With Strings Attached

by A. A. Vacco

  8

  About the time Billy placed an order for a Whopper with bacon and a side of fries, across town, RJ was getting ready for dinner as well. Tuna Surprise, as his son liked to call it. There wasn’t much of a surprise to the dish; noodles, tuna, melted cheese and bread crumbs on top. It went with anything, and tonight, anything happened to be salad and mashed potatoes.

  “Spencer, come down for dinner! Stuff’s gonna burn if I heat it any longer," RJ called.

  Spencer pushed away from his desk in the loft and slowly made his way downstairs. He found his dad at the stove stirring the potatoes. The salad and casserole were already out.

  “Set the table, would ya Bud?”

  Spencer grumbled some form of a reply and ambled over to grab some plates and silverware.

  “Talk to me. How was your day?”

  Without looking up, Spencer replied, “Fine, I guess.”

  “School go ok?”

  “Yea. Just doing algebra now in math. Refresher stuff. Biology we are learning about the human gnome project.”

  “You mean genome project?”

  Spencer stifled a laugh. “Yea, but it sounds way funnier to picture a bunch o’ gnomes running a government conspiracy plan, ya know?”

  RJ chuckled and finished up with the potatoes. “I suppose it does. C’mon and sit down.”

  Spencer finished putting everything where it needed to be and slid casually into the seat across from his dad. Big brown eyes, average height, athletic build, RJ assessed. “Son why aren’t you doing some sport this fall?”

  “Seemed lame. Never been into sports.”

  “Ok, how is that possible? You lift weights and do your own cardio. Not that many fourteen-year-olds have such a strict regimen that they’d follow without a coach or a game to motivate them.”

  “Maybe. But I like to be in shape without someone telling me what to do.”

  RJ scratched his head. “What about track? You like running to stay in shape. Why not do it competitively. I’ll bet you’d kick ass.”

  Spencer raised his eyebrows a little. “Of course I’d kick ass. That’s not even a question.”

  “Ok, Mister Cocky, prove it to me.”

  “Nah, I’m good. I like doing my own thing.”

  “Spence, we talked about this. You need to get out there, make some new friends, socialize beyond me and Dr. Conway when she drops by.”

  “You mean Elle? She said I can call her Elle. We’re homies.”

  “Dr. Elle, then. But, son, think about it, you can’t just have two friends that include your dad and his coworker, who also seconds as my evil stepsister.”

  Laughing, Spencer said, “I’m telling her you said that. But really," he shrugged, “I just haven’t found my group yet.”

  “It’s freshman year, Kiddo, and only the first semester. This is how you find your group. You have to invent one. Join stuff. Get out, stay out late, do what you need to.”

  “Mom would have a fit if she knew you told me to do that.”

  “Well, until she steps in and takes over, Mom doesn’t get a whole lot of say in the matter.”

  Spencer’s mother, Noelle, was in and out of the picture. She usually took him on random weeknights for dinner or a movie. Maybe a full weekend, but this was infrequent. A botched marriage, RJ often called it, with Spencer being the only great part of it. The marriage lasted longer than it should’ve; hell, according to RJ it shouldn’t have happened at all, looking back on things. He would never admit to regretting it, because that would also imply he regretted Spencer. They tied the knot when they were young and stretched it out until about ten years ago. RJ was thirty-five at the time, and Spencer was four. Spencer’s mom took the final years of the marriage hard. She drank to cope with RJ’s absences, which were a lot due to work, and a little due to her. He had no interest in her after some time. He stayed faithful, but distant. Vodka became her water and eventually, things crumbled into separation and an ugly custody battle. Spencer now lived with RJ and Noelle lived wherever the winds blew her.

  “Look, Spence, track season isn’t until Spring. Why don’t you at least promise me you’ll think it over? Do your thing now, and if you’re in shape and think you can handle it, try out for the team.”

  “Don’t think you even have to try out, but, hey, whatdya mean if I think I can handle it? Course I can! God Dad, a little faith?”

  RJ grinned. “Yea, I have faith you can handle it. It’s a question of if you will even try.”

  “Whatever, let’s talk about something else.”

  “Fair enough. So you like any girls yet?”

  “No! Geez. From one hell to another.”

  But RJ just laughed. Messing with Spencer amused and entertained him thoroughly. He’d been playfully tormenting the kid since he was young, and Spencer secretly enjoyed every minute of it. RJ knew it was only a matter of time until he fought back, but until that day came, RJ chose amusement.

  9

  Kat pushed her way through the garage door into her house with her shoulder and an exaggerated grunt. The cat, Hubris, rushed to meet her, and halfway to Kat’s presence, changed his mind and sauntered over to the food dish in hopes for an early meal.

  “Honey, you home?” called Kat.

  “In here, Mom," said Genie. Kat followed her daughter’s voice into the living room, and found her sprawled on the couch with a tattered copy of Animal Farm. Her taproot consisted of that plus a laptop and some loose sheets of paper covered in annotations.

  “What are you working on there?”

  “Well, they finally got to teaching us Orwell’s masterpiece, but I feel like we could’ve touched on this when I first started high school.”

  Kat smiled, remembering Elle’s attempt to create a unique story and wondered if she’d caught the Orwell reference. She guessed not.

  “Well, hit me, what’s the assignment?”

  “The usual. Write an essay on symbolism and what everything in this book represents, blah blah blah...to be honest, I wish they’d come up with something even slightly more original. I mean, you google Animal Farm and the essay practically writes itself.”

  Kat nodded. “Yea, just plow through it, Kiddo. It’ll be more challenging once you get to college, at least it does in my courses.” She left Genie to make some tea and transition into evening mode.

  Kat’s golden hair fell past her shoulders as she undid the hair tie holding it in place. She scanned the kitchen for the kettle and some loose tea leaves. She was still petite in all aspects but personality, and she passed this trait to her daughter. She smiled when she thought about Genie’s outgoing demeanor. Kat hoped her temper hadn’t seeped too much into Genie’s genetic makeup. “Panic, react, assess," Elle once called it.

  “Mom, you’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?” asked Kat, suddenly aware of Genie’s presence in her periphery.

  “The muttering incoherent phrases under your breath thing. Is something wrong?”

  “Hm? Oh, no Love. Just thinking about Dad’s bar and talking with your Aunt Elle. Here, have some tea. It’s all set.”

  Genie beamed. “Thanks," and poured herself a mug. “Know what’s a fun word?” she asked absently.

  Kat raised her eyebrows without looking up. “Tell me.”

  “Placate. But if you say it too many times, it doesn’t even seem like a word anymore. Plaaay-cate. Puh-LAY-cate. Placaaaaate.”

  “Ok, ok, got it. You learned something new.”

  Genie flashed a bright grin and took a sip of her tea. Kat envied the fact that nothing seemed to put a damper on that girl’s day, even an essay on symbolism.

  “Mom, the team is going to go out Friday night. Just bowling and probably a disgusting but much needed fast food run afterwards. Mind if I go?”

  “Uh, it’ll probably be fine. Who all’s going exactly? Billy?” Billy the team manager who worked as a medical assistant during the week, Kat thought.

  Specifically, he worked at Elle’s office, w
hich is how the two crossed paths to begin with. Kat knew Billy before Billy knew Genie, and Kat knew that despite his charisma and charm, she wanted him as far away from Genie as possible. Fortunately, due to their ages, they can’t legally date. Wait, can they? Plus, he’s her coach, and, and...

  “Oh for god’s sake, enough with the muttering, Mom! Can I go or not?” Genie broke her mom’s train of thought. “I don’t know about Billy, I really don’t know more than the place and time. O’Malley’s up on Main and Burbank Avenue? Aubrey sent me the info, so at the very least, she and I will have a competitive game of bowling to kick off the weekend, followed by a celebratory milkshake.”

  “Don’t forget to get fries with that. You know, to dunk in the milkshake?”

  “What do you think I am, some kind of barbaric wild beast? Of course I’ll be getting fries with that.”

  Before she could dignify Genie’s statement with another quip, the door to the garage opened and they both heard Walt thudding through the side entrance. Kat could picture his distinct ritual of bending forward and untying both shoes, loosening the crossed laces up to the toe, and then gently stepping out of them, only to place them in their rightful place in the shoe cubicle beneath the jackets. A moment later, they heard his muffled steps make their way around the house, securing the locks on all the windows and closing the drapes. The final landing point was always at the head of the table in the kitchen where both girls currently stood, and nonspecific comment about the day’s end.

  10

  “Another Thursday off to a close," boomed Walt’s voice. “How was your day, Pumpkin?”

  Genie met her dad’s gaze. “Same ole, same ole. Just working on some homework now.”

  Just then, Hubris made his own form of an entrance. He gagged several prolonged moments and produced a grotesque hairball directly on the carpet. Three more feet and the cat would have made it to the kitchen tile, but there was something more magical about the carpet that he felt deserved a piece of his inner self.

  “Oh dammit, dammit, dammit!” yelled Walt. He slammed his hand so hard on the table that the cat bolted without a second glance. Genie and Kat both straightened and remained mute.

  “How the hell did neither of you catch that, huh?” he continued. “The short haired son of Satan gave you half a day to relocate him!” Genie could see the spit flying from his mouth as he fumed. “I swear to whatever’s worth swearing on, if you two worked half as hard at taking care of that clawed narcissist as you did begging me to get him in the first place, we wouldn’t have as much crap to clean up after.” With that, he gestured toward the litter box, slightly visible from the laundry room. “Genie? What about that? Hm? Think in addition to cat vomit you could take some time to clear the products of its other end, too? Or do you have more ‘quality time’ you need to spend with your mother, who I assume is just as ‘busy’ as you.” Walt used his two fingers on each hand to show the quotations.

  Genie stood still, mouth opened. The light switch of moods was not uncommon, but coming up with new ways to quell the reaction long enough to escape without further ramification became more difficult as the years went on. She suppressed a smirk that tried to appear when she thought about how she would be graduating in another year, and would be moving as far away as possible. This quickly ebbed from her mind, however, as she scrambled to think of a way out. Her father’s stare remained in her direction, waiting for a reply.

  Fortunately, Kat was a few steps ahead of Genie. She produced a bag and some carpet spray and almost too cheerfully handed them to her daughter. “Well, here now, Kiddo, let’s get this cleaned up. You know the routine.”

  As Genie removed the hair ball’s presence, Kat redirected Walt. “Honey, why don’t you tell me what you feel like eating for dinner.”

  “Seriously? You haven’t started anything yet?”

  “Now, come on. You know I have several things in the fridge that I can whip up in twenty minutes.”

  Walt glared at her, but then dropped his stare. “OK, ok well, do we have any chicken? I did like that Swiss cheese and cream of mushroom soup based chicken stuff you made a few weeks back.” Realizing his temper once again took over the house, his tone softened a bit, even though he was still annoyed.

  Finished with her task, Genie quickly threw away the contents and made herself scarce. Kat continued to run interference with Walt, sensing his temper was on the decline.

  “We absolutely have the makings for that.” Kat began fixing the food and Walt sifted through the mail on the table.

  “Kat, what the hell is this?”

  The second wall of the evening’s tidal wave swelled. Kat glanced toward Walt’s left hand that gripped what she could only guess involved The Study in some way or another. Although he wasn’t the savviest businessman, Walt got by running the bar on his own. However, if things went even a fraction differently than he projected, his immediate response was--

  “Ah shit, we didn’t renew this year’s liquor license! Isn’t that the most primitive piece of importance in running a bar? Or keeping it open?? Kat why didn’t you stay on top of this? Now we are going to face another fine on top of the price to renew the damn thing!”

  “Walt...,”

  “No! You had one job.”

  “Actually, I have several.”

  “Enough!” Another unnecessary hand slam on the table for emphasis. “When I say ‘get this done by this time’ there is usually a reason for it! It’s your undermining that makes me think you undermine me; is this true? You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  Kat sighed. “No, Dear, that is never the case.”

  “Then tell me why on earth you let something so imperative slip through your mind?”

  Kat sucked in her breath. As bold as she was, Walt was the one person who could shut down every functioning part of her brain when she needed it most. His anger was so unannounced that she never felt prepared for it, especially because it could take root anywhere. She looked back on the evening and thought of all the reasons why she missed this deadline. The main reason was that Walt read the mail and left it at the bar, with her only hearing about it in passing a few weeks back. “Babe, make sure we renew the liquor license," was his exact, nonchalant statement.

  Her blood would boil reliving the dumb things he would lose his cool over, but always after, and by then she was usually too tired to rekindle the argument.

  “Oh, wait a minute, Kat, my bad. This is just a warning letter. The payment is due next week. They just wrote ‘overdue’ in red and then listed the overdue date underneath. We are good.”

  With a sigh of relief, Kat turned back to making dinner. Riding the train of uncertainty during Walt’s emotional rages exhausted her, even if they were short lived. He never physically harmed her or Genie. Kat knew he never would. But regardless of their timing, the explosions of fury are so unpredictable and irrational that even monthly, or bi-monthly, thought Kat, is too frequent.

  Having had enough of Orwell’s farm, Genie crept out the back and made her way three doors down where she relied on a much calmer setting to welcome her.

  11

  “Cal, I swear to you, if you spray me with that," Elle raised a hand to cover her face.

  Suddenly doused in cold water, Elle stood in her kitchen, both fuming and freezing. A squeal of pure delight escaped Calvin, as he attempted to run out of dodge before his wife retaliated. The water gun was only five dollars at the grocery store and he couldn’t just pick up eggs, milk, and cheese. No, that would be far too boring for Calvin T. Conway.

  He could hear his wife’s sailor mouth listing off every combination of offensive terms she could spew in one breath. He peered around the corner watching her furiously dry off and calling him a shithead who couldn’t string together a litany of consonants if his life depended on it...whatever any of that meant.

  “I can hear you laughing, Cal. It’s not funny!”

  “No, no, you’re right, but can you keep insulting me? I find your
creative side most engaging when I am in your direct line of ire.”

  Elle smirked, then scowled because she knew Cal saw. “HA! I win, I made you grin!”

  Cal scooped her up and spun her around the kitchen. He almost knocked both of them out when he slipped on some of the water.

  “Good save.”

  “I know, your head would’ve been the first to hit something, I am sure of it.”

  Before Elle could reply, she heard a soft knock at the back screen door. Genie stood with a bright smile and shining eyes.

  “Genie, Sweetheart, good to see you!” Elle beamed.

  “Hey Aunt Elle and Uncle Cal, mind if I take over the desk in the living room and get some work done? It’s a little chaotic at my house. Mom and Dad are working out some things for the bar.”

  “Sure, sure, here let me clear it off for you. Cal, can you get her something to drink?” Elle moved toward the desk to declutter the space.

  “No, no I’m good, thanks. I just need a quieter setting, that’s all," said Genie.

  “Stay as long as you’d like," said Cal. “We are about to order some pizza. You eat yet?”

  Genie’s smile grew. “You guys are awesome. I’ll pick at whatever’s left over. Thank you.”

  “Sure thing, Pal. Hey, does your mom know you’re here?” asked Cal.

  “I’m sure it’ll be the first place she looks if she hasn’t figured it out already.”

  “Good point. Ellbea, can you call in for the pizza? I’m going to make some lemonade.”

  Genie settled into the living room, Elle rearranged the kitchen table, and Cal made some lemonade with a questionable amount of vodka added to the mixture. “If you try some, don’t tell your folks," he added, when he caught Genie studying his every move from her spot at the desk.

  “Don’t worry, Uncle Cal, pretty sure this essay will be hard enough to write sober.”

  “Well, no arguments here.”

  Genie set to work while Cal and Elle awaited their cholesterol-raising choice for a meal, facing one another at their kitchen table.