Lethal Play

by Loretta Giacoletto

  Poodle Lady grabbed me, crushed me against boobs smelling like bacon and oranges. If I hadn’t pulled away, she’d’ve smothered me with those fat pillows. Instead she poured on her Miss Piggy voice: “Oh, Johnny, it’s so good seeing you after all these years.”

  After slobbering on my face, she passed me on to the farmer. He squeezed my hand with one rougher than sandpaper and pumped five times before letting go. “Ten years is nine and a half too long, Johnny. You were just a toddling tyke when Emily spirited you away from us.”

  Johnny? Cripes, I had to set them straight. “My name’s Free and who’s Emily?”

  “Why that’s your ma, son.” He leaned over, grinned with a mouthful of stained, crooked teeth. “What’s she calling herself nowadays?”

  “Lark, Lark Danner.”

  The smile fell off his face quicker than Mario from the Game Boy screen. “Still a Danner, which tells me she never did hitch herself to a rich star.”

  So what, Lark had me, we had each other.

  Poodle Lady poked her husband. “Hush, Jed. The boy can’t answer for Emily’s errant life style.”

  “Jed, is that your name?” I asked as we walked toward the truck.

  “Actually, it’s John Earl Danner, same as yours but without the Roman numeral two since I came first, as in: before you and always will. However, everybody who’s anybody calls me Jed.”

  “Then I will too, and you can call me Free.” I smiled at the woman, not wanting to leave her out. “Same goes for you, ma’am.”

  By now we were standing alongside the truck. She pressed my face between her hands and smiled, showing me a set of teeth way better than Jed’s. “It would please me to no end if you’d call me Grandma.”

  Get real. “No offense, ma’am, but you don’t look like any grandma I ever saw in St. Louis. I’ll stick with Mrs. Danner, if you don’t mind.”

  I expected an argument from her. Instead she dropped her wrinkled eyelids and chewed on her lower lip before coming back with, “In that case Delores will do just fine.”

  Jed wasn’t so easy. After clearing his throat, he spit out a wad of gook and rubbed it into the ground with the toe of his farmer’s shoe, the kind that lace high on the ankle. One hand yanked the truck door open; the other motioned me inside. “Let’s go, Johnny. We still got some miles ahead of us.”

  “Please, sir, my name’s Free.”

  “Not when you’re with us. Around these parts, folks don’t cotton to peculiar names or to peculiar behavior.”

  “Is that why my mom left?” I couldn’t resist asking. Both faces soured, which served the old people right for getting into mine.

  “Poor Emily, she just didn’t fit in,” Delores said. “But that’s nothing against you. The three of us will perk along just fine. Right, Jed?”

  “As long as we’re all on the same page and I’m doing the turning.” He stuck his whiskered face in mine, and sprayed spit with his next words. “I seldom repeat myself, so for the last time get your butt in the truck.”

  “Jed! That’s no way to talk to the boy, leastways not on his first day.”

  “It’s okay, ma’am,” I said, climbing into the cab. “I don’t want any trouble.” Just get me through the summer, that’s all, nothing more.

  The old people took their places on either side of me, two hunks of last week’s bread sandwiching a thin slice of fresh baloney. We bounced like three soda bottles, the truck plowing over rolling green hills mixed with land as flat as an airplane runway, Jed’s one hand on the wheel and the other holding up the frame of the open window. Delores clutched the frame on her side too, all the while playing field-trip teacher to my bobble head. While she pointed out the fields of wheat and corn and alfalfa, Jed pressed harder on the gas pedal, kicking up powdery gravel that soon dusted the three of us. But who’d the dust bother—me and only me, another reminder about not belonging. I rubbed my eyes until I sneezed into my hand.

  “So, how is your Ma?” Delores asked, handing me a wrinkled tissue from her shirt pocket.

  “She’s okay.”

  “Still working nights at that fancy restaurant?”

  “I guess.”

  “What about boyfriends.”

  I gave her the shoulder routine. They didn’t need to know Lark’s every move, but Delores couldn’t leave it alone.

  “Good lord, Johnny,” she said. “Whatever do the two of you talk about?”

  “The usual stuff.”

  After that nobody talked until Jed slowed down and pointed a grubby finger toward this two-story house, white with a lazy porch wrapped around two sides. “There she is, Johnny, the house your ma grew up in. And before her, me, and before me, my father and his father, that’s four generations of Danners.”

  “And now you, Johnny,” Delores said through a sniff. “We’re so pleased to have you with us.”

  “I’m only here for the summer,” I told them. “My mom promised.”

  Chapter 3

  Finding Lark took way longer than I expected but I finally managed to track her down in South St. Louis. After knocking around from one place to another, she’d landed in one of those narrow row houses with two stories and flat roofs that look more German than American. Tired red brick dating back to the turn of the twentieth century made up every building on the street. Old, really old houses, same old same I remembered from my years with Lark. Since her ground floor apartment was located in the rear, I accessed the property by way of an alley lined with garbage cans waiting for the collector or the cats, whichever came first. Four cars were parked on a wide concrete slab in the backyard. I figured the best one belonged to her because she hated settling for anything less. A big tree shaded the remaining yard and accounted for the absence of grass while dirt turned to grit swirled through air on the verge of spring. I paused at the back porch, took a closer look at the building. Some of its bricks were cracked and broken; the mortar needed tuck pointing. A problem for the landlord, good luck with that, tenants. Next to the door a small air conditioner jutted from the window, making a racket that drowned out other racket from the nearby raised Interstate. All in all, the place could best be described as a third-rate dump.

  I knocked; no answer. Ten-thirty on a Saturday morning, Lark should’ve finished sawing a ton of logs by now even if she’d crashed around three or so. I knocked again, still no answer so I turned the knob, still no luck. Next, the doormat, sure enough the key, right where I figured Lark would leave it. Old habits die hard, at least mine do. Hers too, I knew her better than she could ever imagine. Time can do that and I’d had more than my share. After jiggling the key into the hole, I made a connection and slipped into her living room.

  Lark’s attention to Housekeeping 101 hadn’t changed one bit since the two of us were together. Newspapers scattered across the sofa and carpet, pizza leftovers doing a number on the coffee table, the sweet scent of weed lingering in a room lacking ventilation. A large plasma screen TV filled most of one wall. This I liked, but not the dingy curtains hanging limp from tall windows smeared with soot. As for the kitchen, if only Delores could’ve seen the mess—dirty dishes piled in the sink and on the countertop and table, crumbs dusting the linoleum floor. After checking out the fridge, I popped a Classic Coke and drained it without taking a single breath.

  I heard a noise, sensed someone from behind, not Lark. Her I would’ve known by a change in the air.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” The voice belonged to a man, one in a foul mood, not that I should’ve expected otherwise.

  I turned with half a smile on my face and gave him the onceover. Short, stocky, and growing enough fur on his body to weave a rug for the head going bald. His two-day growth of whiskers bordered a moon face with close-set eyes now glued to my face.

  “Is Lark home?” I asked, my gaze trailing down to navy blue briefs he had no business wearing, what with his roll of belly fat overlapping the skimpy show of color.

  “Who wants to know?” he asked in a Mexican or something ac
cent.

  “Just tell her Free.”

  “You got a last name?”

  “Trust me, there’s only one Free.”

  He stared at me, all the while calling out her name, his voice growing louder and more irritated each time she didn’t answer. On the fourth yell she showed herself, barefoot and wearing red boxer shorts with a black tank top. Standing beside him, she made a great Beauty to his Beast. Her long hair was redder than before; the freckles had faded into a muted tone. She’d added a few pounds but could’ve passed for a mean thirty-five, six years younger than her true age. This side of Cougarville, some guys would’ve said about her. Not me, I knew my place.

  I played it cool, waited for her to make the first move, which took way too long considering the amount of time wasted since we last connected. After an edgy minute she stepped forward, wrapped her arms around me, and leaned her head to my shoulder. Her hair tickled my chin, sending out a fragrant combo of pineapple and coconut … pina colada, her favorite drink. An exchange of cheeky kisses were more bitter than sweet, reminding me of the day she sent me away, the day that changed my life forever. This time I knew better than to leave my teeth marks behind.

  Lark pulled away first, arms outstretched as she took her time with me. A smile lit up her face, not that I needed it to know she was pleased with the new me.

  “You’re all grown up, Free.” She leaned forward, touched her fingertips to the soul patch under my lower lip, moved on to the diamond stud in my left ear. “Nice touch, a one-two punch.”

  “Yeah, my in-your-face fashion statement.”

  “From my genes to yours,” she whispered with smoke on her breath. The voice she then raised had grown huskier but still sounded country. “How long has it been?”

  “Ten years.” As if she didn’t know; I wanted to say more but decided to wait for the right moment.

  The boyfriend cleared his throat, one of those hey-don’t-forget-about-me which I chose to ignore. Taking him serious was too much of a stretch, this barrel squeezed into tiny briefs. Lark, on the other hand, showed some mercy, motioning to him with the tips of her fingers.

  “Hector, sweetie, get your ass over here. I want you to meet my brother Free.”

  His ass, her brother, give me a break. She hadn’t changed one iota. Me either; I played along with her silly game. The man’s face softened as he extended his hand to mine. I shook it, applying a firm grip to match his, neither of us meaning what little warmth we pretended to show.

  “Yeah,” the butthead said. “There is a certain likeness, the hair.”

  “His used to be as red as mine,” Lark said. She lifted her hand to my hair, scrambled what I described as brown on my driver’s license for the car I didn’t have but planned to acquire someday soon. First things first, in this case: a job. And not just any job, one that paid big bucks to make up for those years I’d lost forever.

  “Can you stay for lunch?” she asked, her way of being polite.

  “I can stay longer, if you’ll have me.”

  She puckered her lips into the familiar pout from my days as a kid. “Oh, Free, you know I would if I could. Unfortunately, my humble apartment has only one bedroom.”

  This time she tapped her hand to my cheek, poised to react in case I said what she didn’t want to hear. Being no dummy, I stepped back, out of her reach.

  “Tough break, kid,” the man said, belching out his first laugh since our meeting. “Since I’m paying part of the rent, I ain’t about to settle for less.”

  “No problem and no inconveniencing either of you,” I said. “This way, please.” They followed me into the living room where I gathered the newspapers from the couch and folded them in a way that would’ve made Delores proud. “This here will do just fine. And don’t you two worry about the TV. I’ll keep it down low so as not to disturb a soul. Now about lunch ….”

  Chapter 4

  As we started up the long driveway, Delores made this big deal out of what she called the farm’s greatest assets. One chicken coop the color of egg yolks and Jed’s pukey green tractor that someday he might let me ride, other clunky equipment spelling nothing but work I wanted no part of, plus this barn painted bright red and looking way better than the house. Delores nudged me to make sure I paid attention. Hello, as if I had any choice.

  “Over there to the left,” she said. “Those cows standing up means the fish are abiting.”

  “You’ve got a pond?” I was thinking a place to swim, me and the friends I hadn’t made as yet.

  “Pond, yes; fish, no,” Jed said. “Farmers don’t have time for such foolishness.”

  He stopped the truck and we slid out, sending a flurry of chickens across a yard already spoiled by the pecking and scratching and poop I made sure to avoid. Just then, this super-sized dog with red hair came galloping over, lifted its front paws onto my shoulders, and started licking my face. About the tongue, I didn’t want to think where it had been before.

  “Looks like you made your first friend,” Jed said. “This here’s Rusty.”

  I ran my hand over the dog’s hair. In a way it reminded me of Lark’s, only not as silky. “What kind is he?”

  “An Irish setter,” Delores said, “a tad unpredictable but sweet as all get out.” She patted Rusty’s head and pushed him away from me even though I didn’t mind him being there. “You must be starving, Johnny.”

  “I guess so.” Rusty found my shoulders again but all his slobbering couldn’t make me forget the gnawing in my stomach. “What day is it?”

  “Thursday,” Jed said.

  My favorite, I needed to set them straight. “We—Lark and me—eat McDonald’s every Thursday.”

  Delores threw her head back and laughed, showing me rows of tarnished fillings. “Lordy, lordy, Johnny, get your head screwed on straight. Can’t you see, we’re miles from the closest McDonald’s. Besides, fast food has no business contaminating the stomach of a growing boy, not if you expect to whop Jed some day.”

  That I hadn’t considered until she mentioned it.

  “Don’t even think about it, Johnny. I’ll cut you down to size with a single digit.” Jed showed me his gnarled thumb stained with ground-in dirt, the nail black from an old injury.

  She shook her finger at him. “That’ll be enough, Jed. You show Johnny around the house while I finish with the dinner fixings.”

  We went inside and I followed Jed through a bunch of dreary rooms filled with dark furniture, dark walls, dark window coverings, and dark floors. Old and worn-out, just like their owners. Comfortable is what Jed called the place. On the plus side, their living room did have a TV, the old-fashioned kind in a wooden box. The dining room furniture was so old it had lost its shine. Not a speck of dust anywhere, except for those floating in a sunbeam that found a crack in the curtains.

  Back in the sunny kitchen we found Delores slaving over the stove. She lifted the lid off one pot, waved steam in my direction. “Chicken’s almost done and it won’t take but a minute for me to pop those light-as-air dumplings into the broth. My special coleslaw and pickled beets are chilling in the refrigerator.”

  “I like my chicken extra crispy, with a side of the Colonel’s biscuits.”

  “Not anymore.” She wrapped my chin in her hand and squeezed harder than needed. “Wait until you taste chicken my way. There’s no comparison. Right, Jed?”

  “If you say so, Dee.” He winked at her and gave me a little shove. “Come on, let’s get you settled upstairs. You’ll occupy the same room your ma once used, Johnny.”

  “She calls me Free.”

  “Trust my words, boy: no way in hell were you ever free. Not from the day you entered this world, and before. What’s more, I saved the hospital and doctor invoices to prove it—all stamped paid in full.” He set his foot on the first step of an enclosed staircase that could’ve used an overhead light bulb. “This way, Johnny, and don’t forget your satchel.”

  Satchel? This old man must’ve grown up with the dinosaurs. Th
e only good thing about climbing those stairs was not having enough light to see Jed’s wide load swaying in my face. After the landing we walked to the end of a short hall where he opened this door and thumbed me inside. My eyes swept over a room not as girly as I’d expected, but it did smell like mothballs fresh from the microwave. And like the only attic I’d ever set foot in, this room felt as if every bit of air had been sucked out of it. There was a dressing table, not that I needed one. I pictured Lark sitting in front of the mirror, searching her face for any flaws that might’ve cropped up overnight, her daily routine in St. Louis even though I’d always told her how pretty she looked, mostly to keep her in a good mood. A lamp dangled from the headboard of the bed, and next to it, a nightstand matching the chest of drawers. Both needed painting, so what else was new. Two walls of shelves held books I couldn’t imagine Lark ever sitting still long enough to read.

  Jed folded his arms. “So, whadaya think, boy?”

  “It’s kind of hot up here.” I wiped one hand across my forehead. “Maybe you could adjust the air conditioner.”

  Jed smiled without his teeth showing. He banged his hand against the window and raised it with a grunt. “Sure, how’s this?”

  A question that stupid didn’t deserve an answer. So, I sat on the edge of the bed, opened Super Mario to where I’d saved it, and resumed my game while Jed picked his nose or whatever old guys do when they don’t know enough to leave. He finally got my message and backed out the door. I kept working my fingers until Luigi fell off the screen for the third time. Time out, I paused my game, set it on my belly, and lay back on the pillow.

  Fingers laced behind my head, I examined a dozen cracks in the ceiling while trying to figure out Jed and Delores. They hadn’t given me much to work with. Dee, he’d called her. I couldn’t imagine them ever being boyfriend and girlfriend. Or making Lark, ugh! They were old, probably as old now as when Lark skipped out after graduating from high school. Whatever was she thinking, sending me to a place like this, cripes. And over what—a simple misunderstanding I could’ve cleared up if only she’d given me the chance. But whose word did she take? Always the boyfriends’—never mind me, her only flesh and blood.