Frank Jr. leaps from behind the dining cabinet, a plastic pistol clenched in his fist, rattling the china Alice acquired from her wedding registry twelve years ago.
“I’m gonna kill you, you rat bastard,” he screams.
“Do you want to give me a friggin’ nervous breakdown?” Alice snarls. He’s been horsing around with his brother for hours, creating concoctions from spaghetti, eggs, hot pepper flakes, parmagean, milk, Wonder bread, garlic - blending the ingredients in the Cuisinart, timing who could drink the potion faster. But Alice really lost it when they started playing mafia in her living room. Frank Jr. was imitating John Gotti - zipping in and out and around the furniture, evading the law.
Shaun grabs Frank Jr. by his t-shirt collar. This throws the bigger boy off kilter, and he trips over his own feet. Frank Jr. lies on the carpet, and Shaun aims his scrawny fist directly between his eyes. “Bull’s eye,” Shaun creaks.
Frank Sr. had finally left Alice – he claimed for good - and she feels like just sinking in the velvet couch to watch some Home Shopping Network without any more distractions. She’s been eye-ing the $700.99 necklace for weeks now. It’s a little more expensive than the other jewelry they sell, but still, it’s absolutely perfect for her. She imagines the thick strand of 14-karat gold encircling her neck, plunging between breasts that she works damned hard to keep firm. The necklace will match the little black dress that Frank Sr. bought her, that selfish bastard.
“Go outside and play. Dad just bought you a new jungle gym set.”
“But mom, it’s like 100 degrees out there. There’s AC inside. We’ll go play video games in the rec room,” Frank Jr. offers.
“Goddammit, show some appreciation. Your father worked his ass off for that new set. Do you know how much it cost? Take your younger brother outside right now!” Alice wanted to raise the temperature on the AC anyway. It had been set at 65 degrees all week. Now that she and Frank Sr. were separating for real, she had to watch the cash flow. And gas had just jumped over $10/gallon.
“Dad has plenty of money. You said it yourself a thousand times.”
“Frances Anthony, don’t give me lip – money doesn’t grow on trees,” Alice snaps. “You can take cool showers when you come back in. Then I’ll make you some cheesy sandwiches in the microwave. I think we have cheddar or American slices in the fridge. I’ll let you watch whatever you want on TV tonight.”
“Can we see the one about the super strong guy who flies around in his spaceship - the one with the robot friend who shoots lasers out of his eyes?” Shaun asks, his eyes wide with the expectation of great things to come. Alice always felt that Shaun was easier to reason with than anyone else in her household. Even when he was a toddler, when she and Frank Sr. went to a movie or theater in New York City or dinner with their friends at the mall or when she left the boys with the nanny while she ran some errands and went to the gym, Shaun seemed to understand her needs.
“It’s called Astro and Bolts, dummy,” Frank Jr. says.
“Sure, we’ll watch whatever movie you guys want. I just need some quiet time right now. Can you give Mom a little space, please? It’s been a really hard day – a hard week, in fact.” Alice sighs, “Dad has left, this time for good, I’m afraid. He hasn’t been on his best behavior.” Frank Jr. shoots her a dead-on stare. And what about you, the look accuses. Well that one takes after his father, Alice calculates. Too smart for his own good and not afraid to show it.
She punches the buttons on the wall to deactivate the alarm. “Outside now,” she says. “Or you’ll go to bed without dessert.”
Shaun opens the curtains and slides the French doors wide. A rush of thick, humid air muffles the living room. He bounces outside and heads straight for the jungle gym. Frank Jr. grabs his toy gun and a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge.
“You win,” he says to Alice. “Are you happy now?”
He steps into the light and slowly closes the glass doors, like he’s locking himself away forever. Their eyes hold fast, each one daring the other to glance away. Really, she’s not asking too much. She just needs to relax in front of the TV set for an hour or two. She feels the need to buy herself something, anything that will make her feel beautiful. She deserves that much, doesn’t she?
“Did you hear me,” Frank Jr. asks. “I said, you win.”
When she doesn’t respond, he slumps his shoulders and turns from her gaze. His squat body casts a sharp shadow against the cement, which fades to a fuzzy mess when he steps into the brown grass. Alice immediately feels remorse. If only she could stop him from growing up. If only she could freeze her ten-year old boy the way he is now - the sweet, dried sweat on his skinny body - he wouldn’t become like his father, or any man for that matter. Alice opens the doors and screams, “Don’t forget to drink your liquids. You don’t want to get dehydrated!” The sun sears the side of her face.
“Well, maybe you should go buy us some more Gatorade then, because we’re running out,” Frank Jr. replies. “There’s only one more bottle in the fridge. Didn’t you check before you went grocery shopping yesterday?” Alice slams the doors in their moorings and re-activates the security system.
“Mom’s really pissing me off,” Frank Jr. says to Shaun, kicking his sneakers in the dirt. Dust settles in his laces. “I’m too old for this stupid jungle gym. I’m not a kid anymore. Dad really bought it for you because you’re a brat. You’re a stupid baby.”
Shaun glides through the air, using his legs to propel the swing as high as he can. “I am not,” Shaun finally says, after three rotations.
“I need a new bike. Or a motorized scooter. Something fast that’ll get me to the baseball field at Pike’s Turn,” Frank adds. “The series is coming up, and I’m sick of mom driving me there.”
“You’d never make it on a bike. It’s too far. Just let mom drive you, okay?” Shaun lets the swing come to a standstill and wipes sweat from his brow. His shirt is drenched, and he takes a swig of the Gatorade. “I’m so thirsty,” he says, chugging the liquid as fast as he can.
The yard is two-acres vast and dotted with shrubbery and a few magnolia trees that failed to flower in the spring. An oak with drooping leaves sits prominently in the center. A hundred years old, it’s the fulcrum that holds the rest of the yard in place. But its bark is dry and rotting. A gardener warned that the tree would have to come down soon, before they split and cracked a head open or smothered someone to death. He said it happened last winter, in the next town over, to a healthy, 40-year old man. He had a heart attack but luckily made it through surgery alive. After that incident, the man had the gardener saw his beloved maple tree to a stump. “It’s sad to see a beauty like that go,” the gardener added. “But that’s the way the world is, these days.”
Alice drops into the folds of the couch and clicks on the cable. A brunette wrapped in gold chains purrs from the screen. Next item up is the heart and pendant and earring set with an 18-inch box chain. This luxurious group says you’re worth it. Get that perfect diamond appearance with Absolute cubic zirconia, exclusive to our station. The hostess strokes the necklace around her throat as if she was grooming fur on her chest. Alice read somewhere that she used to be a porn star. She grabs two cookies from the breadbasket. Why the fuck not, she thinks. A cookie doesn’t have too many calories. And she’s alone in an empty 4-bedroom house in the middle of suburban New Jersey with no plans on a Saturday night. A little sugar won’t hurt. Maybe it’ll help lift her spirits, and she’ll get along better with Frank Jr.
All you men out there, now is the time to buy that anniversary gift or something special for her birthday. I bought a set for my mom for Mother’s Day, and she can’t get over it. Alice decides she’ll have to share custody of her sons with Frank Sr., or it’ll be the end of her. Boys need men in their lives, or they become unwieldy and wild. She’ll call her lawyer on Monday and draw up divorce papers. She’ll definitely get the house, at least half their assets and the SUV. Frank can keep the Lexus for all she cares. Really, why did Frank have to leave now? It is the worst possible time - the bills are piling up, the driveway needs to be repaved. They’ll have to rent an apartment for him, in addition to paying the mortgage. Maybe she’ll have to ask for more hours at the realty office, but then who will drive the boys to their activities? They’ll have to fire Betty. Alice will have to clean the house herself.
This 14 karat-graduated, byzantine link 17-inch necklace is absolutely gorgeous. I wore it to a wedding on Saturday night, and I’ve never gotten so many compliments in my life. I’ve only got 500 amazing pieces left. This is while supplies last. I’ve already sold 20 today. Alice feels that she might fall asleep if she turns the air conditioning down. Instead, she sneaks three more cookies and pours herself a rum and Coke. The ice cubes crack like Alice’s own splitting headache, the one that began in her temple and has now spread to the base of her skull. When she flops back down on the couch, it creaks and rolls slightly across the wood floor. She scampers to the bathroom in the parlor, so she can weigh herself. The scale tips to 135 pounds. She must stop engorging herself with cookies, or she’ll be alone forever.
Warning - intruder at front entrance of house a voice chants through the speakers in the hallway. Warning - intruder at front entrance of house it repeats. Alice runs to the monitor in the den, wondering if Frank Sr. forgot his keys. Maybe he’s come back to her! Instead, she spies a thin, distorted man in a white shirt and jeans through the fish-eye lens. Warning - intruder at front entrance of house.
“Watch where you swing that thing! Are you an idiot or something?” Shaun shouts as he swooshes down the slide, tumbling forward onto his face. Frank Jr. has cleared his head by only a few inches. Cocking his bat, he is the last man up in the inning, and the bases are loaded. The crowd shouts his name. He swings and lines in a homer, making it all the way to second base.
“Pass the Gatorade,” he says to Shaun. “I’m thirsty. I think I can whip Joey now. He’s pitching tomorrow. I think I can hit a double if I just take his curve ball a little lower than usual.” His shirt caked with grime, Shaun hands him the plastic jug.
“You almost drank the whole thing, you moron,” Frank Jr. says. “Don’t you know how to conserve? What do they teach you in fifth grade, anyway? Don’t you remember when Dad took us on that camping trip near the lake by Grandma’s house? He said not to drink all the water at once – that we had to hold back, let our saliva quench our thirst? Do you remember how he taught us to screw the cap on properly, so none of the water would drip out?” He tilts the bottle, until what’s left of the Gatorade drips onto his tongue. “God, this tastes weird. Did you put something in here? Did you spit in here, Shaun?”
“No way. That’s gross.”
“Well, it doesn’t taste like Gatorade, that’s for sure. It tastes like plastic or something strange. It’s thick, like syrup. It’s sticking to my tongue.”
“Want a piece of gum?” Shaun draws a pack of Wrigley’s from his back pocket. “Ooh, gross, it’s stuck to the wrapper!”
“Just hand it to me.” Frank Jr. nibbles the gum from the paper, until all of it is has disappeared.
“I think we should just go get some water from inside,” Shaun says.
“Screw that. I don’t want to deal with her right now. She’s in one of her moods. I’d rather die from thirst.”
“Yeah right. You’re so full of it.”
“Just watch me,” Frank Jr. replies, the gum filling the holes between his teeth.
The man at the front door has come to check Alice’s wiring. Alice doesn’t remember calling for help. “Our lights and appliances are working fine,” she says.
“The city is getting pretty strict about energy consumption. We’re checking all the houses in your neighborhood, to make sure everyone’s up to code. We’ll rewire an entire house, if necessary.”
“I didn’t make an appointment. Do you have a work order?” she asks.
“Right here, ma’am,” the stranger says, pointing to a greasy piece of paper. “Signed by Frank DiNunzio.” Its Frank’s signature all right – slanted forward, the Nunzio a blur of ink - always in a rush to get to the next appointment with a client. Frank probably faxed the form from his law firm months ago. Why doesn’t he tell her these things? If she hadn’t noticed him walk out of the front door with two suitcases in the security monitor last Sunday, she would have worried for weeks that he simply evaporated into the thin air.
“We’re kind of low on money these days – how could we possibly pay to rewire a house?”
“Ma’am, most people are energy efficient. And if you’re not, it won’t cost you too much to rewire. The customer only pays 10% of the fee. The taxpayer pays for the rest. Now the SUV sitting in your driveway, you might want to reconsider that puppy. Big gas guzzler. Lucky for you, the government hasn’t outlawed them yet. It’s a hybrid, I assume?”
“Yes. It’s only six-months old.” The man is about 25, with blue eyes and dimples. Alice thinks he’s cute, almost a boy, so fuck Frank. Let him pay the city 10% to tear apart their house, let him pay for everything.
“Would you like something to drink, maybe a cold beer?” Alice asks.
“Can’t drink on the job ma’am. But I’d love a coke, lots of ice.” He’s cocky, sure of himself, about the age Frank Sr. was when Alice first met him. And he’s charming, like her husband used to be, before his ego entered the stratosphere from making partner at the firm.
“Yes, of course you would,” Alice says, looking him up and down. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll start to check your outlets, ma’am. And I’ll also need to look at the circuit breakers.”
“Good thinking,” Alice says, as she dashes to the kitchen.
And in a moment I’m going to tell you about our cultured golden South Sea pearl 14-karat pendant.
“Oh, you’re watching Cindy. I love Cindy,” the man says, as he climbs up his ladder. “I bought my girlfriend a bracelet from her last month. She got all weepy when I gave it to her. I’m thinking about buying her a ring when I get the cash together. I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.” He unscrews the base of the chandelier. “But I’m just not sure if I’m ready.” After he climbs down the ladder, Alice hands him a drink. She has fixed herself another rum and coke.
“Well, don’t rush into anything,” Alice says. “Is that enough ice for you?”
“Perfect, just the way I like it.” Alice watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down while he slugs down the soda. “Hot day,” he says when he’s finished.
“But hot is good, don’t you think?” Alice asks, swirling the liquor around the tumbler. “I feel so relaxed, like anything could happen, anything at all. And it’ll all be okay, don’t you think?” She notices him staring at her glass. She laughs, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not normally a big drinker. It’s just that my husband left me this past week, and I’m all alone in this gigantic house with two growing boys. But it’s such a relief to know that our electricity output will be up to code. That’s one burden off my shoulders. Thank goodness you came today. You’re a life saver.”
“You might want to watch the air coming out of the vents. Your AC is set pretty low,” he says. “Big waste of energy.”
“Gotcha!” Frank Jr. says, pointing his gun at Shaun’s temple. Shaun sits cross-legged in a mound of dirt, throwing a baseball up and down in his mitt.
“Aren’t you too old for toy guns, Frank?”
“Shut up, Shaun. Everyone knows how cool this gun is. It’s not like it’ll hurt anyone.” Frank Jr. throws the gun to the ground. “Let’s play catch. I need to warm up my throwing arm for tomorrow.”
“I’m sleepy,” Shaun replies, hanging his head low. “Do you think mom will let us back inside?”
“C’mon, don’t be a wimp. You need the practice. Aren’t you playing shortstop? Your arm has to be primed. You don’t want to lose the game, do you?”
Frank Jr. throws the ball dead center into Shaun’s mitt. Shaun tosses it back but throws short, and Frank Jr. has to run to catch it. He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “You’ll just have to learn the hard way.” He winds his arm behind his head and propels the ball forward and up with full force. Shaun runs backwards and collapses onto his butt, as the ball sails over him. He rises, dazed and swaying. “Your throw was too long,” he manages to say. Then his body sinks to the ground.
“Jesus F-in’ Christ, Shaun! What the hell happened? Did you just trip over your own two feet? You can’t do that tomorrow! You have to hang tough.”
“I slipped. I slipped on something wet. I think I might have twisted my ankle.”
Frank Jr. walks to where Shaun is sitting and notices a puddle of black gook slathered on the ground. A holster juts out from its center. Frank Jr. dabs his finger in the sticky sludge. It reminds him of rotten tree sap. “It’s the gun – it melted,” he says.
Alice wants to confide in the electrician. There’s something about the softness of his eyes that tells her he’s trustworthy. He seems like a receptive young man who’s grown up among a generation of men who were trained to listen. “Well ma’am, your circuit breaker looks good. All the outlets, electrical appliances, lamps, wires – they all look up to code. I’ll just mark it down here, that you’re all good.”
“Wouldn’t you like to stay, have a nice cold beer?”
“No thanks, I have to get to the next job.”
“Do you want something to eat? I could make you a cheese sandwich. The boys love them. My husband – or my ex, not sure which he is yet, ha ha - does too. I can melt the cheese on bread in the microwave.”
“No thanks, really. I have to be going.”
Alice leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Well, do you accept tips?” He steps back. “No, we’re not allowed to take cash. I make a decent living, so no worries.”
“I’m not worried. I just thought you might like something extra for your effort.” Alice winks at him. “Wouldn’t you like to relax for a few minutes and watch more Cindy with me?” Alice smiles, fluffing the pillows on the couch. The electrician stares at her. “C’mon, it’s a comfortable couch. I’d like to get to know you better. You’ve been such a big help.”
The man grabs his ladder. “I’m not into that type of thing. I have a girlfriend. I really hope you work things out with your husband.” He shuffles across the marble floor.
“My buddy Fred, he’d be into it. He just did a housewife last week. Maybe you should look him up in the phone book. Fred Filagree.”
“You don’t understand!” Alice screams. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t even get your name? What’s your name?” she pleads, slumping into the couch.
“Tom,” he says and then slams the door.
Person leaving front entrance of house. As if the voice had to remind her. Alice is hungry, hungrier than she can ever remember being. She knows she’s not supposed to snack. She’s supposed to be dieting. She snags a 200-calorie Slim Fast from the fridge. She guzzles it down, but it doesn’t push away the hunger. She smears mayo on Wonder Bread and slips American cheese between two slices of bread. She gobbles the sandwich down, but her stomach still growls and aches, demanding more. She throws another sandwich in the microwave. Nuke for one-minute for the perfect cheesy sandwich. It bubbles and bursts yellow craters. She tears at the food with her teeth and tongue, practically choking as she gulps it in big chunks. Her throat burns, but her stomach is still hollow, needy, a black hole. She is starving. She takes ice cream from the freezer and squeezes hot fudge sauce on top. Blurp, blurp. She thrusts spoonful after spoonful into her mouth and licks the bowl when she’s done. The melted cream drips down her cheeks. Her tears meld with the milky, brown liquid. She is crying.
A fuse blows. The lights go out in the kitchen and den. The air conditioning shuts down. The house is dark except for sun that streams through the curtains. Tom has fucked up. Someone is banging on glass. Intruder at back door of house, the voice assures her. Well thankfully the alarm is still dependable, she thinks. She looks at the monitor. It is Frank Jr. Intruder at back of house. He’s on his knees, pounding on the doors. He looks strange, like his nose got smashed in, and it is oozing blood. What have those boys been up to? Can’t they stay out of trouble? She peers at the monitor again. Frank Jr. seems shorter now, like he’s lying on his stomach. He’s struggling to bring his fist up. He looks so lonely, and then she remembers that she’s lonely too. Maybe they can cheer each other up! Frank Jr. could do imitations for her and Shaun. It’ll be like the old days, all of them at the dinner table together, laughing at his jokes. He’s got quite a talent. She’ll enroll him in acting camp next summer. If he hones his skills and works hard and gets into a good college, well, who knows, maybe he’ll even become famous. Then he’ll be able to take care of Alice in her old age. She’ll be so proud.
She pulls the curtains apart but the sunlight pierces her retina. Alice is temporarily blinded. When she regains her sight, she looks down to see Frank Jr. lying in a puddle of pink goo. His legs are missing! He’s just a stump! She tries to open the doors, but they are jammed. She punches the buttons on the wall but forgets the code. She tries ten different permutations, but none work. She’ll have to break the doors down! She lifts a chair and repeatedly hits it against the glass, but it keeps bouncing back. And then she remembers that years ago, they fitted the doors with shatter-proof glass. It is more resilient and economical in the long run, the salesman told them. And the boys won’t hurt themselves or smash the glass with a ball, he added to seal the deal.
Breathing heavily, Alice takes in the horrible ruin that is now her backyard. A swirling brew of pinks, greens, yellows, blues, purples, oranges, and blacks simmer from the ground, about to spill into the neighbor’s yard. Steam rises as high as the satellite dish. The oak tree floats downstream. The jungle gym is gone. Shaun is missing. Frank Jr. holds his forehead between his hands, his remains seeping between the cracks of cement. If she could only open the doors, she would touch him. She would save him!
The telephone rings. Alice fumbles over herself, tumbling to the desk, picking up the receiver. “Thank God you called, Frank! We need your help! The boys are melting! They’re leaving us, and it’s all my fault. You have to come home!”
His voice sounds even younger and more fragile than before. “Ma’am, it’s not Frank, it's Tom. I hope I'm not bothering you.” He’s called to apologize for everything. He says that his work has become shoddy, that he’s not feeling like himself these days. Sobbing, Alice tells him not to worry, no one is feeling right anymore. Why doesn’t he come over and they’ll talk about it? She’ll make him a cheesy sandwich and raise the temperature on the AC. She promises, if he'll come over, even for just a little while, she'll xxxx.
“I’m gonna kill you, you rat bastard,” he screams.
“Do you want to give me a friggin’ nervous breakdown?” Alice snarls. He’s been horsing around with his brother for hours, creating concoctions from spaghetti, eggs, hot pepper flakes, parmagean, milk, Wonder bread, garlic - blending the ingredients in the Cuisinart, timing who could drink the potion faster. But Alice really lost it when they started playing mafia in her living room. Frank Jr. was imitating John Gotti - zipping in and out and around the furniture, evading the law.
Shaun grabs Frank Jr. by his t-shirt collar. This throws the bigger boy off kilter, and he trips over his own feet. Frank Jr. lies on the carpet, and Shaun aims his scrawny fist directly between his eyes. “Bull’s eye,” Shaun creaks.
Frank Sr. had finally left Alice – he claimed for good - and she feels like just sinking in the velvet couch to watch some Home Shopping Network without any more distractions. She’s been eye-ing the $700.99 necklace for weeks now. It’s a little more expensive than the other jewelry they sell, but still, it’s absolutely perfect for her. She imagines the thick strand of 14-karat gold encircling her neck, plunging between breasts that she works damned hard to keep firm. The necklace will match the little black dress that Frank Sr. bought her, that selfish bastard.
“Go outside and play. Dad just bought you a new jungle gym set.”
“But mom, it’s like 100 degrees out there. There’s AC inside. We’ll go play video games in the rec room,” Frank Jr. offers.
“Goddammit, show some appreciation. Your father worked his ass off for that new set. Do you know how much it cost? Take your younger brother outside right now!” Alice wanted to raise the temperature on the AC anyway. It had been set at 65 degrees all week. Now that she and Frank Sr. were separating for real, she had to watch the cash flow. And gas had just jumped over $10/gallon.
“Dad has plenty of money. You said it yourself a thousand times.”
“Frances Anthony, don’t give me lip – money doesn’t grow on trees,” Alice snaps. “You can take cool showers when you come back in. Then I’ll make you some cheesy sandwiches in the microwave. I think we have cheddar or American slices in the fridge. I’ll let you watch whatever you want on TV tonight.”
“Can we see the one about the super strong guy who flies around in his spaceship - the one with the robot friend who shoots lasers out of his eyes?” Shaun asks, his eyes wide with the expectation of great things to come. Alice always felt that Shaun was easier to reason with than anyone else in her household. Even when he was a toddler, when she and Frank Sr. went to a movie or theater in New York City or dinner with their friends at the mall or when she left the boys with the nanny while she ran some errands and went to the gym, Shaun seemed to understand her needs.
“It’s called Astro and Bolts, dummy,” Frank Jr. says.
“Sure, we’ll watch whatever movie you guys want. I just need some quiet time right now. Can you give Mom a little space, please? It’s been a really hard day – a hard week, in fact.” Alice sighs, “Dad has left, this time for good, I’m afraid. He hasn’t been on his best behavior.” Frank Jr. shoots her a dead-on stare. And what about you, the look accuses. Well that one takes after his father, Alice calculates. Too smart for his own good and not afraid to show it.
She punches the buttons on the wall to deactivate the alarm. “Outside now,” she says. “Or you’ll go to bed without dessert.”
Shaun opens the curtains and slides the French doors wide. A rush of thick, humid air muffles the living room. He bounces outside and heads straight for the jungle gym. Frank Jr. grabs his toy gun and a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge.
“You win,” he says to Alice. “Are you happy now?”
He steps into the light and slowly closes the glass doors, like he’s locking himself away forever. Their eyes hold fast, each one daring the other to glance away. Really, she’s not asking too much. She just needs to relax in front of the TV set for an hour or two. She feels the need to buy herself something, anything that will make her feel beautiful. She deserves that much, doesn’t she?
“Did you hear me,” Frank Jr. asks. “I said, you win.”
When she doesn’t respond, he slumps his shoulders and turns from her gaze. His squat body casts a sharp shadow against the cement, which fades to a fuzzy mess when he steps into the brown grass. Alice immediately feels remorse. If only she could stop him from growing up. If only she could freeze her ten-year old boy the way he is now - the sweet, dried sweat on his skinny body - he wouldn’t become like his father, or any man for that matter. Alice opens the doors and screams, “Don’t forget to drink your liquids. You don’t want to get dehydrated!” The sun sears the side of her face.
“Well, maybe you should go buy us some more Gatorade then, because we’re running out,” Frank Jr. replies. “There’s only one more bottle in the fridge. Didn’t you check before you went grocery shopping yesterday?” Alice slams the doors in their moorings and re-activates the security system.
“Mom’s really pissing me off,” Frank Jr. says to Shaun, kicking his sneakers in the dirt. Dust settles in his laces. “I’m too old for this stupid jungle gym. I’m not a kid anymore. Dad really bought it for you because you’re a brat. You’re a stupid baby.”
Shaun glides through the air, using his legs to propel the swing as high as he can. “I am not,” Shaun finally says, after three rotations.
“I need a new bike. Or a motorized scooter. Something fast that’ll get me to the baseball field at Pike’s Turn,” Frank adds. “The series is coming up, and I’m sick of mom driving me there.”
“You’d never make it on a bike. It’s too far. Just let mom drive you, okay?” Shaun lets the swing come to a standstill and wipes sweat from his brow. His shirt is drenched, and he takes a swig of the Gatorade. “I’m so thirsty,” he says, chugging the liquid as fast as he can.
The yard is two-acres vast and dotted with shrubbery and a few magnolia trees that failed to flower in the spring. An oak with drooping leaves sits prominently in the center. A hundred years old, it’s the fulcrum that holds the rest of the yard in place. But its bark is dry and rotting. A gardener warned that the tree would have to come down soon, before they split and cracked a head open or smothered someone to death. He said it happened last winter, in the next town over, to a healthy, 40-year old man. He had a heart attack but luckily made it through surgery alive. After that incident, the man had the gardener saw his beloved maple tree to a stump. “It’s sad to see a beauty like that go,” the gardener added. “But that’s the way the world is, these days.”
Alice drops into the folds of the couch and clicks on the cable. A brunette wrapped in gold chains purrs from the screen. Next item up is the heart and pendant and earring set with an 18-inch box chain. This luxurious group says you’re worth it. Get that perfect diamond appearance with Absolute cubic zirconia, exclusive to our station. The hostess strokes the necklace around her throat as if she was grooming fur on her chest. Alice read somewhere that she used to be a porn star. She grabs two cookies from the breadbasket. Why the fuck not, she thinks. A cookie doesn’t have too many calories. And she’s alone in an empty 4-bedroom house in the middle of suburban New Jersey with no plans on a Saturday night. A little sugar won’t hurt. Maybe it’ll help lift her spirits, and she’ll get along better with Frank Jr.
All you men out there, now is the time to buy that anniversary gift or something special for her birthday. I bought a set for my mom for Mother’s Day, and she can’t get over it. Alice decides she’ll have to share custody of her sons with Frank Sr., or it’ll be the end of her. Boys need men in their lives, or they become unwieldy and wild. She’ll call her lawyer on Monday and draw up divorce papers. She’ll definitely get the house, at least half their assets and the SUV. Frank can keep the Lexus for all she cares. Really, why did Frank have to leave now? It is the worst possible time - the bills are piling up, the driveway needs to be repaved. They’ll have to rent an apartment for him, in addition to paying the mortgage. Maybe she’ll have to ask for more hours at the realty office, but then who will drive the boys to their activities? They’ll have to fire Betty. Alice will have to clean the house herself.
This 14 karat-graduated, byzantine link 17-inch necklace is absolutely gorgeous. I wore it to a wedding on Saturday night, and I’ve never gotten so many compliments in my life. I’ve only got 500 amazing pieces left. This is while supplies last. I’ve already sold 20 today. Alice feels that she might fall asleep if she turns the air conditioning down. Instead, she sneaks three more cookies and pours herself a rum and Coke. The ice cubes crack like Alice’s own splitting headache, the one that began in her temple and has now spread to the base of her skull. When she flops back down on the couch, it creaks and rolls slightly across the wood floor. She scampers to the bathroom in the parlor, so she can weigh herself. The scale tips to 135 pounds. She must stop engorging herself with cookies, or she’ll be alone forever.
Warning - intruder at front entrance of house a voice chants through the speakers in the hallway. Warning - intruder at front entrance of house it repeats. Alice runs to the monitor in the den, wondering if Frank Sr. forgot his keys. Maybe he’s come back to her! Instead, she spies a thin, distorted man in a white shirt and jeans through the fish-eye lens. Warning - intruder at front entrance of house.
“Watch where you swing that thing! Are you an idiot or something?” Shaun shouts as he swooshes down the slide, tumbling forward onto his face. Frank Jr. has cleared his head by only a few inches. Cocking his bat, he is the last man up in the inning, and the bases are loaded. The crowd shouts his name. He swings and lines in a homer, making it all the way to second base.
“Pass the Gatorade,” he says to Shaun. “I’m thirsty. I think I can whip Joey now. He’s pitching tomorrow. I think I can hit a double if I just take his curve ball a little lower than usual.” His shirt caked with grime, Shaun hands him the plastic jug.
“You almost drank the whole thing, you moron,” Frank Jr. says. “Don’t you know how to conserve? What do they teach you in fifth grade, anyway? Don’t you remember when Dad took us on that camping trip near the lake by Grandma’s house? He said not to drink all the water at once – that we had to hold back, let our saliva quench our thirst? Do you remember how he taught us to screw the cap on properly, so none of the water would drip out?” He tilts the bottle, until what’s left of the Gatorade drips onto his tongue. “God, this tastes weird. Did you put something in here? Did you spit in here, Shaun?”
“No way. That’s gross.”
“Well, it doesn’t taste like Gatorade, that’s for sure. It tastes like plastic or something strange. It’s thick, like syrup. It’s sticking to my tongue.”
“Want a piece of gum?” Shaun draws a pack of Wrigley’s from his back pocket. “Ooh, gross, it’s stuck to the wrapper!”
“Just hand it to me.” Frank Jr. nibbles the gum from the paper, until all of it is has disappeared.
“I think we should just go get some water from inside,” Shaun says.
“Screw that. I don’t want to deal with her right now. She’s in one of her moods. I’d rather die from thirst.”
“Yeah right. You’re so full of it.”
“Just watch me,” Frank Jr. replies, the gum filling the holes between his teeth.
The man at the front door has come to check Alice’s wiring. Alice doesn’t remember calling for help. “Our lights and appliances are working fine,” she says.
“The city is getting pretty strict about energy consumption. We’re checking all the houses in your neighborhood, to make sure everyone’s up to code. We’ll rewire an entire house, if necessary.”
“I didn’t make an appointment. Do you have a work order?” she asks.
“Right here, ma’am,” the stranger says, pointing to a greasy piece of paper. “Signed by Frank DiNunzio.” Its Frank’s signature all right – slanted forward, the Nunzio a blur of ink - always in a rush to get to the next appointment with a client. Frank probably faxed the form from his law firm months ago. Why doesn’t he tell her these things? If she hadn’t noticed him walk out of the front door with two suitcases in the security monitor last Sunday, she would have worried for weeks that he simply evaporated into the thin air.
“We’re kind of low on money these days – how could we possibly pay to rewire a house?”
“Ma’am, most people are energy efficient. And if you’re not, it won’t cost you too much to rewire. The customer only pays 10% of the fee. The taxpayer pays for the rest. Now the SUV sitting in your driveway, you might want to reconsider that puppy. Big gas guzzler. Lucky for you, the government hasn’t outlawed them yet. It’s a hybrid, I assume?”
“Yes. It’s only six-months old.” The man is about 25, with blue eyes and dimples. Alice thinks he’s cute, almost a boy, so fuck Frank. Let him pay the city 10% to tear apart their house, let him pay for everything.
“Would you like something to drink, maybe a cold beer?” Alice asks.
“Can’t drink on the job ma’am. But I’d love a coke, lots of ice.” He’s cocky, sure of himself, about the age Frank Sr. was when Alice first met him. And he’s charming, like her husband used to be, before his ego entered the stratosphere from making partner at the firm.
“Yes, of course you would,” Alice says, looking him up and down. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll start to check your outlets, ma’am. And I’ll also need to look at the circuit breakers.”
“Good thinking,” Alice says, as she dashes to the kitchen.
And in a moment I’m going to tell you about our cultured golden South Sea pearl 14-karat pendant.
“Oh, you’re watching Cindy. I love Cindy,” the man says, as he climbs up his ladder. “I bought my girlfriend a bracelet from her last month. She got all weepy when I gave it to her. I’m thinking about buying her a ring when I get the cash together. I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.” He unscrews the base of the chandelier. “But I’m just not sure if I’m ready.” After he climbs down the ladder, Alice hands him a drink. She has fixed herself another rum and coke.
“Well, don’t rush into anything,” Alice says. “Is that enough ice for you?”
“Perfect, just the way I like it.” Alice watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down while he slugs down the soda. “Hot day,” he says when he’s finished.
“But hot is good, don’t you think?” Alice asks, swirling the liquor around the tumbler. “I feel so relaxed, like anything could happen, anything at all. And it’ll all be okay, don’t you think?” She notices him staring at her glass. She laughs, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not normally a big drinker. It’s just that my husband left me this past week, and I’m all alone in this gigantic house with two growing boys. But it’s such a relief to know that our electricity output will be up to code. That’s one burden off my shoulders. Thank goodness you came today. You’re a life saver.”
“You might want to watch the air coming out of the vents. Your AC is set pretty low,” he says. “Big waste of energy.”
“Gotcha!” Frank Jr. says, pointing his gun at Shaun’s temple. Shaun sits cross-legged in a mound of dirt, throwing a baseball up and down in his mitt.
“Aren’t you too old for toy guns, Frank?”
“Shut up, Shaun. Everyone knows how cool this gun is. It’s not like it’ll hurt anyone.” Frank Jr. throws the gun to the ground. “Let’s play catch. I need to warm up my throwing arm for tomorrow.”
“I’m sleepy,” Shaun replies, hanging his head low. “Do you think mom will let us back inside?”
“C’mon, don’t be a wimp. You need the practice. Aren’t you playing shortstop? Your arm has to be primed. You don’t want to lose the game, do you?”
Frank Jr. throws the ball dead center into Shaun’s mitt. Shaun tosses it back but throws short, and Frank Jr. has to run to catch it. He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “You’ll just have to learn the hard way.” He winds his arm behind his head and propels the ball forward and up with full force. Shaun runs backwards and collapses onto his butt, as the ball sails over him. He rises, dazed and swaying. “Your throw was too long,” he manages to say. Then his body sinks to the ground.
“Jesus F-in’ Christ, Shaun! What the hell happened? Did you just trip over your own two feet? You can’t do that tomorrow! You have to hang tough.”
“I slipped. I slipped on something wet. I think I might have twisted my ankle.”
Frank Jr. walks to where Shaun is sitting and notices a puddle of black gook slathered on the ground. A holster juts out from its center. Frank Jr. dabs his finger in the sticky sludge. It reminds him of rotten tree sap. “It’s the gun – it melted,” he says.
Alice wants to confide in the electrician. There’s something about the softness of his eyes that tells her he’s trustworthy. He seems like a receptive young man who’s grown up among a generation of men who were trained to listen. “Well ma’am, your circuit breaker looks good. All the outlets, electrical appliances, lamps, wires – they all look up to code. I’ll just mark it down here, that you’re all good.”
“Wouldn’t you like to stay, have a nice cold beer?”
“No thanks, I have to get to the next job.”
“Do you want something to eat? I could make you a cheese sandwich. The boys love them. My husband – or my ex, not sure which he is yet, ha ha - does too. I can melt the cheese on bread in the microwave.”
“No thanks, really. I have to be going.”
Alice leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Well, do you accept tips?” He steps back. “No, we’re not allowed to take cash. I make a decent living, so no worries.”
“I’m not worried. I just thought you might like something extra for your effort.” Alice winks at him. “Wouldn’t you like to relax for a few minutes and watch more Cindy with me?” Alice smiles, fluffing the pillows on the couch. The electrician stares at her. “C’mon, it’s a comfortable couch. I’d like to get to know you better. You’ve been such a big help.”
The man grabs his ladder. “I’m not into that type of thing. I have a girlfriend. I really hope you work things out with your husband.” He shuffles across the marble floor.
“My buddy Fred, he’d be into it. He just did a housewife last week. Maybe you should look him up in the phone book. Fred Filagree.”
“You don’t understand!” Alice screams. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t even get your name? What’s your name?” she pleads, slumping into the couch.
“Tom,” he says and then slams the door.
Person leaving front entrance of house. As if the voice had to remind her. Alice is hungry, hungrier than she can ever remember being. She knows she’s not supposed to snack. She’s supposed to be dieting. She snags a 200-calorie Slim Fast from the fridge. She guzzles it down, but it doesn’t push away the hunger. She smears mayo on Wonder Bread and slips American cheese between two slices of bread. She gobbles the sandwich down, but her stomach still growls and aches, demanding more. She throws another sandwich in the microwave. Nuke for one-minute for the perfect cheesy sandwich. It bubbles and bursts yellow craters. She tears at the food with her teeth and tongue, practically choking as she gulps it in big chunks. Her throat burns, but her stomach is still hollow, needy, a black hole. She is starving. She takes ice cream from the freezer and squeezes hot fudge sauce on top. Blurp, blurp. She thrusts spoonful after spoonful into her mouth and licks the bowl when she’s done. The melted cream drips down her cheeks. Her tears meld with the milky, brown liquid. She is crying.
A fuse blows. The lights go out in the kitchen and den. The air conditioning shuts down. The house is dark except for sun that streams through the curtains. Tom has fucked up. Someone is banging on glass. Intruder at back door of house, the voice assures her. Well thankfully the alarm is still dependable, she thinks. She looks at the monitor. It is Frank Jr. Intruder at back of house. He’s on his knees, pounding on the doors. He looks strange, like his nose got smashed in, and it is oozing blood. What have those boys been up to? Can’t they stay out of trouble? She peers at the monitor again. Frank Jr. seems shorter now, like he’s lying on his stomach. He’s struggling to bring his fist up. He looks so lonely, and then she remembers that she’s lonely too. Maybe they can cheer each other up! Frank Jr. could do imitations for her and Shaun. It’ll be like the old days, all of them at the dinner table together, laughing at his jokes. He’s got quite a talent. She’ll enroll him in acting camp next summer. If he hones his skills and works hard and gets into a good college, well, who knows, maybe he’ll even become famous. Then he’ll be able to take care of Alice in her old age. She’ll be so proud.
She pulls the curtains apart but the sunlight pierces her retina. Alice is temporarily blinded. When she regains her sight, she looks down to see Frank Jr. lying in a puddle of pink goo. His legs are missing! He’s just a stump! She tries to open the doors, but they are jammed. She punches the buttons on the wall but forgets the code. She tries ten different permutations, but none work. She’ll have to break the doors down! She lifts a chair and repeatedly hits it against the glass, but it keeps bouncing back. And then she remembers that years ago, they fitted the doors with shatter-proof glass. It is more resilient and economical in the long run, the salesman told them. And the boys won’t hurt themselves or smash the glass with a ball, he added to seal the deal.
Breathing heavily, Alice takes in the horrible ruin that is now her backyard. A swirling brew of pinks, greens, yellows, blues, purples, oranges, and blacks simmer from the ground, about to spill into the neighbor’s yard. Steam rises as high as the satellite dish. The oak tree floats downstream. The jungle gym is gone. Shaun is missing. Frank Jr. holds his forehead between his hands, his remains seeping between the cracks of cement. If she could only open the doors, she would touch him. She would save him!
The telephone rings. Alice fumbles over herself, tumbling to the desk, picking up the receiver. “Thank God you called, Frank! We need your help! The boys are melting! They’re leaving us, and it’s all my fault. You have to come home!”
His voice sounds even younger and more fragile than before. “Ma’am, it’s not Frank, it's Tom. I hope I'm not bothering you.” He’s called to apologize for everything. He says that his work has become shoddy, that he’s not feeling like himself these days. Sobbing, Alice tells him not to worry, no one is feeling right anymore. Why doesn’t he come over and they’ll talk about it? She’ll make him a cheesy sandwich and raise the temperature on the AC. She promises, if he'll come over, even for just a little while, she'll xxxx.
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