by Lucy Carol
“I’m kind of glad you quit the gig tonight,” Spenser said. “I made Daniel promise me he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I don’t worry much about him, though. He’s so big, all those guys just bounce off of him.”
“Tell the truth,” said Madison, curious. “Do you call him Daniel or Atomic Waist when you two are alone?”
Spenser smiled. “Mr. Waist, Atomic Toy—”
“Okay, that’s enough—”
“Satin Buns—”
“You can—”
“Tasty Waisty—”
“… stop!” Madison tried slapping her own face, but it was too late. She had a visual. Tasty Waisty?
The barroom was getting noisier as people arrived, finding seats and ordering drinks. The crunchy thump of cheap wooden chairs dragging across scuffed wooden floors, mixed with bursts of laughter at different tables. The tone of people’s voices took on a new quality of bass notes and sharp spots as the size of the audience grew from a gathering of small groups to a crowd. A local DJ’s mix of Break Beat music started up in the background.
Madison jerked upright. “I just remembered my grandpa. He’s here somewhere.” She turned in her chair looking for him. He wasn’t anywhere nearby. She leaned to one side scanning all the patrons gathering around tables and chairs. “Haven’t seen him much this last year. Somehow time gets away.” She craned her neck, looking around. “And now my mother is back in Seattle.” Turning back around to face Spenser, Madison knew that more than any of her friends, Spenser would understand the significance of what she was about to say. “The FBI finally approved her transfer so she’s working in their Seattle Field Division now.”
Spenser looked up in quiet surprise. “Have you seen her yet?”
“No, but we talked on the phone.”
Spenser seemed to hesitate, then asked, “So how’d that go?”
Madison shrugged her shoulders. “It was nice. But weird.”
“Why was it weird?”
“Because it was nice.”
Spenser sat quietly, watching Madison. “This is kind of big news. You seem to be taking all of it so well.”
“You mean like a grown-up? You can say it.”
Digging through her duffle bag again, Spenser pulled out an elastic hair band, saying, “Well, you actually are a grown-up now.” She pulled her blonde hair up into a ponytail. “But you can’t beat yourself up for behaving like a kid when you were a kid.”
“I invited her and Grandpa to come tonight, but I guess she didn’t show.”
“You’re not surprised, are you?”
Madison sighed. “No.” She leaned forward onto her elbows, bringing a hand up to run fingers through her hair, “What was I thinking?” She gripped some hair. “She’s never approved of what I do and she’d hate this place.”
“Little Freudian slip on your part?” Spenser pulled her hair through the last twist of her elastic hair band, the ponytail turning out crooked. “You know, like a declaration that you’re going to be yourself and all that?”
“No, I wasn’t trying to…” She stared at Spenser a moment, the thought sinking in. “Well maybe. So I guess she’s being herself, too, and refused to come.” She stood up, saying, “Situation normal.”
Standing there, Madison searched all the way into the back of the barroom until her eyes landed on her grandfather. “There he is,” she said.
Sure enough, he was sitting near the back like a big sentry at the door. Late sixties, Vincent Cruz was still somewhat robust from the hard toil of his landscaping business. Six feet two inches tall, his rolled-up sleeves exposed strong forearms, but his face was leathery and lined like an old treasure map still unsolved. His five o’clock shadow was barely perceptible, but Madison knew it was fierce enough to sand these old tables smooth again. Although he had some hair, he opted to shave off what little he had left, refusing to do a comb-over. He’d finally sold his business and retired last year but couldn’t seem to keep his hands out of the soil.
Madison wished she hadn’t forgotten he was here, but she doubted he had noticed. He seemed more interested in everyone who walked in, checking out each person as they walked through the door as if they needed to pass his inspection. It wasn’t like him.
Madison asked Spenser, “Do people worry more when they get older?”
“I don’t know,” said Spenser. “Why? Is he worried about something?”
“Hard to say. He won’t admit if anything’s wrong.” She pushed her chair back under the table. “I need to tell him I won’t be performing tonight.”
Threading her way through the crowd, she squeezed sideways between the backs of old wooden chairs holding excited people, making her way to the more open space where he sat. Through the force field that was his presence, she slipped easily into the place that others seemed too intimidated to occupy. His face lit up as she approached and he pulled a chair up next to his. They did a well-worn hand to hand routine in which they’d bump fists, press palm to palm, lace their fingers together, and bend their hands downward, pretending to crack their knuckles while they each made a loud cracking sound effect.
Madison said, “How’s my hero?”
“Fine. I think that pretty waitress over there likes me. Keeps offering me drinks,” he said nodding.
“You should take her up on it.”
“Nice try,” he said. “I already told you not to be spending your money on me. I just wanted to see your show.”
“I won’t be performing tonight after all.”
“Heard that discussion all the way back here.” He smiled and knuckled her chin. “My tough little girl.”
“Disappointed?” she asked.
“Well, I did want to see you wipe the floor with those young fellas. Show them how it’s done.” Madison was relieved to see that old twinkle in his eye. “Their loss,” he added. “So I think I’ll get going.”
“You don’t have to go, you just got here.”
“Sweetheart, you were the only reason I had any interest in the show. That and I was hoping to see you and Ann together again. It’s been so long I don’t even have a photograph of the two of you that isn’t old. But she called a little while ago and said she has to work late.”
“She probably didn’t want to come.”
“Well,” he looked around the room with a soft chuckle, then back to her face. “This might not have been the best time and place for a reunion.”
Madison twisted her lips to the side as if she were giving that some hard thought.
“Don’t give me that, you stinker. You did it on purpose,” he said.
“Nuh-uh! Spenser says it was Freudian.”
“Whatever it was, it was bullshit.”
Madison’s shoulders dropped. She exhaled and rubbed her face with both hands.
“Why don’t you give Ann a call tomorrow,” he said, “and offer to go meet her for coffee?” Madison looked across the room. Where was a distraction when she needed one? Spenser? ExBoy? A barroom brawl?
“I just want to stay out of trouble,” she said.
He laughed. “Since when do you stay out of trouble?”
“You know what I mean. She’s never approved of the choices I made even though she was never around.”
“She was just a baby herself when she had you. Give her a chance.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his, saying, “I raised you both, and I have every confidence that the two of you can pick up the pieces.”
Madison sighed. “All right. I’ll arrange it.”
“It’s just coffee, sweetheart. It’ll be a good start,” he said. “She really misses you.”
Madison said, “When I talked to her on the phone, she did say one thing that was worrisome. She said you may have had some personal information stolen?”
His eyes looked away. “Ann told you about that?”
“Yeah. She said the University of Washington was hacked. It must have been bad if the UW called the FBI. She said they got into the archives of ol
d employee records. Weren’t you one of their gardeners?”
“Ancient history,” he insisted.
“She’s just trying to warn you, Grandpa. Some people steal social security numbers to open credit cards with.”
“Okay. I heard you,” he said.
They stood up and she hugged him, saying, “I promise I’ll try to make it work tomorrow.” He hugged her even harder after that and left.
Arriving back at her table, Madison pulled her mobile phone out of her purse and looked through the pictures she kept on her phone. Grandpa was right. The most recent photo that Madison had of her and her mother together was so old Madison had been in junior high—a painful time of her life. She gazed at the surly image of her young self and wished there were a better picture.
I should hire Spenser to do a portrait of us together. Her heart grew lighter at the thought. Grandpa would love that! The more Madison thought about it, the more excited she got at the idea. Mom would love it, too. In fact, she’d like that I initiated it.
She knew Spenser would not ask to be paid, so Madison needed to raise the money first, then present it to Spenser and insist that she wouldn’t let Spenser do it unless she let Madison pay her. More money issues but I have to find a way.
“Are you okay?” Spenser asked.
Madison said, “Other than mommy issues, boyfriend issues, and wondering where I’m going to get the rest of my rent? I’m fantastic.”
Spenser stuck her lower lip out which was what she always did when she was about to try to cheer Madison up. She said, “Can I beat up your mean mommy for you?”
Madison gave a short laugh. “My mom could kick your ass.”
Spenser giggled and said, “Special Agent Ann Cruz could kick both our asses at the same time.”
“And look good doing it,” said Madison.
“While holding a drink and not spilling it,” said Spenser.
“Or wrinkle her pantsuit,” said Madison.
“Or smearing her lipstick, or…”
The waitress stepped up again, but this time she lowered a tray down onto the table. It had four shots of whiskey sitting there and a note. Madison picked up the note.
The note said: “You said you could do it drunk and still do a better job. So put your money where your mouth is and we’ll follow your lead. Double or nothing.”
Madison’s eyes got a bit wider and her heart rate sped up a fraction. Rent and groceries. No, more than that. The portrait! She looked up and saw Dewey off to the side of the stage watching her. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. She looked over to the center of the empty stage, calculating the merits of this bad idea.
She wadded up the note, slammed it down onto the table, and picked up one of the shot glasses. Looking over at Dewey she raised the shot glass to her lips making sure he saw it, and when he smiled, she threw it back, swallowing fast.
The flood of fire on her throat bent her over, one hand flying up to cover her mouth as she coughed, gasping for a breath, while the other hand flapped in the air as if she were trying to wave a manicure dry. It made perfect sense that a dive like this place would only carry the cheap stuff, strong enough to melt plastic and bring a corpse back to life. She caught a glimpse of Dewey laughing at her.
“What are you doing?” Spenser asked her. Madison didn’t want to give her a chance to talk her out of it so she grabbed the next shot and threw that back, too. More burning and coughing as her eyes watered, her shoulders scrunched up, and her face contorted in sympathy with her stomach. Her pores began to open.
“Madison, what the hell?” Spenser grew alarmed, rising from her chair.
Madison couldn’t talk, the last few coughs escaping her, so she frantically dug around inside her purse as Spenser grabbed the wadded up note, trying to open it. Madison whipped her car keys out of her purse, thumped them down on the table next to the camera in front of Spenser and grabbed the third shot, throwing it back. The burning eased up quite a bit on her throat and her eyes took it a little better this time, but now her nose was running and her stomach lurched for a second. She felt shaky. She sniffed hard, trying to clear some of the runniness in her nose and saw Spenser’s lips form a hard line of annoyance as she read the note. She threw it down and reached for Madison’s last shot.
“Nnno!” Madison’s raspy voice finally showed up as she dove for the last shot glass.
“Don’t be an idiot—” Spenser said, grabbing the shot glass at the same moment, launching the girls into a tug of war.
Chapter Three
Madison knew Spenser’s instinct would be to try to be neat and not spill anything, so Madison bent over the table and wrapped her lips over the shot glass as Spenser was pulling it out from under her. Madison managed to get about half of the whiskey in her mouth before Spenser won ownership of the glass.
“Spenser,” Madison dropped back into her chair, “they said they’ll follow my lead. If they do, everything will be fine. Please understand,” she begged, “I can’t face my mother with my rent overdue. She has a way of finding these things out!”
“God damn it, Madison! It’ll serve you right if you break your neck!”
“I know, but… will you send flowers?”
Spenser covered her face in her hands, expelling her breath. Her voice came out muffled from talking into her palms. “Yes, but only the kind of flowers you hate. Which ones do you hate?” She looked up at Madison, her cheeks pink, and Madison knew her dear friend was having a hard time remaining humorous with this one.
“Uh, Venus flytraps?”
“Fine! When you break your neck I’m bringing a bouquet of Venus flytraps.”
They were silent for a moment.
Spenser said, “I’m sending a note to Daniel to tell the guys he’ll kill them if they don’t follow your lead as promised.”
In a small voice Madison said, “Thank you.”
As her pores opened and added to the heat already in the room, she picked up her original rum and Coke pulling out an ice cube. She crunched on the ice and looked around the room. It was very carefully painted and arranged to appear dilapidated. Even the low hanging pipes over the stage, instead of being painted to blend in or disappear, were made into a feature looking like battered industrial chic. Wouldn’t want anyone to think they gave a shit. There were tattered posters on the wall with loose staples sticking out of shows that were already over or bands that had long ago broken up or joined society in a nine to five job somewhere. Pock marks on the walls were big enough to conjure up questions of how they got there, some with old gum shoved inside.
Spenser started messing with her camera gear again, giving Madison the impression that she was just trying to look busy. Madison tried to think of something to talk about to ease the situation, at least till the show started. The booze hadn’t fully hit her system yet.
“You know you’ve barely come up for air since you met Daniel,” Madison said. “You two are pretty mushy.”
“Just the way I like it. How’s the new apartment?” Spenser said with a smirk. “All settled in?”
“No. Still living out of boxes. And stop mocking me.”
“I didn’t say a word,” said Spenser.
“That wasn’t your voice in my head just now?”
“No. You have me mistaken for some other voice.”
“Oh. Sorry. I thought that was your voice telling me that I’m a sorry-ass procrastinator.”
“How did you find such a nice place for rent that cheap?” Spenser asked.
“ExBoy found it for me. I owe him for that.”
The Break Beat music made a noticeable shift in style and volume, meaning the show would be starting soon. The anticipation in the room ratcheted up as conversations and laughter picked up the pace. The increased thumping rhythms added to a growing unease within Madison. She rubbed her head and exhaled. “When are they going to start this stupid show anyway? The sooner the better before all the whiskey really does hit me.”
Spenser said
, “I’d better be ready to jump when they do.” Madison knew that once the show got started, Spenser would be dashing around the venue with her camera, trying to get some action shots. She assumed most of the shots would be of Atomic Waist. He’d been wearing normal clothes when Spenser had introduced him a few months ago. But tonight, Spenser said he would be wearing… um… a tight little sparkly, spangly, bathing-suitie kind of thing, denoting his evil character’s vanity. It was just so wrong, because it was so right. Oh, and wrestling shoes. But she doubted anyone would notice the shoes.
Thinking of how to tell her mother about the portrait idea Madison leaned back, mumbling, “She could’ve at least shown up.” She rubbed her eyes, looking up at the low hanging pipes over the stage. Unblinking, Spenser said, “You must have known that someday you were going to have to deal with this.”
“With what?”
“Getting to know your own mother. Seeing her through your adult eyes.”
Madison blinked, thinking about that idea. “That would be different,” she said, as a nice little drowsiness came on.
Right then, as if on cue, her cell phone began to play the theme music to the movie Jaws, which meant her mother was calling…
…and the fight show started.
Whistles and clapping exploded as the MC strutted out onto the stage holding a microphone with a long cable. Madison looked from the stage to her cell phone. Ah, hell no. If I answer that she might figure out I’m drunk. She tossed the phone unanswered into her purse under the table and let the excitement of the show sweep her away.
The gravel-voiced MC yelled, “Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! You hot writhing hunk of underbelly wetness!” The crowd cat-called back and drummed their hands on the tabletops. The MC began to pace back and forth on the stage like an animal searching for a way out of his cage, the microphone cable snaking along with him. “But it’s not the rain that’s made you wet!” His voice dropped to a low urgent purr as he pressed the mic to his lips. “It’s that fevered anticipation. Your hot breath on our windows.” His voice turned to a gravelly whisper. “That bad dream moment when you’re scared and tangled in your sweaty sheets.” He returned to yelling. “Scared that you might miss out on FIGHT CABARET!