, Mom. His name is Jordan. He’s all grown up, remember?”

  “Oh I remember now. I remember.” Mercedes said in a whisper.

  “How’s the weather there, Mom?”

  Was there a dumber question?

  “Hmmm? I’m having soup. You ha
te soup.”

  Claire had to laugh. She did hate almost all soup. “Yes, I do. You remembered.”

  “I remember you. That’s what. Are you still so pretty? Remember how pretty you always were?”

  Claire laughed, felt her head. “Well, not so much these days, Mom.”

  “You got your looks from your mother,” Mercedes said her voice strong.

  Somewhere in a mind destroyed, a truth wormed to the surface. Mercedes had once been as beautiful and exotic as her name. She struggled on. “Your dad said he thought I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Claire wanted to end the call.

  “Remember what your dad used to say about you?”

  “Yes.”

  You’re worthless. All girls are.

  “He used to say you were a real beauty. A long tall drink of water and all the men would want you.” Mercedes giggled. “Wasn’t that funny?”

  “Something like that.”

  Creepy, yes. Funny, no.

  “Is he there with you?” A note of suspicion crept into Mercedes’s voice.

  “No, Mom. He’s dead.”

  “That’s what you said.” Mercedes sounded like she didn’t believe it. Like if it was true Claire probably had a hand in it. “You always were trying to steal him from me.”

  “Are you eating, Mom? Getting exercise?”

  Was that what you said to people in the loony bin?

  “Yes. I think so. I like the pudding. It’s chocolate.” Mercedes sounded like a child again.

  “I’ll send you some.” Thank God for the internet. You could have anything delivered. Appease your guilt with a single finger stroke.

  “Have your dad bring it when he comes.” Mercedes said in a let’s-play-school-and-I’m-the-principal voice. Before Claire could tell her, again, that her husband died a long time ago, Mercedes said, “Never mind. I can make it myself when I get home.”

  “Okay, Mom.” No use. She should hang up.

  “Are you still rich?”

  “I just wanted to say hello, see how you were doing, Mom. I should let you go.”

  “Let me go?” Mercedes said her words a whisper again. “I’ll say.”

  Claire’d stayed on the phone too long. “I’ve gotta go, Mom. I—”

  “Your father’s dead, isn’t he?” she hissed, accused.

  “Yes, you know that.”

  “He’s dead because he worried himself to death about you. Always sneaking out. Running off with boys in the middle of the night.” She started whimpering.

  Worried? Wasted out at Lucky’s or Dixie’s was more like it. When he wasn’t pinching me on the ass or beating the shit out of you.

  “Mom, I was just a kid.”

  “He’s dead. And you left me there. You left me alone. Then you left me here—”

  Claire realized she was pouring sweat. Her hand ached from clutching the phone. The veins on both sides of her neck bulged against her skin, pulsing.

  “I couldn’t take care of you Mom. I was just a kid.” Claire said in the softest voice.

  “Where’s your father? Put him on the phone right now—”

  “Mrs. Corrigan?”

  Claire jumped. “Huh? What?”

  “Mrs. Corrigan? This is Nancy Wright. I’m the day nurse. Please don’t let what your mother says upset you. She isn’t having a good day today.”

  Claire’s mouth felt full of sand.

  ****

  “Looking for something?”

  Shit.

  Claire rifled through her clothes looking for her stash of pills. No luck. She’d hardly napped at all and was armpit deep in a mess of designer duds when Freddie Eddie snuck in and startled her.

  “My cell phone.” Good recovery.

  “Is that right?” Freddie Eddie looked snarky. “That one?” He pointed at the bedside table and her phone. Right where she left it after she’d talked to her mother.

  “Oh well.” Claire got up off her knees. “There it is. Hiding in plain sight.” She faced Freddie Eddie. They were the same height. “I guess we can go downstairs then. Or do you want to lurk around here some more?”

  She moved toward the door, snatched her phone off the table. He sidestepped in front of her, blocking her way out.

  “What is your deal? Get out of my way,” she said pissed.

  Freddie Eddie didn’t move an iota, his face a sculpture. “You need to go back to wherever it is you came from.”

  Claire tried to push past him. Even though they were evenly sized, he was compact, solid as a boulder, unmoving. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  “Rob is my business.”

  “He’s a big boy. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  Freddie Eddie grasped her wasted shoulders with both his hands, not as harsh as she expected. “Go home. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” His smooth ferret-like face moved next to hers, she could count his pores. “Or this won’t end well.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Up already?” Rob met her at the bottom of the stairs.

  Freddie Eddie bounded down behind her, mumbled something about seeing them tomorrow and went out the front door.

  “He goes in and out,” Rob said. “Kinda the bad part about having the business here. No real private life. People come and go like any other office.”

  Claire watched Freddie Eddie’s Corvette peel away from the curb.

  Rob circled his baby chick. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” She didn’t want to meet Rob’s eyes. “I should make some calls.”

  “Wait right here.” After a few seconds he came back with her purse and her cord. “Come with me, the most comfortable place in the whole house.” He beamed.

  Like the rest, the room was in the same rich hip granny style. Except for the ugliest tackiest biggest loveseat Claire’d ever seen. A hideous pea-soup green color, the monstrosity sat directly in front of a flat screen TV with some kind of console in its center. A crocheted afghan hung on the back of one side in shades of lime, like his clogs. Claire made a face. Not a nice one.

  “You don’t like it?” Rob said.

  “Well, it’s... it’s... I’m sure it’s comfortable, it just an unusual choice considering the rest of the décor.”

  Rob cackled. “Yeah, well, a man’s gotta have his chair. Sit.”

  Rob went to her side of the loveseat and pulled a lever. Claire flew backward.

  “It’s a recliner.” Rob clapped his hands with childlike glee. “You can recline both sides or not. Independent of each other. An engineering miracle.”

  Claire laughed. Furniture that did tricks. Comfy. Maybe she loved it.

  Rob reached for the center console. “If that isn’t cool enough, this is an ice chest.” He pulled out a cold beer.

  She definitely loved it.

  ****

  Rob Rhino nominated himself beer Nazi and wouldn’t let Claire imbibe. Instead he made her a cup of the best hot chocolate she’d had in her life. Not that she’d had a lot of it.

  “Mexican chocolate. That’s the secret. And real cream mixed with the milk.” Rob gave her a steaming mug with her pill and covered her legs with the afghan.

  He was good to her. He probably would’ve been a good father. Except for the porn. Everyone had their quirks. Freddie Eddie hated her the jealous old... what was he exactly? Probably a closeted queen.

  “Okay, make your calls. But be quick about it.” He sat on the other side of the reclining loveseat. “I’m going to be right here to make sure you’re not overdoing it.” He pulled a book out of a side pocket pulled his lever and leaned back.

  Did the damn thing fold out into a plane too?

  Claire dug out her wallet with all her phone numbers. Better call Grace first. Get that over with. Grace sounded perturbed. More than usual.

  “Had the flu,” Claire said to cut off Grace’s moaning about not hearing from her. “Reall
y took me out of commission the past few days.”

  “I finally called the chapel director myself. Whatever his name is, John I think.”

  Oh I’m fine now. Thanks so much for asking bitch.

  “Joe Lansing. His name is Joe.” Claire looked over at Rob and rolled her eyes. “What did you need, Grace?”

  “We need to decide on the arrangements. I let Mr. Lansing know what I wanted. He told me he’d pass it on to you.”

  “We did decide on the arrangements. I met with Connor a few days ago. He said you told him what you wanted to pass on to me. He passed it on.”

  “What? I... he... oh well, he must’ve misunderstood.”

  “Whatever.”

  Bunch of weirdos.

  “Grace, if you talked to Joe, it’s settled then. Just in case I’m going to give you my cell number. I’m not staying in that hotel anymore.”

  “Oh?” Grace said.

  Nosy hag. She’d perked up for that morsel.

  “I’m staying with a friend,” Claire said.

  What was it to Grace anyway? Like she cared.

  “I didn’t know you had friends here.”

  “You don’t know anything about me, do you?” Claire couldn’t pass that up.

  She knew Grace was still on the line only because she could still hear her vampiric breathing. Then, “I know Liam didn’t cotton to the church—”

  The artful dodger.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “But I’d really like to have a mass. A Catholic mass,” she said the last part loud and slow. Like Claire’s mother used to when she was speaking to a non-English speaking immigrant.

  “I’m familiar with the term.”

  Oh Liam would love that. A Catholic mass. The icing on the retribution cake.

  “Of course we’ll have a mass,” Claire said. “I’ve already talked to Joe Lansing about it.”

  Rob Rhino coughed, rattled the pages of the magazine Claire knew he was only pretending to read. She glared.