by Lutz, Lisa
“The same reason you can’t leave a dirty dish in the sink. It’s just who I am.”
THE EXPERIMENT
Saturday, April 1
I awoke sometime after ten A.M to find my host, still in his pajamas, reading a newspaper on his living room sofa.
“Happy Birthday,” Henry said as he looked up from his newspaper.1 He then put his bare feet up on his coffee table. It was an awkward shift, as if he had never done it before. “I made you a cake,” he continued, nodding toward the kitchen.
“How’d you know it was my birthday?” I asked, following his gaze.
There was a coffee cake on the kitchen counter. Next to it, fresh-brewed coffee. Next to that, a coffee ring where a mug used to rest. Next to that, a sink full of dishes, presumably from the cake making.
“I don’t know who you are, sir. But tell me what you’ve done with Henry,” I said in mock desperation.
“Very funny,” he replied, not moving his eyes from the newspaper. “Just eat your cake.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee, sliced a large square of the accompanying cake, and sat down on the couch next to Henry.
“This is really good,” I said. “Did you make it from scratch?”
“Of course,” was his only reply.
“How’d you know it was my birthday?”
“Your parents called early this morning,” he said, as he took the fork out of my hand and gave himself a bite of cake.
I felt his forehead with the back of my hand.
“Should I call a doctor?” I asked.
“People can change,” he said, giving me back my fork.
“What game are you playing?” I asked suspiciously.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Stone said. “I’ll cut back on the cleaning-and-control-issue type things if you avoid all forms of surveillance.”
“For how long?”
“Until Monday morning.”
“It’s only a weekend.”
“It’s a start.”
Like my sister, I enjoy a good negotiation. But I needed to enhance the sacrifice on Stone’s end of the bargain.
“Cutting back on the cleaning isn’t going to work for me,” I said.
“What’s your counteroffer?” Stone replied.
“A complete moratorium on cleaning. If the sink gets too full, I’ll wash the dishes and dry them. There will be no inspection. Also, you have to wear your pajamas into the afternoon.”
“What if I have to go out?”
“Not my problem. And, one shower a day only. No shaving.”
“Be reasonable, Isabel.”
“It’s my birthday,” I said.
Stone mulled over the terms of our negotiation. “Let me make my demands clear,” he said, spelling out his final counteroffer. “You can’t go near any computer. You may not leave the house, unless you’re accompanied by an adult (or Rae), and you may not use your cell phone unless I am within earshot.”
“Where’s the trust?”
“There is none.”
“So is this like a bet with winners and losers?”
“No,” Stone replied. “It’s just an experiment.”
LOST WEEKEND REDUX
A storm came through the Bay Area that morning. Outside, thunder roared and lightning followed. With our usual pastimes off the table, Stone and I briefly debated how we could occupy ourselves.
“We could go to the museum.”
“Nah.”
“The library.”
“Why?”
“The aquarium.”
“The aquarium? Are you trying to educate me?” I asked.
“It was a thought,” Stone replied.
We chose television to numb our respective minds and opted to continue our Doctor Who marathon.
A surveillance report on Stone and me would read something like this:
Lost Weekend—Day 1
1110 hrs
Henry Stone (hereafter referred to as Subject #1) and Isabel Spellman (hereafter referred to as Subject #2) are observed sitting on a couch. Subject #1 is wearing green-and-navy-blue-checked pajamas. Subject #2 wears red-and-green flannel pajama bottoms and a hooded sweatshirt. Subject #1 puts a DVD into the player. Subjects lean back and watch the television screen.
Subjects remain on the couch for the next five hours.
1230 hrs
A young woman, approximately fifteen years of age (Subject #3), with sandy blonde hair, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, a sweater, and a raincoat, rings Subject #1’s doorbell. Subject #3 is granted entrance into Subject #1’s home.
The fault with surveillance reports is that they rarely provide the soundtrack. And the following events require a soundtrack. I’ll have to recount the details from memory since Henry frisked me for a recording device the moment Rae arrived.
“Happy Birthday,” Rae said upon entering the apartment. She then passed me a plastic bag that contained a birthday card and a one pound bag of Peanut M&M’s. The card was of the Hallmark-humor variety. “Hey, you don’t look your age…I thought you were older.” A ten-dollar bill accompanied the insult.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I think I’ll use it to buy a quarter tank of gas.”
But Rae wasn’t interested in my response. She promptly spotted the dirty dishes in the sink, noted the coffee cake on the counter, and gawked at Stone in his PJs. I’m fairly certain she has never seen him in anything that didn’t button up and tuck in.
“Do you have the flu?” Rae asked Henry.
“No,” Henry replied. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, blocking Stone’s entry into the bedroom.
“It’s afternoon. The deal was I wear the pajamas through morning.”
“No, the deal was you wear them until afternoon. Rae, what is afternoon to you?”
“Three o’clock,” Rae said, and then she darted for the television and opened up the DVD player to find out which episode we were on.
“Did you skip ahead?” Rae asked, looking betrayed.
“No,” I replied, turning Henry around and pushing him back toward the couch.
“When did you watch all of these?” Rae asked, doing some internal calculations.
“Last night and this morning,” I said.
“There’s no way you were reading, too.”
“Your sister and I are conducting an experiment,” Henry explained.
“Well, if the experiment involves a Doctor Who marathon then I want in. I can’t believe you did this without me.”
Rae, with a look of determination unmatched in her entire history, swapped out DVDs and plopped herself down on the couch, clutching the cushions to secure her place there.
“You’re going to have to wait until I catch up,” she said, after locating the remote and pressing Play. “Oh, and I won’t be reading any books today,” she said authoritatively.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“One forty-five,” Stone replied.
I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.
“Isabel, it’s one forty-five,” Stone said.
“I know. You just told me.”
I took another beer out of the refrigerator.
“You’ll have one too.”
Henry nodded his head toward my sister, silently trying to convey that he did not wish to set such an example for a minor.
“Relax, Henry. She’s seen people drink beer in the afternoon before.”
“Shhh,” Rae demanded, staring at the television with rapt attention.
“Got any board games?” I whispered.
“Scrabble,” Stone replied.
“Of course you have Scrabble,” I said sarcastically. “Get it. We have time to kill.”
1630 hrs
Final Score in Scrabble: Henry: 14,876 points; Isabel: 5,234 points.
Beer Score: Henry: 2; Isabel: 4
Episodes of Doctor Who watched by Rae:
5
Rae, finally realizing that these hours of bliss would not be snatched from her in the immediate future, decided to take a break from her viewing pleasure and test the limitations of this “experiment.” She got up from the couch and announced that she was going to the store.
“I’ll come with you,” I said. “We need more beer.”
I threw a raincoat over my pajamas and slipped on Henry’s rain boots, which were by the front door. The nearest corner shop was about two blocks away. Rae and I decided to walk in the cold, damp air. I tucked my pajama bottoms into the boots and stomped through the puddles on the way to the store.
“Would you stop that?” Rae demanded, as she dodged my splashes of water.
I didn’t stop.
“Grow up, Isabel.”
I circled the next puddle and said, “I’m going to let you in on a secret: People don’t grow up like you think they do.”
Rae sighed and said, “What are you talking about?”
“The whole grown-up thing is a myth. Whatever is wrong with you now will probably be wrong with you in twenty years.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me now,” Rae replied.
“If people really grew up, there would be no crime, no divorce, no Civil War reenactors. Think about it. Was Uncle Ray a grown-up? Does Dad always behave like a grown-up? It’s all bullshit. I can’t tell you what Mom’s been doing lately, but I will say, not grown-up.”
“I miss Uncle Ray,” my sister said.
“Me too,” I replied.
It had been a while since his name was mentioned. Silence washed over us as we reached the corner shop. I tried not to think of Uncle Ray as being gone forever. I just liked to imagine him on one really long Lost Weekend. I welcomed the distraction of choosing beer.
After Rae and I bought our provisions we strode back to Henry’s house on the rain-soaked sidewalk. I stomped in a puddle one more time to take Rae’s mind off our uncle. I could read from her sober expression that tears might surface if she let them.
“I asked you to stop that,” Rae said, dodging the splash after the fact.
“Sorry, I forgot,” I lightly replied.
“Henry’s a grown-up,” Rae said after a long pause.
I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary, so I let that one slide.
“Maybe,” I said. “But my point is, it’s not like you think it will be, that one day you’ll wake up and realize that you’ve got things figured out. You never figure it out. Ever.”
“So is there any benefit to getting older?” Rae asked.
“Sure,” I said. “You can buy your own beer.”
Five minutes later we were inside Henry’s house, dropping our shoes and raincoats in the foyer. I scanned the room for signs of order, but it appeared Henry had left all items in their place, out of place. He did, however, dress while we were out. There was nothing overly formal about Stone’s attire, but the tucked-in oxford shirt under the blue sweater looked a touch too college-lecturer for me.
“No shoes,” I said to Henry, looking down at his loafers.
“I don’t recall our deal involving complete wardrobe control. Do you?”
“Untuck this,” I said, reaching under his sweater and pulling the tails out of his pants. Henry smacked my hands away.
“I got it,” he said, finishing the job.
“That’s better.”
Rae unpacked her groceries and began melting butter in a saucepan.
“Rae, what are you doing?” Henry asked, looking concerned.
“There’s only one conclusion to draw from these three ingredients,” my sister replied. “Rice Krispies Treats.”
“Are you planning on cleaning up after yourself?” Henry asked, imagining pots and pans taking over his kitchen like an alien invasion.
My sister, accurately judging the temperature in the room, replied, “Eventually.”
I won’t bore you with a detailed retelling of the next twenty-four hours. Suffice it to say, it was more of the same. The following are the highlights, which can be illustrated by attributed bits of conversation.
1830 hrs
RAE: Izzy, want another square [shorthand for RKT]?
ISABEL: No, but Henry will have one.
HENRY: No, thank you.
ISABEL: I wasn’t asking. I was telling.
1930 hrs
RAE: I hate the Slitheens.1 I really, really hate them. They’re so disgusting. Frankly, I prefer the Daleks.2
ISABEL: But the Slitheens aren’t as big a threat as the Daleks.
RAE: The Daleks are really scary, but I don’t hate them in the same way.
Henry, who do you hate more?
HENRY: They’re fiction. I don’t hate either.
[Rae accidentally spills a bowl of pretzels onto the coffee table. Henry reaches to clean it up.]
ISABEL: Leave it.
HENRY: Are you going to clean it up?
ISABEL: Later.
2100 hrs
RAE: This is fun. We should do this every weekend.
HENRY: When will you do your homework?
RAE: You are so prehistoric.
ISABEL: I think I’ll have another beer.
HENRY: Me, too.
ISABEL: Really?
HENRY: Rae, how will you get home?
RAE: I thought I’d use the Tardis.3
HENRY: Call home. We can’t drive you.
RAE: I’m not ready to go yet.
HENRY: Isabel, hand me the phone.
ISABEL: This is so great. The experiment is working. You’re, like, totally lazy.
[I hand Henry the phone. He calls the Spellman house.]
HENRY: [into phone] Hi, Olivia. It’s Henry. Rae’s going to need a ride home sometime this evening. I’ve had a couple of beers and can’t drive. Isabel can’t drive either. Yes, she’s still here. Your mother left you a message on your cell phone. Why haven’t you called her back?
ISABEL: Because she had me arrested for grand larceny just because I borrowed her car.
HENRY: You heard that? Anyway, can you pick up Rae? She’s been here about twelve hours already. [pause] We’ve been watching TV and eating Rice Krispies Treats. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.
One hour later Henry’s doorbell rang. I answered it to encourage Henry’s slothfulness. My mother and father were standing in the foyer. Mom handed me a card, which presumably contained an amusing insult about my age and a check for a not-insignificant amount of money.
“Happy Birthday, dear. This should keep you out of trouble for a while…I hope,” Mom said as she kissed me on the cheek.
Dad followed up with a hug and suggested we have dinner sometime next week.
Both parents brushed passed me and took in the spectacle of Henry’s disordered home on their own.
“You know it still only requires one adult for a Rae extraction, right?” I said.
“We were worried,” my father replied.
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Not about you,” Mom said. “Henry.”
“Henry, is everything all right?” my dad asked the new-and-improved Henry.
“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine. Isabel and I just came to an understanding.”
Rae packed up her Rice Krispies Treats in plastic wrap.
“What kind of understanding?” Mom asked suspiciously.
“Olivia, it’s nothing. We’re fine. Rae just needed a ride home.”
“Ready?” Dad asked Rae.
“Yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow. Ten A.M.” Rae said. “Don’t even think about starting without me,” she added in a tone of severe warning.
Mom and Dad shared a silent, baffled communication. Mom sat down on the couch next to Henry and whispered loud enough for me to hear. “We can take Isabel away too. Just say the word.”
“We’re fine. Isabel is fine. I’m fine.”
“You have my cell number,” Mom said. “Call anytime. We’re h
ere for you, Henry.”
LOST WEEKEND REDUX
DAY-2
Sunday, April 2
Day two was almost an exact replica of day one, except Henry refused to drink any beer and Rae arrived an hour earlier. In the afternoon, when Stone was finally allowed to change out of his pajamas, Rae and I were alone on the couch. The conversation began innocently enough, but my Lost Weekend was simply a minor diversion from my primary focus, which I could not jar out of my head.
“I love the tenth doctor,” Rae said after we watched our sixth episode of Doctor Who that day. Interestingly, the actor playing the doctor had changed between the first season and the second. The transition was remarkably smooth. Still, I wasn’t as convinced of the tenth doctor’s superiority over the ninth as my sister was.
“You only like the new doctor because you think he’s cuter than the first,” I said.
“He is cuter.”
“No, he’s not,” I replied. “In your opinion he’s cuter. But it’s not an absolute truth.”
“You like the ninth doctor better than the tenth doctor?” Rae asked in shock.
“Totally,” I replied.
“Okay. Let me rephrase the question: Do you think the ninth doctor is better-looking than the tenth?”
“Yes, I do,” I replied.
“You can’t be serious. Look at his ears.”
“Would you stop talking crap about my doctor?” I said in mock anger.
“Whatever,” Rae replied, turning back to the television. I pressed Pause and hoped to switch subjects briefly, while Henry was out of earshot.
“I need you to do me a favor,” I said in a whisper.
“What?” Rae whispered back.
“Are we using any of the GPS devices right now?”
“Mom might be using one, but the other is available,” Rae replied.
“I need you to sneak one on Subject’s truck. Be very careful. If anyone catches you, I am in big trouble.”
“What’s in it for me?” Rae asked.
“Name your price.”
“Fifty.”
“Forty.”
“Deal.”
Henry entered the room and Rae covered like a professional. “I can’t believe you think the ninth doctor is cooler than the tenth.”
Judging by television and film, the life of the PI is filled with gadgets and high-tech devices worthy of top-secret organizations. We disabuse clients of this notion all the time. In truth, my job is far less Mission: Impossible than one might imagine, but modern invention has pushed a few tricks up our sleeves, and based on my recent arrests, I needed to resort to tricks.