Lethal Play

by Loretta Giacoletto

  Oh well, what’s a summer month or three, especially since I didn’t have baseball anymore, having quit two seasons ago, after Lark made a scene with her then-boyfriend, a guy whose name neither of us could remember come Halloween. By this mid-August Lark would be begging for me to come back. Right now though, Delores was yelling for me to come and get it. She meant dinner.

  And I meant to take control of my next game, a new one without Mario or Luigi or Lark’s pond-scum boyfriends. I slipped my pals under the pillow and went into the hallway. Pausing at the top of the stairs, I took a deep breath, curled into a ball, and pitched forward into the sunny area below. Clunk, clunk, clunkity clunk … ouch, ouch, and more ouches. I surprised myself, managing to hit every step before rolling onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You too, Jed, get in here right now.” Delores dropped to her knees and was all over me, cradling my head against those smelly boobs.

  “You okay, Johnny?” the old man asked.

  I rolled my eyes back in their sockets, giving me a blank picture and let out a groan—oh-h-h-h. Jed must’ve jerked me away from Delores. I didn’t dare peek. Pow! One smack to the back of my head nearly popped out both eyes. They opened to a bunch of stars and Jed leaning over me, holding up two fingers.

  “How many do you see, Johnny?”

  I squinted and let a few seconds pass before answering. “Four, I think.”

  “That’s close enough,” he said, pulling me up by one hand. “Now let’s eat before those dumplings turn cold ‘cause if they do, look out.”

  “Jed, quit your joshing,” Delores said. She rolled doggy-style onto her hands and knees and from there wobbled to her feet. “I can always re-heat the dumplings for a few minutes.”

  “No need, the boy’s returned to a degree of normalcy.” Jed stuck his face in mine. “What I mean is: you’re as good as when you stepped off the bus. Right, Johnny?”

  “Well, I do feel kind of dizzy.” This was no lie. I did a Delores wobble, held onto her arm, and faked a sissy smile. “Any chance of me eating in the living room?”

  “And scatter crumbs all over my good furniture—certainly not. What’s more, if you were thinking about TV with your chicken, forget it. We don’t get but three good channels and they run my soaps and game shows all afternoon.”

  “Dammit, you two, let’s take this discussion to the table,” Jed said. “I’m so hungry I could rip off a chicken’s head and eat the rest raw.”

  Not me, I knew better.

  Jed didn’t believe in table talk, unless he asked for more food, usually with his mouth full and head bent over the plate. Delores talked nonstop and kept pushing bowls in my direction, insisting I take seconds. When it came to thirds, I begged off, which gave her an excuse to ask, “So how was everything, Johnny?”

  “Okay. Can I go outside and play with the dog?”

  “Why, yes, of course.” She chewed on her lip again, before giving me a ‘what for’ in exchange for the compliment I should’ve given her. “You can play after we clean up this mess. You do help your ma, don’t you?”

  “Mostly we eat out, except on Sunday evening. Then we have pizza delivered.”

  “Such extravagance, it’s so uncalled for.” She clucked her tongue like one of those old hens in the yard. “As soon as things settle down, I’ll teach you some basic cooking techniques.”

  No way, no how, not even Lark went that far. Cripes, already I missed her. “Lark says my melted cheese over Tostitos is the best she’s ever eaten. But she won’t let me help in the kitchen.” I showed Delores my hands, front and back. “Dishwater gives me bumps. They itch so bad I can’t do my homework or sleep at night.”

  I didn’t crack a smile when Delores clucked again. Or when Rooster Jed cranked himself out of the chair and strutted around the kitchen. They’d been on the farm too long, that’s for sure. Jed puffed up his chest before he spoke.

  “Since it’s your first day with us, we’ll give you a temporary reprieve. But starting tomorrow, I expect your help with the farm chores, same as your ma used to do. On the Danner farm everybody pulls his weight or takes a hike, understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I go outside now?”

  I took his grunt as a yes. Rusty was waiting at the back door, as if the two of us were already best friends. He jumped on me, knocked me down, and we rolled in a grassy area the chickens hadn’t messed up. After our wrestling petered out, Rusty dropped a bone at my feet, and hopped around until I sailed it through the air. He galloped off like a wild pony, his red hair flying in the wind, just like Lark’s hair did when the two of us goofed around in the park. She should’ve been there to see me, just a regular guy with his dog. My dog, that’s how I already felt about Rusty.

  *****

  The next morning Delores made me get up at seven, made me drink orange juice with pulp. Made me eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, which weren’t half bad after she showed me how to dip toast in the yolk. Sitting at this really old chrome and vinyl table, we looked through the picture window and watched Jed bust his wide butt.

  “That’s manure he’s shoveling,” Dolores explained.

  For an old man Jed moved pretty fast. His shoulders were as broad as Lark’s last boyfriend, the one she claimed I scared off, as if I was a monster or worse.

  “Lark says bacon puts fat on your hips,” I said, dipping toast in the soft yolk of egg number three.

  Delores eyed me from over the rim of her orange juice. “And what does she fix for you in the morning?”

  “I do my own, usually Pop Tarts.”

  “I figured as much. I thought she didn’t want you in the kitchen. You know, what with the possibility of a nasty rash.”

  I put down my fork, hung my head. “I do the best I can. She likes to sleep late and doesn’t want me bothering her.”

  Unless it was our special time, I didn’t go there with Delores.

  Chapter 5

  Lark must’ve been okay with me figuring out the sleeping arrangements because she didn’t open her mouth to object. Instead she blew the boyfriend a kiss from her fingertips, an excuse for him to backtrack into the kitchen like the cowardly jerk I’d already figured him to be. She sat down on this blue velvet chair that shouted second-hand and I took the sofa, its middle sagging worse than any swaybacked horse I’d ever seen. For a minute or so the only sound we heard came from the kitchen, a helter-skelter of rattling pots and pans, banging cabinet doors and a creaking fridge. Plus what I assumed was the boyfriend’s Spanish tirade about me, Lark’s no bueno hermano. If he only knew what we really meant to each other, all in good time.

  “You’ll have to excuse Hector,” she told me. “He’s a professional chef.”

  Yeah, right. “One who works in his briefs?”

  This made her laugh. “You caught us off guard and now he’s acting out his frustrations. Poor guy, he’s such a perfectionist.” Without missing a beat she hit me with, “Why didn’t you call first?”

  “Why didn’t you answer my letters, take my phone calls. All those years—”

  Change of attitude, not for the better. “Let’s not go there,” she said, “at least for now.”

  “Whatever.” It was all I could say.

  “So, what’ve you been doing?” she asked.

  “Let’s not go there, at least for now.” I flipped on the plasma and channel surfed until I landed on a Las Vegas poker tournament.

  “Do you play?” she asked.

  Not this game, others I’d played my entire life. “I’m not much on gambling.”

  “So why are we watching poker?”

  “Just filling in some time before we eat.”

  Lark lifted her head and called out, “Hector, sweetie, how much longer?”

  “Quit pushing,” he yelled from the kitchen. “I ain’t no damn magician.”

  Nor was he a professional chef; that I knew from the gitgo. “How long you two been together?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Hecto
r’s just passing through.”

  “He’s legal?”

  “I don’t ask and neither should you.”

  “Hey, not my problem, just making conversation, that’s all.”

  She crossed her legs, giving me a close up of this colorful snake winding upward from her slender ankle. “Nice.” I said. “How long’ve you had the tatt?”

  She looked down, slowly turning her ankle, as if she hadn’t noticed the red, blue, green, and yellow before. “Four, maybe five years, a freebee from this guy I knew once upon a time. He had his own shop, a real moneymaker.”

  “Nothing comes for free.” I must’ve hit a nerve; she sank deep into the velvet cushion, eyes fastened to the TV and its two-second flashes my clicking of the remote created.

  After an embarrassing shortfall of meaningful conversation, she called out again, “Hec-tor, my stomach’s giving me fits. How much longer are we talking?”

  “Now, dammit.” He took up most of the doorway, a chef’s knife dangling from his chef’s hand, a chef’s apron tied around his chef’s waist. “Get in here now, ‘fore everything goes cold.”

  The guy meant business. He’d already cleared off the kitchen table, allowing us to sit down to a decent spread of beef tostados, tomato rice, and refried beans. He took his place at the head of the table. I figured, what the hell, why not, at least for now. Lark parked herself across from me, scrutinizing Hector’s offering and probably thinking: oh brother, not this again.

  He blessed the food his way—forefinger signing of the cross, and mumbled, “Dig in.”

  You bet. I shoveled food onto my plate, trying not to appear as hungry as my empty stomach, all the while trying to ignore the Cro Magnum’s hairy exterior. As a courtesy and for no other reason, I said, “Lark tells me you cook for a living.”

  “The evening shift at this little Mexican place on Virginia Street,” he said. “I get home around eleven-thirty and after a shot or two of tequila I expect absolute quiet for a good night’s sleep.”

  As if I cared, Mister Only Passing Through. If only he knew the Lark I knew. Oh well, his time would come, same as every other jerk’s. I leaned over my plate and started feeding my face. Forget about table talk. This scene could’ve fit a table of monks observing their vows of silence, the only sound coming from Hector smacking his lips.

  After a while I said to no one in particular, “Not bad, I mean the food.”

  “What else would you mean?” Hector asked.

  Lark shoved her half-empty plate aside. She twisted to the right, twisted one leg around the other, and lit up a cigarette. Smoke curled out the corner of her mouth, vulgar yet sexy. I didn’t want to think of her in another twenty years when the smoking wouldn’t look sexy anymore. Instead of expressing this concern to her I helped myself to thirds, leaving one portion of everything for Hector who quickly scooped it onto his plate, as if he didn’t get enough beans and rice where he practiced his profession.

  After lunch who cleaned up? Yours truly, because I offered and no one took the position about it not being right, what with me being a guest and Lark’s pseudo brother. I took this to mean I was not considered a guest, but more like a member of the family, although my stay would likely be more temporary than permanent. While I scrapped dirty dishes, Lark and Hector disappeared into the bedroom and minutes later returned with him dressed in jeans and a white T, ready to make a public showing. They left, muttering something about picking up more groceries, which told me she was eating at home more often than in the restaurants or fast-food places she used to prefer. I watched from the window, curious as to which car they would pick. Shit, the worst of the four not-so-goods, an old Chevy with rusty fenders. Times must’ve been tougher than I’d imagined.

  As for me, time to make myself comfortable. I brought in the bag I’d left on the porch, shoved it in one corner of the living room, and checked out the rest of the apartment. One queen-size bed, confirming Lark’s earlier claim about there not being room for me, that is, until I convinced her otherwise. In her closet a shitload of shoes, sixty-eight pairs to be exact. Some things never change. Clothes with price tags still hanging from the sleeve, the kind she used to wear once before returning for a store credit or another outfit.

  An hour later Lark and the boyfriend returned with long faces and plastic bags filled with groceries. I leaned against the doorframe, watching them put away stuff while they complained about the high cost of food. Figuring it my cue to belly up, I dug into my pocket, hauled out a wad of bills, and threw a twenty on the table. “This should cover me for a couple of days.”

  “You been to the store lately?” the boyfriend asked. He reached for the twenty but she beat him to it.

  “Shut up, Hector. This is my place and Free is my … my brother.”

  “That’s right,” I chimed in. “And if you don’t like my being here, Fat Boy, find another place to refry your beans.”

  “What? Nobody but nobody talks to me that way.” His face turned this weird shade of purple. “You’re nothing but a dumbassed shit.”

  Way to go, I’d hit a nerve.

  Hector lunged across the table and with both hands grabbed my shirt, giving me the opportunity to bust him in the mouth. He was spitting blood but came at me swinging, and managed to first clip my cheekbone and then my shoulder. Damn, the last jab hurt but I couldn’t stop to rub it. Instead, I reached for the nearest appendage, his ear, and twisted until he squealed louder than a porker. I let go when he dropped to his knees, but should’ve held on because he punched me in the balls, causing a doubling over of shit-awful pain. At that point I heard a thud and was thinking metal on something just as hard—the guy’s head. He slumped over and I looked up to see Lark, both hands gripping the pan he’d used for making tomato rice.

  “Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” she said, pulling me to my feet. “You’ve been here, let’s see …” She checked her watch. “All of four stinking hours and already managed to mess up my life, big time.”

  “You said he was passing through.”

  “Right, until something better came along. Your timing stinks.”

  Some things never change, Lark’s attitude for one. A groan escaped from the boyfriend, relieving me from any guilt associated with the possibility of his sudden death. On the other hand, there was blood oozing from his head.

  “What are we going to do with him?” I asked.

  “Like this is my problem,” Lark shot back. “I don’t do stitches.”

  “I didn’t figure you for beans and rice either.”

  “Jeez, do I have to think of everything.”

  She took hold of Hector’s feet, leaving me the top end under his shoulders, and we half-carried, half-dragged him outside to the beat-up Chevy.

  “The car’s his?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and my only means of transportation, thanks for nothing.”

  We shoved Hector in the backseat and he groaned. He groaned again when she tossed me the car keys. “You do drive, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah.” I reached for the wallet in my back pocket.

  “Forget the license. I believe you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Shut up, Free.” She opened the driver’s door. “Now get behind the wheel and make this happen.”

  “Okay, okay, but why don’t you? Wait a minute; where’s your license.”

  “Giving me fits. A temporary setback I expect to have straightened out next week.”

  Good, she needed me, if only for a while. I slid in, turned on the ignition while she held the door open. “So, where am I taking him?”

  She leaned into my face. “Just dump him off at the Emergency Room.”

  “And that would be where?”

  “On Kingshighway, you know, across from the park. I thought you knew your way around?”

  “Sure I do, here and there but not everywhere.”

  “Shit.” Lark slammed the door, went around to the passenger side, and got in. She exhaled a tired sigh along wit
h directions to the hospital, directions she kept repeating with every turn and stoplight. The old clunker rattled and groaned along with its owner in the backseat but I didn’t care. Any car was better than no car and I needed the practice driving.

  “I’ll get Hector’s things later,” Lark said. “Thanks to you, I don’t expect he’ll have the balls to come back.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re saying this was my fault?”

  “I’m saying it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t showed up.” She rubbed her cheek. “Some things never change.”

  “Hey, you sent me away.”

  “I had to. What a little shit you were, biting me in public that day, at the bus station of all places as if we were no better than trailer trash. I could’ve smacked you right then and there.”

  “Yeah, except I wasn’t a little shit any more, your main reason for sending me away.”

  By now we were heading north on Kingshighway with Forest Park to my left. Lark took me there once, a trip to the zoo cut short when she met a pair of irresistible biceps.

  “Here, here. Turn here,” she said, pointing to the Emergency Entrance.

  I’ll give Lark this: she put on a good show, opening the car’s back door while explaining to the hospital attendant how she found Hector in the alley, a neighbor she only knew by his first name. The attendant stuck Hector in a wheelchair and told Lark to follow him while I parked in the garage.

  “No problem,” she said. “I’m right behind you.” As soon as he wheeled Hector through the sliding door, she slid into the passenger seat and told me to take off.

  “Shouldn’t you check him in or something?”

  “Not my problem.”

  We drove a mile or so before Lark spoke again. “Fresh air, hard work, and proper discipline—that’s what the case worker said you needed, and what better place to find that combination than at the farm of my youth.”