Nightmare Ballad

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  “It’s only an hour long, man.”

  Blake looked around outside, then stepped back into the break room. “I don’t approve of how folks treat you here. That’s on the record.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “But come on, Luke. You’d show up to my house with both of them.”

  “We’ve brought Maribel for three years now!”

  “It was better when everybody just thought she was a family friend. Why did you even start telling people?”

  “You think we would?” Luke raised an eyebrow.

  “Johnny?”

  Luke shook the creamer into the cup. “He said a few things at a bar to his friends from the treatment plant, and we’re still doing contract work over there, so his blabbing trickled over here.”

  Blake took a deep breath and a sip of his tea, while Luke poured and stirred his coffee. “How was the turn-out this year?” he asked. “Did you make the beer chicken again?”

  Blake glared at him.

  “I’m just asking.”

  “Look man…. My wife doesn’t get it. Okay? Having Dara and Maribel there—she’d take it out on me.”

  “Why?”

  “She would. Trust me. Is that the kind of thing all men want? I can hear her now.”

  “We could talk to Shauna, make her understand—”

  Blake shook his head fiercely. “No, no, no. Maribel and Dara are nice women, and you’re a good guy, but there’s little hope of getting that across to Shauna or my kids.”

  “Who’s telling the kids?” Luke almost spilled coffee on his wrist.

  “These things find a way.”

  “Bullshit, man. Honestly. That’s bullshit.”

  Blake took another sip of tea, steam still emanating from inside the cup. Luke stared down at the oily surface of his coffee, and his stomach knotted.

  “Johnny, man…,” Blake finally said. “I don’t know why you’re still friends with that guy.”

  “Because he wouldn’t last long knowing I was gone, too.” With a sigh, Luke raised his coffee to cheers. “I’ll see you around. The P-sheets review shouldn’t last too long.”

  Blake nodded for a moment, seeming in a trance. He came out of it, shaking his head. “Oh the hell with it…come here a second. Near the fridge.”

  Luke gave him a sidelong look as he came over. The hum of the compressor kicking on made him nervous for some reason. It reminded him of that song.

  “Look…,” Blake began. “I’ve been thinking about what’s happening to you here, with the Los Angeles contract, I mean.”

  “Yeah?”

  Blake checked the hall for a moment. Satisfied, he pulled back into the room. “There’s a San Francisco division opening up next month. I got the low-down on it with Terry Archer in logistics.”

  “They’ve been talking about that location for a while.”

  “It’s really happening. Building is there and everything now. Staff isn’t where it needs to be yet, though.”

  “I see.”

  “But here’s what I’m thinking. Couples get transferred all the time. It’s actually preferred to keep them separate. If Dara gets that job, I could move you into a satellite position for the San Francisco office. You would be working from home all five days a week.”

  “Wow,” Luke said, head suddenly spinning. “But we’d be in different departments. There isn’t really a need to separate us.”

  “You’re still in the same building and with all the stuff floating around right now it would be more than justified. Look at John and Jessica Myers. They were in separate areas, and they got relocated over that bathroom rumor.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Blake’s narrowed eyes held Luke’s for a moment. “If we make the transfer before the Los Angeles contract is up, it would muddy the waters a bit. These directors are idiots. They don’t have much on you right now anyway, just a bunch of hypothetical stuff that the board won’t question or dare to research. So whoever falls into your current position next will be safe, and yet responsibility over the life of the contract wouldn’t be all on you. You’ll be in a different area, and the directors can play like they’d already remedied the problem.”

  “You should have been a politician.”

  “Soon,” said Blake with a grin. He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “If Dara’s interview is impressive, she can eventually transfer to public relations at the new office, and you’ll already be there. Maribel can start looking for schools, all that. You guys could go up north like you’ve always told me you wanted.”

  Luke hadn’t considered that option. “You think we could?”

  Blake pulled his hand away and took another sip of tea. “Why the hell not?”

  “I love you!” Luke embraced him.

  “Easy, just don’t marry me, too.”

  Luke pulled away. “Touché. This is a great idea. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome so much, but remember, it’s all about how well they receive Dara tomorrow. If she doesn’t get the job, it won’t be easy to justify the transfer. I can still try, but that might look like I’m hiding you from scrutiny.”

  Luke nodded. “I understand. Pressure’s on.”

  “She’ll do great.” Blake smiled. “Now go on, get your shit done.”

  Luke headed back for the solitude of his office. Three conversations in a row about his wives, but the last one had ended on a great note. This blindsiding avalanche could have buried him, but the force of its impact had instead taken him to a more hopeful place.

  When he returned to his desk, the phone was ringing. Luke swore that if this call had anything to do with his home life he’d probably rip every last hair from his head.

  “Mr.Rhodes…”

  It was Petunia Stedding.

  “My god, how are—I mean, it’s, um—you okay?”

  He could hear her softly breathing into the phone, but she didn’t say anything more.

  “I don’t know what to say about that day, honey. You’re parents...were both good people. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  “I touched the rubber ducky in the pool,” she whispered. “I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. I don’t think it wanted me to.”

  “The frogmen?”

  Petunia laughed. “No. Not them. That was your ducky, Mr. Rhodes. I wasn’t supposed to touch it. I’m sick now.”

  “Sick about what happened to mom and dad?”

  “I shouldn’t have touched the ducky, because now it knows. It’s treating me like an alien. I don’t belong. This connection is not mine. It should be yours. I’m hearing the song through you. It’s unnatural, and it knows.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The Balladeer. The one who sings the Nightmare Ballad.”

  “Honey, I don’t understand.”

  “The Thing that rides on the Balladeer’s shoulders wants to kill me now because I know. It doesn’t like people to question. What happened that day in the pool wasn’t real life, but it happened in real life.”

  “Can I talk to your grandmother?”

  “I got a Japanese steak knife and opened my bunny rabbit from crotch to throat. I haven’t decided yet how to use what I’ve learned. I either gut myself next, or you.”

  “Me? Petunia….”

  “You brought those things to the pool. They drowned my parents. I don’t know if you’re the Balladeer, but opening you like I did Mr. Fluffs would feel good. Maybe it’d pull the song out of my head. Your song. Get away, Grandma! Goddamn it don’t touch me!”

  A tired voice came on the line. “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Luke Rhodes,” he said.

  “Hello, Mr. Rhodes. I’m sorry—I’ve been trying to keep her away from the phone. She’s dealing with this really hard.”

  “No, I understand. It’s so horrible. I…I really don’t even have the words.”

  “Don’t let whatever she said disturb you, Mr. Rhodes,” the old woman said.

  “Did she really
kill her rabbit?”

  “Just a stuffed animal.”

  “I see… Please let me know if I can help.”

  “It’ll take us all a long time, but probably more for Petunia. I’m trying to be patient with her. I keep explaining it, but she just doesn’t seem to understand. The poor thing cannot accept this is what frogmen do.”

  “That’s true,” Luke agreed, slowly.

  Chapter 6

  Some days Dara felt defeated, that the blind would stay blind.

  She didn’t have any childhood friends, and after her parents went in the crash and Uncle Sal from cirrhosis, no other family existed beyond her two mates. Dara was, nonetheless, hyperaware of the outside world. After word about their second marriage got out, the people from Luke’s work reacted differently when she bumped into them, whether it be at a desolate gas station, a crowded mall, or a boring line outside a movie theater. It was like they’d all got together and decided to get on the same page, take the same stance. They had this guarded expression, the kind older people reserve for teenagers with a piercing or tattoo or pink hair. Look at the freak, in other words.

  Dara knew the real question, the only question on their simple minds. The answer wasn’t what they sought however. The idea of a sexual paradise for an ever-grinning man might have existed for those fake idiots on reality shows, but not for the Rhodeses. Sex, in fact, was a complicated experience that needed many factors to be bright, shining and perfect before anything could be initiated. Although sex was wonderful when it did finally happen, activities like those tonight were more common.

  While she sat gluing goodie bags for Maribel’s Back-to-School night, Dara watched pro-wrestling, one of her vices that her wife and husband endured out of love (they both enjoyed “real” sports, and there was no convincing them how much athleticism it required not to hurt someone hurled over a turnbuckle).

  She blurted out laughing as two beef-heads challenged each other in an interview, their eyes wide and white like hard-boiled eggs, lips pursed in quiet rage. They were new wrestlers and she hadn’t learned their names yet. One of them wore a too-small blue-flamed Speedo, which looked like the pattern on the electric guitar Luke had wanted to buy a while back.

  “Luke, should we get you a pair of those butt-huggers?”

  Maribel looked up from her halibut sandwich and smiled at the wrestler stomping around on TV. Luke placed a cut-out of a pencil on a dab of glue he’d placed on the paper bag. After he finished, he glanced up and grunted.

  Sour puss. What was eating him? He’d been weird since coming home early from work. Dara wondered if he’d gotten some bad vibes about her interview. Unconsciously she stuck her fingers in her mouth, but the nails were nubs by now.

  Crunching sounds at the dinner table startled her. Maribel had moved on from her halibut steak on Hawaiian roll to a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips…but she never ate more than one thing at a meal. Her ritual about eating a meal the size of her fist was sacred. What’s up with that? She couldn’t be pregnant; they’d used birth control since the beginning.

  Troubled, Dara paid attention to putting glitter on her batch of goodie bags.

  “Thanks for the help, guys, I’m almost done,” said Maribel, stuffing a few more chips into her mouth.

  “You made dinner, take your time,” Luke said.

  “Yeah,” Dara agreed. “Hey, Luke, did you hear anything about the interview today? Anything I should know to prepare?”

  “Nope,” he replied after a moment. “Nothing important.”

  Maribel crumpled her bag and gave him a look that included a silent directive. Luke sighed and shook his head. “Just do your best Dara. That’s all I can say.”

  “I plan to. Thanks for making me feel confident. I appreciate it.”

  “Can we not do this? Don’t turn this into me making you feel small. This is about more than just your feelings. People are out to get me. Out to get us. I’m trying to protect what we have and at the same time not freak you out.”

  She leaned over the arm of the couch and squarely met his gaze. “I’m not a fucking baby.”

  “You don’t have to curse me out.”

  “Are you kidding me? I wasn’t cursing you out. Dummy.”

  “Stop calling me names.”

  “What? Ever heard of sticks and stones? Shit!”

  “Damn it Dara, why can’t you understand—”

  “My loves,” Maribel announced loudly over them. “Please sit on the couch with me for a second. I have something for you both.”

  Luke got up slowly from the floor, his anger at bay but not completely gone.

  Maribel had two sealed envelopes on her lap. “Dee” was printed on one; “Luke,” on the other. Giving them time to take a few breaths, Maribel smoothed her long hair behind her ears to reveal a pair of ruby earrings she rarely wore. Dara looked at the envelope with her name on it and felt a spasm of dread.

  “What’s this?” Luke’s voice sounded apprehensive.

  Good, so it’s not just me.

  “We’ve gone through a lot, us three,” Maribel began, “and you’ve made me a better person than I ever dreamed I could become. I don’t like to see you fight. You’re both scared. And we don’t even need to know why or what about—Luke is scared of this, and Dee is scared of that.” She glanced at him and then at Dara. “There’s nothing to be scared of. No matter what happens, you will both be okay. Just as long as you keep trying to make each other happy. I know that might be too simple and that it might not address everything you think it has to, but just consider it for a while. For now. Deal?”

  Dara was confused. What could this little speech mean? If Maribel was leaving them, wouldn’t she just write one Dear John-Jane letter? Or did she think this a better approach?

  “Deal?” Maribel asked again, breaking the stunned silence.

  They both nodded. Dara wished she knew how Maribel could speak to them in such a way and not make them feel like two of her students. But there was nothing but respect in her voice. She wasn’t condescending or holier than thou. Her maternal grandmother, who raised her, did a hell of a job. Dara wished she could have met her.

  “Kiss,” Maribel instructed.

  Dara glanced at Luke. His face wasn’t filled with anger anymore…he actually looked afraid. She leaned over Maribel’s lap and met his lips. After a moment, she felt Maribel kissing her along her neck, across her jaw, her mouth, over to Luke, to his mouth, jaw, neck. They all pulled away. A pleasant daze fell over Dara. Luke looked content. He must get so tired of my feeling sorry for myself all the time. All my self-image BS. He must hate me. Without Maribel where would this fight have gone?

  Maribel pensively studied the envelopes. “I want you to open these alone, on our anniversary. Please don’t open them before. It’s important. We’ve come a long way, now. I want you both to be happy. Remember that.”

  “You” both?

  Not “us”?

  She said no more and headed to the collection of decorations scattered over the carpet. The air conditioner kicked on, the vents rumbling. It was the only sound in the room. Dara and Luke sat there, holding their letters, unsure. Without a word, they pocketed them.

  Dara hated waiting for special dates. She would probably peek at hers before then.

  It took another hour to complete the task and load the bags into the back of Maribel’s Mini Cooper. Afterward, they set up a mock interview that stretched into the remainder of the evening. Luke had prepared the questions beforehand, and Maribel had practiced reading and rereading them so she would sound more fluid and knowledgeable. Each provided Dara the opportunity to find stumbling points in her answers, with a third interviewer offering a completely different scenario—Johnny Cruz had been brought in as a wild card to destabilize the perfection of their fake interview.

  “What the shit is a FROG ordinance?” Johnny sipped his beer and leaned his magnified eyes closer to his paper.

  “Fats, Roots, Oil and Grease,” Luke replied. “It’s f
or sewer systems, Johnny. Haven’t you heard of one? You work at a sewer plant.”

  Johnny thumbed his glasses farther back on his nose. “Do I look knowledgeable to you?”

  “Just…read the question.”

  “I thought I was being the aggressive interviewer.”

  “You’re doing fine with that, but you have to read the questions, not ask them,” Luke pointed out.

  Maribel took a deep breath. “I knew we shouldn’t have asked him over.”

  “I bring balance to this house,” Johnny said.

  Maribel rolled her eyes.

  “FROG will most likely be communicated to the public through brochures with Best Management Practice for restaurant grease removal and root abatement.” Dara searched Luke’s face to see if she’d gotten this one right.

  A light smile touched his lips. “Dead on. You’re going to do great, honey.”

  Johnny stood. His knees crackled under his three-hundred pounds. “Youch. Good, well, I’m out of here. I got real business to attend to at the bar.”

  “Thanks for helping, Johnny,” said Dara in her most diplomatic voice.

  “You got it,” he replied and disappeared into the kitchen. “I’m gonna take another beer for the road.”

  Dara followed him. She didn’t think he’d take anything except the beer but still.

  As Johnny tugged at the tightly sealed refrigerator door, she opened the cupboard beneath the sink. “Let me get you those old towels for your shop.”

  “What?”

  “Remember I said I had extra towels with holes in them, and you said you could use them in your work shop.”

  “I did? I must have been drunk, but sure I’ll take them.” He finally opened the fridge, leaned down to take another can of beer. His glasses dropped onto the floor.

  She regarded the thick-lensed monstrosities. “I’d be getting laser eye modification if I were you. Those glasses…don’t really suit you, Johnny.”

  Picking the glasses up and slipping them back on, he laughed, shaking his head. “Dee—you and I are the same animal, you know that?”

  Now she laughed. “You’re high.”

  “Not yet I’m not,” he said and pursed his lips. “Yep. I can see it clearly, but there’s only one big difference.”