“That’s interesting because I wasn’t certain that you meant it, but I’m really glad you suggested the idea.”
Sometimes their conversations flowed so well he led her to the exact things she wanted to talk about. “That’s not all I’ve thought of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve got a really crazy idea, but I’m not sure you can handle it. Are you open to something really bizarre?”
“Handle what?”
“Can you keep a secret? A really, really big super secret?”
“I don’t know,” he said smiling. “A really, really big super secret sounds way too important for somebody known as Sweets.”
By that time her home was just a mile away. She hit the blinker and took the right lane. “It’s so big it’ll surprise the hell out of you. So do you want to hear it or not?”
“You’re not going to tell me that you’ve had a sex change operation, are you? I don’t think I could handle that after some of the things we’ve done.”
She tilted her head and lowered her voice. “Does my voice sound like I’m really a man?”
“No, but it’s delightfully sexy.”
“What if I told you I know how we can both become millionaires?”
He smiled. “Let me guess. You’ve got a system to beat the lottery?”
She waved her hand in his direction. “I mean it. It might take six months or so but I know where we can get a whole lot of money.”
He smirked. “Who do I have to kill?”
She looked right at him. If only she could tell him that she’d already covered that precise issue with his brother. “Nobody. There’s this really rich old woman who’s got so much money she wouldn’t even miss a million or two.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Mac said while she pulled into her driveway, “I’d think you were drunk. How’d you learn of this scam?”
“If you must know, my ex’s attorney told me about it during the divorce, even though they’re not supposed to talk about other people like that.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough.
“The grandma used the same firm to set up a large trust for her granddaughter and we can get some of that money.”
“Steal money from some little girl? I can’t believe you’d do that.”
“First off,” Miranda said as they pulled into the garage, “That ‘little girl,’ as you called her, is in her thirties. Second, she doesn’t even know the money’s been set aside for her. And third, they have so much money they’ll never need it all. So what’s the difference if she inherits seven million or nine? Either way, it’s not going to change anything for her.” They reached her living room and Miranda wrapped her arms around his neck. “Meanwhile, a million or so could really change our lives, especially Mickey’s.”
“Mickey? What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything. Today he was doing pretty well, but he’s not always like that. Little things send him into fits.”
“Oh.”
“One time he liked a baseball hat that another patient was wearing. Mickey wanted to wear it too. The caregiver tried to explain that it wasn’t his but he couldn’t understand. He got real angry and it took several men to restrain him.”
Mac nodded. “Must be awful to be wrestled to the ground and not understand why.”
“The only way to calm him down is with injections of haloperidol. By the time he wakes up, he’s forgotten about whatever made him angry.”
“How often does this happen?”
“It’s been happening more lately. That’s why I had to move him to The Broadhouse. They think they can help him without all of the violence.”
“Well, that’s great. So what’s all this got to do with the grandma and granddaughter?”
“Money. The government facilities don’t have enough resources to work with Mickey. When something goes wrong, about all they can do is gang up on him and drug him. But it’s dangerous. The only alternative was The Broadhouse. I have to pay almost five thousand a month. I only have enough for a few more months. Then what am I going to do? I have to do something now or they’ll move him again and he’ll never get better.”
Mac walked slowly into the living room, picked up a picture of Miranda and Mickey that was sitting on her end table. “So this idea of yours is all about Mickey’s care, huh?”
“MediCal will only cover basic treatments, but that’s not enough.” She squared her shoulders to his. “Don’t get me wrong, Sweets. I don’t like taking somebody else’s money, even if they won’t miss it, but Mickey has been getting worse. He’s having bad dreams. He’s afraid and doesn’t understand. It’s wrong to be mauled and drugged up and denied access to the only care that can make him better.” Miranda kissed Mac’s cheek. “I need some help.”
Mac stared back into the picture. “What made you think I’d consider something like this?”
“Are you kidding? I asked you a bunch of questions. You’re a big-hearted guy who cares about underprivileged people and you think outside of the box. I love those things about you.”
Mac nodded. “I know how much you love your brother,” he said. “And you and I seem to have something special going on. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to find out more about what you have in mind.” He sat on the couch, looking at the photograph.
Chapter Thirteen
Jean was back into her regular routine with no apparent residual effects from the drug. She had just made it home from work. Fortunately, Stump was spending the night with Cousin Willie.
As often was the case at the end of the workday, Jean’s aching feet begged for attention, but first, she needed a drink. In the kitchen, she set down the sack she’d just gotten from the liquor store and pulled out one of two large vodka bottles. After she hid the bag and the other bottle in the laundry room, she splashed a few ounces of orange juice over a half-glass of vodka and invited the first swig to wash away the dryness. Next stop, her bedroom.
There, she drank down a hold-me-over gulp and set her half-empty glass on the dresser. She exhaled and sagged into her dressing chair where she kicked off her heels. Her left foot nearly leapt onto her lap for a ten-second massage. Not to be ignored, her right foot received equal attention before she slipped out of her work clothes and chugged down the rest of her screwdriver.
After she donned a comfortable pink velour bathrobe she visited the private bathroom off her bedroom and began an extra-hot bath. She inserted a new CD into her player and welcomed the soothing voice of Michael Bublé while she reached underneath the sink for a bottle of lilac-scented bubble bath that she’d bought at Nordstrom’s. Two full caps was the correct amount. She lit a dozen lilac-scented votive candles and placed them in their usual spots around the tub and the room.
While the bubbles multiplied, and her preferred fragrance was engulfing the room, she returned to the kitchen and secured a follow-up screwdriver, stiffer than the first. That done, she fed Dogg and then returned to her private paradise. With the flick of a switch, the transformation was complete. The candles danced in the darkness, and an unremarkable room had become no less than a suburb of heaven itself. She hung up her robe on the back of the door and lit a cigarette.
With a Marlboro in one hand and her favorite cocktail in the other, Jean melted down, past six inches of dancing bubbles, into the steamy hot water. She sucked in two lungfuls of glorious bliss. She may not have done many of the things that rich women did, but she could teach anybody how to take an incredible bath.
After fifteen magnificent minutes it was time to settle in for a quiet evening. Functional white panties, a faded pair of blue jeans and a bulky grey sweatshirt found their rightful places.
She returned to the kitchen and tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. While waiting for her low-cal dinner she made herself another screwdriver. A few minutes later, she settled into her black leather recliner to watch some TV. It wasn’t long before the usually reliable receptionist passed out, lik
e she had done so many times before. Fortunately, this time, nobody would know.
* * *
The following Saturday morning, Jean woke early, curled in the fetal position. The sheets felt cold and stiffer than usual. She opened her eyes. Shocked, she was in an unfamiliar bedroom, facing a grey-haired stranger who seemed much older than she. Her eyes widened, Her brows lifted. Who was this man? How did she get there? Oh, yeah. She remembered going to Kelly’s, a neighborhood bar. She looked at her bed partner. That’s right, he’d bought her a few drinks.
Her head throbbed and she needed some water, but she remained motionless. She was wearing panties, but nothing more. Her stomach tightened as she began a well-deserved self-interrogation. What the hell have you done? How’re you going to get out of here? What if you’re in danger?
Still immobile, she scanned the room with crusty eyes.
A cluttered dresser was behind him, topped by a photo of the man and a woman who appeared to be his wife. Jean tried to remember if he was a widower. Couldn’t recall. Couldn’t see his ring finger. She should find her clothes.
She slid her foot backwards to the edge of the bed and tried to slither imperceptibly away, but her bedmate must have detected her movement. He opened his eyes. She gritted her teeth and her stomach tightened. “Good morning,” he said in a friendly tone. “That was a wild evening!”
At least he didn’t sound like a mad man. “Yeah,” she replied, half-smiling and trying not to reveal her trepidation. “What time is it, anyway? I have to get to an appointment.”
He checked the digital clock on his night table. “8:20. Don’t you want some breakfast first? I make a good omelet.”
“No thank you. I’m late and I need to get going.” Her heart pounded harder as she searched the room for any clues that might reveal where she was. She glanced at her mystery partner for a better look. Still didn’t recognize him. She grabbed a pillow, pulled it close.
“You don’t really need to hide those,” he said, pointing his jaw toward her breasts, “after last night.”
“Someone is waiting for me,” she lied. “He gets nervous when I’m late.” She grabbed her clothes off the bench at the end of the bed. ”I gotta go.”
“Okay then,” the grey-headed stranger responded. He rolled naked out of bed. “If that’s how you want it, that’s how it’ll be.”
Jean yanked on her clothes and sucked down three successive cigs while she nervously waited for her unknown acquaintance to wash up, shave, and get dressed.
Eventually, he finished and they found their way to his garage. Within ten minutes they were on a street she recognized. Another few miles and she’d be in her own neighborhood. Finally they reached Kelly’s and she saw her car. “Can I get your number?” her date quizzed. “My wife is going out of town again next week.”
Jean felt sick for having spent the night with a married man. “I don’t want to see you again,” she said as she jack-in-the-boxed herself sideways out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Stump was pissed off. His mom had told him they were going to spend Saturday morning cleaning up Dogg’s yard and catching up on other chores, but it appeared he was the only one who took the commitment seriously. The night before he used his run-and-walk technique to get home from Cousin Willie’s by nine as requested, but when he arrived he found a note from his mom that assured him she’d be home at a reasonable time. Yeah, right. Didn’t call either.
She’d undoubtedly gone drinking again. What the hell’s the matter with her? She heard what the doctor said. Her selfish attitude pissed him off.
He probably should have straightened up his room, but instead he looked out back and saw Dogg curled up under a large bush. He poured kibbles into a bowl and whistled for his four-legged pal to come eat but it took a couple similar attempts before Dogg heard him and came, tail wagging, for breakfast. Stump’s nostrils caught the ghastly ear-stench. “Whew!” A peek reveled that a thick yellow pus had taken up a lot of Dogg’s ear canal. Stump sat with his buddy and petted him while he ate. Hopefully his mom would have some money for meds very soon.
It was past nine when his mom finally walked in. Her unkempt hair, smeared makeup and wrinkled clothes confirmed his suspicions. “You did it again, didn’t you, Mom?” he snapped.
She plopped her purse on the counter. “None of your business.”
“Who was it this time, Mom? Do you even know?”
She pointed at him. “Don’t you talk to me like that. I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm.” She sniffed at the air. “Did you clean up the yard like I told you?”
“I’m not dumb, Mom. I know what you did. Everybody else knows about you, too.”
“Everybody?” she said plopping her hands on her hips. “Who’s everybody?”
“Everybody. Everybody. Everybody, Mom. Don’t you get it? Aunt Gerry, Willie, the neighbors, even the kids at school. Everybody knows.”
“And just what do these geniuses say?”
Stump shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You opened your big mouth, Buster, so back it up. Exactly what do these backstabbers say? Come on tell me. I want to hear it.”
“I’m not sure I want to tell you, Mom. It might hurt your feelings.”
“Well, you’ve been beating around the bush so stop playing games and tell me what they say.”
He hung his head. “They say that you’re a drunk and easy. That you’re going to jail.” He raised his head and opened his eyes widely. “What would I do then?”
“And just how did they know about that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Willie told them. It doesn’t really matter. I just want you to stop drinking. I want a normal mother, that’s all.”
“You can tell those brainiacs for me to mind their own damn business.”
“I do, Mom, but you embarrass both of us. This just proves you should help me find my dad. Maybe he can help us.”
“For Christ’s sake, Stump. Not that again. I told you we don’t want him in our lives.”
“Speak for yourself. He might have changed since the last time you saw him. We could go on vacations. You wouldn’t have to date other men. We’d both be better off. How are we going to know if we don’t even try to find him?”
She paused and touched his shoulder. “Look, I know that most boys your age want to know their dads, but you have to believe me. Nothing good could come out of your meeting him. All that matters is we love each other, regardless of what anybody else says or does, and we’ve got to stick together. You have to trust me on this. I’m the adult and you have to respect that.”
“But this is about both of us, not just you. You have to respect me, too. That includes my wishes to know my dad and how you deal with your drinking. Don’t you remember what the doctor said? And another thing. We never have enough money for the basics like clothes and a cell phone. Have you smelled Dogg’s ears lately? When you drink away your paychecks, you’re not respecting him either.”
“Look who’s talking. I‘ve asked you to clean up dog poop at least a hundred times, but you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Now the back yard is so gross, I’m surprised Dogg even goes out there.”
Stump hated to admit it but when he was alone he could do more chores, but there was always a more entertaining alternative, even if it was just watching TV. “And what about that laundry room?” she went on. “You keep saying you’re going to clean it out, but you never do. And your room. Have you changed your sheets like I asked you? I doubt it.”
“Wrong, Mom,” he said smugly. “I did a load of my laundry last week.”
“I saw that, but when it was done, you just threw everything in a pile on the floor by your bed. Now everything is wrinkled. Just look at the shirt you’re wearing. If you would have put it away when the time was right, it wouldn’t look like crap.”
“Wait a minute here, Mom. I know what you’re doing. The
best defense is a good offense, right? You’re the one who comes home after being out all night. But rather than admitting you drink too much and working on it, you’re trying to deflect the blame from you to me—but we have to focus on you, Mom. Not me. If you don’t do something different, you’re going to kill yourself. That’s a lot more important than wrinkled clothes.”
She paused for a long moment, then sighed and drew him toward her. “I can’t believe you sometimes. When you say things like that you make me ashamed and proud at the same time. I’m sorry I let you down again. I promise to try harder.”
“But you always say that.”
“I know, Honey, but you just have to give me one more chance. I’ll show you.” She lifted his chin. “Okay?”
“I worry about you.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I love you and don’t want to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m worried about Dogg’s ears, too. Can we take him to the vet?”
She looked at poor Dogg and nodded. “You’re right. He’s a member of Team Randolph, too. I’ll see if Aunt Gerry will lend me the money.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mac and Annie had only been in Palmdale for ten days but they already loved the multi-lane highways. When the traffic bogged down, such as now, they straddled the lines between lanes and bypassed the idiots in the bumper-to-bumper chain. There’s our exit,” he said as if she could hear him. They worked their way up the ramp and negotiated a couple of side streets before dipping into the high school parking lot. Mac scanned the area. “Good news, Annie. There’s a spot right next to her car.”
“Perfect,” he imagined her saying.
They coasted into the open spot on the shotgun side of Rachel Johnson’s car. He already knew a lot about her. He scanned the lot one more time. The coast was clear. “This is it, Annie. Time to shit or get off the pot.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Oh yeah. Mickey really needs this and Miranda has done her homework. If this lady is as rich as we think she is, we can help Mickey without even hurting her.”
“But we’ve never done anything like this before. I think you might be falling in love.”