Shem Creek

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Not for nothing, but what would he do if we were not nice? Withhold our allowance? Um, he didn’t give us one?

  “Anyway, Gracie took Daddy a Budweiser and I leaned against the counter watching Patti. She was peeling carrots, letting the skins fall into the garbage disposal.

  “You’d better grind them as you go, I said.

  “Why? she said.

  “I dunno, I said, and shrugged my shoulders. It’s what Mom does though.

  “That was when the nice Patti left and the real Patti looked me right in the eye and said, Look, sweetie, I don’t give a damn how your momma does things, okay?

  “I thought, Well! Jeez! How about that? Hmmm, Patti Elliott had a temper after all. But as a member of the Breland clan, I’d been dealing with angry adults all my life and mood swings were my specialty. I took a deep breath and rose to it. I wasn’t ready yet to remind her that as far as we were concerned she was still below insignificance in our world. So I quickly said, I’m sure you don’t. Before she could show me some more tooth, I added, Want me to put plates on the table?

  “Suit yourself, she said. Dinner’s in thirty minutes.

  “Just then, Gracie came back and I said, Hey, Gracie, grab four dinner plates from the cabinet, okay? I’ll get glasses.

  “Sure, Gracie said.

  “The silence from the sink area was deafening. She was scraping carrots with a vengeance. Gracie gave me an elbow and mouthed, What’s going on? It’s all good, I mouthed back, giving her the okay hand sign. I opened the cabinet where the glasses used to live and they had been replaced by vitamin pill bottles and dried spices. So I said something like, Hey! Where are the glasses?

  “Over there, Patti said and pointed to the other side of the kitchen. The plates are over there too.

  “Why’d Dad move everything? Gracie said.

  “He didn’t, I said, I’ve got five bucks that Patti Elliott did. That’s what women like her do. They move in and take over. I was mumbling loud enough for her to hear because I was now officially furious. I mean, who did she think she was?

  “Gracie stopped breathing and looked at me in surprise. Full assaults were not part of our plan. We had agreed to be just obnoxious enough to drive them crazy, but not rude enough to truly piss anybody off. Patti stopped and turned to us.

  “She had her hand on her hip and there we stood, waiting for Miss Chitlins to rip us a new one. All she said was, Your daddy doesn’t cook. I cook. So, therefore, I rearranged the kitchen to suit me. Y’all got a problem with that? Let’s hear it, right now.

  “Makes sense to me, Gracie said, and I wanted to kill her for agreeing with Patti. No problem here.

  “Both of them waited for me to say something. Whatever, I said with a trace of a sneer and felt lousy for giving away a point. But, let’s face it. We still had to get through Thanksgiving dinner, dishes, Friday, Saturday, and we couldn’t get out of that hellhole until Sunday when you came back. That was a long time to concentrate on being obnoxious, even for us. And, stupidly, we hadn’t calculated in the part about Patti Elliott having a mind of her own. Who knew?

  “Anyway, I realized Gracie and I were going to need an escape strategy. Being in the house twenty-four-seven was going to be too much. So I decided I’d find the newspaper and check all the listings. Maybe we could go to the movies Friday night. I would call around and see if I could get us a ride to the football game on Saturday. Sunday, I would sleep until noon.

  “I took the dishes and set the table with Gracie, whispering to her that we needed to talk. She pointed upstairs.

  “Gonna go unpack, I said out loud to anyone who cared to listen.

  “Me too! Gracie said.

  “We passed Dad when we went through the living room. How’s it going? he said. Perfect, I said, everything’s great. Gracie said, Yeah, everything’s great, and followed me up the steps.

  “When Dad first moved into the new house, he had set up a room for us. Twin beds, one end table, one chest of drawers—no layout from Architectural Digest, okay? But, we had a room and a place to put our stuff. All of a sudden this Patti person moves in and she’s flitting around like I don’t know what, decorating everything in sight with a monkey-something. So when we opened the door to our room we should not have been surprised to see that everything was changed. But we were. Our bedroom was now an office slash storage room, with moving boxes piled up to the ceiling.

  “Maybe we’re in the wrong room? Gracie said. Wasn’t this our room?

  “Try next door, I said.

  “She opened the door and peeked in. Aw, God! Aw, shit! Lindsey!

  “She stepped aside for me. I took one look and said, Oh, hell! The bedroom had been completely redecorated for us. There were pictures of the Backstreet Boys over my bed and a poster of Christina Aguilera over Gracie’s. The beds were covered in these wild geometric, primary colored, tacky comforters and pillows. I thought I was going to throw up on the lime-green carpet. So Gracie says, What are we gonna do? And I said, We’re gonna raise some hell, that’s what. What did she do? Go through all our stuff?

  “Gracie and I were snorting around, getting madder by the minute. We opened the drawers and what do you think we found? Our underwear, pajamas, T-shirts and socks were there, newly laundered, pressed and folded. In the closet, our sneakers had been washed and our clothes hung on plastic hangers, all in one direction, hung by category. Not that we had that much stuff there, but it was as neat as a pin and mysteriously correctly divided between what I owned and what Gracie owned. However, and I mean the big however, we now had the ammunition we needed. But then I worried a little about starting a full-scale battle on Thanksgiving, so I said to Gracie, Well? At least it’s clean and at least we got a bigger room?

  “Gracie said I was always making lemonade out of lemons and it had to stop. Look, Lindsey, she said, and believe me she was in no mood to be grateful for anything, here’s my problem. She’s out of control! You don’t just go in somebody’s drawers, rearrange everything and organize it like this! I freaking hate Christina Aguilera and you haven’t listened to the Backstreet Boys in a thousand years! I mean, she might have asked us if we wanted puke-green carpet!

  “So I said, You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. But we gotta do something! And she said something like, So what should we do, genius? Burn the place down? I mean, if she’d really study, she could make better grades, Mom. I wish she wouldn’t call me names like that.”

  I looked at Lindsey’s face, so filled with passion, and tried to imagine what it must be like to be a child of a divorce, and to be the more academic one, the more reasonable one. I didn’t blame her at all for having been angry, but at the same time I knew Patti had probably had good intentions. And, well, Gracie called Lindsey names but Lindsey had a few choice ones for Gracie too.

  “Lindsey, baby, your sister is just insecure, that’s all. She’s really proud of you, you know.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I am too.” My poor daughters! What havoc had I brought into their lives with the failure of my marriage? Growing up was hard enough when everything was in place. More and more, it seemed to be the way of the world that nothing lasted as long as it should.

  Lindsey shrugged a few times, looked out the window and then continued to tell me her story.

  “Anyway, Gracie was getting seriously crazy. She was ready to rip the room apart and tear the posters off the wall. Tell her to stay out of our room! She was screaming loud enough for everybody from Essex Fells to Newark to stop what they were doing! So I said, No! Let me tell her. You’re too angry!

  “She said okay, I could. Eventually, we had dinner, which I basically pushed around the plate, even though what made it into my mouth was delicious.

  “All the while Daddy talked to us about how wonderful Patti was and to Patti about how wonderful we were. He was in selling mode, which was completely unnecessary, because we would never like this woman. Ever. Even if she could cook like I don’t know who. The entire time we ate, Buster
went from one of us to the next, hoping against hope that some crumb would fall his way. I was biding my time.

  “Finally, at some point I said something like, You know, Patti, we appreciate what you did to our room. Old Patti brightened up for a second and Daddy said some inane thing about how it was nice that we had the presence of mind to say thank you. But then I dropped the small bomb, saying, But since you don’t have teenage girls, you probably don’t understand how sensitive we can be about someone we don’t even know for two minutes going through all our things, moving our room around, decorating without asking us what we liked and we were pretty upset when we saw it. Then I paused and added, But, we appreciate it.

  “Well, that was it. Daddy slammed his napkin on the table and stood up. You girls have no idea how hard Patti has worked! Why, she agonized over every little detail. I’ve had just about enough of both of you. . . .

  “We wouldn’t go through her stuff, Dad, Gracie said, in a quiet little mouse way. It’s a violation of privacy. It’s like reading someone’s diary.

  “So, Patti’s upper lip started to quiver and I thought, Oh, hell, here we go. We’ve got a weeper. But, we had her nailed. She knew we were right. Cry like a dog, I thought. Cry and go to hell. I decided to move before the dam opened up so I said, I’ll go get the pie, and went to the kitchen.

  “Everything was quiet for a few minutes and then when I came back and was standing by the table holding a hot pecan pie with two thick oven mitts looking for a spot to put it down, Daddy said, Well, you girls had better get used to Patti because she’s going to be my wife.

  “I thought I would faint. Then, Gracie said, Oooo-kay! That’s it! I’m fucking out of here! She pushed back her chair and ran out of the house.

  “God help me, Momma, I didn’t do it on purpose but I dropped the pie right on the floor.”

  We started to laugh and couldn’t stop laughing for the longest time.

  “It was a good thing Buster liked pecans,” Lindsey said.

  “It’s a good thing we’re moving,” I said, “and speaking of moving . . .”

  “Yeah, I know, Mom, we’ve got a lot left to do.”

  I wouldn’t miss Patti and Fred for two seconds. I knew that Patti could’ve been a good influence on both my girls in all kinds of ways, but I was feeling selfish. Too many years had passed with me out of their lives during the critical parts of their days. I didn’t need any more reminders of my shortcomings or any opportunities for my girls to make personal comparisons between plain old me and the fabulous Patti.

  FIVE

  “JACKSON HOLE, BRAD SPEAKING”

  IT was early Monday morning and I was sitting in my soon-to-be-former office, shooting the breeze with Robert. We were waiting for Linda to arrive and assume the reins of manager, liberating me from the drudgery of accounts payable duties and the myriad small duties that consumed my day.

  “I can’t wait till she gets in here and changes my world,” I said. “She claims she loves this detail stuff. What time do you have to be in court?”

  “Not in court today. I’m driving up to Pawleys Island to take depositions from my latest client. Seems their connubial bliss is losing altitude and gaining speed.”

  “And you’re representing the bride or the groom?”

  “The bride and God help her, her husband’s got money hidden all over the islands and he’s, shall we say, not cooperating with the discovery process?”

  “Wealthy?”

  “Listen, as long as they pay the bill, do I care? I never take a client based on how much money they have! Jesus man! I take them based on how interesting they are!”

  “I’m just giving you a little grief, Robert. Want some coffee? They just made a fresh pot.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  We were on our way to the kitchen when the phone rang. Someone in the front answered it. As soon as I saw the flashing light, I figured it was for me so I grabbed it.

  “Jackson Hole, Brad speaking.”

  “Brad? Brad?”

  It was Loretta, calling from Atlanta. My lovely, unfaithful, soon-to-be ex-torturer. The way she screamed on the phone, I would have sworn the woman was hard of hearing.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Loretta. What’s up?”

  “It’s Alex! I just got a call from the police department. . . .”

  Alex was our son, who would soon be sixteen.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Oh, he’s fine but he’s in big trouble.”

  “So, are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to wait and watch it on CNN?” I couldn’t help being sarcastic. One syllable from Loretta’s lips and I was instantly irritated.

  “Very funny, Bradford. He was caught shoplifting a DVD from Tower Records.”

  “Well, go get him out of the cooler and read him the riot act, Loretta!”

  “I can’t . . . I just can’t . . . someone might see me there and . . .”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. She was worried about herself?

  “Loretta! Have you lost your mind? Go get Alex!”

  “What if he gets suspended from Lovett? What if he can’t play football? Do you understand what I’m dealing with?”

  Her voice quivered and I knew that any minute she was going to break down.

  “Loretta. Calm down. Call Archie. He’ll tell you what to do.”

  I turned to Robert, who was listening to my end of the conversation and biting his lip not to laugh. Linda arrived and walked up to where we were standing. I held up two fingers to let her know I’d be off the phone as fast as I could. I could see she and Robert liked each other right away, which was good.

  Loretta had mumbled something and because I was distracted I had missed it.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, I can’t ask Archie anything. We broke up!”

  I wasn’t about to ask her what happened to Archie. I was ready to die laughing at the thought of her wounded pride, but she was so distraught, I held back.

  “Then call Theo!” Theo, my wonderful father-in-law, was the guy who had sold me out and bankrupted me without any apologies.

  “Who’s he talking to?” Linda whispered to Robert.

  “Shhh!” Robert said. “He’ll be off in a minute.”

  Loretta continued to whine in my ear. “I can’t call Daddy! He’d just die if he heard this!”

  “Then Loretta, what do you want me to do? Get on a plane?”

  “Would you?” she said in the tiny voice of a minx.

  Outrageous!

  “Loretta! You listen to me and hear me good, okay? Alex is your responsibility! You have full custody! So, get your behind down to the police station and get my fifteen-year-old son and take him home! Then, if you want me to, I’ll call Alex and talk to him.”

  “I’m putting him in military school, Brad! I mean it!”

  “You’ll do no such thing! Alex has never done anything like this in his life! Now, get going and tell Alex to call me later!”

  I slammed the phone down so hard Loretta’s earring probably fell off. Taking a deep breath, I extended a hand to Linda, forgetting that the last time she had nearly broken my fingers.

  “Hey! Welcome on board, Linda! I see you’ve already met Robert? He’s the wallet behind this glamorous establishment. . . .”

  She shook my hand hard and I winced.

  “And, his best friend of his entire life. . . .”

  She turned, shook Robert’s hand and he nearly buckled at the knees.

  “Some grip! God, woman! Don’t hurt me!”

  “Oh, God! I’m so, so sorry! I keep forgetting. . . .”

  I threw my hands in the air and Robert shook his head. Linda was mortified but recovered quickly, saying, “Who’s Loretta? Who’s Alex? Is everything okay?”

  “Should we tell her about Xanthippe?” Robert said, rubbing his knuckles.

  “Who?” Linda was obviously befuddled by Robert’s nickname for Loretta.

  “Xanthippe was the wife of Socrates,
known for her constant nagging. Loretta is my almost ex-wife and Alex is our fifteen-year-old son, whom Loretta can’t seem to handle without shrieking. . . .”

  “She broke up with Archie?” Robert said. “What happened?”

  “Who’s Archie?” Linda said.

  “Archie is the son of a bitch who broke up my marriage. . . .”

  “Who should be thanked for it every day for the rest of his life!” Robert said. “I think the gravity of this moment calls for a cigar. Care to join me, Brad? I have some very excellent Cohibas in my briefcase.”

  “Cigar?” Linda stared at me. “You smoke cigars?”

  “What? You allergic? You hate them?”

  “No! I love cigars! Smoke your head off! They remind me of my father.”

  “Oh? Is your dad still alive?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, he passed away years ago.”

  I realized Linda was standing there with her handbag and a box of office supplies and I hadn’t even told her it was okay to put them in the office. Robert had two cigars in hand and was fishing around in his briefcase for a cutter and I, so far, had done nothing to make this woman feel welcome, except to allow her to remangle my hand and confuse her with a bunch of names that made no sense to her.

  “Linda? Why don’t we go into your new office and I’ll get us some coffee. Then I’m gonna tell you the story of Loretta and Archie and how I ended up here.”

  “Fine! I mean, you don’t have to tell me. . . .”

  “It’s best she knows,” Robert said, and began the process of circumcising the cigars with his Swiss Army knife.

  I brought three large mugs on a tray back to the office, where Robert was flirting like Casanova with Linda. She knew he was just kidding around, and in fact she was giggling like a schoolgirl.

  “He’s harmless,” I said, putting the tray on the empty desk.

  “Unfortunately, that’s true,” Robert said, feigning the most infinitesimal sliver of shame. “Susan would obliterate me off the planet if I ever seriously, I mean . . . you haven’t met her yet, but when you do . . .”