Malibu Motel

by Chaunceton Bird

  “Yeah, well anyway, ya know Albert married Peggie Desmond?”

  “Right.”

  “Got ‘er pregnant in high school, right?” Catherine’s husband said.

  “Yeah, anyway, they had like ten kids.”

  “Lord have mercy.”

  “Well anyway, they did one of those DNA testing things. Ya know, ya send them some of your DNA—”

  “I’ll send them some of my DNA,” Cormac said, smirking with a cheek full of roast beef.

  Caleb gave a courtesy chuckle and continued, “Ya spit into a little vile and send it into their lab, then they test your DNA and tell you where your heritage is from and who your relatives are and all that. Have ya heard of these things?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “So everybody in the Jacobs family does it. Huge family. They all send in their saliva and a couple weeks go by and then they get their results back. Turns out, Albert is only the father of one of the kids! Only one! The oldest. All the rest are from different fathers. Something like six different men.”

  “No. Are you kiddin’ me?” I said.

  “No joke, turns out Peggie got around and the kids never knew, and neither did Albert.”

  Cormac asked, “I can’t remember, do the tests say who the other fathers are?”

  “No, not unless they’ve also done the DNA test and are in the databank. Just that they’re not Albert’s, and that each kid has a different dad than the others. Except for a couple.”

  A side conversation between Catherine’s husband and Caleb’s wife died of natural causes, and Catherine’s husband asked, “So, what did Mr. Jacobs do?”

  “Well that’s the funny thing,” Caleb continued, “they get the results back, and, ya know, he’s readin’ ‘em and all that, and he just sets the results on the table, walks out to the garage, gets into his car, and drives away. This was a week ago and nobody’s seen him since. Police are out lookin’ and everything. Can you believe that?”

  “Deserted his own children,” Mom said, shaking her head.

  “Poor guy,” Catherine said, “I can’t imagine the pain those other men caused him and that family. They had to have known that Peggie was married when they were fuckin’ her.”

  “Watch your mouth!” Mom shouted at Catherine. The shout gave Bobo such a blench that the poor dog hit his head on the underside of the table hard enough to bounce spoons.

  “Sorry, but really, how could they do something like that?”

  Cormac swallowed everything in his mouth at once, took a swig of beer, then said, “Well come on Catherine, you tellin’ me you’ve never thought about other men before?”

  Catherine’s husband, staring at Cormac, wrinkled his brow, tilted his head, and asked, “What?”

  “Oh, nothin’, I was just tellin’ Catherine to lay off ol’ Peggie. We ain’t all saints.”

  “Yeah but Cormac,” Catherine said, “surely you ain’t condonin’ adultery and homewreckin’.”

  “Certainly not. Nope. Just understandin’ it is all. Sounds like it was consensual. Six times, that is — “

  “She didn’t—”

  “I mean what, you’re thinkin’ her door was kicked in by six different rapists on nine different occasions and—”

  “Those men took advantage of a woman in a difficult situation—”

  “Variety is the spice of life, Cathy. Sounds to me like ‘ol Peggie Sue was just lookin’ for some spice—”

  “They should be ashamed of themselves. They should be beggin’ the Lord for forgiveness.” Catherine’s tone was sharp, but Cormac didn’t care.

  “Oh, so it’s always the man’s fault then, huh?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not. It goes both ways. Women taking advantage of men and men taking advantage of women are two sides of the same filthy coin. Adulterers and fornicators come in both sexes. It’s selfishness is what it is. That’s why the Lord cursed them with the AIDS. It’s a punishment for adulterers, fornicators, and, most especially, the gays. Says so in the Bible.”

  Caleb, ever the defuser, said, “I think the real interesting part of the story is where Albert could have gone. They have a cabin up in Calgary. That’s my guess.”

  “Can’t believe he just abandon his kids,” Mom mumbled to herself, shaking her head and picking up her beer.

  “Poor guy probably killed himself,” Catherine said. “What do you think, Caish?”

  “Um, yeah. I dunno. Sounds pretty bad,” I said.

  “So, do you feel bad for Mr. Jacobs?” Catherine’s husband asked, looking at me over the top of his beer bottle.

  “I think we all do,” Caleb said.

  “Could I use your restroom, Caleb?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. It’s just down this hall, first door on the left.”

  Caleb’s wife had to stand and scoot her chair out so that I could squeeze out of my spot on the table. She smiled at me with a smile that seemed to apologize. The hallway was three steps long. The bathroom door was a cheap pocket door, probably because a hinged door wouldn’t fit back here. I slid the door open and almost tripped over the toilet on my way in. The toilet had a shag carpet cover on the lid. This had to have been a closet that was converted into a bathroom. If you didn’t watch your step, your left foot would be in a litter box. I peed, then washed my face and checked their medicine cabinet. Lots of opioids. Caleb? No. Caleb has been a straight shooter his entire life. His wife must be addicted. Sad, really.

  The bathroom was less than twenty feet away from the kitchen, and the door was pretty much made of cardboard, so despite their lowered voices, I could hear Caleb tell Catherine to cool her jets. Catherine said something about needing to address the elephant in the room, and Caleb said the elephant wouldn’t be in the room if she hadn’t dragged it in. They murmured for a couple minutes, then I heard Cormac say he didn’t understand why he couldn’t feed Bobo. “Dogs are meant to eat meat, that’s what those big sharp teeth are for. Ya can’t get mad at me for helpin’ your dog be a dog.”

  I dried my hands on a hand towel that hadn’t been washed in years and clicked off the two light bulbs on my way out.

  Before I could get situated again, and while Caleb’s wife was scooting her chair back in next to mine, Mom asked, “So, Caish, when am I going to see my grandchild again?”

  “Mark? Well. Anytime you want. You could go right now. He’s still living with my ex in that house in Monterey I bought them.”

  “I can’t just fly to Monterey any time I want.”

  “Yeah? Hm. Yeah I dunno, I guess plan a trip or something.”

  “You need to bring Mark up to Missoula, Caish. Mark needs to see his family. All of us.”

  “Yeah,” Catherine added, “it would be fun to have Mark up here sometime, show him how to rough it.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

  Mom looked at me with a concerned face. As if she had explained a math problem to me several times and I just wasn’t getting it. “How is Mark?”

  “He’s good. Yeah. Doing really great in school and everything.”

  “What does he like to do?” Catherine asked.

  “Just regular kid stuff. Ya know. Playing in the ocean and stuff.”

  “Playing in the ocean? In Monterey? Caish, that water is like fifty degrees. Mark would be hypothermic in minutes.”

  “Plus,” Catherine’s husband said, “are those pretty rough waters? I heard even experienced swimmers have died out there.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “well ya know, just on the beach. He likes to play on the beach.”

  Mom dished up more mashed potatoes. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

  “Yeah.” I shifted in my chair, apologized for bumping Cormac, and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through to find a recent picture. “Here he is on his preschool graduation.” I held the phone across the front of Cormac and Mom squinted at the phone.

  “How long ago was that?” Catherine asked.

  “Cormac, please s
top feeding Bobo. It’ll hurt his stomach,” Caleb said after Caleb’s wife nudged him for the third time. Cormac looked up with a resigned look that seemed to say, “Okay, fine, have it your way, but if this dog dies of starvation it’s not on me.” Caleb’s wife whispered in my ear, “Could you please pass the green beans?”

  I passed her the green beans then said to Catherine, “Oh, a couple years ago, I guess.”

  “Do you have a more recent picture of your son that you could show us?”

  “Um. Let me see.” I scrolled through my pictures, trying to think of an excuse for why I didn’t have anything more recent. Then I realized that I wasn’t a child anymore and didn’t need to take this shit from Catherine. “No, I don’t Catherine.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because my ex keeps him from me and I’m a terrible parent that doesn’t make enough of an effort to see my son. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Caleb said, “we just wanted to see—”

  “That’s exactly what I was looking for, Caish,” Catherine said. “Thanks.” She leaned back with her beer. “By the way, you haven’t touched your beer. Why’s that?”

  “Just don’t feel like beer right now,” I said.

  Cormac glanced over. “Since when have ya not felt like beer, Caish?”

  “If Caish doesn’t feel like beer right now, that’s fine,” Caleb said. “Cormac, why don’t you drink it, looks like you polished off yours a little while ago.”

  “I think Caish should drink it,” Catherine said, staring across the rolls at me.

  “Nah, no thanks. But thanks for the beer, Caleb. Here you go Cormac, knock yourself out.”

  “It’s gonna take more than a couple a beers to knock me out, but I appreciate it.”

  The conversation continued like this for the rest of dinner. Caleb and his wife cleared the table (but told us to hang on to our forks) then brought over brownies and ice cream. Storebrand ice cream. Then coffee for me and more beer for everybody else. Mom and Catherine kept needling me questions and Caleb stepped in whenever he sensed the conversation was reaching a boiling point. Eventually people started leaving, but Caleb’s wife, whispering, asked me for help with the dishes. I stood in the kitchen and relied on muscle memory to remind me how to wash a cookie sheet with brownie caked on it. When we were finished with the dishes, Caleb invited me to have a seat in their front room. Bobo hopped up on the couch and rested his head on my leg. I scratched him under his collar and told him that he was a good boy. He appreciated it.

  “Thanks again for comin’ over tonight, Caish. I know our family can be kind of hostile sometimes, but I think they’re just havin’ a hard time with all the change that’s been happenin’ lately.”

  “It’s just Mom and Catherine. And Catherine’s husband I guess. Cormac is fine.”

  “Yeah, Cormac has totally chilled out ever since he and Bev separated.”

  “Divorced,” Caleb’s wife added.

  “Yeah, divorced now,” Caleb corrected.

  “Yeah, he seems great now. Hey, what is Catherine’s husband’s name again?”

  “Joshua.”

  “Oh yeah! Joshua. And he hates to be called Josh, right?”

  “Yeah, don’t call him Josh.” Caleb chuckled. I watched Caleb and waited for him to say whatever he wanted to say. Obviously he had something on his mind. Would he ask for more money? Obviously they had blown through what I gave them pretty thoroughly.

  “Caish, Toni and I were talking"—Toni! That was Caleb’s wife’s name, finally — “and we want to help out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we know about what you’ve been going through lately, and we want to do whatever we can to help.” If they only knew.

  “You’ve been talking to Victoria Black?”

  Toni smiled and said, “We’ve been close friends since high school. So yeah, she’s been bendin’ our ear. But we’ve also been contacted by Jennifer Blanche.” I tried not to show any reaction to that name, even though Toni gave me a pause in which to react. “She contacted us a couple of months ago and let us know that you were back in town, and why, and everything that happened in California.”

  “Don’t you guys think Jennifer Blanche looks like Miss Trunchbull from Matilda?” I asked.

  Caleb smiled, “We’ve actually never seen her, she just called.”

  “Oh. Yeah, she totally looks like Trunchbull from Matilda.”

  Caleb and Toni smiled. Then continued, “Anyway, Caish, we’ve been lookin’ at different houses on the market, and we found one a couple blocks east of here. We found a lender that would give us a really low interest rate and wouldn’t require anything down.”

  “Why would you guys move a couple blocks east into another house that’s exactly the same as this house?”

  “Well, not us, Caish,” Caleb said, “you.”

  What in God’s name?

  “We will cover the mortgage for you until you can get back on your feet,” Caleb said. Toni said, “And I have an uncle that runs an auto shop just off Higgins down by the river, he said he could use a hand. Maybe you could start there until you found somethin’ else.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” I asked. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need another house. I have a house. A very nice house. Caleb, you’ve been to my house. And I don’t need some dirty mechanic job.”

  “We know that you’re strugglin’, Caish, we just want to help you get back on your feet again.”

  “I don’t know what you think you know about my financial position, but I’m doing great. Plus, I’m not sure you two are in much of a position to help. Looks like you’ve done a pretty good job of spending through everything I gave you.”

  Toni and Caleb were both looking at me like I was an upset teenager that didn’t understand why I couldn’t have the car. I turned the tables, “I gotta ask, what did you do with the money? I gave you over a million dollars, and what do you have to show for it?”

  “Well, Caish, we are very grateful for what you’ve given us. You helped us, and now we want to help you.”

  “No, really, what did you spend it on? Where did it all go? How are you in a position to give me financial advice?”

  “Well,” Caleb said, looking at Toni, “we put most of what you gave us into a retirement account that we won’t be able to touch until one of us is 65. And, you remember Miriam? Our oldest? Thanks to you she could afford to go to Brown. Graduated top of her class. And Edward? Our next oldest. He got into the University of Pennsylvania on a scholarship, but your gift paid his rent and living expenses for five years.”

  “That’s it? You spent a million dollars on your kids’ school?”

  “Well, and our retirement,” Toni added. “Plus we paid off this house, paid off the cars, and bought that fifth wheel you probably saw in our driveway.”

  “I guess what I’m saying is, if you two could make all that money disappear with only this place to show for it, you probably shouldn’t be offering me charity and life coaching. Do you both still work?”

  “We do, but, Caish, it’s not like that,” Caleb said. “We just—”

  “Well but it is like that. You think that just because I’ve had some bad luck lately that I should return to living like you two. That I should become some peasant who uses coupons and drives a shitty car. That I should be eating leftovers from Tupperware and working a brainless labor-intensive job. I’m not blue-collar anymore, I’m—”

  “Caish, you’re — “

  “No, let me finish. I’m a successful investor. I’ve made over a hundred million dollars. Most investors lose what they earned at one point or another and earn their way back. I know you laugh at it, even after I proved you all wrong, but I play the lottery, Caleb, and I’m good at it. Just the other day I won over five thousand dollars. I’ll win big again. Statistics say that once you’ve won, you’re more likely to win a second time. I’m not some schmuck
mechanic anymore. You both need to respect that.”

  “We do, Caish, we just want to—”

  “Thanks for dinner, this has all been quite pleasant, and Toni those brownies were to die for. Caleb, could you please get my jacket?”

  Back in my Suburban, rumbling through the rain swept streets of Missoula, I mulled over our conversation. How could they be so patronizing? Offer me charity? They’ll pay my mortgage? Who do they think I am? Have they not had a front row seat to my rise from poverty in Missoula to staggering wealth in Malibu? So pretentious. I gave them the financial security they have, and now they think themselves financial sages that can offer me a hand? So arrogant. Such hubris.

  17

  The more monotonous middle-class living became, the more it felt like I was trapped in a labyrinth of timeless boredom. Without much money, my options for business and pleasure were limited. For business, I didn’t have enough money to invest in anything other than lottery tickets. I didn’t have the resources or connections to create a new product or launch a new app. Plus, I didn’t want to risk losing the last of my cash on another dud of a business idea (which, in that regard, was apparently the only type of ideas I had). Pleasure was limited to only those activities which were wholesome and cheap. Like sitting at home and watching every HBO, Hulu, and Netflix series ever produced. Then moving on to Amazon Prime.

  Probation prohibited me from enjoying alcohol and cocaine. The world had been stripped of its color. The maximum level of enjoyment had been brought down from ten to six. The sober will never know the joys of those top four levels. And having lived most of my life at ten, six may as well have been high-functioning depression. Diet depression. Where once there were clear skies and fluffy white clouds, now there was forever a dark and brooding sky, threatening to rain at any moment.

  Happiness is expensive, misery is free.

  On paper I was doing fine. I paid most of my bills on time and stayed within the confines of my probation. My T-cell count returned to normal in a matter of months, and I was as healthy as I had ever been. I had settled into a new routine. Thanks to my drug testing, I was up at dawn’s early light every morning. 8:00 a.m. sharp. If Miss Trunchbull didn’t call, I would spend at least two hours searching Google for ways to make money that didn’t require much capital. I considered this to be the first part of my job. Research. The second part of my job was driving to a gas station and buying lottery tickets. Action. Since my last big win of $5,212 I hadn’t won anything. But I could feel a win coming soon. For lunch I would go somewhere cheap, like Taco Bell, Wendy’s, or KFC. By around 2:00 p.m. I was back to work on the third and most important part of my job, networking. I spent hours on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and Instagram. I had a multipronged approach. First, I would post about how well everything was going in my life; it was important that everybody know I was still on top. Second, I would message old friends. Sometimes acting interested in their personal lives, and sometimes probing for any business opportunities. Third, I would make new connections by messaging people that looked successful