The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

“Yeah,” Alex said dismissively. “It was over five years ago probably.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Alex,” Brian said sympathetically.

  “Don’t be, Precious. Truthfully, I’m looking at that new section up north. They’re building exquisite little patio homes and I just might buy one.”

  “Alex, you’ve lived downtown all of your life.”

  “Honey, I’m fifty-five years old,” he whispered. “A little fresh air isn’t going to hurt. But don’t worry.” Reassuringly, he laid his hand on Brian’s. “I’m still your Uncle Queenie.”

  Brian broke into sarcastic laughter. “At least some things stay the same.”

  “Depend on me, Precious. I’ll always be the family fag.”

  “Alex,” he mewed affectionately.

  * * * *

  Brian dropped Alex off downtown and then caught the freeway a little less clogged on a Saturday than the state route. The better to get home to Morgan, nearly noon already. But what the hell was he gonna do with his mother?

  At least his father moved out...at least for a while, his father said. Put some distance between them, he had said. That was a good thing if he was feeling enraged about something. At least Brian could be assured his mother would survive. Maybe that did mean Jerry was ready for a change.

  Beyond the outerbelt, he relaxed a little, the air definitely cooler and more calm. If Jerry was ready for a change...but that wouldn’t help his mother at the moment. His mother still wanted her husband. Fuck, and he opened the fourth beer in twenty minutes.

  A fog of confusion filled his thoughts. He’d hated his father...not forever, just...since when was it exactly? Over what? Isn’t seeing his mother all beat to hell enough? But to think that Jerry had been kidnapped made him squirm in the seat again.

  No, Brian told himself. He is a prick, just like Alex said. A magnanimous prick. The son of a bitch.

  * * * *

  Jerry Abernathy stood at the glass wall of the penthouse in Abernathy Tower staring across the street. The old refurbished Waterford Hotel had been a miracle of renovation at the time. A particular window on the twenty-first floor caught his attention, that window sporting his brother’s unmistakable flowing swags and cascades at the window.

  To think that Alex had gotten involved with Cheryl’s little ploy heartened him. Alex’s voice, so tender and sweet still. That Alex dropped everything to run to the Mansion to check on him drew a smile to his face. Maybe everything wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed. But to think that Alex could forgive him after thirty-five years was ridiculous. If Alex ever finds out he’s Brian’s father… And Cheryl is going to tell him. Cheryl is going to tell them all.

  * * * *

  Inside the Waterford Hotel on the twenty-first floor, Alex raged, “Charles, I don’t feel like this.”

  “You don’t ever get out of bed and leave me like that again. Do you hear me?”

  “Charles, he’s my brother.”

  “I know all about your brother, you fucking brat. I’ve heard about you two. I know what goes on between you. I wish the son of a bitch had been kidnapped and buried alive.”

  Alex drew his arms tightly around his waist and went to the window. This was positively insufferable. If Alex had enjoyed all the liaisons he’d been accused of he probably would have been fucked to death by now.

  The Abernathy Tower locked in his vision and he peered straight up knowing Jerry was at the very top now. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, to think Jerry had moved out of the Mansion where so many travesties occurred. So much heartache. So much pain.

  * * * *

  Brian pulled into the garage and hied into the house still aggravated with the morning’s events. He plowed through the service door to see Morgan sitting at the kitchen bar wearing panties and a tight little T-shirt. It was her expression, filled with worry and dismay that soothed him a little.

  “Baby,” he whispered as he wrapped around her.

  “Your father,” she gasped.

  “Moved out.” Still filled with aggravation, he released her.

  “Moved out?” she said a little confused. “Then why the hell did your mom let you think he’d been kidnapped?”

  “I don’t know.” Aimlessly, he went for a beer. “She’s pretty messed up though. I tried to get her to come back here with me, but no, hell no,” he rasped. “She wants to stay home. Maybe he’ll show up.”

  Curious, Morgan thought. The games people play. “I don’t understand. If he beats her within an inch of her life, she wants to stay there hoping he’ll come home?”

  “She’s messed up, Morgan. Needs a good shrink, I think.”

  “It sounds to me like your father did the intelligent thing. If they can’t get along...”

  “My father is an asshole,” he shouted. “What the hell makes you think you understand any of it?”

  Quickly, she stood and backed away to a corner near the door. He’d never spoken to her like that. But he’d never been this frustrated. “Brian,” she pleaded. “All I’m saying...”

  “No,” he hollered as he slammed the bottle to the granite counter top and advanced on her. “You think you know everything about everything. You’ve never met these people.” His face contorted with overwhelming rage. “How could you even begin to assess the situation? You can be so fucking arrogant sometimes.”

  Astounded and frightened, she backed further away. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s none of your fucking business what goes on in my family. My mom is suffering badly right now. She’s suffered for years. She got knocked up when she was seventeen with me and she’s been miserable ever since. The man used the best years of her life to satisfy his own perverse desires and here we are.” Boiling with rage, he turned away and went back to the beer. He tipped it high and chugged what was left. Still enraged, he left that one on the counter and went for another.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she offered.

  “Stay the fuck out of it.”

  In reality, it was impossible to get involved because she didn’t know them. Was never introduced to them. Didn’t even know their names. But it was obvious Brian cared. Cared quite a lot. “Is your father an alcoholic?”

  “What the fuck does that have to do with it?” he shouted, his soft brown curls shivering around his head. “Yeah, he drinks more than he should. So do I. So does everybody I know, including you.” In a fury, he went to the door and slammed it on his way out.

  Oh, shit, she thought. Because the truth is that the sons of wife-beating drunks think their mothers can do no wrong. Seven times out of ten, those sons become wife-beating drunks. What she always feared was materializing before her very eyes.

  She heard his footfall on the steps leading in from the garage. The door swung open and then slammed again, the sweet scintillating scent of reefer filling the air. “My mom’s in trouble, Morgan,” he stated as if it were truth.

  “Brian,” she said softly not wanting to infuriate him further. “Honey, I think you’re all in trouble.”

  His head rose, his expression so knurled she didn’t recognize him. The implication was clear. “You insufferable bitch,” he growled.

  “Brian,” she pleaded. “I want to help. You’re getting involved with people you barely know, Honey. I know they’re your parents, but how well do you really know them? How much do you know about their past?”

  He rose off the barstool and lengthened to his formidable height of over six feet tall. His broad, sun-kissed shoulders swelled like the hood of a cobra about to strike. With frightening accuracy, one foot followed the other toward her, his eyes mere slits of rage. Only inches separated them and he hissed, “Don’t you ever say anything like that to me again. Do you hear me?” His fist pushed at her chest and pinned her to the wall. “Don’t you ever fucking say anything like that again.”

  She dared not move, she knew that all too well. The slightest flinch could send her to the hospital or the morgue. The slightest slip
of her tongue could dismantle what sanity was left to him. She merely stood frozen, curled, and submissive to his assault praying it wouldn’t go further than threats.

  He stood towering, his heated breath falling over her like an arid desert wind full of sand to blast at her sanity. “Insufferable bitch,” he scowled. Suddenly, his hand dropped, but only because he was heading for the stairs.

  Her lungs ached to draw the breath she desperately needed to sustain herself. She slid down the wall, grateful she was intact. But this was bad. This was really bad. Drinking, smoking again. And totally sucked back into a family he had willingly walked away from ten years ago. There was nothing he could really know about them after ten years. But his devotion to his poor manipulative mother was obvious. His father had moved out to get the hell away from what aggravated him, a good move, and still, Brian was angry about that.

  She forced herself to her feet and moved back into the kitchen when she thought he was going upstairs to sleep it off. Just then, he appeared, a pillowcase slung over his shoulder. Her heart collapsed to see his expression frozen into rage, his features unrecognizable. The granite-topped bar separated them as he stared, ripped up inside. “I didn’t think you were gonna marry me anyway. I’m just not good enough for you, am I?”

  “Brian,” she gasped feeling something irreversible going down. Sudden tears sprang into her eyes. “Brian, I’m not the enemy here. Don’t confuse two different situations. Honey, I want to help. If the only way I can help is to stay out of it I will. Brian, please don’t leave.”

  “What have I got to look forward to around here, Baby? Being your little slave the rest of my life? I’m not good enough to marry, but it’s alright if I cut your fucking grass, wax your car. Wax your legs, your cunt,” he snarled. “Wash your panties by hand every night? Not good enough to be your husband. I got news for you, Baby. I’m getting married with or without you. She’s younger than you, got more money than you, and she wants me. Six months from today I’m getting married in these exquisite gardens I built for you. And you’re gonna plan the wedding. Happy Birthday, Baby,” he said sarcastically. He stormed to the refrigerator for three more beers. A moment more and he was gone.

  “Oh, God,” she screamed as she flew to the door and through the garage. The starter on his work truck ground and then engaged. Before she could get to him, he drove away, bits of mulch spraying out of the bed as if a vicious storm had suddenly struck.

  She fell to the brick watching in horror. He was leaving. Incomprehensible. He was leaving her and she watched as he disappeared behind the trees.

  Oh, God, and she began to sob.

  * * * *

  Capriciously, he tossed one beer bottle out of the window and opened another. He hit the last of the joint and flicked it away from him. Mindlessly, he took the state route back to town. Where he was going, he wasn’t certain. All he knew for certain is that Morgan had rejected him for the last time. Seven proposals, seven engagement rings weren’t enough. Ten, twenty, thirty wouldn’t be enough. Obviously, she didn’t love him that much. Obviously, he hadn’t proved himself yet. What the hell more could she want? He belched up the second beer and opened the third.

  * * * *

  Morgan stomped into the house and slammed the door, her tears still glowing on her cheeks. “Kitty. Fix me a drink.”

  Kitty appeared, shivering. “What the hell’s going on around here?”

  “I’m not sure I know,” Morgan said twisted with rage herself. “But if ever some idiot shrink tells you that mental illness isn’t a contagious disease, find yourself another shrink. If there’s one nut case in the house, you can be damned sure everyone else will be nuts.”

  Unhinged, Kitty ran to the wine cooler.

  “Long Island iced tea,” Morgan screeched.

  Shit, Kitty thought. Too early for wine. Way too early for bourbon. “I’ve never heard him talk like that before. Hell, I’ve never even seen him get mad.”

  “He gets angry,” Morgan snarled. Full of anger mingled with fear, she tucked her leg and fell onto the little tapestried settee. “Everybody gets angry at times. But I’ve never felt fear around him. He’s certainly never gotten pissed off at me because of what someone else is doing.”

  “I was about ready to call the cops,” Kitty admitted. Dutifully, she handed the glass to Morgan.

  Aggravated, Morgan scratched at her forehead and then reached for a cigarette. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t have any suggestions,” Kitty said shaking her head.

  “Curious I should learn to dislike my mother-in-law before I meet her.”

  “So you were gonna say yes this time?”

  Morgan peered into the soft black eyes of her sweet little sub. “Not exactly. But I have realized that I have to tell him why I’m not getting married to him or anyone else. That should sufficiently squelch any desire he has to be married to me.” She thought about for it a moment. “And what the hell is he talking about some other bitch! He’s getting married with or without me! Who the hell has he been seeing?”

  “I don’t know what that was about,” Kitty hissed. “I can’t believe he’d screw around on you. That’d be rather stupid, wouldn’t it? He gets more ass around here than if he was on his own.”

  “I can’t believe he’d say that to me. He knows I can’t stand to see him with other women. So why the hell would he say it if it’s not true?” Like a storm trooper, she launched off the settee to go break something.

  * * * *

  When he awoke from his stupor, he found himself sitting in front of the Abernathy Mansion. Home, he thought. But this place was the furthest thing from home he could think of. This was an insane asylum.

  “Oh, Morgan, what have I done?” he prayed, his hands hiding his face.

  Before he could open his eyes on the world again, the stern voice of another guard growled, “I believe you’re parked in the wrong driveway.”

  The rage once again collected like toxic waste able to eat through glass. Without hesitation, Brian opened the door and thrust the guard away from the truck. The guard slid his hand under his jacket for the piece in the shoulder holster. Brian reached for his wallet.

  “I’m Brian Abernathy, goddamnit. And since my father moved out, I’m moving in. So why don’t you do something useful and park my truck around back?”

  Quickly, Brian put his wallet away and grabbed the pillowcase on the seat. He snatched the bag of reefer and papers out of the glove box and walked straight through the front door.

  “You insolent little fucking bastard,” the guard mumbled. He turned up his nose at the thought of getting in that truck. He merely called an underling to do it right away, lest the sight of something so vile be noticed in the neighborhood.

  Aimlessly, Brian wandered up the stairs. He opened the door of what he once thought of as his closet. Nothing had been changed, not even the sheets probably. It didn’t feel right. He wandered down the hall to his father’s rooms.

  That didn’t feel right either, but at least it wasn’t foreign. Actually some of the best days of his life were spent here. He sat at the table long enough to roll a joint. “Oh, Morgan, what have I done?” he cried as he lit the joint. If he remembered clearly he had said something about getting married with or without her.

  In shock, he walked across the hallway and knocked softly on his mother’s door.

  “In here,” he heard from a familiar voice. He followed the sound of rushing water to the bathroom.

  “BRIAN! Honeychild!”

  “Molly,” he cried disbelieving that she stood before him, shrunken with age. Quickly, he grabbed his childhood nanny into his arms, delighted to be with a woman he was once in love with. Flattened those huge black breasts against his stomach. “Molly, Honey, you’ve gotten so old.”

  “I know, Baby,” she said, just delighted to see him. Standing away to look him up and down, she swore, “And you’re just as pretty as you ever were, Sweetie. Oh, Lord, look at you.”
/>   “Why don’t you retire already?”

  With a little pinch to his arm, she winked. “And sit home and do what? Babysit great grandchildren? No thanks. There’s thirty of them, Baby. Lord have mercy my on my old bones. Besides, you’re father’s so good to me. For Christmas he gave me a two-week all expenses paid vacation on that love boat in the Caribbean. First class. And five thousand dollars to go with it. I took my boyfriend for his birthday. He’s only sixty-three, you know. Ate, gambled, slept and you know. We had the time of our lives. I feel fat,” she cooed.

  “Good,” as he grabbed her up again and slapped her ass. “It’s ‘cause of you I love them fat-bottom girls, you know. I always liked yours best.”

  “Oooohhh, Babydoll. Don’t let your woman hear you say that.”

  Gently, he smiled. “I just stopped in to talk to Mom a minute. Where is she?”

  Molly’s old wrinkled face wrinkled a little more. “Honey, it's Saturday. You’re mama isn’t home on Saturdays. She goes to all them society parties on Saturdays. Honey, you’ve been gone too long.”

  As if he didn’t hear the words, he merely stared a moment. “She’s not home?”

  “No, Brian. She’s never home on Saturdays. Why’d ya think she’d be here?”

  “Because my father walked out on their marriage last night and she sounded this morning like she was ready to commit suicide over it.”

  Molly hesitated. “Your mother, Cheryl?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Honey, if your father finally walked out then she’s out celebrating. Most of the time they don’t even speak, and when they do it’s never civil. It’s hard to imagine she was ready to jump out a window over it.”

  Brian backed a way a little. “Then what’s going on around here, Molly?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Baby. But they don’t get along good at all, Honey. Certainly, you knew that.”

  Aimlessly, he plopped onto the edge of the tub and peered up at her. “Did my parents ever care for each other?”