by Phil Stern
At this point Dad probably pulled down more than most of Scarsdale, yet to Mom he was somehow just a cabdriver. And yes, though Dad was absurdly cheap and unduly severe, at least I now appreciated where it came from.
I didn’t mention Liz’s sex life. Obviously he was leaving the whole matter to my mom, and if faced with directly knowledge of Little Edgar’s illicit forays into his underage daughter, he might well murder Big Edgar. After a while I kissed him on the back of the head, leaving Dad to his ships.
Around four o’clock Edgar showed up, and I must admit my disappointment. I guess I’d been expecting some young Tom Cruise type, sweeping first my mother, then sister, off their feet through his undeniable charm. Instead, I was faced with a pudgy, badly dressed young man, already pushing hair around in the hopes of hiding a bald spot.
“Sophia Danton,” Edgar blurted out, vigorously shaking my hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
“And I’ve heard so much about you!” I chimed back, my eyes never leaving his.
Edgar’s smile dimmed just a touch. Good. Though hoping, he wasn’t so stupid as to think Liz wouldn’t spill the beans to her older, worldly sister.
“And Mrs. Danton! Look, I’ve brought something nice for dinner!” With an absurd flourish he produced a bottle of cheap wine. “Your favorite, yes?”
“Oh, Edgar, how thoughtful!” Beaming, Mom showed me the bottle. “Look, Sophia, isn’t it wonderful?”
“Absolutely.” It wasn’t even suitable for getting bombed at a low-rent bachelorette party. “That’s very nice.”
“Well, I try,” Edgar murmured.
Just then Liz rushed in, demurely taking Edgar’s hand. “Hi, honey,” she giggled, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“My dear,” he replied, taking both her hands and standing back at arms’ length. “You look more beautiful every time I see you.” Then, turning to Mom, he actually winked. “As do you, Mrs. Danton.”
“Oh, Edgar.” Blushing like a schoolgirl, Mom swatted him on the arm. “You’re terrible!”
“And you, Sophia…” Releasing Liz’s hands, he then theatrically dropped down on one knee before me, “…are even more spectacular than I imagined. Mere words do no justice to your charm and grace!”
And then ensued what bad novelists everywhere would call a pregnant pause, everyone waiting for a suitable reply. But all I could do was stare down at this numb nut, firmly resisting an urge to punch him in the jaw. Never, in my life, had I met a bigger jackass.
“Uh, Sophia,” Mom finally said. “Aren’t you going to say something? After all, this young gentleman just paid you a nice compliment.”
Standing slightly behind Edgar and our mother, Liz silently mouthed “young gentleman,” at me, trying not to laugh.
“Well,” I finally sighed, “that’s…very nice. Thank you.”
“Not at all,” the jackass purred, standing once more, “it would be uncouth of me to say otherwise.”
“Isn’t he a dear!” Mom exclaimed, swatting Edgar on the arm once more.
Over dinner I said little, listening to Mom and Edgar prattle on about last Sunday’s church service, with excited predictions about the wonders in store at St. Mary’s on the morrow. Michael, Brian, and Dad chimed in now and again, but Liz was perfectly content to let the conversation flow around her, giving me knowing grins from time to time. Clearly, Edgar himself held little charm for my precocious younger sibling, yet his ability to snooker our parents was utterly invaluable.
After our early supper Mom insisted we all sit down to watch the local cable outlet. This was a recent development in our family life, the news having been virtually banned when I was younger. I think my mother assumed that since I was now a newswoman myself I had some pressing interest in the local newscast, which was actually the last thing I wanted to watch on vacation.
And sure enough, the lead story was exactly the kind of nonsense that eventually led to my quitting television reporting in disgust.
“Shocking news tonight from Yorktown,” the male anchor intoned, tensely leaning forward.
“A community under siege following a vicious attack!” Beside him the very young, wide-eyed, slightly breathless news babe’s long hair bounced softly about her face and chest, gently brushing against cleavage way too pronounced for anchoring. (An older female colleague in Boston caustically referred to this as the “call girl” trend in broadcast journalism.) One almost had the sense this girl had rushed onto the set from her boudoir, mid-orgasm, just to bring this harrowing tale to the public.
In short, some woman had walked out of her house that morning to find a baby fox chewing on her windshield wiper blade. Upon her appearance, the fox had loped harmlessly into the woods. That’s it. No one was bitten or injured. It certainly wasn’t a news story, and didn’t even approach lead story status.
Yet, by the reaction of the news team, one was given the impression a pack of nuclear-armed werewolves were rampaging through several states. The final shot was of the aggrieved Yorktown woman staring into the camera, eyes filling with tears. “What will I do if the fox comes back?” she wailed.
“That’s terrible!” Mom declared, staring at her family in alarm. “Why, that poor woman! Sophia, what do you think of that?”
“I think that’s a nothing story on a really slow news day.”
“But honey, did you see how frightened that woman was?” Mom pressed. “How can you say that’s not a big story?”
Afterwards I announced I was taking a walk in the backyard. Picking up her cue, Liz dragged Edgar outside as well. With a giggle, my sexually-active teenage sister then declared she’d forgotten something inside, leaving me alone with her overage boyfriend.
“So, Edgar,” I pleasantly began. “Don’t you think my sister is a little young for you?”
It was a nice evening, the stars out early. Clearly, Edgar wanted no part of this conversation, but didn’t see any way out of it.
“Age is just a number.” The dummy tried the same wink and cute shrug that worked so well with Mom. “And Liz is an old soul. I can feel that.”
“Listen, I don’t know about her soul, but biologically speaking she’s 16 years old.”
“And I respect that! I respect Liz! Your mother and I have an understanding here, Sophia.”
Sighing, I crossed my arms. “And according to my mother, that understanding includes not fucking her.”
Several moments went by, Edgar making a great show of staring up at the stars. “Did your mother mention I go to St. Mary’s every Sunday?”
“Listen, Edgar, cut the crap. You’re not dealing with my sweet, gullible mom right now. What you’re doing is immoral and illegal.”
Turning away, as if upset by my statement, Edgar gave himself a moment to think. He then turned back, as if struck by a thought. “You know, Sophia, I would think you, of all people, would understand what’s going on here.”
“Really? And how’s that?”
“Well,” Edgar began. “From what Liz tells me, you’ve had your own, uh, experiences, shall we say, along these lines? Why would you deny your own sister…”
“All right, asshole, let me stop you right there.” Taking a step forward, I stared right into his chubby face. “You will stop seeing Liz immediately, as in tonight. You certainly won’t sleep with her again.”
“What a vulgar accusation!”
“It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact.”
“I’ve admitted nothing of the kind.”
“You don’t have to. I know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With stiff formality, Edgar took out a handkerchief, mopping his sweaty brow.
“Look, let’s just leave it at this. You’re not the first guy to let Little Edgar do the thinking for Big Edgar, and you certainly won’t be the last.” Deliberately, I touched his arm. “And the good news is you’re lucky.”
Edgar frowned. “How’s that?”
“Because I’m not goi
ng to the cops. Yet.” Now I stepped back. “I also haven’t mentioned all this to my father, who’s quite old school about this sort of thing. Get the picture?”
“Come now, Sophia. Certainly there’s no need for all that!” I’ve got to hand it to the pudgy fuck. He didn’t wilt under my barrage. “And your mother seems to approve of me. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Edgar, forget my mother. Leave Liz alone and find a girl your own age. Now. Before this gets ugly.”
And with that I purposefully walked back toward the house. With any luck Edgar might just slink around to his car out front and drive off, never to be seen again.
“Uh, Sophia? There’s one more thing.”
Surprised, I turned back around. Edgar’s voice had an odd note of confidence I didn’t like. “Yes?”
“Perhaps Liz didn’t mention I was a photographer. Have you ever thought of becoming a model?”
All I could do was groan. “Edgar, for God’s sake, give it up.”
“All right.” The scummy smile was back. “But if you change your mind, let me know.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Oh, and there’s something else.” Now Edgar advanced on me, stopping a few feet away. “Before spreading these absurd lies to other people, just think of what all this would mean for your sister’s reputation.”
Dead silence ensued. In the distance I could hear crickets chirping, the murmur of the television back in the house.
“Remember what I said about the modeling, Sophia. As they say, a picture’s worth a thousand words.”
“Edgar, you’re playing a very dangerous game here.”
Now he leaned in close. “As are you!” he whispered. “There’s more at stake here than you know! For Liz and your family.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to guess.”
“Fuck you, Edgar.”
“I’d enjoy that very much.” Laughing, he ambled back toward the house. “See you back inside,” he called out, opening up the screen door and crossing back into the kitchen.
As a journalist, I was used to people trying to bluff me off a story. A week didn’t go by that some jerk didn’t tell me my facts were wrong, or threaten me with a lawsuit if I ran a certain piece, or assure me he had the connections to get me fired if I didn’t go away. It was always smoke. In fact, I welcomed such nonsense, as it let me know I was onto something good.
Which is why Edgar’s attitude was very disquieting. Either he was the best poker player I’d yet encountered, or my sister’s smarmy paramour had something up his sleeve. Before I took further action, I needed to find out what it was.
Moodily channel flipping after Edgar finally left and everyone else had gone to bed, I caught an update on the fox cub story. Now the sexpot anchor, flying solo, told us the “authorities” had launched an all-out “manhunt” for the offending canine. They even included a picture of the cutest baby fox you’ve ever seen, apparently taken that evening at the local zoo. “The animal in question appears much like the fox on your screen!” the news babe gushed, followed by another clip of the Yorktown woman screeching about the danger to her family. Boy, did I hate what the news business was becoming.
The next morning, over breakfast, Mom prattled on about Edgar. “He’s so handsome!” she proclaimed. “And smart. And so good with money!”
The buttered bagel I’d been nibbling on settled uneasily into my stomach. “Yeah, Mom, he’s super.”
Behind our mother Liz giggled, dashing from the kitchen to get ready for church. Oh, how she was loving this.
Did she just say… “Hey Mom, what you do mean about Edgar being good with money?”
“Well,” she began with a knowing smile. “You see, dear, Edgar makes lots of money on the stock market! That’s one of the things that makes him such a good catch.”
Edgar makes lots of money on the stock market, but still lives at home? “Sure, Mom. That’s great.” My mother wouldn’t have made a very good reporter.
“It is great,” she chided, catching the sarcastic undertone. “In fact, Edgar’s investing a thousand dollars for me. And he isn’t even charging a commission! Isn’t he a dear?”
“Hold on. You gave Edgar a thousand dollars?”
“That’s right! Edgar says he could triple it, maybe even quadruple it for me!”
Just then Dad walked in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. With his back turned, Mom mouthed “Don’t tell your father.” Sighing, I nodded. Dad didn’t give anybody his money. He might even be more pissed about that than the adventures of Liz and Little Edgar.
At St. Mary’s, Mom effusively greeted Edgar and his mother, a stately woman in her mid-50's. We all sat in the same long pew, Liz between Mom and her lover/photographer/stockbroker. I had trouble getting into the service, bothered as I was by Edgar’s off key bellowing during the hymns.
Afterwards we all went out for breakfast. Catching my eye at every opportunity, Edgar’s smug grin was driving me nuts. He thought I was beaten. Good. Let the fuck get overconfident.
Still, I was now thoroughly annoyed. Glancing through the newspaper at the end of the table (and pointedly ignoring my mother’s attempts to include me in conversation), I read an update on the elusive Yorktown fox. Apparently the woman initially reporting the incident had a history of psychiatric illness, having filed numerous reports, in several other states, about wild animals hounding her family. In fact, she’d recently moved to the area after being released from a mental hospital in Texas. The mangled windshield wiper blade also appeared as if it had been cut with a knife, rather than chewed by an animal.
Good for the police, I thought. This was exactly the kind of information leaked to everyone else when one news outlet was beating them up for failing to protect the public from baby foxes. Pretty soon the Yorktown woman would pull up stakes and harass the local cops somewhere else.
Glancing up, I studied Edgar prattling away at Mom and my brother Brian. Didn’t mom say he’d recently moved to the area? Could Big Edgar had a record somewhere else, possibly involving Little Edgar?
On my way to the bathroom I took down the licence number from the car Edgar and his mother were using. As soon as we got home I called in a favor to a Massachusetts state police lieutenant, who promised to get back to me with any information he could dig up.
So far my presence had managed to cock block Edgar, Liz having stayed home last night and again Sunday afternoon to spend time with big sis. Still, I had to do something soon. The idea of the slimy bastard fucking my sweet younger sister was more than I could stomach.
As luck would have it, the trooper called back that afternoon, and I got what I was looking for.
Turns out the car was registered to a certain Matilda Jensen, 56 years old. The authorities had no interest in Ms. Jensen. However, her son, 32-year-old (!) Harold Edgar Jensen, was charged by Utah authorities with statutory rape and facilitating child pornography. Mr. Jensen was also wanted for questioning in several financial scams involving bogus stocks and such. He’d fled Utah three years ago, had been reported in Michigan last year, present whereabouts unknown.
Until now, of course. “Thank, Rick,” I said to the lieutenant. “I really owe you one.”
“Sophia, if you know where Jensen is, let me know. You’d have to spend all day convincing the local cops to go pick him up, while one call from me would do the trick.”
“Got it. I’ll call you back either today or tomorrow.” There was just one more thing I needed to do before blowing the whistle on Edgar.
“Listen, Sophia.” Now the officer paused awkwardly, as so many men do when talking to me. “Maybe when you’re back in town…”
“We’ll see. Gotta go, Rick. Bye.” Dating sources was a very bad idea, although the lieutenant was kinda cute. He was also kind of married, which didn’t slow these guys down one bit.
So that evening, after my family played a rousing game of Monopoly, I aga
in took my mother out for a walk.
“Honey, what do you think is wrong with Brian?” Mom asked, shivering despite the warm breeze. “He doesn’t seem clear on how to play the game.”
Yeah, by that point it was clear my brother wasn’t going to win any I.Q. contests. He’d traded Tennessee Avenue to Michael, giving him the orange monopoly, in return for the useless Electric Company. Then he’d refused Mom’s offer of Kentucky Avenue, which would have given him the red monopoly. Losing a game is fine. But for a 22-year-old guy to not even understand the basic strategy, and then storm off in frustration, is something else.
But that was a subject for another day. “Listen, I have news about Edgar.”
Mom visibly stiffened, her mouth settling into the tight frown I knew so well. “What is it now, dear?” Clearly, this had already become an uncomfortable subject between us.
So I told her about Edgar’s criminal record and his real name of Harold Edgar Jensen, leaving nothing out. Mom didn’t flinch.
“And you’re saying that our Edgar is really this other person? That he did these things?”
“Yes, Mom. Edgar is a criminal and a con man.”
“Nonsense.”
“You’ve been duped.”
“All right, that’s enough!” Suddenly very angry, Mom wheeled around to face me. “I know what this is really about!”
Against the idyllic backdrop of the woods in early twilight, I faced my mother. “All right, Mom, I’ll bite. What is this really about?”
“This is about you, and your awful choices, and your disgusting lifestyle!” Eyes blazing, Mom warmed to her theme. “And now you’re full of regret and self-hate. But don’t take that out on Edgar, or me, or your sister! That’s not fair!”
“So you think this is about me?” I said very quietly, the old rages coming quickly to the fore.
“That’s right!” With righteous indignation, Mom stepped back. “Your father and I did everything we could, Sophia. And now you have all these regrets…”